Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs.

Life isn't fair. A plausible enough excuse for 16 year old Harry Potter to decide that enough is enough. During a rough summer with the Dursley's, Harry meets a boy named Peachy Keen who introduces him to a new way of coping. Bringing his newly found habits back to Hogwarts with him, Harry begins an uncertain trek towards rock bottom; however an unsuspecting someone becomes the first to notice the symptoms.

Rated R for references to abuse.

All Harry Potter related content belongs to J.K Rowling.

Hogwarts: Magick and Drugs

Chapter One: Peachy Keen

Harry Potter stood at the front door of his Aunt and Uncle's house at Number Four Privet Drive. He sheltered his lean frame as close to the wooden door as possible, the steady pace of misty rain licking the back of his jacket. He was locked out. This wasn't an irregular occurrence, Harry was used to standing around on the porch door, though the weather proved dismal, otherwise he would have taken a stroll around Magnolia Crescent.

Pulling a stick of gum from his pocket, he played with the tin foil wrapping, bending it into shapes - a wand, his cloak, a snake, a snitch. For the past month and a half, Harry had been spending all his time outside of his relatives home, much to the joy of his Uncle Vernon, by the way. Now it wasn't that Privet Drive was the core of excitement; excitement did not exist in this little housing estate, the news of the week usually contained rumours and whispers of someone changing their hair colour, or Margaret Byrne's son being fired. The reason Harry had spent so long outside was simply because he was a wizard - or a freak, depending on who you asked.

Nothing helped this 'abnormality', as his relatives called it. Not counselling, yelling, beatings, lack of privileges, not even sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs (though those years were long passed since receiving his letter to Hogwarts). So once more, on this Tuesday night, he found himself stranded outside until the Dursley's decided to return home from wherever they were.

'They'll be a while,' a voice called from next door. It was only Lisa Philpot, a small, ageing house wife who spent all year, every year, in competition with Petunia Dursley to see whose garden looks prettier. "They've gone for a meal to celebrate Dudley's school grades."

'Yeah, thanks.' he muttered, heading down the garden path. Better soaked in the rain than chat to her, he thought.

Turning right, he headed for the tunnel near the playground; his shoes were irritating his feet as the cracks in his converse absorbed every inch of water he made contact with. The tunnel was poorly lit and looked cold and dreary, even from this distance. Though he sought shelter beneath it, he kept warily close to the exit, watching the main road for signs of the Dursley's car. His Uncle would ensure he got a fine thumping if he were found hanging around the tunnel; it was mostly for scumbags, people who hung around corners and vandalised. Harry wondered how Mr Dursley would react to finding out that his precious Dudley spent most evenings smoking in the tunnel.

'Pissy night, isn't it."

Harry turned, his hand instinctively moving to the waistband of his jeans where he stored his wand. The voice echoed from somewhere near the bend in the tunnel; it was dark there, the light flickered dimly.

'Whose there?' he asked, watching the shadows flicker across the wall.

From within them, a figure stepped into the light. A tall boy, taller than Harry by far, with tightly shaven hair and a curling fringe stared at him. He wore a gold earring in one ear and looked as though he had been through the mill a few times; his clothes far baggier and dirty than Harry's.

'Pissy night, isn't it." he repeated, leaning against the wall opposite Harry.

'I guess, yeah.' Harry said, his fingers twitching uncomfortably against the outline of his wand.

It wasn't that he was paranoid, at least he didn't think he was. But he reckoned it was fairly uncharacteristic for a normal person to lurk in the shadows and compliment on the weather. He reminded himself that he wasn't normal though and normal things never happened to him so ultimately, no, he concluded that this wasn't uncharacteristic.

'Up to much?' the boy asked.

Harry shrugged. 'Same as you, s'pose.'

The boy flinched, his gaze flickering across Harry's face. 'Haven't seen you round here before.' It was more of a demand for information, than an innocent mark of curiosity.

'I haven't seen you either,' Harry challenged. 'Live near here?'

'A bit.'

They stood quietly, the only sound was that of dripping rain from the cracks and the slow decrease of rain. Harry kept his gaze focused on a patch of weeds hanging from the roof, watching cautiously from the corner of his eyes at the boys movements. He had never seen him before, not in Privet Drive or Magnolia at least. Perhaps he belonged to a neighbouring estate? A rival estate. Though Harry had no friends in the Muggle world, thanks to his cousin Dudley, he still needed to be wary of rival estates; just because he didn't know them, didn't mean they wouldn't attack - another reason he had to thank Dudley who frequently started these petty rivals.

'What's your name?' the boy asked.

'Neville,' Harry blurted, inwardly cringing at his hasty answer - the second time in two years he'd used Neville's name.

'Peachy,' the boy replied.

'There's not a lot to be peachy about with that kind of name,' Harry said, cocking an eyebrow at his own daringness. 'It's fairly average.'

The boy barked a gruff laugh and scratching behind one ear, he shook his head and said, 'That's my name - Peachy. Peachy Keen.'

Harry cocked an eyebrow. He was tempted to laugh. Who named their child Peachy Keen?

'I know what you're thinking,' Peachy said, 'Ridiculous, isn't it? Me mam was stoned on painkillers when she gave birth to me. When the doc asked what she was gonna' call me, she thought he asked how she was doin' - so she said peachy keen!'

'Sorry.' Harry smirked.

'Don't be, it get's a few laughs round the fire and at least I've got something original about myself. Unlike you.'

Tempted to smirk at this strange boys ignorance - nothing original? - Harry smiled softly instead. Sometimes he wished that there was nothing original about himself, that he was just normal. Your average boy next door who had normal teenage problems, with normal teenage pimples instead of strange scars. There was a time, long before Harry had discovered that he was a Wizard, when the only thing that he really liked about himself was his scar; now that he had learned the true meaning behind his scar, he didn't fancy it has much anymore. In fact, for the whole summer it had tingled annoyingly.

'So look, the weathers pissy, right? Well I've got a place we can hang out if you want, just round the corner like.'

Harry shook his head. 'Sorry, but it's late. I'd better head home.'

'It's only half 7!'

Harry shrugged. Pushing himself away from the wall, he unzipped his wet jacket and stepped out from under the tunnel. He turned to say bye, but found Peachy walking towards him. His fingers clutched the handle of his wand.

'I'll walk with ya'.' he said, 'I wana' go to the shop anyway.'

Surprising himself, Harry didn't object. He strolled somewhat happily alongside Peachy, they weren't friends, how could they be - they just met! But it was certainly a change of company, talking to Hedwig gets boring.

'Smoke?' Peachy asked, offering Harry a cigarette.

'Haven't tried it,' Harry said, eyeing the smoking red tip. The smoke spiralled transfixing from it, forming little circles and then being blown harshly away by the breeze.

'Oh really? Why's that then?'

'Dunno,' he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging, 'Never got offered.'

Peachy stopped, held the cigarette out and nodded. 'Go on then,' he said. 'Everyone says that it's bad for you and that you'll feel crap after it, but that's not true,' he added, seeing the weary look on Harry's face. 'I've been smokin' about 4 years now and I'm as cool as a breeze.'

'I don't know,' said Harry, 'I mean we're close to where I live and-'

'You're not chicken are you?' Peachy asked, narrowing his eyes. He shrugged and withdrew the offer, his lips pursed into a tight smirk. 'You don't look the chicken type is all.'

'I'm not chicken!' Harry snapped.

'I didn't say you were.'

'Gimmie the thing,' Harry said, sticking his hand out.

Peachy smirked. 'No, no. If you're not … up to it.'

Harry glared at him. 'Give it to me, don't be a prat.'

'Alright, alright,' Peachy said, holding his hands up defensively. He took a cigarette from the blue box and passed it to Harry. 'Need a light?'

'Obviously.' Harry muttered, taking the fag and lighter.

A flicker of butterfly sensations had erupted in his stomach, he felt afraid, yet excited. It was something new, different and rebellious - something he'd never tried before. Something he knew that even Ron and Hermione had never tried - wait until he told them! He popped the cigarette between his lips, the smell of raw tobacco swirled around his taste buds - it was unpleasing, rough. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, his attention drawn hastily to the reggae colours printed on the plastic; he hoped he was doing this right, as his thumb flicked across the switch, the flame appeared, then faltered with a spark. He felt a flush of red on his cheeks. He tried again, and again, and again and finally a flame took, he drew it close to the end of the cigarette, watching it dance in the breeze, then craned his neck forward, engulfing the tip of the fag. He watched as the edges of the paper roll sizzled black, the light crackling of flamed tobacco taking to the fire and then he inhaled deeply. A torrent of thick smoke engulfed his entire mouth, the course flavour burned his nose, scratched at his throat and his eyes began to water. Resisting the temptation to cough and make a fool of himself, he hastily blew the smoke from his mouth. Thank God for that.

'Good, isn't it?' Peachy said, mistaking Harry's look of relief for pleasure.

'Yeah, it's grand.' he replied, dangling the fag in his hand.

'Finish it before you go,' Peachy told him, then opened the blue box again and handed him another. 'Take this one two, you might get thirsty for one later. I'm gonna' head off anyway, it's getting late and I'm meeting a friend.'

'Oh… eh, thanks.' Harry said, hoping he didn't sound too pleased at the thoughts of Peachy leaving. He took the cigarette and put it in his jacket pocket.

'See you tomorrow, right?' Peachy asked, stepping off the footpath.

'I don't know, maybe, I guess yeah.'

'By the tunnel, right? About 7, we can hang out and stuff and I don't know, talk.'

'Sure,' Harry said, 'See you.'

As Peachy's figure disappeared amongst the shadows, Harry puzzled on the strangeness of tonight. For the first time in fourteen years, Harry had made a friend … no, a companion, without being the source of topic, or being the famous boy who lived - he had just met someone and chatted and it felt good. He eyed the cigarette in his hand, it was slowly smouldering away; knowing right from wrong, he should have thrown it away, he wasn't stupid and he knew the effects of smoking. But he didn't. instead, he drew the thin stick to his lips, took another puff and let the smoke tingle his tongue, slowly adjusting to the course of fresh nicotine flowing throughout his system.

Written by A Silver Sickle

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