Disclaimer: Sh'yeah, not mine at all. I don't claim to own any of the characters, and as such...don't think I do. Kthnx.

Notes: Right, I'm not a huge writer. I'm more of a paragraph roleplayer...so if it seems like I'm taking turns with the characters that would be why. I'm going to try and ... not. Hopefully that will work.

I figure this takes place in about sixth year, as the base timeline. There will be occasions where we have a nice little 'flashback' to a few years before, but I'm sure you're all smart enough to figure out when that happens, right? ;D

You should all know now that there's something about Ron that bothers me, so I don't want to hear about 'you're so mean to Ron DD:'. Tough. It's my story. If you want to write a story about Ron and Hermione snogging, be my guest.

I generally suck at plotlines as far as making sure they're free of HOLES. So if you find something that doesn't make sense, feel free to mention it. Unless it's something anal retentive and along the lines of: THE SIXTH BOOK ISN'T WRITTEN YET HOW CAN YOU WRITE THIS!?

I will find you and pull out your entrails. That is the general point. Since it's not written yet, I can make my own bloody plotline. Makes things exciting indeed. And now...on to the story! Crappily written as it may or may not be.

I don't pretend to be the expert on these characters. I perceive them differently than anyone else might, since everyone has their own opinions about the characters. So don't spazz. Kthnx.

Prologue

Draco Malfoy was quite enjoying his private shower. It wasn't exactly private, persay. After all, it was still the male lavatory. However, it was also roughly 3A.M. on a weekday night. There weren't many people up around this time, so it wasn't likely the blonde was going to be interrupted unless someone had a freak insomnia spell. That was probably for the best, as the blonde wasn't exactly in paramount condition to deal with harassment from other houses. Hell, it was hard enough to keep himself standing upright.

These nights were the hardest; nights where he left for his father's suite early and returned late, only to have to perk himself up for classes. Oh, yes...and use that nifty little glamour charm he'd been taught at such a young age. Perfect for hiding unseemly bumps and bruises, oh yes! Not that it did anything for the pain. But then, the pain was the general point of most of his 'lessons'. The blonde felt that as long as the rest of the school was oblivious, things would work out. He had too much pride to admit to anyone his problems and the like, as it would only make him appear weak. Pale, thin lips pursed and Draco suppressed a shudder as he felt a thin trickle of blood down the back of his thigh. The liquid had traveled the long journey from the various wounds on his back and down the smooth curve of his thigh only to be swept away with the warm spray of the shower down the drain. With a light, breathy sigh, Draco leant back against the cool tile wall in an effort to remain conscious. Feeling that he was sufficiently clean, the lithe male stepped out from under the head and turned the facets off, grabbing his favorite black towel. Though they did offer towels in the bathrooms, the blonde found the aspect of explaining bloodstains to the house elves less than appealing. Delicate hands brushed golden strands back behind his ears before groping about for his wand, hoping that he'd remembered to retrieve it from whichever part of the hardwood it had flown to. To his relief, it still laid buried in his left robe pocket, nestled as safely as ever. A few flicks of his wrist and the wounds were dressed completely, covered in ugly white cotton and thick medical tape. His towel was wrapped about his waist and he went about gathering his things, looking forward to his few hours of sleep before morning classes. That was, of course, until he caught sight of a flash of dark hair. The fidgeting Slytherin froze in his spot, attempting to gather his things up into his arms as swiftly as possible.

This attempt proved futile, however. Draco found himself suddenly face to face with none other than the Boy who Lived, Harry Potter. A bit of a hiss was given under his breath, and the blonde's gaze flicked up to catch the slightly taller male's eyes.

"Up a bit late for a nancy boy, don't you think? Wouldn't want to disappoint your brownnosing mudblood friend. And after all...Neville doesn't provide near the quality entertainment that you lot do."

His words would probably have had more bite if they had not been coming from a shaking young blonde who looked as if he'd lost a fight with a lawnmower.

Harry blinked once, then again. Malfoy looked...well, he didn't look much like Malfoy at all. He was battered and bruised, and he was half-naked. Oh dear. The dark-haired boy flushed rather prettily, cheeks tinted a rosy colour for a moment or two, before he remembered that it was not at all polite to stare. His shoulder twitched just enough for it to be noticeable, his unsure features slipping down to meet Draco's.

"Uhh...bluhh." The boy rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat before continuing. "The thing...where you can't sleep well...insomnia!" He exclaimed, rather proud of himself for remembering something that Hermione told him. It also disproved her theory that everything she told Harry did indeed hop out of his head the moment it was taught to him.

"You look like hell, Malfoy."

The blonde simply heaved a heavy sigh, resting back against the tiles again. This was going to be a long, long night.