Harry Potter stood on the street corner, reading a small wrinkled piece of parchment. An address had been scribbled on it in a rush and was partially covered by a stain. "Blimey," croaked Harry into the night air, swearing under his breath, "I can't make out if that's a four or a seven." He squinted down at it as he stood under the street lamp. The deserted road held an eerie chill about it.
Harry had found the note in his pocket that same morning. He hadn't remembered what the address was for, or who had even written it down for him. There had been a party in the Gryffindor common room last night celebrating another Quidditch victory but Harry did not feel much like celebrating. He'd instead decided to throw back as many Butterbeers he could stomach to forget his problems. Ron and Hermione were all couple-y now, leaving no room for him. Cho would not cease to leave him alone (she'd follow him around bothering him between classes, trying to get him to ask her out again). And worst of all Draco Malfoy had not paid any attention to him. Infact it seemed to Harry that Draco'd forgotten he even existed. Harry had pretended in the previous years that Draco teasing him had annoyed him, he had even been (Harry hated to admit it to himself) mean to Draco. What everyone didn't know was that secretly on those few rare occasions they'd spit nasty comments at each other Harry had gotten a rather extreme case of the butterflies. But Draco had moved on from Harry now, bored with him, instead he turned his attention to the younger students and bullied them through the halls, always abusing his power of being a Prefect. How can he just throw me to the side like some…some…leftover? Harry tried to hold back the tears threatening to surface and decided to throw the idea from his mind for now. He had business to attend to. (Even if he didn't yet know what that was himself..)