Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon
By: Weasley Wonders
Rating: Pg-13 . . . for now. *evil grin* Will probably
be R later on.
Spoilers: All Books.
Key Words: Slashy Goodness. (Possible) violence, blood,
depression, angst, obsession, sap, sick humor, vampirism,
veela, elf, Leprechaun, magical creatures galore (to the
point where it gets plain ridiculous), OOC-ness (I'll try
my best not to let that happen though), and fluff!! If
that's not your cup of tea, then don't' read the fic.
Summary: Harry Potter is a normal teenage boy.
Riiiight, and Umbridge is Miss Universe 2004. New er . . .
discoveries are made. This should prove to be an
interesting 7th year. (Magical creatures galore: Vampire,
Veela, Elf, Leprechaun, etc.)
Disclaimer: How I *wish* I owned Harry and Draco
. . . *drools*. Alas, that privilege belongs to the
talented Queen of Potterverse, J.K. Rowling.
Pairings: Harry/Seamus. Aw what the hell: Harry/Everyone
in Hogwarts . . . heh, kidding . . . Mainly a
Blaise/Harry/Draco love triangle. Aw, a Harry sandwich.
*smirks* Very nice.
Timeframe: Its Harry and the gang's Seventh Year at
Hogwarts
Chapter 1: Death by Boredom
Sunlight peaked through the window of the smallest bedroom, on Number 4 Privet Drive. The sun had just barely risen, its rays just reaching over the rooftops in Surrey. It was quite peaceful, everyone cosy in their beds, comforters wrapped snugly around them. However, one pair of luminous green orbs were wide awake. In fact, that same pair of eyes had been staring at the *same* piece of parchment for the last two hours. Harry Potter blinked. He was becoming quite skilled in the art of staring. Sweat gleamed off of his lightly tanned forehead, causing his untidy hair to stick to his head, just barely covering his thin, lightening bolt shaped scar. With his pyjama sleeve, Harry wiped off his dampened brow, and slipped out of bed.
There was no use really; sleep would not come to him. And neither would the words for the particularly nasty Potions essay he was attempting to write. Then again, he did have *all* summer to finish it. Why the rush, eh? Harry sighed at the thought. It was his first week back from Hogwarts, and time was going by slower than watching grass grow. Honestly, why was it necessary for him to be here? There wasn't a point, really. But alas, Dumbledore's orders, and what he says, goes. Harry stretched, hearing a satisfying crack as he arched his back. A far away look appeared on his face, as memories, nightmares that became reality, washed over him.
Voldemort had been defeated in Harry's sixth year, leaving him with even more fame than before, and an abundance of nightmares. Harry had aspired to be all that he could be, but a murder had not been on his agenda. However, fate had different plans for him, and he was still quite resentful. During sixth year, he had been forced to undergo extra curricular lessons with Snape, McGonagall, Lupin, and Dumbledore himself. Snape was just *glowing* when he found out about this arrangement. It was Harry's hardest year for him yet, emotionally, psychically, and academically. Harry still hadn't gotten over the death of Cedric, let alone Sirius, and the pain and guilt that resided their, when he was forced into a battle of sorts with the Dark Lord. But, Harry did it, and with much effort, he learned several powerful spells, and old Magick, which helped in the demise of Lord Voldemort.
However, it was the sword of Godric Gryffindor that did the deed. The battle had been looking quite grave, Voldemort and his Death Eaters having the upper hand, when Harry heard it: The Phoenix Song. Harry had looked up to see Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, with red and gold plumage, soaring over head, once again carrying the tattered Hogwarts Sorting Hat. Harry remembered Voldemort being puzzled at that moment, for the *briefest* moment, before he let out a howl of cold, high pitched laughed laughter. Harry had caught the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, as he battled two Death Eaters, not far from where Harry and the Dark Lord were standing. Looking back, Harry knew Dumbledore was trying to keep an eye on him, watch out for him, and be ready to jump in for Harry if things went wrong. However, the old man had faith in his Golden Boy, as he believed that Harry could take on the Voldemort with little assistance.
"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender? A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" (CoS, J.K Rowling, Pg. 316) Voldemort had sneered, his eyes trained on Harry's.
Hearing Voldemort say that—those *exact* words, was like dumping a cold bucket of cold water on Harry's head. It was complete déjà vu of the Chamber of Secrets incident. He knew what to do now . . . maybe; just maybe, he had a chance at defeating Voldemort after all. Fawkes' song had echoed through out the battle field, sending uplifting messages and hope to the members of the Order and Aurors who were fighting so bravely. The bird swooped down, and dropped the Sorting Hat in Harry's outstretched hands. It then took off and circled the grounds, continuing its haunting mantra.
Harry had known he didn't have much time. He had quickly stuck his hand inside the hat, praying, hoping, it would be there. Seconds later, he pulled his arm out, a glistening ruby encrusted sword clutched in his hands. Before anyone knew what was happening, Harry had launched himself at Voldemort, hitting him dead on, piercing his heart, and killing him instantly. The Death Eaters were held at bay, so that no medical help or healing potions could be given to their Lord. Harry had to no one's surprise gone into a state of shock, and fainted dead away once he saw blood on his hands, and Voldemort's cold, dead eyes staring up at him. They had worried for his sanity after the ordeal, but Harry had proved over the years that he could handle rough times.
Although he was to have regular meetings with Professor Dumbledore to check to make sure everything was fine and dandy, as Harry had never had to deal with something of this magnitude before. As much as his friends attempted to help, they would never understand. He wouldn't push them away though, not after fifth year. Harry had concluded that after Sirius died, he needed those he loved the most with him, and vowed never to push anyone away out of anger or depression. He was always scared that he would end up alone; that everyone he cared about would leave . . . or . . . die. That was his biggest fear, and it, for a while, had been coming true. And it all came back to Voldemort, him and his good for nothing Death Eaters. All of it.
So, if Voldemort was dead, then why was nearly seventeen year old Harry Potter still residing at the Dursleys? Dumbledore had his reasons; one being that Harry was still in danger, due to the fact that there is a chance of Death Eater rebellions, seeking revenge for the Dark Lord. Harry had argued that all the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, sans Lucius Malfoy, who had escaped, and was living in hiding. Both his wife and son were questioned, and the Ministry believed that they truthfully have no idea where the Death Eater escaped to. Professor Dumbledore had informed Harry of all this, and added that since Lucius was gone, Draco would be running the estate, having all access to the Malfoy's accounts. Like Harry cared what Draco Malfoy was doing. He was a right git.
Then again, Harry had noticed the *slightest* change in Malfoy, near the end of sixth year. He hadn't paid *much* attention though, as he was training for the inevitable battle that occurred in June, just before summer break. Nevertheless, Malfoy hadn't bothered Harry as much, or slung insults towards the Gryffindor Trio as often. Mind, that didn't mean Malfoy, had not *stopped* his antics all together. Sure, he still tried every way he could imagine of getting Harry and his friends in trouble, but *something* seemed off. Harry still couldn't put his finger on it . . .
"Ah well, why bother wasting my time thinking of *that* sod." Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and lightly padded across the room to his bureau to gather some clothes. He pulled out a pair of jeans, and a slightly baggy black shirt. Luckily, the majority of his muggle clothes fit comfortably now. Mrs. Weasley had gotten highly agitated seeing Harry wear clothes that were at least eight sizes too big, which hung off his small frame, practically consuming him in their folds. So, she decided to modify them with a household shrinking spell. His heart gave a small tug and his stomach a giant lurch as he thought of the Weasleys'. They were the ultimate family in Harry's opinion. They brought him into their home, and loved him as if he were on of their own. But . . . he wasn't going to be seeing them until the *last bloody* day of summer holiday! The last day! He knew he really should be upset with Dumbledore about this, but he didn't have the heart, or strength to feel any more negative emotions than he currently harbored. Harry gathered the rest of his things, and moved quietly into the bathroom. Merlin forbid he wake precious Duddykins!
Arthur Weasley was to pick Harry up on August 31st, and later in the day Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would go to Diagon Alley, accompanied by Mrs. Weasley, and whatever member of the Weasley clan who wished to go. Harry was literally counting down the days. August 31st couldn't come soon enough. It would probably be the first time all summer he'd get a decent meal, and even some acknowledgement. The Dursley's had taken to down right ignoring him, the complete silent treatment. The last time any of them had said a word to Harry, was when Vernon had threatened him in the car on the way home from Platform 9 ¾. Harry remembered it fondly.
"You'll make breakfast every morning, you'll do the gardening, clean the house, and if I hear one *word*, one *syllable*, about *your* kind, and *your world*, you'll be out on the street before you can say 'Bob's your uncle!'"
Harry smirked. "But Bob's *not* my Uncle. You are. Not that I had a choice in the matter, that is," he retorted spitefully. Harry hated when his uncle badmouthed wizards.
Uncle Vernon's face had been an interesting shade of mauve. Harry had always wondered how his Uncle managed to get his face to look even uglier than it already was. If *you* had to see Vernon Dursley's mug, then you'd think it was the ugliest thing you'd ever laid eyes on. Apparently, Vernon liked to defy the odds. Harry always thought that it really must have been a talent that Vernon Dursley possessed to get his face to change colors so rapidly. No one could do that as well as Vernon. The only thing Harry thought his Uncle was better at was, yelling his bloody lungs out. Even that could be considered a close tie. Then again . . . Vernon's face was usually changing colors WHEN he was yelling, so . . .
Harry shook his head. What was the point to his rambling thoughts again? Oh, yes, to point out that he was once again the Dursley's slave and lap dog! Oh joy! He was just itching to de-thorn that rose bush! With no clippers! Even better! And he enthusiastically waited until breakfast, where he would have the joy and honor of making Dudley five pieces of toast, eight strips of bacon, and four eggs. Harry rolled his eyes, and quickly undressing, and slipped into the shower.
Turning on the shower, he allowed the hot beads of water to caress his aching body. Already one week into the *bleeding* summer, and he was already aching from the labor. But he really couldn't complain too much, he was strengthening his muscles in his biceps and abs, which had already formed during his Quidditch and War training. Harry had now turned into a tanned, lightly toned teenager. He still looked a bit skinny, and was still definitely too short for his age, due to the malnutrition and being stuck in a tiny cupboard for eleven years, courtesy of his lovely Muggle family. Plus, the assigned work gave him something to do, instead of just dwelling over his nightmares, and rotten past experiences, and longing for Hogwarts. After a good ten minutes of what Harry considered, heaven, he turned off the shower, quickly dried and dressed, and then made his way back into his room.
After looking at the clock on the nightstand table next to his bed, Harry realized he still had about an hour before his loving family got up. He usually started cooking a good half hour before the Dursley's emerged from their hibernation, so as to be able to get everything done and not be bothered. The Dursley's always believed in Harry doing his work as quick, quietly, and discreetly as possible. What a good little house elf he would make! Harry wondered if he should ask Dobby for an extra tea cozy . . . Merlin forbid the neighbors catch him gardening in *that*! His aunt would probably faint, Dudley would most likely stare like the baboon he is, and Vernon would definitely have a conniption fit. He smirked at the thought, and gave a low chuckle. What fun ideas he was able to come up with. . .
A light tapping on the window tore Harry from his musings. He quickly got up and opened the window for a tawny owl to soar in. He definitely didn't need his Uncle going on about all the noise (mainly soft hooting, ruffling of feathers, and quills scratching parchment), coming from his room. Harry hastily relieved the owl of its burden; a small envelope, baring his name in clover green, and allowed the worn bird to rest in Hedwig's cage. Hedwig gave a hoot of approval, liking the way the owl presented itself, unlike Ron's extremely hyper snitch-sized, owl named Pig. Harry had no idea how he knew what Hedwig was feeling, but he always did somehow, it just came naturally to him . . . In fact, he had always been a natural with animals, as if he had a connection with them. Well, except for maybe Aunt Marge's dogs, but those things were malicious! All they knew how to feel was hatred for him . . .
"Kind of like Malfoy." Harry said aloud absently, staring at the letter. Who could it be from? Ron and his family were visiting Charlie in Romania, as Mr. Weasley got a large raise, because he was so deeply involved with the Order and Voldemort's downfall. And Harry knew it wasn't from Hermione . . . She had told him she was visiting Viktor Krum, her *very* good friend. It definitely wasn't from Dumbledore, or Hogwarts, as it wasn't the right type of yellow parchment, or ink color. No, this ink was definitely clover green . . . Hogwarts letters were always acid green. Maybe Remus? Or Neville? Luna? Harry ran these thoughts through his head, all the while running his thumb over the envelope. Hedwig hooted agitatedly from her cage, and the other owl snapped its beak slightly, as if telling Harry to get a move on. He chuckled lightly, and ripped the envelope's seal. After pulling the letter out, which was written on thin parchment, he curiously began to read.
Dear Harry,
All right? How's everything going? Hopefully well, as I know last year was pretty tough on you. I know I'm writing you completely out of the blue, but I felt I had to. Sure, I may be a spontaneous person, but this whole letter is extremely out of character for me. I've needed to tell you something, since last year Harry. However, I did not have the courage, or the heart to approach you with it. It definitely was not the right time, with you training to fight You-Know-Who, I think you definitely had enough on your plate. So I held off, and braced myself for this. Well, here it goes . . . Please, please don't hate me. I know how desperate I sound, and which isn't normal for me, but it's because, right now I am.
Our friendship is extremely important to me, and, Merlin, I hope I'm not blowing it by telling you this. Harry, I fancy you. Maybe even love. . . I'm not sure, but I have incredibly strong feelings for you, feelings I can't shake, no matter how much I might have tried, knowing you'd never be interested in me, your friend. Your GUY friend. I know I've probably freaked you out to the point where your jaw is on the floor and your feel like you're going to be sick. I'll understand if you hate me Harry. I knew from the beginning that there was no chance for us and that you are completely and totally interested in girls, but I needed to tell you. It wouldn't feel right if I didn't. Um . . . I've said what I needed to, so I guess I'll see you at school.
Yours,
Lucky Charms
Harry blinked, once, twice . . . three times. *What*?
He gasped, "What?!" Harry stared at the paper as if it had morphed into a three headed dog, mouth slightly agape. Someone had to be pulling his leg, this couldn't be right. Could it? Who could have sent it? Why did they pick now to tell him? The questions raced through Harry's head in a swirled of confusion and curiosity, making it ache at the effort of thinking. Yes, he could absolutely feel a migraine coming on.
He fell back onto his bed; hand clutched tightly around the letter, and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. Harry read through the letter three more times, and concluded it had to be, positively *had* to be a joke, someone acting like a complete *arsehole* to get under his skin. If it wasn't . . . then the whole damn world had gone barmy! Someone . . . liked him? A friend of his, a *guy* friend at that. Wouldn't he have known if one of his friends was a bender? If they were . . . gay?
"No, probably not," Harry grumbled aloud, as he thought back to last year. He was so wrapped up in his training, Quidditch, and academics; he had virtually no time for anything, or anyone else. Last year had been hell, having little time to visit Hagrid, or even talk to Ron and Hermione. No, he with out a doubt would not have noticed if one of his friends was gay, or if anyone fancied him. Maybe . . . maybe this wasn't a sick joke, and the person was telling the truth? A light blush rose to his cheeks at the thought. Harry was not appalled at the fact that his friend fancied him, nor that it was a male friend of his. He was much too shocked, yet intrigued all the same to be. A part of Harry however, was leaping with excitement at the thought of a *boy* fancying him. Harry completely ignored that part of himself, and focused on figuring out who on Earth would send him a letter like this. He pulled out some parchment, and a quill, and began to make a list of all his male friends.
"Ron? No . . . I highly doubt that, he's as straight as a board. And that would be weird, beyond weird even. Scary. Um . . . Fred? George? No, I don't think so. I always thought Fred fancied Angelina, and I'm sure George was interested in Katie Bell. So they're out." Harry let out an audible sigh of relief at this. He was just too close to the Weasley's . . . That would feel so odd, so *wrong*.
Harry racked his brain, only coming up with a few more names. Sure, he was the Boy-Who-Lived-More-Times-Than-Humanly-Possible, but he didn't have that many friends. More of acquaintances, people who liked to clap him on the back adding an "All right there Harry," as they passed him in the halls. But none of them knew *him*, Harry Potter, or saw beyond the name. He liked to stick with Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and Neville. Those were his closest friends, as Ron and Mione had been through so much with Harry, and after fifth year, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were dragged into it as well.
Harry gasped. "Wait a minute . . . Neville?! No, no that can't be right. He told me he had a thing for Ginny. Even asked for tips on how to 'woo' a girl . . . Okay, so who's left? Ernie McMillan, though we're not that close, Justin Finch-Fletchy, but he's going out with Hannah Abbott the last I heard. Let's see . . . Dean? No, he's proved his love for women with his perverse jokes every damn day. Hmmmm . . . wait a minute. Lucky Charms? Harry's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, before a whispered name quietly escaped his lips.
"Seamus."
~*~Author's Notes
Okay, how awful is it? Any comments, constructive criticism, suggestions? Drop a review and let me know! And does anyone know the html. tags/codes for bold, italics, and underline? I'm dying here! I have to keep using these stupid *stars*.
This chapter was more of a Prologue, and served for background info on Harry's sixth year, and the 'War'. I know, I kind of rushed that, but I knew I wouldn't be able to write the War, or Voldemort well at all. The letter was . . . Eh. But I think it had the effect I was going for. This really wasn't the way I had planned on approached this fic, but in my opinion, it came out alright, and I'm going to leave it like this. *shrugs*
The next few chapters will (hopefully) include:
Harry's reaction
Draco Malfoy's summer
Seamus Finnegan
Blaise Zabini's 'changes'
You'll understand more about what I mean as we delve deeper into the story. I don't want to rush the Summer Holiday, but I don't want to spend *too* much time on it. That makes no sense. *shrugs* Once they're at Hogwarts is when the fic will really start to pic up. Thanks for reading (and reviewing)!
Mudbloods and Weasels,
~*~ The Slash Faerie ~*~
By: Weasley Wonders
Rating: Pg-13 . . . for now. *evil grin* Will probably
be R later on.
Spoilers: All Books.
Key Words: Slashy Goodness. (Possible) violence, blood,
depression, angst, obsession, sap, sick humor, vampirism,
veela, elf, Leprechaun, magical creatures galore (to the
point where it gets plain ridiculous), OOC-ness (I'll try
my best not to let that happen though), and fluff!! If
that's not your cup of tea, then don't' read the fic.
Summary: Harry Potter is a normal teenage boy.
Riiiight, and Umbridge is Miss Universe 2004. New er . . .
discoveries are made. This should prove to be an
interesting 7th year. (Magical creatures galore: Vampire,
Veela, Elf, Leprechaun, etc.)
Disclaimer: How I *wish* I owned Harry and Draco
. . . *drools*. Alas, that privilege belongs to the
talented Queen of Potterverse, J.K. Rowling.
Pairings: Harry/Seamus. Aw what the hell: Harry/Everyone
in Hogwarts . . . heh, kidding . . . Mainly a
Blaise/Harry/Draco love triangle. Aw, a Harry sandwich.
*smirks* Very nice.
Timeframe: Its Harry and the gang's Seventh Year at
Hogwarts
Chapter 1: Death by Boredom
Sunlight peaked through the window of the smallest bedroom, on Number 4 Privet Drive. The sun had just barely risen, its rays just reaching over the rooftops in Surrey. It was quite peaceful, everyone cosy in their beds, comforters wrapped snugly around them. However, one pair of luminous green orbs were wide awake. In fact, that same pair of eyes had been staring at the *same* piece of parchment for the last two hours. Harry Potter blinked. He was becoming quite skilled in the art of staring. Sweat gleamed off of his lightly tanned forehead, causing his untidy hair to stick to his head, just barely covering his thin, lightening bolt shaped scar. With his pyjama sleeve, Harry wiped off his dampened brow, and slipped out of bed.
There was no use really; sleep would not come to him. And neither would the words for the particularly nasty Potions essay he was attempting to write. Then again, he did have *all* summer to finish it. Why the rush, eh? Harry sighed at the thought. It was his first week back from Hogwarts, and time was going by slower than watching grass grow. Honestly, why was it necessary for him to be here? There wasn't a point, really. But alas, Dumbledore's orders, and what he says, goes. Harry stretched, hearing a satisfying crack as he arched his back. A far away look appeared on his face, as memories, nightmares that became reality, washed over him.
Voldemort had been defeated in Harry's sixth year, leaving him with even more fame than before, and an abundance of nightmares. Harry had aspired to be all that he could be, but a murder had not been on his agenda. However, fate had different plans for him, and he was still quite resentful. During sixth year, he had been forced to undergo extra curricular lessons with Snape, McGonagall, Lupin, and Dumbledore himself. Snape was just *glowing* when he found out about this arrangement. It was Harry's hardest year for him yet, emotionally, psychically, and academically. Harry still hadn't gotten over the death of Cedric, let alone Sirius, and the pain and guilt that resided their, when he was forced into a battle of sorts with the Dark Lord. But, Harry did it, and with much effort, he learned several powerful spells, and old Magick, which helped in the demise of Lord Voldemort.
However, it was the sword of Godric Gryffindor that did the deed. The battle had been looking quite grave, Voldemort and his Death Eaters having the upper hand, when Harry heard it: The Phoenix Song. Harry had looked up to see Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, with red and gold plumage, soaring over head, once again carrying the tattered Hogwarts Sorting Hat. Harry remembered Voldemort being puzzled at that moment, for the *briefest* moment, before he let out a howl of cold, high pitched laughed laughter. Harry had caught the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, as he battled two Death Eaters, not far from where Harry and the Dark Lord were standing. Looking back, Harry knew Dumbledore was trying to keep an eye on him, watch out for him, and be ready to jump in for Harry if things went wrong. However, the old man had faith in his Golden Boy, as he believed that Harry could take on the Voldemort with little assistance.
"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender? A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" (CoS, J.K Rowling, Pg. 316) Voldemort had sneered, his eyes trained on Harry's.
Hearing Voldemort say that—those *exact* words, was like dumping a cold bucket of cold water on Harry's head. It was complete déjà vu of the Chamber of Secrets incident. He knew what to do now . . . maybe; just maybe, he had a chance at defeating Voldemort after all. Fawkes' song had echoed through out the battle field, sending uplifting messages and hope to the members of the Order and Aurors who were fighting so bravely. The bird swooped down, and dropped the Sorting Hat in Harry's outstretched hands. It then took off and circled the grounds, continuing its haunting mantra.
Harry had known he didn't have much time. He had quickly stuck his hand inside the hat, praying, hoping, it would be there. Seconds later, he pulled his arm out, a glistening ruby encrusted sword clutched in his hands. Before anyone knew what was happening, Harry had launched himself at Voldemort, hitting him dead on, piercing his heart, and killing him instantly. The Death Eaters were held at bay, so that no medical help or healing potions could be given to their Lord. Harry had to no one's surprise gone into a state of shock, and fainted dead away once he saw blood on his hands, and Voldemort's cold, dead eyes staring up at him. They had worried for his sanity after the ordeal, but Harry had proved over the years that he could handle rough times.
Although he was to have regular meetings with Professor Dumbledore to check to make sure everything was fine and dandy, as Harry had never had to deal with something of this magnitude before. As much as his friends attempted to help, they would never understand. He wouldn't push them away though, not after fifth year. Harry had concluded that after Sirius died, he needed those he loved the most with him, and vowed never to push anyone away out of anger or depression. He was always scared that he would end up alone; that everyone he cared about would leave . . . or . . . die. That was his biggest fear, and it, for a while, had been coming true. And it all came back to Voldemort, him and his good for nothing Death Eaters. All of it.
So, if Voldemort was dead, then why was nearly seventeen year old Harry Potter still residing at the Dursleys? Dumbledore had his reasons; one being that Harry was still in danger, due to the fact that there is a chance of Death Eater rebellions, seeking revenge for the Dark Lord. Harry had argued that all the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, sans Lucius Malfoy, who had escaped, and was living in hiding. Both his wife and son were questioned, and the Ministry believed that they truthfully have no idea where the Death Eater escaped to. Professor Dumbledore had informed Harry of all this, and added that since Lucius was gone, Draco would be running the estate, having all access to the Malfoy's accounts. Like Harry cared what Draco Malfoy was doing. He was a right git.
Then again, Harry had noticed the *slightest* change in Malfoy, near the end of sixth year. He hadn't paid *much* attention though, as he was training for the inevitable battle that occurred in June, just before summer break. Nevertheless, Malfoy hadn't bothered Harry as much, or slung insults towards the Gryffindor Trio as often. Mind, that didn't mean Malfoy, had not *stopped* his antics all together. Sure, he still tried every way he could imagine of getting Harry and his friends in trouble, but *something* seemed off. Harry still couldn't put his finger on it . . .
"Ah well, why bother wasting my time thinking of *that* sod." Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and lightly padded across the room to his bureau to gather some clothes. He pulled out a pair of jeans, and a slightly baggy black shirt. Luckily, the majority of his muggle clothes fit comfortably now. Mrs. Weasley had gotten highly agitated seeing Harry wear clothes that were at least eight sizes too big, which hung off his small frame, practically consuming him in their folds. So, she decided to modify them with a household shrinking spell. His heart gave a small tug and his stomach a giant lurch as he thought of the Weasleys'. They were the ultimate family in Harry's opinion. They brought him into their home, and loved him as if he were on of their own. But . . . he wasn't going to be seeing them until the *last bloody* day of summer holiday! The last day! He knew he really should be upset with Dumbledore about this, but he didn't have the heart, or strength to feel any more negative emotions than he currently harbored. Harry gathered the rest of his things, and moved quietly into the bathroom. Merlin forbid he wake precious Duddykins!
Arthur Weasley was to pick Harry up on August 31st, and later in the day Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would go to Diagon Alley, accompanied by Mrs. Weasley, and whatever member of the Weasley clan who wished to go. Harry was literally counting down the days. August 31st couldn't come soon enough. It would probably be the first time all summer he'd get a decent meal, and even some acknowledgement. The Dursley's had taken to down right ignoring him, the complete silent treatment. The last time any of them had said a word to Harry, was when Vernon had threatened him in the car on the way home from Platform 9 ¾. Harry remembered it fondly.
"You'll make breakfast every morning, you'll do the gardening, clean the house, and if I hear one *word*, one *syllable*, about *your* kind, and *your world*, you'll be out on the street before you can say 'Bob's your uncle!'"
Harry smirked. "But Bob's *not* my Uncle. You are. Not that I had a choice in the matter, that is," he retorted spitefully. Harry hated when his uncle badmouthed wizards.
Uncle Vernon's face had been an interesting shade of mauve. Harry had always wondered how his Uncle managed to get his face to look even uglier than it already was. If *you* had to see Vernon Dursley's mug, then you'd think it was the ugliest thing you'd ever laid eyes on. Apparently, Vernon liked to defy the odds. Harry always thought that it really must have been a talent that Vernon Dursley possessed to get his face to change colors so rapidly. No one could do that as well as Vernon. The only thing Harry thought his Uncle was better at was, yelling his bloody lungs out. Even that could be considered a close tie. Then again . . . Vernon's face was usually changing colors WHEN he was yelling, so . . .
Harry shook his head. What was the point to his rambling thoughts again? Oh, yes, to point out that he was once again the Dursley's slave and lap dog! Oh joy! He was just itching to de-thorn that rose bush! With no clippers! Even better! And he enthusiastically waited until breakfast, where he would have the joy and honor of making Dudley five pieces of toast, eight strips of bacon, and four eggs. Harry rolled his eyes, and quickly undressing, and slipped into the shower.
Turning on the shower, he allowed the hot beads of water to caress his aching body. Already one week into the *bleeding* summer, and he was already aching from the labor. But he really couldn't complain too much, he was strengthening his muscles in his biceps and abs, which had already formed during his Quidditch and War training. Harry had now turned into a tanned, lightly toned teenager. He still looked a bit skinny, and was still definitely too short for his age, due to the malnutrition and being stuck in a tiny cupboard for eleven years, courtesy of his lovely Muggle family. Plus, the assigned work gave him something to do, instead of just dwelling over his nightmares, and rotten past experiences, and longing for Hogwarts. After a good ten minutes of what Harry considered, heaven, he turned off the shower, quickly dried and dressed, and then made his way back into his room.
After looking at the clock on the nightstand table next to his bed, Harry realized he still had about an hour before his loving family got up. He usually started cooking a good half hour before the Dursley's emerged from their hibernation, so as to be able to get everything done and not be bothered. The Dursley's always believed in Harry doing his work as quick, quietly, and discreetly as possible. What a good little house elf he would make! Harry wondered if he should ask Dobby for an extra tea cozy . . . Merlin forbid the neighbors catch him gardening in *that*! His aunt would probably faint, Dudley would most likely stare like the baboon he is, and Vernon would definitely have a conniption fit. He smirked at the thought, and gave a low chuckle. What fun ideas he was able to come up with. . .
A light tapping on the window tore Harry from his musings. He quickly got up and opened the window for a tawny owl to soar in. He definitely didn't need his Uncle going on about all the noise (mainly soft hooting, ruffling of feathers, and quills scratching parchment), coming from his room. Harry hastily relieved the owl of its burden; a small envelope, baring his name in clover green, and allowed the worn bird to rest in Hedwig's cage. Hedwig gave a hoot of approval, liking the way the owl presented itself, unlike Ron's extremely hyper snitch-sized, owl named Pig. Harry had no idea how he knew what Hedwig was feeling, but he always did somehow, it just came naturally to him . . . In fact, he had always been a natural with animals, as if he had a connection with them. Well, except for maybe Aunt Marge's dogs, but those things were malicious! All they knew how to feel was hatred for him . . .
"Kind of like Malfoy." Harry said aloud absently, staring at the letter. Who could it be from? Ron and his family were visiting Charlie in Romania, as Mr. Weasley got a large raise, because he was so deeply involved with the Order and Voldemort's downfall. And Harry knew it wasn't from Hermione . . . She had told him she was visiting Viktor Krum, her *very* good friend. It definitely wasn't from Dumbledore, or Hogwarts, as it wasn't the right type of yellow parchment, or ink color. No, this ink was definitely clover green . . . Hogwarts letters were always acid green. Maybe Remus? Or Neville? Luna? Harry ran these thoughts through his head, all the while running his thumb over the envelope. Hedwig hooted agitatedly from her cage, and the other owl snapped its beak slightly, as if telling Harry to get a move on. He chuckled lightly, and ripped the envelope's seal. After pulling the letter out, which was written on thin parchment, he curiously began to read.
Dear Harry,
All right? How's everything going? Hopefully well, as I know last year was pretty tough on you. I know I'm writing you completely out of the blue, but I felt I had to. Sure, I may be a spontaneous person, but this whole letter is extremely out of character for me. I've needed to tell you something, since last year Harry. However, I did not have the courage, or the heart to approach you with it. It definitely was not the right time, with you training to fight You-Know-Who, I think you definitely had enough on your plate. So I held off, and braced myself for this. Well, here it goes . . . Please, please don't hate me. I know how desperate I sound, and which isn't normal for me, but it's because, right now I am.
Our friendship is extremely important to me, and, Merlin, I hope I'm not blowing it by telling you this. Harry, I fancy you. Maybe even love. . . I'm not sure, but I have incredibly strong feelings for you, feelings I can't shake, no matter how much I might have tried, knowing you'd never be interested in me, your friend. Your GUY friend. I know I've probably freaked you out to the point where your jaw is on the floor and your feel like you're going to be sick. I'll understand if you hate me Harry. I knew from the beginning that there was no chance for us and that you are completely and totally interested in girls, but I needed to tell you. It wouldn't feel right if I didn't. Um . . . I've said what I needed to, so I guess I'll see you at school.
Yours,
Lucky Charms
Harry blinked, once, twice . . . three times. *What*?
He gasped, "What?!" Harry stared at the paper as if it had morphed into a three headed dog, mouth slightly agape. Someone had to be pulling his leg, this couldn't be right. Could it? Who could have sent it? Why did they pick now to tell him? The questions raced through Harry's head in a swirled of confusion and curiosity, making it ache at the effort of thinking. Yes, he could absolutely feel a migraine coming on.
He fell back onto his bed; hand clutched tightly around the letter, and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. Harry read through the letter three more times, and concluded it had to be, positively *had* to be a joke, someone acting like a complete *arsehole* to get under his skin. If it wasn't . . . then the whole damn world had gone barmy! Someone . . . liked him? A friend of his, a *guy* friend at that. Wouldn't he have known if one of his friends was a bender? If they were . . . gay?
"No, probably not," Harry grumbled aloud, as he thought back to last year. He was so wrapped up in his training, Quidditch, and academics; he had virtually no time for anything, or anyone else. Last year had been hell, having little time to visit Hagrid, or even talk to Ron and Hermione. No, he with out a doubt would not have noticed if one of his friends was gay, or if anyone fancied him. Maybe . . . maybe this wasn't a sick joke, and the person was telling the truth? A light blush rose to his cheeks at the thought. Harry was not appalled at the fact that his friend fancied him, nor that it was a male friend of his. He was much too shocked, yet intrigued all the same to be. A part of Harry however, was leaping with excitement at the thought of a *boy* fancying him. Harry completely ignored that part of himself, and focused on figuring out who on Earth would send him a letter like this. He pulled out some parchment, and a quill, and began to make a list of all his male friends.
"Ron? No . . . I highly doubt that, he's as straight as a board. And that would be weird, beyond weird even. Scary. Um . . . Fred? George? No, I don't think so. I always thought Fred fancied Angelina, and I'm sure George was interested in Katie Bell. So they're out." Harry let out an audible sigh of relief at this. He was just too close to the Weasley's . . . That would feel so odd, so *wrong*.
Harry racked his brain, only coming up with a few more names. Sure, he was the Boy-Who-Lived-More-Times-Than-Humanly-Possible, but he didn't have that many friends. More of acquaintances, people who liked to clap him on the back adding an "All right there Harry," as they passed him in the halls. But none of them knew *him*, Harry Potter, or saw beyond the name. He liked to stick with Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and Neville. Those were his closest friends, as Ron and Mione had been through so much with Harry, and after fifth year, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were dragged into it as well.
Harry gasped. "Wait a minute . . . Neville?! No, no that can't be right. He told me he had a thing for Ginny. Even asked for tips on how to 'woo' a girl . . . Okay, so who's left? Ernie McMillan, though we're not that close, Justin Finch-Fletchy, but he's going out with Hannah Abbott the last I heard. Let's see . . . Dean? No, he's proved his love for women with his perverse jokes every damn day. Hmmmm . . . wait a minute. Lucky Charms? Harry's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, before a whispered name quietly escaped his lips.
"Seamus."
~*~Author's Notes
Okay, how awful is it? Any comments, constructive criticism, suggestions? Drop a review and let me know! And does anyone know the html. tags/codes for bold, italics, and underline? I'm dying here! I have to keep using these stupid *stars*.
This chapter was more of a Prologue, and served for background info on Harry's sixth year, and the 'War'. I know, I kind of rushed that, but I knew I wouldn't be able to write the War, or Voldemort well at all. The letter was . . . Eh. But I think it had the effect I was going for. This really wasn't the way I had planned on approached this fic, but in my opinion, it came out alright, and I'm going to leave it like this. *shrugs*
The next few chapters will (hopefully) include:
Harry's reaction
Draco Malfoy's summer
Seamus Finnegan
Blaise Zabini's 'changes'
You'll understand more about what I mean as we delve deeper into the story. I don't want to rush the Summer Holiday, but I don't want to spend *too* much time on it. That makes no sense. *shrugs* Once they're at Hogwarts is when the fic will really start to pic up. Thanks for reading (and reviewing)!
Mudbloods and Weasels,
~*~ The Slash Faerie ~*~