Early July always came as a nice comfort at night. The hot breeze that
blew against the windows of Number 4 Privet Drive seemed to remind the
young boy sitting inside his bedroom, that the world outside was still
turning. Harry Potter, a 16 year old boy with bright green eyes and messy
dark hair, sat on his bed trying to do some studying for his upcoming 7th
year courses, but to no avail. The tumultuous snoring caused by Harry's
uncle distracted his train of thought. Harry would have requested a fan to
drown out the noise, not to mention ward of the heat, but was unable to
because of a slight problem. Harry's Uncle Vernon, his wife Petunia and son
Dudely, despised him. When Harry was just a baby, his parents were killed,
in what he originally thought was a car crash, and was left in his mum's
sister and her husbands care. But this burden is not what made him disliked
by his relatives.
Harry Potter was special. At the age of 11, Harry found out his parents
were wizards, and he himself was to be enrolled in Hogwarts School or
Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was at that age, that young Harry found out who
he was and where be belonged, and it certainly wasn't at number 4 Privet
Drive. Although Harry hated to be there, he was left with no other choice.
As he had no other living relatives, (except one. Sirius Black, his
godfather, framed for a crime he didn't commit and was on the run, but
still kept in touch with Harry from time to time), he was forced to stay
there for the summer holidays.
Not only was Harry a wizard, he was also special in other ways. Just as soon as Harry learned he was to go to Hogwarts, he learned his mum and dad were not killed in a car crash, but in fact, murdered. Murdered by the darkest most feared wizard in the world. Lord Voldemort. Nobody dared speak his name. It was Lord Voldemort, or he-who-must-not-be-named, who was the reason Harry Potter was gawked at and eyed everywhere he went. On his forehead, was a thin lightning shaped scar. It was this unique scar that made him infamous. After killing his parents, Lord Voldemort went to utter the killing curse to Harry, but an extraordinary thing occurred. Instead of killing Harry, it rendered Voldemort helpless and barely alive, while transferring some of his own powers over to Harry.
One of these gifts, as some called it, surfaced in Harry's second year during a dueling club at school. It turns out Harry was a Parselmouth. This meaning, that he could talk to snakes. Harry had two best friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron was a pureblood, while Hermione was a muggle. Muggle meaning, not of wizarding parents. All of them belonging in Gryffindor House There were four houses at Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Slytherin, being the least popular house, as it seemed to turn out the most dark witches and wizards. But with Harry, Ron and Hermione being in Gryffindor, they had nothing to worry about. The trio was known throughout the school to go looking for trouble. What few people did know, was that trouble usually followed them. Or, followed Harry. Nobody knew this except two people. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts and the greatest wizard in the world, and the same boy who has been there to witness most of Harry's glorious moments, and caused a majority of his downfalls. It was non other than Harry's worst enemy at Hogwarts; Draco Malfoy.
September 1st, 10:49am.
Draco Malfoy wasn't what you would call pretty. He wasn't what you would call attractive or pulchritudinous. You couldn't even call him suave or cooth. You couldn't call him any one of these things because Draco Malfoy, was all of these things. Sexy, rude and beautiful were some of his more annoying traits that made him a god at his school. As well as being in Slytherin, like his father before him, this gave Draco the respect and power that most people could only dream of.
Draco, who was the son of one of Voldemort's biggest supporters, stood at the entrance of platform nine and three quarters looking listless and bored. It was Draco's seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and he had already started counting down the sluggishly drawn-out days to graduation, starting yesterday. Everyone who attended Hogwarts knew how much the young wizard hated to go to school with so many 'mudbloods' and 'muggle lovers'. The head master of the school; being one of these. Draco despised Dumbledore. Many people knew this. It was what was expected of Draco Malfoy. This young man who is to be named 'heir of the Malfoy fortune'.
'Wealthy, impassive, cunning Draco Malfoy; heir to the Malfoy fortune.'
Only, Draco didn't want to be heir to the Malfoy fortune. He couldn't give a fig about wealth or society and his aristocratic appearance. What Draco wanted, was to be himself. He longed for the friendly touch of someone he could actually call a friend. For years now, he was allowed only to socialize with those whose parents worshipped the Dark Lord, and was never able to venture outside this tight knit circle. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to be apart of the Gryffindor's. To sit with the annoyingly likeable Harry Potter and overly irritable Granger and Weasley, and talk about something as simple as lunchmeat. But alas, Draco was in Slytherin and being friends with those sorts, was not acceptable. What mostly got to the remarkably suave Malfoy Junior was the only one person at Hogwarts he could never top. Whether in grades or in popularity, he could never out do the seemingly god-like boy that he was borne to loathe and lives to torment.
Harry Potter sat between platforms nine and ten waiting for the big clock at Central Station to read 11am. He could hardly wait to board the scarlet steam engine that would transport him back to his real home. The raven- haired boy took his last look around at the muggle world and slipped casually through the stone gate onto platform 9 ¾. The first thing he expected to see was either Ron or Hermione, welcoming him back from his summer holiday with a welcomed hug. What he didn't expect was to slam into the boy he least wanted to see from the place he called home.
In the middle of brooding, Draco felt a force slam him to the ground, knocking his personal belongings askew, his head coming in contact with the dirty stone floor with an awful thud. Looking up at the annoying weight, which was giving him a pained stitch in his side, his eyes blurred before focusing on the last person Draco expected to ever see on top of him.
"Potter, you really know how to make an entrance. Mind getting the fuck off of me now?"
"Like I actually enjoyed the physical contact, Malfoy."
Slowly, Harry slid off Malfoy and righted himself. He bent down to gather his belongings, which were scattered about the platform due to the collision. Draco, sitting up and eyeing Harry, did the same.
For a few awkward moments, their eyes flickered toward one another finally setting on the ground beside them.
'Why is he just standing there?' Malfoy thought, suddenly very interested in the dirt on his right shoe.
"So." Malfoy said loudly, trying to sound threatening. "You're not being followed by your usual magnanimous army or swarm of admirers. What's the matter, Potter? Losing your touch?"
"What's the matter, Malfoy? Mad because you haven't yet received your 'I love Harry Potter' novelty mug?"
Draco scowled even more at the irritating boy's retort; angry with himself for seeming as though he was jealous. Well, he wouldn't let himself be made a fool. He was a Malfoy, after all. Hater or all things good, lover of all things evil. Fuck Potter with his morals and his good posture.
"You hate it, don't you?" He finally asked, taking a step forward towards Harry.
".What? 'I love Harry Potter' novelty mugs?"
"No. That I'm the one person that you can't have and it kills you."
He risked another step closer to Harry, suddenly aware of how his eyes looked like a jaded deep green sea that could only be found in some paradisal world.
He was trapped. With nowhere to look but straight into the eyes of his nemesis. The boy-who-lived-to-loath the boy-who-lived. Now, currently enveloped in his unfocused and confused gaze.
"Malfoy." Harry spoke, just above a whisper.
His mouth was dry and his voice cracked a bit. He tried to rationalize the thoughts, whizzing at high speed through his foggy mind.
'Calm down, this is just Malfoy for Merlin's sake. He's just trying to throw you off balance. Just getting a rise out of you, that's all. Stop arguing with him and get the hell out of here. Go find Ron and Hermione and get on the train and don't look back. Stop trying to figure him out every time he treats you with an ounce of decency. He hates you, he hates muggles and his father is probably kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes at this very moment. And for the love of all things Gryffindor, stop gazing into his eyes.'
"Kills me?" Harry asked firmly, gaining some semblance of control. He unconsciously licked his lips and continued.
"Tell me, Malfoy. Do you know what blood tastes like?"
Draco wasn't sure he knew where this was going, but he shook his head in compliance for Harry to continue.
"Well, seeing as though you've probably hidden behind your dads iron fist since day one of his betrayal of the wizarding community, I highly doubt it so I'll just give you a brief description."
Harry closed the remaining distance between them. Nose to nose, he could feel the blondes breath speed up just a touch.
"Blood? Is sweet. Did you know that? Blood is sticky. Well, when it's starting to dry, that is. It's not so sticky when it's fresh and wet and on your skin, but it does become sticky. Like honey. Takes on the taste of it, becoming sweet. It's coppery. And metallic and dirty and pure and the only thing that separates us from death."
Draco's eyes widened just slightly, not sure if he liked this veiled side of the ebony-haired hero.
"You see, I know this because I've tasted it. Blood. Life. I've tasted both and I love it. With its euphoric piquancy, you might find yourself in a most unpleasant predicament. You feel sick because it's sadistic, but you feel alive because it's exquisite. You'd consider yourself a lucky bloke just to touch such a forbidden exotic fluid."
Again, Harry licked his lips. He looked down to the blondes sides to take notice of his tightly clenched fists, bringing his own hands to his sides to lightly feather his fingers against the pale skin of Draco's wrist. Harry kept his gaze down.
"But then. then, you look down at the body laying beside you. The blood on your lips was spilled from that body lying beside you. You look up at the creature that slain the person who's blood now resides on your lips of the body laying beside you. It's on your lips because after being killed, it's head came in contact with a jagged rock, splitting it open, spraying it's vital fluid upwards, splattering in a streak across your face.
Then you realize the body is a boy.
The body has a name.
The name is someone you knew. Held conversations with. Held competition with.
That body, that boy, the 'someone' you knew was the same someone you held over me as an 'I-told-you-so' because I've chosen the losing side." Harry's face contorted itself into a mask of furry that even he was surprised he possessed.
Draco tried to turn away from the pain Harry held in his eyes, but sharp talons embedded themselves in soft pale flesh. Grimacing, Draco brought a stubborn gaze to greet that of Harry's, whose eyes softened.
And then Harry smiled.
"Malfoy. I tell you this because I want you to be prepared."
"Prepared for what? Leave me go!"
Harry tightened his grip. Bruising, punishing.
"Prepared to taste the blood of all the victims the side you've chosen is going to kill."
People were now stopping to stare at the two boys, ready for the usual show the two boys gave when positioned the way they were. Draco's gaze shifted to the attentive crowd, but Harry took no notice. Nobody was close enough to hear.
"I may have picked the losing side, Malfoy. But you've picked the easy road to save your own hide. Because you don't care. Because you don't love. And because you don't feel. And as I said before, blood is sweet. Blood is warm, blood is wet, blood is real and blood is power. But how much power can you handle inside of you before your completely dead on the outside."
A sharp prickle worked its way into the corner of Draco's eyes. He desperately tried to gain control of himself; sniffing a little and moving his eyes around in attempt to dry them out before the embarrassing tears threatened to drip down his face. Succeeding, he returned his gave to Harry, who loosened his grip. He cleared his throat to gain composure and returned his hands to his own sides.
Spotting Ron and Hermione in the crowd, eyeing him suspiciously, he gave Malfoy one last up and down.
"The only thing that kills me, Malfoy is the fact that you think I could ever fear someone like you. I could close my eyes and turn my back on you, knowing full well that a knife resided in your grasp and I wouldn't even tremble. Because, Malfoy. You're a coward."
Turning his back on him, Harry closed his eyes and tried to mentally pull himself together before opening his eyes, walking toward his friends and hopping on the train. The crowd started to go about their business as the shuffling of feet and the dragging of trunks and trolls could be heard. Draco stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, a painful aching in his chest. If it was anger or sadness, he could not tell. All he knew, at that moment, was that he never wanted what Harry had just shared with him. He never wanted to taste the spilt blood of the lives he took away. He never wanted to feel again the hateful stares of the people whose hatred he mistook for fear and respect. And more than anything, Draco wanted Harry to be safe. Why this sudden protective surge ran through him, he didn't know, nor did he care. But from this day forward, Harry would never again feel such darkness.
'You can close your eyes, Harry. It's all right.'
Draco Malfoy. Cunning, impassive, wealthy Draco Malfoy gathered his belongings and boarded the 11 o'clock scarlet steam engine at ten of and found a compartment free of his excited classmates.
Silently, he changed into his robes, replaying his encounter with Harry over in his head.
'You are a coward.'
A sudden jolt of movement and a blast of a whistle meant the train had started on its journey.
That evening in the great hall, Draco didn't speak. He didn't say anything when his fellow Slytherins greeted the new first years, he didn't speak all throughout dinner, and he said nothing as he entered his common room and slipped into bed.
It wasn't until late that night when his sleeping housemates were stowed away in their own private space that he let the tears fall from his eyes. Until everything around him was just so, that he was certain he wouldn't be seen. Until the last drop of sunlight disappeared over the mountains crest.
Until there was nothing, but silence.
Not only was Harry a wizard, he was also special in other ways. Just as soon as Harry learned he was to go to Hogwarts, he learned his mum and dad were not killed in a car crash, but in fact, murdered. Murdered by the darkest most feared wizard in the world. Lord Voldemort. Nobody dared speak his name. It was Lord Voldemort, or he-who-must-not-be-named, who was the reason Harry Potter was gawked at and eyed everywhere he went. On his forehead, was a thin lightning shaped scar. It was this unique scar that made him infamous. After killing his parents, Lord Voldemort went to utter the killing curse to Harry, but an extraordinary thing occurred. Instead of killing Harry, it rendered Voldemort helpless and barely alive, while transferring some of his own powers over to Harry.
One of these gifts, as some called it, surfaced in Harry's second year during a dueling club at school. It turns out Harry was a Parselmouth. This meaning, that he could talk to snakes. Harry had two best friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron was a pureblood, while Hermione was a muggle. Muggle meaning, not of wizarding parents. All of them belonging in Gryffindor House There were four houses at Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Slytherin, being the least popular house, as it seemed to turn out the most dark witches and wizards. But with Harry, Ron and Hermione being in Gryffindor, they had nothing to worry about. The trio was known throughout the school to go looking for trouble. What few people did know, was that trouble usually followed them. Or, followed Harry. Nobody knew this except two people. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts and the greatest wizard in the world, and the same boy who has been there to witness most of Harry's glorious moments, and caused a majority of his downfalls. It was non other than Harry's worst enemy at Hogwarts; Draco Malfoy.
September 1st, 10:49am.
Draco Malfoy wasn't what you would call pretty. He wasn't what you would call attractive or pulchritudinous. You couldn't even call him suave or cooth. You couldn't call him any one of these things because Draco Malfoy, was all of these things. Sexy, rude and beautiful were some of his more annoying traits that made him a god at his school. As well as being in Slytherin, like his father before him, this gave Draco the respect and power that most people could only dream of.
Draco, who was the son of one of Voldemort's biggest supporters, stood at the entrance of platform nine and three quarters looking listless and bored. It was Draco's seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and he had already started counting down the sluggishly drawn-out days to graduation, starting yesterday. Everyone who attended Hogwarts knew how much the young wizard hated to go to school with so many 'mudbloods' and 'muggle lovers'. The head master of the school; being one of these. Draco despised Dumbledore. Many people knew this. It was what was expected of Draco Malfoy. This young man who is to be named 'heir of the Malfoy fortune'.
'Wealthy, impassive, cunning Draco Malfoy; heir to the Malfoy fortune.'
Only, Draco didn't want to be heir to the Malfoy fortune. He couldn't give a fig about wealth or society and his aristocratic appearance. What Draco wanted, was to be himself. He longed for the friendly touch of someone he could actually call a friend. For years now, he was allowed only to socialize with those whose parents worshipped the Dark Lord, and was never able to venture outside this tight knit circle. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to be apart of the Gryffindor's. To sit with the annoyingly likeable Harry Potter and overly irritable Granger and Weasley, and talk about something as simple as lunchmeat. But alas, Draco was in Slytherin and being friends with those sorts, was not acceptable. What mostly got to the remarkably suave Malfoy Junior was the only one person at Hogwarts he could never top. Whether in grades or in popularity, he could never out do the seemingly god-like boy that he was borne to loathe and lives to torment.
Harry Potter sat between platforms nine and ten waiting for the big clock at Central Station to read 11am. He could hardly wait to board the scarlet steam engine that would transport him back to his real home. The raven- haired boy took his last look around at the muggle world and slipped casually through the stone gate onto platform 9 ¾. The first thing he expected to see was either Ron or Hermione, welcoming him back from his summer holiday with a welcomed hug. What he didn't expect was to slam into the boy he least wanted to see from the place he called home.
In the middle of brooding, Draco felt a force slam him to the ground, knocking his personal belongings askew, his head coming in contact with the dirty stone floor with an awful thud. Looking up at the annoying weight, which was giving him a pained stitch in his side, his eyes blurred before focusing on the last person Draco expected to ever see on top of him.
"Potter, you really know how to make an entrance. Mind getting the fuck off of me now?"
"Like I actually enjoyed the physical contact, Malfoy."
Slowly, Harry slid off Malfoy and righted himself. He bent down to gather his belongings, which were scattered about the platform due to the collision. Draco, sitting up and eyeing Harry, did the same.
For a few awkward moments, their eyes flickered toward one another finally setting on the ground beside them.
'Why is he just standing there?' Malfoy thought, suddenly very interested in the dirt on his right shoe.
"So." Malfoy said loudly, trying to sound threatening. "You're not being followed by your usual magnanimous army or swarm of admirers. What's the matter, Potter? Losing your touch?"
"What's the matter, Malfoy? Mad because you haven't yet received your 'I love Harry Potter' novelty mug?"
Draco scowled even more at the irritating boy's retort; angry with himself for seeming as though he was jealous. Well, he wouldn't let himself be made a fool. He was a Malfoy, after all. Hater or all things good, lover of all things evil. Fuck Potter with his morals and his good posture.
"You hate it, don't you?" He finally asked, taking a step forward towards Harry.
".What? 'I love Harry Potter' novelty mugs?"
"No. That I'm the one person that you can't have and it kills you."
He risked another step closer to Harry, suddenly aware of how his eyes looked like a jaded deep green sea that could only be found in some paradisal world.
He was trapped. With nowhere to look but straight into the eyes of his nemesis. The boy-who-lived-to-loath the boy-who-lived. Now, currently enveloped in his unfocused and confused gaze.
"Malfoy." Harry spoke, just above a whisper.
His mouth was dry and his voice cracked a bit. He tried to rationalize the thoughts, whizzing at high speed through his foggy mind.
'Calm down, this is just Malfoy for Merlin's sake. He's just trying to throw you off balance. Just getting a rise out of you, that's all. Stop arguing with him and get the hell out of here. Go find Ron and Hermione and get on the train and don't look back. Stop trying to figure him out every time he treats you with an ounce of decency. He hates you, he hates muggles and his father is probably kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes at this very moment. And for the love of all things Gryffindor, stop gazing into his eyes.'
"Kills me?" Harry asked firmly, gaining some semblance of control. He unconsciously licked his lips and continued.
"Tell me, Malfoy. Do you know what blood tastes like?"
Draco wasn't sure he knew where this was going, but he shook his head in compliance for Harry to continue.
"Well, seeing as though you've probably hidden behind your dads iron fist since day one of his betrayal of the wizarding community, I highly doubt it so I'll just give you a brief description."
Harry closed the remaining distance between them. Nose to nose, he could feel the blondes breath speed up just a touch.
"Blood? Is sweet. Did you know that? Blood is sticky. Well, when it's starting to dry, that is. It's not so sticky when it's fresh and wet and on your skin, but it does become sticky. Like honey. Takes on the taste of it, becoming sweet. It's coppery. And metallic and dirty and pure and the only thing that separates us from death."
Draco's eyes widened just slightly, not sure if he liked this veiled side of the ebony-haired hero.
"You see, I know this because I've tasted it. Blood. Life. I've tasted both and I love it. With its euphoric piquancy, you might find yourself in a most unpleasant predicament. You feel sick because it's sadistic, but you feel alive because it's exquisite. You'd consider yourself a lucky bloke just to touch such a forbidden exotic fluid."
Again, Harry licked his lips. He looked down to the blondes sides to take notice of his tightly clenched fists, bringing his own hands to his sides to lightly feather his fingers against the pale skin of Draco's wrist. Harry kept his gaze down.
"But then. then, you look down at the body laying beside you. The blood on your lips was spilled from that body lying beside you. You look up at the creature that slain the person who's blood now resides on your lips of the body laying beside you. It's on your lips because after being killed, it's head came in contact with a jagged rock, splitting it open, spraying it's vital fluid upwards, splattering in a streak across your face.
Then you realize the body is a boy.
The body has a name.
The name is someone you knew. Held conversations with. Held competition with.
That body, that boy, the 'someone' you knew was the same someone you held over me as an 'I-told-you-so' because I've chosen the losing side." Harry's face contorted itself into a mask of furry that even he was surprised he possessed.
Draco tried to turn away from the pain Harry held in his eyes, but sharp talons embedded themselves in soft pale flesh. Grimacing, Draco brought a stubborn gaze to greet that of Harry's, whose eyes softened.
And then Harry smiled.
"Malfoy. I tell you this because I want you to be prepared."
"Prepared for what? Leave me go!"
Harry tightened his grip. Bruising, punishing.
"Prepared to taste the blood of all the victims the side you've chosen is going to kill."
People were now stopping to stare at the two boys, ready for the usual show the two boys gave when positioned the way they were. Draco's gaze shifted to the attentive crowd, but Harry took no notice. Nobody was close enough to hear.
"I may have picked the losing side, Malfoy. But you've picked the easy road to save your own hide. Because you don't care. Because you don't love. And because you don't feel. And as I said before, blood is sweet. Blood is warm, blood is wet, blood is real and blood is power. But how much power can you handle inside of you before your completely dead on the outside."
A sharp prickle worked its way into the corner of Draco's eyes. He desperately tried to gain control of himself; sniffing a little and moving his eyes around in attempt to dry them out before the embarrassing tears threatened to drip down his face. Succeeding, he returned his gave to Harry, who loosened his grip. He cleared his throat to gain composure and returned his hands to his own sides.
Spotting Ron and Hermione in the crowd, eyeing him suspiciously, he gave Malfoy one last up and down.
"The only thing that kills me, Malfoy is the fact that you think I could ever fear someone like you. I could close my eyes and turn my back on you, knowing full well that a knife resided in your grasp and I wouldn't even tremble. Because, Malfoy. You're a coward."
Turning his back on him, Harry closed his eyes and tried to mentally pull himself together before opening his eyes, walking toward his friends and hopping on the train. The crowd started to go about their business as the shuffling of feet and the dragging of trunks and trolls could be heard. Draco stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, a painful aching in his chest. If it was anger or sadness, he could not tell. All he knew, at that moment, was that he never wanted what Harry had just shared with him. He never wanted to taste the spilt blood of the lives he took away. He never wanted to feel again the hateful stares of the people whose hatred he mistook for fear and respect. And more than anything, Draco wanted Harry to be safe. Why this sudden protective surge ran through him, he didn't know, nor did he care. But from this day forward, Harry would never again feel such darkness.
'You can close your eyes, Harry. It's all right.'
Draco Malfoy. Cunning, impassive, wealthy Draco Malfoy gathered his belongings and boarded the 11 o'clock scarlet steam engine at ten of and found a compartment free of his excited classmates.
Silently, he changed into his robes, replaying his encounter with Harry over in his head.
'You are a coward.'
A sudden jolt of movement and a blast of a whistle meant the train had started on its journey.
That evening in the great hall, Draco didn't speak. He didn't say anything when his fellow Slytherins greeted the new first years, he didn't speak all throughout dinner, and he said nothing as he entered his common room and slipped into bed.
It wasn't until late that night when his sleeping housemates were stowed away in their own private space that he let the tears fall from his eyes. Until everything around him was just so, that he was certain he wouldn't be seen. Until the last drop of sunlight disappeared over the mountains crest.
Until there was nothing, but silence.