Prologue: Letters

(Heero POV)

"Hee-chan, save me!" shrieked Duo Maxwell, as he burst into the previously quiet living room of the Gundam pilots' current safe house. Duo leapt into the Perfect Soldier's lap, and squealed as Chang Wufei stumbled in looking angry and flustered.

"Maxwell," he yelled, slanted onyx eyes flashing as they darted left and right, trying to pinpoint his elusive prey. Finally his eyes rested on the quivering mass in Heero's lap, with it's arms wrapped around the Asian teen's neck. It's face was buried in Heero's shirt. "Yuy! Move aside!"

Heero stared at Wufei dispassionately, his Prussian blue eyes flashing as he contemplated the situation. Suddenly, his look intensified. "What did Maxwell do?"

"He stole my-my...uh, he took an article of my clothing and hung it on top of the flag pole in the academy courtyard!" Wufei snapped, flushing red.

Heero just looked at the Chinese boy coldly. "That is no reason to be blushing and chasing the baka like that. What was so special about this clothing?" he asked. Wufei flushed harder.

"That's not the whole truth, Hee-chan!" Duo cried, lifting his head and grinning evilly at the flustered Wufei. "Wu-man here had his laundry scattered everywhere, so I went through it - don't ask - and guess what I found?! Come on, guess!" Before the startled Heero could respond, Duo answered his own question. A grin encompassed his entire face. "A thong!" he squealed, giggling in obvious mirth. "And I thought all this time he had a stick up his ass!"

"Maxwell!" Wufei raged, lunging at the braided teen. Duo squealed and jumped from Heero's lap, dashing for the open door. Wufei scrambled after.

Once the room was empty, Heero allowed himself a small smile. Duo's antics always brought out things he wouldn't normally have done, like indulge him in the word game earlier. He knew that the question didn't really require answer, and even though Heero hadn't, one adorable pout from Duo and he was ready to talk. Heero couldn't refuse the hyper teen anything.

The truth was, he was slowly falling in love with the braided idiot. After a year of being his partner and sharing a room wherever they went, Duo had begun to grow on him. If it wasn't love, Heero must like the American a lot, at least.

The door bursting open again cut off Heero's thoughts. Wufei stood there, panting. A piece of torn cloth, which Heero recognized as a piece of Duo's red shirt, was clutched in the Chinese teen's hand. "Yuy," Wufei said.

"Chang," Heero responded, watching Wufei impassively. Then, Heero smirked. "A thong?"

Wufei flushed again, but quickly regained his composure. "You're weakening, Yuy. Maxwell is changing you. The real Perfect Soldier would never joke, even dryly," he said. It was his turn to smirk. "I can't say this isn't welcome, though." Heero just 'hn'ed' and continued watching the Chinaman. Wufei's smirk faded and he once again looked serious. "You have never before indulged in such worthless games."

"The war is almost over, Chang. I believe it is time for me to live a bit," Heero said. "I know I am weakening, but I am still a soldier, and will remain so until I am no longer needed."

"War is an endless waltz, Yuy. Even Marimeia Khushrenada knew that. Don't let it force you to dance forever," Wufei said. "I understand what you seek, for I seek it also. See you at dinner, Yuy."

"Chang," Heero said, nodding at his comrade-in-arms. Wufei bowed, then disappeared into the kitchen, where Heero could hear Quatre cooking and singing a song he had written called Just Communication. (A/N: Hehe...)

"You love him, don't you?" said a calm, quiet voice from behind Heero. The Perfect Soldier sighed. He had only detected the European teen after Wufei left. He was getting soft.

"Chang?" he asked, knowing full well who Trowa spoke of.

"You know of whom I speak," Trowa said. The tall teen moved into Heero's line of sight, revealing auburn locks of hair and cryptic emerald eyes. "Do you?"

"I...don't know," Heero answered hesitantly but truthfully. "I don't have enough heart to tell."

"Any amount is enough," Trowa answered. Heero nodded. The uni-banged boy was right. Take Trowa and Quatre for example. Trowa had only enough heart to love his adoptive sister, Catherine Bloom. Quatre had no heart, after Sultan Winner and First Princess Iria died. The war hadn't helped much either, except to let them meet. Both had fallen in love with the other, despite prejudices over same sex relationships, and the war surrounding them. Now, with the war almost over, you could see how content they were.

"You love him, don't you?" Heero mimicked, a small smile quirking his lips. He already knew the answer, but needed solid proof that the love existed. Besides, Trowa needed reassurance every now and then of the reasons why he went through such heartache for Quatre.

"Of course," Trowa answered with a small smile of his own. "How else would I endure his horrific cooking?" The two normally stoic pilots grinned and allowed the unorthodox moment to go on for some time.

"Dinner!" came Quatre's angelic voice. The two pilots nodded to each other as if heading to the gallows. Heero gave Trowa a 'Ready?' look, and Trowa answered with a gulp, and an 'Always.' Smirks firmly planted on their faces, they headed for the kitchen.

***

(Harry POV)

Harry Potter groaned as the morning sunlight hit him directly in the eyes. His body automatically knew what to do. Roll over, stand, shower, and dress, head downstairs. When he reached the landing, he hurried into the kitchen and began frying eggs. The significance of the summer day hardly registered.

"HARRY POTTER! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH!?" came Vernon Dursley's greeting from upstairs. Harry cringed as he realized he'd forgotten to wait long enough for his uncle to bellow at him before breakfast. Vernon claimed it relieved tension. (A/N: Really? Then what's Petunia for? ^_~)

"I'm cooking breakfast, sir!" he called, turning back to his half-cooked eggs. Going into the pantry and grabbing some bread, then the fridge for butter (which they made him churn by hand), Harry set about toasting it. Alternating his attention between the eggs, toast, and later bacon, Harry finished breakfast.

He quickly set the table and served up the food before Vernon, Petunia and Dudley came down. That way he could slip himself a larger portion and eat it without them knowing. Unfortunately, a familiar cane rounded the corner before a big, lumbering body, right when Harry was slipping the leftovers on his plate.

Dudley and Harry froze, and then Harry closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He wasn't disappointed.

"Mum! Harry's eating all the fo~od!" Dudley yelled, drawing the attention of the other two Dursleys. Loud footsteps echoed upstairs, then a half- dressed Vernon and Petunia in curlers appeared at the top of the stairs.

"WHAT?!" Vernon bellowed, just as Petunia squealed, "Dinky Diddydums!" Did the mean freak hurt you, angel?" The pair hurried downstairs, one to deal with each child.

"Boy, I told you about eating more than your share! Now give that to Dudley and go to your room. I'll call you when its time to get on that train to that place," Vernon said.

Suddenly, while Petunia cooed over her 'Dudders' and Vernon bellowed so loud the rafters shook, it hit him. Today...today he went back to Hogwarts! After only a month of being away, he was going back! Completely forgetting any lingering thoughts of breakfast, Harry dashed into the kitchen, put down the pots he held, and then scrambled up the stairs.

Happiness radiated off of him in waves so strong some might've sworn they rippled the curtains. Harry bounced to his trunk to continue the packing he had started the night before. Haphazardly throwing in his remaining school robes and old school books, Harry closed and manually locked his trunk. He'd lock it better later.

Harry looked at his small worn table clock. The malfunctioning red lights read 8:45am. Just over two hours until he was once again in his beloved wizarding world.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Hedwig. The snowy owl flew in and landed on Harry's bed. She looked as though she'd been harassed, her feathers ruffled every which way. She was so irritated that she didn't even bother to nip Harry affectionately, something she hadn't failed to do since first year, five years ago.

Harry finally noticed the letter attached to Hedwig's leg. Pulling it off, he patted her on the head and left her to reach her cage. He opened the letter to reveal dark green ink.

Good day, Harry I trust this reaches you in good health? I apologize for Hedwig's exhaustion. I'm afraid I worked her a bit too hard these past few days, and she only has enough strength for you to reply to this missive.

Anyway, the reason I am contacting you is to inform you of a change in transportation to Hogwarts' summer program. To my extreme chagrin, the Hogwarts Express has broken down...

What? Harry thought. How could a magic run train break down?

I know what you are thinking. 'How could a magic-run train break down?' Well, magic isn't impervious nor invincible, and the Hogwarts Express is indeed broken down. Luckily, an alternative has been found, and I'm sure you'll like it. You, and a few others without alternate transportation (ie: flying Ford Anglia's), will meet behind King's Cross Station with your brooms and fly to Hogwarts.

Harry almost dropped the letter. Fly to Hogwarts?! Impossible under the circumstances.

It's very possible, Harry. I've pulled some strings and the way should be clear for you. One of the students will have a map of the Scottish/English country side. Though you've already flown that route, I believe the map will still be needed. If following the map is too hard, go through platform 9 3/4 and follow the train tracks. I cannot properly prepare you through correspondence, but just be ready for anything. I understand you are 16 now. Happy Birthday. You will receive your gift upon arrival to Hogwarts. I trust you have acquired a good head on your shoulders. Do not allow it to fall off.

I'm terribly sorry, but I must cut this letter short. I'm sure you have to get to King's Cross Station soon. The wizarding world awaits you.

Albus Dumbledore
A.D.

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry folded the letter, a thoughtful expression on his handsome, matured face. After about a minute of serious contemplation - in which a fish swam before Harry's eyes - he shrugged and slipped the letter into the pocket of his baggy blue hand-me-downs. He was sure Hermione could interpret it at school.

Checking the clock again, Harry saw that it was now 9:30am. Enough time to shine his broom once before he left. Going back to his trunk and unlocking it, Harry pulled out his trusty Firebolt, his favorite broom even now, three years after it came out. He knew there were faster brooms, like the Skyrocket 500, which was five times the speed of the original Firebolt. But Harry had slowly, but steadily, modified his beloved broom - with help from the Weasley twins - until it could give the Skyrocket 500 a run for the galleons it cost to buy it. Harry was fairly sure Draco Malfoy had one.

With that seemingly stray thought, Harry's mind immediately latched onto a favorite pastime, contemplating the philosophy of a Malfoy. What was a Malfoy? A cold, unfeeling entity raised to cause suffering to those around, like Lucius? An evil being destined to serve the darkest, vilest power around, like Sirius' brother? THE darkest, evilest power around? Or Harry's own definition, a misunderstood wizard/witch born into money, forced to present an image of circumstances out of their control. Harry shook his head to clear it. Obviously the lack of breakfast had got to him. Malfoys? Nice? Both words in the same sentence were laughable.

"BOY!" came the familiar call. Sighing, Harry replaced his treasured Firebolt and relocked the trunk. Grabbing the handles, Harry dragged the trunk down the stairs and left it on the landing, then dashed back upstairs to collect Hedwig and the cage. Harry dashed back down again and resumed dragging his stuff to the car. Surprisingly, the car was quite spacious, as the Dursleys had bought Dudley a Volkswagen Beetle to celebrate receiving his permit. Vernon and Petunia didn't know that Piers Polkiss had forged it for Dudley.

"Ready, boy?" Vernon asked, slipping into the car and making it dip to the side. Harry almost nodded, when he remembered Dumbledore's letter. Grabbing parchment and quill from a side compartment on his trunk, Harry quickly scrawled an affirmative. He let Hedwig out of her cage and tied the letter to her leg, then released her into the late morning sky.

"Ready!" He said, sliding into the back seat, a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans clutched in his hand. Yesterday had been his birthday, July 31st, and Ron, as usual, had sent him candy. Hagrid sent him rock cakes, Hermione sent another broom servicing kit and a book called Quidditch Players and the Brooms That Made Them Famous: A Beginners Guide to Getting Your Own Talent and Learning Not to Mooch Off of Theirs. In it was an article about Harry Potter using the Wronski Feint in a Quidditch match 4th year. It kind of left Harry annoyed, but he still loved the book.

All the other Weasleys sent Harry new clothes, most of them the hottest fashions these days, and a lot of them black. Ginny sent chocolate, so it was obvious the youngest Weasley had renewed her adour for him. Harry was extremely uncomfortable with this, and wished fervently that Michael Corner hadn't dumped her last year for Cho 'Sniveling' Chang. Harry was happy for Cho. The stupid bint now had someone else to burst into tears in front of on dates and such. Harry was well rid of her.

Remus had sent Harry a letter saying his present was a surprise, and that Tonks, Moody and Kingsley would be at Hogwarts to help give it to him. Dumbledore, surprisingly, had sent Harry an illegal broom modifying spell so the Firebolt had almost unrivalled steering, and lastly Harry received an anonymous package. Harry didn't know who sent it but he loved it the most out of all his gifts. It was even better than the communication ball Mrs. Weasley had sent him.

The gift, wrapped in unmarked brown paper, had been small. Inside was a silver chain attached to a small, roaring dragon. The dragon was magically animated, and stretched every once in awhile. It had deep red ruby eyes that Harry feared were real, and when you stroked the silver scales, it purred loudly. It had gotten him in trouble more than once yesterday.

Harry stroked the dragon just then, making the loud rumble fill the previously silent car. "Boy, stop that or I'll melt that thing down for silver!" Vernon barked. "I don't give a sodden sock how much it cost!" Harry snorted. He'd told Vernon that the chain was from his godfather. He doubted the overgrown coward would do much.

Suddenly, Harry's eyes filled with tears at that thought. He hadn't told the Dursleys that Sirius was dead, but he was sure Petunia knew. Maybe that was why she tried to keep Vernon and Harry separated. Given the chance, Harry would have shouted in anger that Sirius was dead, and Vernon would have used it against him. If that had ever happened, Harry's summer would have been drowned in tears. Luckily, after only two weeks with the Dursleys, with many letters from his best friends, Remus, Tonks and Moody, Harry had went to stay at the Burrow. Percy was still a family outcast, and Harry still hadn't informed anyone about the prophecy, but never the less the summer had turned out to be great. Only two days ago had Harry returned to pack for the summer program in Hogwarts, sort of remedial classes.

A few minutes after the dragon purred, and Harry had pulled himself together with a sniff, they arrived at King's Cross Station and Vernon almost threw Harry out of the car, trunk and all. "And don't come back!" he barked.

Harry flicked him off. "See ya in 10 months, asswipe!" he called gleefully, before darting off, his trunk behind him. Skidding to a stumbling halt, Harry acquired a trolley and headed to the back of the building. He was met with a strange sight. Standing there were Blaise Zabini (male), Pansy Parkinson, Terry Boot, Susan Bones, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Lisa Turpin, some unknown blond with unnaturally long hair and...Draco Malfoy.

***

(Draco POV)

Gracefully sliding out of his limo, Draco Malfoy waited while his disguised house-elf, Ammy, removed his trunk. Discreetly conjuring a trolly, Ammy put the trunk on it and pushed it toward Draco.

"Have fun, Master Draco, sir," Ammy said. "Your mother hasn't any last words for you, Master Draco, sir. She is in an interview with Aurors, sir."

"Tell mother I hope it goes well," Draco said nonchalantly. Ammy looked surprised, then apprehensive. She might have come to the Manor after the 'Dobby Incident', but she knew enough to know that how Draco was acting wasn't Malfoyish behavior, especially with Lucius Malfoy now in Azkaban. It was a strong possibility he would escape, but for now Draco was safe to act himself.

It was to be expected though, since Draco had undergone a drastic change during the first half of the summer. Without the shadow of Lucius over him, his personality had bloomed, forming a completely different person. People at his early feast day party had gasped at the absence of his usual wizard- tailored tuxedo. He'd worn a black leather wife beater and tight, slightly flared leather pants. A studded black belt, spiked cuffs and a silver ball chain that completed the ensemble, along with black Dockers. People were especially shocked because the Malfoy heir's entire midriff was bared.

Draco's hair had black streaks in it and he had a nose ring and a lower lip ring. Both were detachable so he wouldn't get in trouble in class. That night he'd worn black contacts and outline his eyes in black kohl, making his blue-grey eyes deep and mysterious. To put it simply, Draco had looked good enough to eat. And surprisingly, his new image fit just as well as his old, and his mother couldn't really object. Unless of course she had a dream of seeing her son testify against her before the Wizengamot.

"Goodbye, Master Draco, sir," Ammy said, bowing. After Draco nodded back, Ammy disappeared with a pop and the Malfoy limo drove off. Shrugging, Draco rolled his trolley behind the station to the designated spot. There he saw Pansy, Susan Bones, Blaise, the Mudblood, the Weaselette, the Ravenclaw Slut, and Terry Boot. Not acknowledging any of them, he settled down to wait.

"Good day," said a smooth, slightly annoying voice. Draco and the others turned to see a handsome blond wearing a red jogging suit. The blond's hair was long and slightly wavy, reaching a bit past his slim waist. The boy had ice blue eyes that glittered slightly as the blond regarded the students.

"Who are you?" Draco asked coolly, immediately assuming the position of leader.

The newcomer smirked. "You must be Draco Malfoy. Purest blood this side of the United Kingdom, I hear," he said. The boy turned to Hermione. "And you're that dirty blooded girl, Granger, correct? Couldn't mistake that nest of hair anywhere."

Hermione looked as if an artery would burst, and Draco decided it really wasn't the time. He stepped in front of the enraged girl.

"Though I'm sure you had some small level of authority wherever you come from, that does not erase the fact that I am the authority right now. Aside from that," Draco said, smirking. "I am the only one allowed to call Granger a Mudblood. You'd do well to remember that."

The blond looked shocked and indignant. He drew himself up. "I," he said regally, "will be a Prince of an entire European country in my next life." His ice blue eyes twinkled with a proud light. That light flickered as Draco snorted.

"Who lied to you?" he asked a condescending tone to his voice. He smirked, as if to say, 'You? Royalty? Don't make me laugh!'

"A fortuneteller," the blond promptly answered, then flushed. "And she didn't lie."

"Was her name, by any chance, Sibyll Trelawney?" Hermione asked. She'd obviously forgiven the blond, filing him in her 'Not Worth It' cabinet.

"Yes," the blond said. "Fortuneteller Sibyll told me that I am destined for great things, and--"

"And she told Harry Potter, for the last five years, that he would die. Real accurate information," Ginny snapped. (A/N: I'm not counting the time she was so happy with Harry she said he'd live to a ripe old age.) "You're no more royal than my brother Ron."

"Low blow, Weaselette. You just called him a peasant," Draco said, allowing himself to chuckle softly.

"Malfoy!" Ginny shrieked.

"Potter's girlfriend," Draco taunted. Ginny turned bright red in embarrassment, then almost purple with anger. Before she could leap at Draco, Hermione, Susan and Pansy got in her way.

"He's not worth it, Ginny," Hermione soothed.

"Oh, please don't fight!" Susan Bones pleaded.

"Don't hurt my Draky-poo!" Pansy shrieked.

"All of you be quiet!" Draco snapped. "Sit down and shut up. Anything but the noise you're making now! What if some Muggles came to investigate the noise, hm? And they saw you all holding your brooms?"

All the young wizards and witches, even the blond, blushed. They looked ashamed. "Good," Draco said decisively. He pulled out his wand from one tight pocket and turned to his trunk. "Reducio," he muttered, watching as his large trunk became the size of a ring box. Slipping it into his pocket, he turned from the other teens and sat on the trolley.

The teenagers stared, then took Draco's cue and put away their brooms, then shrank their trunks and put them away. They all relaxed against each other or the station wall.

Suddenly, a dark-haired shape moved toward the shade of the rear of King's Cross Station. Several of the teens panicked, jumping up and muttering "Fuck," and "Muggles." The shadow moved closer, revealing messy black hair and emerald green eyes behind silver framed glasses. It was Harry Potter.

***Tsuzuku or TBC***