A/N: So yes, this idea came to me while I was listening to November Rain, by Guns-n-Roses, and I really tried to write a fluff, but my mind kept conjuring horrible and torturous images…I have an idea on how I want to pursue this story, but it may change as time goes along.

Dedication: This is dedicated to my brother, who loves to brag that his sister writes "Gay Porn".

Disclaimer: Think about it people…the answer will come to you.


November Rain

Prologue


November

Hovering, shuddering, the last breath as the death of fall surrounds us. It is the cusp of the abyss, the catalyst for a harsh winter.

It is the in-between.

And I am in the middle of it.

My candle flickers, struggling against the opposing elements that have successfully drenched me to the bone, and I am staring.

"Who is here now?"

'Fuck'

I turn toward the voice, but I see nothing but the Forbidden Forest. I'm confused, trying to understand what has happened, how it happened. I think I already know why.

At first, it seemed like the work of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", but that theory ended when he was killed…brutally…and the deaths continued. Suspicions polluted the air, desecrating established friendships and relationships, and it buried itself into that area of the brain that exists in all of us. You know…

The voice that brings your attention to the possible destruction of perfect, innocent moments. The little voice that whispers how easy it would be to just push that person standing to close to the tracks, that little voice that plots the perfect murder while the rest of you lies awake in bed wondering 'What on earth made me think that?'.

"Do you know where you are?"

'Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck'

I whip my head around, trying to locate that voice, still unable to do so.

"Who's there?" I whisper.

As far as I know, there are only a few of us left. I start my way towards the castle; I had only wanted to get away from the accusations and fear. Something tells me that all this insanity will end soon, but I do not know if I will be alive to see it.

I take another step, turning my head as I sense someone close by.

"Who's there?" I say, louder then before.

Even Draco looks at me differently. I can see the love in his eyes, smoldering beneath the surface trying to break free to gasp in cool, crisp air. Instead, it is slowly drowning. I flush in anger at this thought, hypocritically, as I feel the same emotion dying within me.

I am aware, before recent events, that our communion was pondered. I will not bore you with details, you can pick any cliché' that suits you the best. Let's see, there is detention, a potions mix-up, stumbling across a secret conversation in which Draco confesses his desire to join the light. It could have been a fight that inevitably turned into passion, or even a chance encounter by two lonely souls, discovering how much they have in common. All of these are exiting, and in no doubt were entertained by many, but the actual events were pretty boring. And now no one cares, and he fears me…and I fear him.

I have reached the stone steps, and I repeat my mantra:

"I am Harry Potter"

"I am 22 years old"

"I am a respected and feared Auror"

"I am NOT the Boy Who Lived"

"I am…"

I sigh, defeated.

"I am nothing but a tantrum of serenity".

'Why did I come here?'

Rain has won the war with my candle as the flame hisses and dies. I turn around again.

"WHO'S THERE?" I shout.

A/N: I know, cliffhanger…but isn't that the point of a prologue? Please let me know what you think? I would like to note that my intention of "cliché's" is not to mock any plot or story posted by the many authors on this website. I honestly took a collection of the most common. I have read MANY stories on this site, and myself has entertained these very same "cliché's"…so please don't hate me?