Pity the world isn't ideal, isn't it? Pity that whatever we want to happen never happens. Our deepest, darkest desires remain simply desires, and never become something real. We can never hold the one we long for, we can never fill the hole gaping inside. We just can't win, can we?

The sounds of ink scratching against paper silenced, leaving the air to hang delicately with deathly quiet fragility; to breathe would be to shatter everything around. For a moment, time stopped, and the moonlight's faint light shone through the dingy window, illuminating the darkness and dancing off of the pages, covered with hurried scrawlings. The sliver of time, frozen perfectly, was beautiful, Harry thought as he bit his lip.. saying a silent prayer for beauty everlasting. His stream of subconsciousness was interrupted by a deft rapping on his window.

"Oh.. you're back." A faint grin overcame sullen, pouty lips as he opened the window, a rush of warm summer air following Hedwig as she flew back into the room and perched on his arm, head canted to watch him. He removed her gently from his shoulder - her talons really began to hurt, after a while - and turned his attention back to the window. It felt nice tonight, and he wondered what it would be like to be out, flying on his broom. Nonsense. Too many people, not enough time to perform so many bloody Memory Charms. He leaned forward, pulled by the wind and the desire to be outside, to be free.. to actually feel something, for once. His hands gripped the windowsill until his knuckles whitened, and his hair grew even more tousled by the wind. He lifted his eyes, green as the trees he longed to climb, over the roofs of the suburbia was trapped in. He looked over the life he knew during summer and to the moonlight, the symbol of purity and lunacy all at once. A velvet canvas, dotted with rhinestones. Elegant, but simple. The night's so beautiful.

His gaze broke from the sky and fell to his notebook, lying open. Pages shivered in the breeze until he reached down and closed it. He was glad no one from the House had ever found it. Merlin knows what the guys would think. He'd heard talk of 'fairies' and 'flamers,' and he knew enough to decide that he didn't want to be called one of 'them.' He wanted to learn some sort of charm to protect his writing, but he never really found a chance to get into the library and do extensive research for something that wasn't due. If it wasn't homework, it was Quidditch or Ron and Hermione. He didn't mind, either.. he loved both his game and his friends equally, and treasured every bit of time in the air or in the House.

If only his summers were his desires. Then between years at Hogwarts, he'd laugh and shout and catch the Snitch, and life would be a fairy tale. Happily ever after.

Harry sighed and turned to Hedwig, who had found her way to her cage and drifted into sweet sleep. Nimble fingers poked through the bars as he cooed lovingly to his owl.. his only companion in the early summer. Soon enough, he'd be at the Burrow with his real fake-family, and he'd feel more at home than he could at 4 Privet Drive. Noting the owl's lack of response, he crawled back into his bed and sprawled out, staring idly at the ceiling. Is it even worth it anymore? A ragged sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, drifting off into a sleep that wouldn't bring rest, release, or peace.. only a passing of time until morning.

While he rested, shards of fractured moonlight, milky as his own too-white skin, kissed his face and blanketed him with its purity, its lunacy, its symbolic everything.



Darkness all around. There's something wrong here, and I can't figure it out. Danger lurks, but are we not all dangerous? The dragon looms overhead, protecting itself from the dangers of man. The man puts his hand to his sword's hilt, unsheathing it and slaying the dragon.. it's all a matter of self-defense, and not intended provocation. Perhaps it is survival of the fittest, after all.

A weary sigh nearly extinguished the candle flickering nearby. Draco sighed and put the quill down against the parchment, casting a longing glance to his bed. He desperately wanted to sleep, but his mind was full of so many thoughts and ideas that, no matter how obvious they seemed, were just occuring to him. It was impossible to find rest when he felt so enlightened. Perhaps this is how the Buddha felt, Draco mused, his lips curling into a faint smirk, followed by another sigh. His eyes, allowed once more to wander from parchment, drank in his surroundings slowly, to remind him of his place. Ha! "Place" meant both "role" and "locale," didn't it?

Summer was winding down, and it was only a few more weeks before he'd make his way to London and pick up everything for school. He wondered if he'd run into anyone from his House at Diagon Alley. The past few years, he hadn't really recognized anyone. Idly, he wondered if his fellow Slytherins bought their supplies.. perhaps they were stolen? He wouldn't put it past some of his Slytherins, especially Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe and Goyle. The two had been by his side longer than he could remember. Even before the measurements for robes, the shopping for wands, the preparation for Hogwarts had ever begun, the three boys knew their places in Slytherin. Their fathers had been, and their fathers had been, and so on. The only problem was, Draco didn't know if he really had the heart for it. But he had to, right? The Sorting Hat was never wrong. Perhaps, however, the children were. Merely eleven when they wandered before all of Hogwarts to be placed into their Houses for the year, their impressionable young minds were full of whatever their parents had taught them. But what if their parents had been wrong?

Draco's thoughts went to his own father, a haughty Death Eater with infallible pride. Draco had learned that "Death Eater" was the most loathed phrase to ever reach his ears. To believe! people had insinuated that Draco Malfoy was to follow in his father's footsteps and become a Death Eater! Never! An involuntary shudder followed the thought. Draco was expected to become one of them after he left Hogwarts. Perhaps there was a way that he could run away, could abandon the life already made for him.

The life already made for him. It seemed like such a lie to him, instead of a life. To kill for pleasure seemed absurd. Sure, Draco enjoyed being mean.. but killing? If he wasn't feeling squeamish at the thought, he felt like screaming and denying the name Malfoy. What a name, Draco muttered, a sullen look darkening his face. He was the Dragon of Bad Faith. The only problem with that was that he had no faith. No faith in good, for his father was too joyous for good to be triumphant. No faith in evil, for the Boy Who Lived had yet to die. Voldemort can't win, can he? Reluctantly, the pallid boy blew out the candles lighting his desk, fully extinguishing them with his thumb and forefinger. He glanced to the window, musing to himself. Wonder how the Boy Who Lived actually lives, anyway?

The moon sat high in the sky, lighting up the late night, and blessing those who slept. For Draco, it was keeping him company while sleep continued to elude him.



Morning came to Privet Drive early, with a shrill voice from downstairs telling Harry to get up, there were chores to be done, and only one person to do them. Listlessly, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, reaching for his glasses. A fluttering brown shape caught his attention, however. A hoot that sounded more reminiscent of a chirp than anything informed him that an owl aside from Hedwig was residing in his room. After adjusting his glasses, he recognized the owl as Ron's very own Pigwidgeon. Pig, as the trio affectionately called the hyperactive owl, had brought Harry a letter from Ron. Harry took it from Pig and patted her gently, sending her off with a grin he only halfway felt. He opened the letter, curious as to what his better half had to say.

Harry,

Hope you're doing well with the Dursleys. We just got back from visiting Charlie. He's doing fantastic in Romania.. showed me and the twins some of the neat stuff he's seen. We all had a great time, but it's good to be back. Ready for you to come, once you can escape. Just send us word.

Ron

Harry sighed, folding the letter away. He didn't have a chance to write a reply just yet, but after the chores for the day were done, he'd write and pack. However, at this moment he had a shrill voice to silence. Groaning, Harry opened the door and trudged downstairs, ready to cook and clean and whatever else would please the Dursleys to the point of silence.



It felt unusually chilly for summer, and Draco wrapped his cloak tigher about him. He couldn't tell if it was just him, or if everyone else was cold.. but he didn't appear to be acting too strangely. He wished he could blend in more easily, but being of fair skin and hair, and wearing such dark colours, he seemed to be asking for attention.. especially from younger females with stars in their lust-stricken eyes. Curses of the profane type were muttered in their direction as he headed towards Flourish and Blotts, eyeing the list in his hand of books needed for fifth years.

Slate-hued eyes found no one of importance with whom to converse, nor of whom to seek annoyance. Shoulders slumped with a sigh that seemed to release every bit of his life from him. He picked up the books for the year, paid his dues, and exited onto a less-than-normal state. Ever since Voldemort had come back into power, the hustle and bustle of free living had diminished to a crawl. If a witch or wizard had no reason to be out and about, there was something better to do than become target practice. Thus, Draco ended up being in and out of Diagon Alley in record time. He was staying the night in one of the spare rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, seeing as how his father's residence wasn't as close to King's Cross as this, and Draco had yet to learn how to Apparate. It simply seemed more convenient, and a lot more pleasing to Draco than one more night in the home he had grown to hate.

I wonder if Father would mind if I stayed at school for Christmas..



Harry finished helping to load his items onto the train, turning back to a rather impatient Ron Weasley. "C'mon, let's go! We've got to find Hermione!" Harry muttered, sighing wearily but refusing to let his expression reveal the truth to his best friend. The pair broke through the crowd and found Hermione, who was seemingly waiting on the two. The trio boarded the Hogwarts Express and found a compartment with ease. Harry was the last one in, and slid the door shut behind him. He sat across from the pair, who were evidently still struggling with the fact that there was indeed tension between them of the more-than-friendly type. Harry smiled at the two, although behind the glassy eyes there was a longing for something more. Maybe Cho would tear her eyes off away from whoever that Ravenclaw guy was and look at him? Never. Harry sighed, wishing he could pull his journal out and write on his way to Hogwarts. It was in his trunk, however, and he wasn't with his trunk, was he? Maybe if I sleep, I won't have to exist until I'm there.

Leaning against the cushioned seat of his compartment, Harry didn't think sleep was such a bad idea after all..."Harry! We're here! C'mon, let's go!" Hermione's voice was more impatient than ever, and her face more stern. "Didn't get enough sleep with Ron, did you? Too busy doing stupid boy things, nearly getting more than your pride injured, right? Right. Let's go - Ron's got a carriage for us, I hope.." Harry noticed her voice trail off and chuckled. Hermione knew the two of them better than either would ever let on. He climbed off the train and followed Hermione to one of the only carriages left. Ron was standing outside of it, acting as if he were almost afraid to climb inside. "What is it, Ron?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione, however, didn't wait for an answer. She climbed in, biting her tongue. Across from her sat Draco Malfoy.

"'lo, Malfoy," she said in her calmest voice. Harry immediately knew why Ron hesitated to get in. After Hermione had already done so, however, the two Gryffindors had little choice. They climbed in behind her, Ron sitting next to Hermione and Harry.. well, Harry was forced next to Draco. The four sat, hesitant to even breathe, much less speak. With a jerk, the carriage began to move to Hogwarts. Harry pricked his ears, eagerly hoping to hear one of Hagrid's last calls for the first years, or a call to the boats, or -something to tell him that he wasn't dreaming.

Hermione broke the silence, taking a good look at Draco. "Something's different about you, Malfoy. Don't know what, but something is." She was right, too; Draco seemed more human than before. His eyes, normally cold and steely, held a bit of warmth no one had noticed until now. He held himself with less pride than previous years, and he had yet to say something dripping with disdain. Even after Hermione had spoken, he was civil.

"So you noticed. People change though, don't they?" Draco turned away, watching the path to Hogwarts roll by them. Again, the carriage fell silent. Harry watched the fair-haired boy for a moment before turning his gaze to Ron. Ron simply shrugged, mouthing the word "mental" to his friend. Harry cracked a genuine smile, rarely noticed since the Triwizard Tournament.

How many more would have to die between now and the victory Harry was expected to have? An inaudible sigh crept from his lips, and his hands ached to hold his journal. To write of the life made for him, and the cause he wasn't so certain held anything for him anymore.