rioubrOkay, I know what you regular readers are thinking, he's edited it AGAIN? But I have been reading it through and it just seemed so amateur, so I have decided to do another re-write.Disclaimer: All rights, names and places belong to J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Publications. No Copyright infringement is intended.Warnings: M/M Slash, Moderate Language and Violent Scenes. Sexual SituationsGenres: Romance, Young Adult and it could get Dark.Pairings: Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron (May be subject to change) Beta: The lovely Kelsey (otherwise known as laughableblackstorm)/b
A young boy was thrashing around in his bed, and not for the first time that summer, either. As he opened his greyish-blue eyes, he found himself in yet another pool of sweat. He sat up and glanced at himself in a nearby mirror. His blonde hair was sticking up at odd angles, and he had a very distinct bulge in his boxer shorts.
He had been dreaming all summer of just one person ― a person whom he would never have expected to be dreaming about, especially not in the ways he was. Draco Malfoy was having "teenage fantasies", as his mother called them, about his arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. He looked down at his knees and back into the mirror, where the bulge in his underwear was still visible. After a few moments he noticed the smell of the fresh sweat on his bed, and decided to go and freshen up.
As he stood under the cold spray of the shower, his mind was starting to wander back to his never-ending dream.
IHe was back on the Hogwarts staircase leading to a dormitory. It wasn't a Slytherin one, and he knew who was going to be waiting for him. He opened the door straight ahead, hoping beyond all hope that the boy wasn't waiting at the other side. (new paragraph)
"I knew you couldn't keep away from me," said Harry. (new paragraph)
His hope had been denied./I
He gasped as he found his back sliding down the white tiles in the shower, sweat dripping down his forehead, mixing with the cold water. He silently sat there, his back against the tiles. He put his head on his knees. He knew what his father would do if he ever found out about his dream.
When he re-entered his bedroom several minutes later, towel-drying his hair, he found the window thrown open and fresh sheets upon his bed. On his desk was a tray with some toast, cereal and a jug of orange juice. A house-elf was on its knees in the corner, scrubbing a pumpkin juice stain from the carpet. Draco was confused for a few minutes, then remembered that his father had forbidden Slanky to use any magic around the manor, unless he had prior permission of a Malfoy.
"Slanky, get out now, I need a few minutes to myself," Draco ordered to the small, gangly creature.
"Of course, Master Malfoy, just tell Slanky when you want Slanky to continue, sir, Master Malfoy, sir" said Slanky with a series of ridiculously low bows.
Draco sat himself down on the edge of his bad and let his back fall to the mattress. He stared at the ceiling, though he wasn't really seeing it.
As he lay there, looking upwards, he remember times when his life seemed so easy. He didn't have to worry about thinking anything of Harry, as he just plain hated him. It was the way it was.
iDraco made his way to the Slytherin Common Room. His first evening at Hogwarts had been amazing. He had every Slytherin looking up to him just because they knew how rich his father was, and how close his family was to the Dark Lord. He looked behind him as he approached the Grand Staircase and saw Potter just ahead of him. The temptation to jinx him was almost irresistible.
Potter had had an opportunity to join him, and he had turned it down, He was so stupid. When the Dark Lord finally returned, which his father had made sure Draco knew very well would happen, Potter would be sorry he hadn't joined him. It was at that moment that he officially decided he would forever hate Harry Potter./i
He never expected that to change.
He took in a deep breath and stood up. His towel slipped off, so he thought he may as well just get dressed. He made his way to his closet, completely naked, and looked at the mirror on its door, checking out his abs.
"I need to work out more," he expressed aloud.
He selected some loose, satin boxer shorts, a plain black vest and some loose black trousers. He then lay down at his bed and closed his eyes. He knew what was to come when he fell asleep. He knew who he was going to see, but at that moment, he really didn't care.
i"I wish you'd stop leaving all the time, Draco, I get ever so lonely," said Harry seductively.
Without even realising it, he was moving. He found himself at the bed. Harry slinked behind him and started massaging his shoulders.
"Don't you want me anymore?" asked Harry with a small giggle as he started to move his lips up his neck toward his ear, and started to suckle on it./i
Draco awoke with a fresh bulge in his trousers again.
iNot again/i, he thought.
Meanwhile, at the residence of Number 4 Privet Drive, another boy was lying in his bed, thrashing around. Harry Potter was having another night filled with disturbing dreams, which had been recurring throughout the entire summer.
iHe was falling, falling, falling, and then his feet hit solid ground. He waited for the impact to devastate his knees, but it didn't happen. He looked around him. It was the patch underneath the Astronomy Tower, the spot where Dumbledore… Harry turned away and tried to walk the other way, but his feet were determined the stay put.
There was a shadow in the darkness, a human figure, but it was moving in a manner that suggested it was in great pain. Then the moonlight hit its face. Harry let out a horrible scream. It was Dumbledore, moving towards him, saying in a cold, evil voice, 'Your entire fault, Harry, All your fault.'
Harry wretched his feet from the ground and tore off in the opposite direction, until he noticed another shape in the near distance. The Veil. Sirius stumbled out of it, the life gone from his eyes and foam frothing from his mouth. 'Your fault, this is."
Harry looked all around him. Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents, Cedric … All he could here was chants of "Your fault, and only your fault." He sat in a ball with his hands over his head. (new paragraph)
Then he felt it. Cold, clammy hands touched his arms, pulling him up. He looked into the person's face, who was instantly recognisable, with his red snake-like eyes and slits for nostrils.
"Their deaths are all your fault, Harry, I told you. You will lose everything."/i
Harry bolted upright, his wand ready in his hand, pointed right before him. His heart was racing and sweat was dripping from his hair. He put his head back onto his damp pillow and wept.
After several minutes, he stood up and took a good look around ― the last look around he would ever have to take of this room. He saw a few things he had left to pack for the last minute and decided to pack them after he showered. He left his room and entered the bathroom, smelling fragrant in comparison to his bedroom.
With the door latched, he began to quickly scrub himself clean under the hot spray of the shower. He saw some of Dudley's top brand shower gel and quickly squirted a bit onto the flannel and carried on washing his stomach.
"I need to work out more," he said, after feeling his abs.
After being in the bathroom for ten minutes, walking into his room almost knocked him off his feet. It smelt of a mixture of stale sweat and dust. He picked up his last few books and put them into his trunk. Hedwig was sitting on top of it in her cage, and the room was exactly as it had been the evening he had been moved in there by his uncle.
"Boy!" the voice of Vernon Dursley boomed up the staircase. "I thought you were leaving today. We have planned to have the spare room re-decorated, and that can't be done with your rubbish in there!"
"Don't worry, I was just leaving," Harry retorted, not having the energy to have an argument with him. A few minutes later, and he had all of his belongings sitting beside the front door, preparing to leave and walk a few blocks before flagging down the Knight Bus.
As he was about to turn, he saw Aunt Petunia closing the living room door quietly behind her and tip-toeing towards him. She pressed her finger towards her lips to signify silence, and nodded her head towards the front door.
Once outside, she began to speak. "Look, Harry, I know you may have not had the best time here, but… Well, I know what you have got to do, and… good luck. I can't explain how I know properly, but please, finish him, avenge my sister.
"This is the letter that was left with you on the day you arrived here; it should explain a few things about how I know. I cannot talk now, I really need to get back inside. But Harry, you can do this. Whatever you do, never give up hope."
And with a final pat on his shoulder, she stepped back into the house and closed the front door silently behind her. Harry turned, feeling confused, yet he felt as though a part of him was whole again. Mrs. Figg walked down the street with a bag of cat food and gave him a silent nod.
He stood there, confused as to what to do for a few moments, and then decided he would wait until he was in private to read the letter. He pocketed the slip of paper, and with one last look at the door of Number 4 Privet Drive, he left. And he was never to return.
As he approached Magnolia Crescent he suddenly smelt the distinct scent of tobacco. He recognised that smell, but where from, he couldn't quite remember. He stood there, pondering on it for a few moments, and then it came to him. A light bulb may as well have appeared above his head, seeing the amount of thought he used to hide the fact he'd figured something out.
"Dung, show yourself, wherever you are. I have no time to play games," said Harry, seemingly to thin air.
With the silent sound of steps upon concrete, Mundungus Fletcher appeared. "'Arry! 'Ow's it goin', was just in the neighbour'ood and thought I'd, you know, say 'ello …"
Harry interrupted him. "Don't ramble, Dung. You want something? What's in the bag and what crime does it involve, because either way, I am not interested."
"Well y'see, I got a message from that 'Mione girl. She says tha' I should give it you in person, see, she don't trust the owls these days. Can't really say I blame 'er. Checkin' everythin' these days, tha' Ministry are," said Dung as he fumbled around in his pockets, as if trying to find something.
"Ah, 'ere 'tis," said Mundungus as he handed Harry a crumpled up letter. "Well, I, er, gotta get goin' now, see, there's these old goblets that 'ave been lost in the post an' some mates say they can get their 'ands on some gold, and ―"
"Just go."
There was a loud crack, and Mundungus disappeared. Harry tore open the letter greedily. He had heard hardly anything from Ron and Hermione all summer and only recently got a letter telling him to meet them in Diagon Alley that afternoon.
iHarry,
Sorry, but we are going to have to cancel our meeting today. Ron and I have some important things to do. Sorry.
Hermione/i
Harry was completely at a loss for words. This was strange, very strange. Hermione always signed her letter with a kiss. And what was so important that they didn't want to see him after so many months? Something wasn't right. He would have to ask them about it on the Hogwarts Express.
He raised his wand and heard an ear-splitting bang. There in front of him stood a violent purple, Triple-Decker bus. A tall and official looking man stood before him wearing long robes and a small badge bearing a bright "M".
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation for a stranded witch or wizard. Just hold up your wand hand, come on board and we will take you wherever you wish to go. My name is Shartiple Urmtin, Ministry Official, and I shall be your conductor for this afternoon," said the man in a rather smug manner.
"I see they still haven't released Stan, then," said Harry, looking at the man with distaste.
"Potter, isn't it?" asked Shartiple with a sniffle. "Yes, well, where would you like to go this fine afternoon?"
"Leaky Cauldron," Harry answered shortly.
"Certainly, Mr. Potter." Shartiple looked him up and down, scanning him with his eyes. "This way."
Harry followed him, peering around him. The Ministry had changed the way the bus had been run in more ways than just the conductor. All of the armchairs and assortments had been removed, and replaced by the hard, yet cushion-like seats Muggle buses had. No longer was there a witch lurking in the corner, as everything had light shining upon it so it could be seen from all areas of the bus.
"Preferred it the other way, myself," Harry stated to the conductor.
"Yes, well, during a war one would have thought you'd care a little less about seats on a bus and more about keeping alive, young man," Shartiple snapped at him. He handed Harry his ticket and walked away abruptly. "Oh, and enjoy your journey."
Once the conductor had wandered off towards the newly instated driver, Harry took a look around the bus again. He may as well have been sitting on a Muggle bus, just in fast forward ― only this time it wasn't even half as exciting as when Ernie drove it. Nothing leapt out of the way of the Triple-Decker monster, as the driver drove in a perfectly straight line.
The bus was almost empty, so it did not take them long to arrive at The Leaky Cauldron. And no sooner had they stopped did the conductor approach Harry and motion him to follow. Harry did so and stepped off of the bus. The conductor didn't bother to wish him a good day; he just gave him another sniff and the bus drove away.
The street around him was as empty as it usually was. There was an old, burnt out car on a nearby corner, and a tabby cat sitting on a dustbin. Everything was quiet. The only noise was the distant traffic and creaking on the swinging sign of the pub that hung before him.
He managed to get his luggage up the steps with ease, but he tripped over the side of it and landed face- first into The Leaky Cauldron, with his luggage on his back. Harry stood up and swept himself down. The usual roar of the pub's customers didn't greet him as he had expected them too. There was only one, very old looking wizard sitting in the corner and a witch sitting in the other corner, wearing clothes that suggested she wished to become part of the wall behind her.
Tom stood behind the bar wiping some glasses, and gave him a feeble, toothless grin. He looked tired, more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Harry was sure that a lot of wizards and witches were going to be looking like that soon, all of them worried that their loved ones weren't going to return home from work.
"Young Mr. Potter, it has been a while now. What can I get for you?" said Tom. His voice sounded as weak as he looked.
"A room please, Tom, but perhaps you should sit down for a while, you don't look very well," said Harry, concerned.
"No, no, I'm fine, nothing a good glass of Firewhisky cannot handle. How long are you staying for?" He was obviously trying to make his voice more confident and assertive.
"Only four days, thanks Tom," Harry replied, knowing that he had lost this battle. "Just four days."
And at that thought, he smiled that he would be back home in four days. He had a small bounce in his step now as he followed Tom, who was now humming to himself a slow and morbid tune. But even this couldn't dampen the spirits of a boy who was returning to school soon.
bAuthors Note: Okay all, what do you think? I have modified my writing style considerably lately and I have tried to make the story seem a lot less amateur. I hope you prefer this new writing style and I will be looking forward to your reviews.
Thanks for reading,
AND READ AND REVIEW!
Niall xoxo
PS: Thanks to my wonderful Beta, Kelsey aka Laughable Black. Storm/b