Harry was curled up in Griffindor Tower. He was leant against the misted pane of the window, gazing at the moon pensively, with his bangs falling in front of his eyes. Crystal light cut across his face like the tacky lighting of a movie set... huh, Harry hadn't seen a movie in a long time, and could scarcely recall sneaking peeks of The Goonies whilst he vacuumed. It had been a long time since he'd considered muggle terminology, but, he was muggle raised, so perhaps it wasn't too rare for that brand of thought to flit across his psyche every so often.

Anyway, he was brooding because of the Triwizard Tournament. It was a sucky situation – to have to compete in something he certainly had not entered. Harry just couldn't understand it, why would someone put his name in? And why did no one seem to believe him?

Dumbledore for sure... his character is so suspicious... think of the seventh book, you know, the bit about the lies and blah blah of Albus Dumbledore...

Harry stiffened completely, going as still as stone. He desperately wished that if he didn't think about it, it would just go away and disappear. The voice faded into nothing and Harry felt his breath release very slowly... this was, well, just like parstletongue in Second Year; it wasn't anything to be concerned about, he wasn't hearing voices, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Hermion's voice in his head soothed, and he leaned back against the wall. Everything was going to-

I really wish Harry and Hermione could have gotten together, don't people know how cute that would be? My inner fangirl just squeals at the thought...

First: GROSSE! Hermione was like a sister to him, the thought of dating her was... ugh, the foul language Harry wished to expel would surely guarantee him a one way ticket to expulsion. Dumbledore may have set his drapes on fire, but he would not allow swears that were not related to Merlin's unmentionables. It was a school after all.

And, second: what the fuck was going on?

(Mental Dumbledore grumbled to himself and politely exited the room. Frustrated screaming shortly ensued)

Harry struggled not to hyperventilate, his chest rising a falling like mad. He felt like he was at the precipice, at the top of a very tall mountain, the air was thinning, he was suffocating, and he would soon fall to his demise. Voices. He was hearing voices. He... This was mad, this was unsettling, un... un... unsomething. Unmentionable! Unmeasurable... Hermione would surely have a word that could properly articulate the cataclysmic nature of these events. He was... he was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter certainly did not hear voices, only, only freaks heard voices, and this wasn't a vision, because his scar wasn't hurting and-

wait a second, visions aren't until Sixth Year.

-o-

Harry ducked down, a fretful blush threatening his face as Voice (as he had so imaginatively named it) began to detail very, um, explicit and uncomfortable acts that he, Harry, would participate in with, um, his friends. First, it had been Hermione, discussions about her lush brown locks, swells of breasts (oh Merlin she would murder him for thinking like that), curves and delightful beauty. And, it wasn't that Hermione was ugly, (no no don't murder me Hermione) it just seemed, rather... it didn't seem to be about the intelligent, capable Hermione he knew... who was, well, she could be childish at times. She wasn't a goddess. And Harry wouldn't even consider, l-licking, um, any parts of her! No sir, that was strictly forbidden.

So, it had been worse enough with just-

And wouldn't she look so gorgeous splayed out across your bed? The flush of her cheeks? Her hair out, and back, on your pillow? C'mon Harry, just give it ago...

-Hermione, but then the voice started to discuss, his, erm, well dorm mates. It began with a, well, not an innocent, comment over Dean and Seamus' apparent hidden romance – which seemed slightly unbelievable because Harry saw them everyday and there were no hidden signs, but then Voice would snark that Harry was oblivious, which was unfair, because Harry had discovered heaps of information over the years, not just Hermione, and- and then escalated to disquieting hopes of a full scale orgy! Apparently Ron, Harry's pseudo-brother, would make an excelled Dom (whatever that was? Harry was a little scared to understand, if he was being quite honest), and Dean and Seamus could "take care of" Harry while Ron was making out with Hermione?

It wasn't that Harry didn't think Ron and Hermione might be nice together... he had a gut feeling that something could be there, maybe, possibly? But, honestly, they were only fourteen, and Harry didn't really... erm, do anything by himself often, just, when, erm, the time called for it, erm. And Merlin's saggy ballsack he was learning more than he ever wanted to about gay sex! A prostrate? Geez, it was a bit much.

Harry almost didn't want to think about what had occurred when he had mingled out with the general school population. People he didn't even know were apparently perfect for him and his, apparently very suppressed?, sexual desires. He tried to stay alone, and students avoided him well enough of their own devices, he was an unwanted Fourth Champion for a tournament that only desired three, but a certain degree of interaction was required. He had class after all, and Hermione would never forgive him, and would probably murder him again (he knew she would somehow discover his, erm, ungentlemanly thoughts on her, and would proceed to mangle his corpse more post-mortem her passion is just an example of her love for you... she just wants to get you away from Ron and with her, so she can undress you and-).

But, it was all getting so overwhelming. He was learning things about his peers he had never known, facts and names that came along with the musings of Voice, but also being mentally violated!

Mentally violated... it reminds me of Snape... with his dark brooding eyes, long lanky limbs, he could just tear you apart Harry. Darling, he loved your mother you know, and you have her eyes...

Harry thought he was going to positively vomit.

SNAPE!?

No more words were needed to describe the utter heinous nature of the possibility of him... and... Merlin help him... Snape...

Voice was certainly a projection of his own insanity. He should have foreseen this break from sanity. It had been a long time coming, especially considering all the trials of life he had endured. No wonder he would crack... it was just not to the degree he had expected.

Crack? Crack...? Is this a crack?

Merlin.

-o-

Harry stalled his way down to the Dungeons; very desperate to not come across any "Hogwarts Characters" who would then cause a certain Voice-that-shall-not-be-named-although-by-using-Voice-in-the-epithet-he-kinda-already-did to spring up and vomit out some brilliant ideas.

His eyes were so deeply entrenched in the ground, half focused on remembering the steps, half focused on not tripping on stray water puddles, and half focused on recalling elementary school math concepts, that he did not see the person he bumped into until it was too late. Harry fell, face first, into the last person he wanted to see in that moment.

"Oh, sorry there, I ought to... oh fuck..."

Draco Malfoy.

The blonde ponce righted himself. He lifted his nose like the snob he was and looked down with beady eyes, hands meticulously fixing his slimy Slytherin tie and flattening out his robes. He stared at Harry as if he were a bug that would look mighty fine under the hard heel of his shoe, and felt no hesitation about saying so,

"Potter, it's no surprise to me that you would fall, quite literally, onto me in a brilliant display of Griffindor stupidity."

Harry evaded Malfoy's eyes and frantically righted himself, damning the large puddles that turned his robes into a sopping mess, and praying to any deity foolish enough to hear his plea that Voice would not say anything about his despicable, disgusting, nemesis who Harry wanted to do nothing more than-

rip his clothes off and gobble up that delicious smirk. Golly gosh, Draco Malfoy, who better a partner in Harry's sexual exploration and understanding of his own complex identity. Not only could they reconcile years of frankly, childish, hatred but also come together in a delicious fashion that my readers will surely relish. Oh, I can see it now, Harry, coming forward, shy but determined, leaning forward and ki..ss..i..n..

Harry fought with every morsel of strength he had to stop Voice from completely that sentence. His face screwed up into an expression completely befitting of his rank in stubborness and he positively looked constipated for all the work he put into resistance. Never. Not ever. Would he... ugh it was too disgusting to contemplate. Malfoy? Son of a Death Eater. Pure-blood ponce. Arrogant since day one with no remorse. Had called Hermione a mudblood. He was not even worth the air Harry breathed, he deserved less, and if this voice thought Harry was even going to allow himself to listen to-

yes, it would be marvellous, full of heat and passion and school boy rivalry. They would call each other Malfoy and Potter still, but then Harry would push Draco against the wall after a hand to hand fight and hotly breath in his ear, body pressed against him, the perfect circumstance for hook... in... …...

No. This is my mind. GET OUT!

-o-

So... Snape's Occlumency lessons were worthless after all. Maybe I'll write that in my next fic.