-Disclaimer-
In case you're yet to notice, I am not J.K. Rowling. If I were, I'd be rich. Harry and the crew aren't of my making. Suing me would be futile, as I have about 3 knuts to my name presently, and I need those to buy food for my twenty-eight starving children... It's been a hard winter, and the little dears are contracting Leprosy as fast as anything... You get the picture... Also, keep in mind that this is my very first Harry Potter fanfic. Yay! Don't it make yer feel special? Too much sugar... Argh. Also, the title of the story, is from an Alex Lloyd song. Which, I also didn't write, but thought that it fit the occasion. On to the damn story.
Black The Sun
Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common-room, staring blankly out of the window at the blanket of snow which had fallen overnight. He had been in the same chair, same position, same frame of mind, for hours. It was almost Christmas. As a result, the common room, normally a hive of activity, was deserted. Harry preferred it that way, at least when he felt the way he did. The six years he had spent at Hogwarts had been his happiest ever, but after the next year, it would be over. His stomach lurched at the thought. He'd grown accustomed to life at the castle, as well as living with his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't hear the quiet footsteps behind him. "Harry?" He turned his head slightly, listlessly. "Hermione." The girl approached the armchair almost apprehensively. "Up for a game of wizard chess?" She asked, and when he shook his head, continued. "Are you okay, Harry?" Her voice was gentle, worried. But Harry mistook it for pity. "I'm fine, for the tenth time." He snapped. Instantly, he felt guilty. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone softer, almost... Defeated. Hermione sat in the armchair across from Harry, and he continued. "I'm going to miss it here, after next year." He said, almost to himself. Hermione stared out of the window at the snow covered landscape. "I think we all are."
Despite both Ron and Hermione's attempts to cheer him up, Harry's mood didn't show any signs of lifting after dinner. Finally, he stalked back up to the Gryffindor tower alone, muttering something of a 'goodnight' to his friends. But instead of retiring to bed, Harry rummaged through the trunk at the foot of his four-poster bed. He pushed aside spell books, spare parchment and quills, before his hands closed over a familiar surface. He pulled out the old photo album, which Hagrid had made for him at the end of his first year. His fingers traced over the happy, smiling, not to mention moving, young family in the picture on the cover. He closed his eyes, determined not to let the tears spill over. He hadn't cried for his parents in a while, a realization which depressed him further. Finally, he gently placed the book under his pillow, and returned to the trunk. He quickly tided the mess he'd created, and finally emerged with his father's invisability cloak in his hand. He threw it about himself, and set off.
Harry didn't really have plans of going anywhere, he just felt the urge to get away from the castle. Careful to avoid any of the few students left at Hogwarts over the holidays, he crossed the grounds and headed for the Quidditch pitch. The sun was setting, staining the sky brilliant shades of pink, orange and purple. Harry stood on the magically manicured lawn, his eyes to the heavens. He felt... He couldn't put his finger on it. Empty? Afraid? Not afraid, Harry decided, terrorfied. But it wasn't the heart- stopping terror he'd felt while facing Voldemort. This was a new, slow- burning emotion, seething in the pit of his stomach, lurking at the edge of his conciousness. He felt stupid, being scared something he couldn't describe. Harry turned back to the building. 'Perhaps,' He thought, 'I could become an Auror', like the imposter Mad-Eye Moony had suggested all those years ago. Visions of himself, slightly older, stalking Dark Wizards like the muggle detectives he'd seen on television when he was younger, danced through his head, summoning a slight wry smile.
He set off again, slowly, still deep in thought. He was about to turn the corner, on his way back to the Gryffindor tower, when a small cough behind him caught his attention. Careful to keep the cloak covering himself, he turned, and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy, sitting in the shadows of the tower. A familiar anger began rising in Harry; he and Malfoy had been enemies since their very first train ride to Hogwarts. But this figure did not seem to belong to the same Malfoy that Harry knew. His usual arrogance and grace had seemingly dissapated. The Slytherin seeker sat, leaning against the cold stone, his blonde head resting on his knees. Harry watched him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Malfoy cleared his throat. "Fuck off, Potter." He growled, his voice low, and almost dangerously silken. Harry was taken aback, but before he could respond, ask how Draco knew he was there, the other boy spoke again. "I know you're there. I can see your footprints in the grass," he paused, "and before you deny it, I know, pretty much for a fact, that no-one else here has an invisability cloak." Harry turned to leave, but something held him back. Disreguarding every hostile encounter he'd had with Malfoy during his time at Hogwarts, he turned back. "Are you okay?" He asked softly. Malfoy snorted. "Why the hell would you care?" Harry remained silent, which seemed to feed the other boy's anger. "Enough of this good-deed bullshit, okay? Just fuck off, and leave me alone." Harry's emerald gaze lingered on Draco's slight form. 'Why am I bothering?' Harry wasn't sure why he was still there. "You didn't answer me. Are you okay?" He repeated. Draco looked up, his normally pale skin blotched and red, as though he'd been crying. He glared at the spot where he assumed Harry was. He started to answer, but his voice cracked. Finally, he managed to whisper. "No."
A harsh voice suddenly filled the air. "What is it, my dear?" Draco looked up. "Filch." He breathed. Before he could move, Harry rushed over, and threw the cloak over both himself and Draco. The blonde started to protest, until Harry pressed his hand over his mouth. The air almost crackled, as though electfified. Harry could feel Draco's breathing, shallow and rapid against his fingertips. They stared at each other, Draco's cold grey eyes to Harry's warm green. Harry withdrew his hand, and looked away, suddenly embarassed, the moment shattered. Filch crept around the corner, his sharp eyes peeled for any sign of students, any excuse to hand out detentions. He kept close to the stone wall, trying to flush out his prey. Harry flattened himself against the wall, and next to him, Draco did the same. The caretaker passed them by, and disappeared into the dusk. Harry removed the cloak from the two of them. 'What the hell is going on?' He thought, his mind spinning. He stared at the ground, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. Something had passed between them, Harry was sure of that, but what had it been? When he tried to steal a glance at the Slytherin, he found him doing the same. Draco held his gaze. "Thanks." He breathed in barely more than a whisper.
In case you're yet to notice, I am not J.K. Rowling. If I were, I'd be rich. Harry and the crew aren't of my making. Suing me would be futile, as I have about 3 knuts to my name presently, and I need those to buy food for my twenty-eight starving children... It's been a hard winter, and the little dears are contracting Leprosy as fast as anything... You get the picture... Also, keep in mind that this is my very first Harry Potter fanfic. Yay! Don't it make yer feel special? Too much sugar... Argh. Also, the title of the story, is from an Alex Lloyd song. Which, I also didn't write, but thought that it fit the occasion. On to the damn story.
Black The Sun
Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common-room, staring blankly out of the window at the blanket of snow which had fallen overnight. He had been in the same chair, same position, same frame of mind, for hours. It was almost Christmas. As a result, the common room, normally a hive of activity, was deserted. Harry preferred it that way, at least when he felt the way he did. The six years he had spent at Hogwarts had been his happiest ever, but after the next year, it would be over. His stomach lurched at the thought. He'd grown accustomed to life at the castle, as well as living with his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't hear the quiet footsteps behind him. "Harry?" He turned his head slightly, listlessly. "Hermione." The girl approached the armchair almost apprehensively. "Up for a game of wizard chess?" She asked, and when he shook his head, continued. "Are you okay, Harry?" Her voice was gentle, worried. But Harry mistook it for pity. "I'm fine, for the tenth time." He snapped. Instantly, he felt guilty. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone softer, almost... Defeated. Hermione sat in the armchair across from Harry, and he continued. "I'm going to miss it here, after next year." He said, almost to himself. Hermione stared out of the window at the snow covered landscape. "I think we all are."
Despite both Ron and Hermione's attempts to cheer him up, Harry's mood didn't show any signs of lifting after dinner. Finally, he stalked back up to the Gryffindor tower alone, muttering something of a 'goodnight' to his friends. But instead of retiring to bed, Harry rummaged through the trunk at the foot of his four-poster bed. He pushed aside spell books, spare parchment and quills, before his hands closed over a familiar surface. He pulled out the old photo album, which Hagrid had made for him at the end of his first year. His fingers traced over the happy, smiling, not to mention moving, young family in the picture on the cover. He closed his eyes, determined not to let the tears spill over. He hadn't cried for his parents in a while, a realization which depressed him further. Finally, he gently placed the book under his pillow, and returned to the trunk. He quickly tided the mess he'd created, and finally emerged with his father's invisability cloak in his hand. He threw it about himself, and set off.
Harry didn't really have plans of going anywhere, he just felt the urge to get away from the castle. Careful to avoid any of the few students left at Hogwarts over the holidays, he crossed the grounds and headed for the Quidditch pitch. The sun was setting, staining the sky brilliant shades of pink, orange and purple. Harry stood on the magically manicured lawn, his eyes to the heavens. He felt... He couldn't put his finger on it. Empty? Afraid? Not afraid, Harry decided, terrorfied. But it wasn't the heart- stopping terror he'd felt while facing Voldemort. This was a new, slow- burning emotion, seething in the pit of his stomach, lurking at the edge of his conciousness. He felt stupid, being scared something he couldn't describe. Harry turned back to the building. 'Perhaps,' He thought, 'I could become an Auror', like the imposter Mad-Eye Moony had suggested all those years ago. Visions of himself, slightly older, stalking Dark Wizards like the muggle detectives he'd seen on television when he was younger, danced through his head, summoning a slight wry smile.
He set off again, slowly, still deep in thought. He was about to turn the corner, on his way back to the Gryffindor tower, when a small cough behind him caught his attention. Careful to keep the cloak covering himself, he turned, and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy, sitting in the shadows of the tower. A familiar anger began rising in Harry; he and Malfoy had been enemies since their very first train ride to Hogwarts. But this figure did not seem to belong to the same Malfoy that Harry knew. His usual arrogance and grace had seemingly dissapated. The Slytherin seeker sat, leaning against the cold stone, his blonde head resting on his knees. Harry watched him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Malfoy cleared his throat. "Fuck off, Potter." He growled, his voice low, and almost dangerously silken. Harry was taken aback, but before he could respond, ask how Draco knew he was there, the other boy spoke again. "I know you're there. I can see your footprints in the grass," he paused, "and before you deny it, I know, pretty much for a fact, that no-one else here has an invisability cloak." Harry turned to leave, but something held him back. Disreguarding every hostile encounter he'd had with Malfoy during his time at Hogwarts, he turned back. "Are you okay?" He asked softly. Malfoy snorted. "Why the hell would you care?" Harry remained silent, which seemed to feed the other boy's anger. "Enough of this good-deed bullshit, okay? Just fuck off, and leave me alone." Harry's emerald gaze lingered on Draco's slight form. 'Why am I bothering?' Harry wasn't sure why he was still there. "You didn't answer me. Are you okay?" He repeated. Draco looked up, his normally pale skin blotched and red, as though he'd been crying. He glared at the spot where he assumed Harry was. He started to answer, but his voice cracked. Finally, he managed to whisper. "No."
A harsh voice suddenly filled the air. "What is it, my dear?" Draco looked up. "Filch." He breathed. Before he could move, Harry rushed over, and threw the cloak over both himself and Draco. The blonde started to protest, until Harry pressed his hand over his mouth. The air almost crackled, as though electfified. Harry could feel Draco's breathing, shallow and rapid against his fingertips. They stared at each other, Draco's cold grey eyes to Harry's warm green. Harry withdrew his hand, and looked away, suddenly embarassed, the moment shattered. Filch crept around the corner, his sharp eyes peeled for any sign of students, any excuse to hand out detentions. He kept close to the stone wall, trying to flush out his prey. Harry flattened himself against the wall, and next to him, Draco did the same. The caretaker passed them by, and disappeared into the dusk. Harry removed the cloak from the two of them. 'What the hell is going on?' He thought, his mind spinning. He stared at the ground, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. Something had passed between them, Harry was sure of that, but what had it been? When he tried to steal a glance at the Slytherin, he found him doing the same. Draco held his gaze. "Thanks." He breathed in barely more than a whisper.