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Pumpkin Pasties and the Hole in the Universe

It was always the same.

Every time he met someone new the eyes would flick upwards, resting momentarily

on his lighting bold scar. They'd widen and the response would come in one of three ways:

"Say, You're Harry Potter aren't you?"

"Y-you're Harry Potter!"

"Say, bloody ugly scar, that is. How did you get it?"

Of course, the latter only came from muggles. Harry would mumble something

about running into a door and then precede to attempt a normal conversation.

Harry didn't spend much time with muggles. On the contrary, he spent a large

portion of his time around other magical folk who seemed to see him as some sort of

demi-god. The wonderful Harry Potter who'd defeated Lord Voldemort three whole times.

Like it was his fault the old git kept looking for him. What else could he have done?

Let the smarmy old bastard kill him? Personally, Harry thought he'd

have been much happier as a normal 15 year old wizard who only knew the Dark Lord through

furtively whispered stories from school friends.

But for something that he'd long ago decided was out of his control, Harry had been placed

on a pedestal. People made exceptions to the rules for him, and Harry had a mind that he

could probably bolt down Diagon Alley wearing nothing but a pair of Hermione's knickers on his head

yelling about how the Cornelius Fudge wore tea cozies to bed, and people would merely laugh

and say things to each other like, "That Harry!"

Even Dumbledore did it. You'd think that even though Harry'd saved the school from, say

some unimaginably, devastating attack from Voldemort or his ilk, that he'd at least be punished for sneaking around after hours. Granted, Harry usually had to be escorted to the hospital wing after

any such encounter, and by the time he'd regained consciousness his rule-breaking was forgotten long enough for it to lose its importance.

Harry sighed. He knew it wasn't the lack of punishment that bothered him (he'd have to be completely barking mad to want that), it was the way people seemed to forget he was human. Take

that dratted little Colin Creevy, expecting Harry to be there with a smile every time he wanted to grovel.

("Harry! *click* Look this way Harry! Eating a Pumpkin Pastie, Harry? *click click*)

Harry? Have a bad day? Never. He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

Another sigh, and Harry looked out across the lake. No one understood him, probably not even Hermione and Ron.

"Bad day, love?"

Harry jumped, momentarily startled, as a pair of slender arms draped in black sleeves

wrapped themselves around him. Ok, maybe one person understood him. The only hole in Harry's rather depressing universe. He looked down into the water his eyes catching

on Draco Malfoy's brilliant blonde hair as it reflected off the water, then turned,

accepting the kiss planted by his lover's supple lips.

"Not anymore."

~*~

AN: Overly mushy, am I? Nah. Never written HP fic before... Might have to come up with something longer. This was just a way for me to test my quill at the genre. :)