A/N: okay so this isnt the best chapter and i was going to make it longer but im trying to update all my stroies this (long) weekend so i decided to finish it there. Enjoy and R&R if you can please, i try to answer back to all of them as well.

All other information, including warnings and a disclaimer.

Word: 2690

Chapter 2

When he next woke, Harry found himself in the dark. His limbs were entangled in the scattered pillows that surrounded him, his face buried in one of the fluffier ones. He guessed he had been shifting violently in his sleep from the thumping of in his head and the swollen lumps over his body. Perhaps, he thought, it was his dancing, the way he recklessly threw himself to the floor, executing some dangerous gymnastic as he did so, which he knew Hermione was likely to reprimand for when she found out. This is what he thought until, that is, he remembered the night before. The long night that followed a seemingly endless chain of long nights. He remembered the strained journey to the sanctuary. The memories hit him like rocks from the damned and he reacted as he did whenever such a thing happened, he blocked them, hurling them to the deepest recesses of his mind, never to flash forward again unless some comment triggered them.

The time was nine o'clock, he saw when his eyes finally managed to adjust against the blinding light of the early morning sun. It was a Saturday, unless he had had the ill luck to have slept through the entire day, although he doubted there would have been no one turn up the entire day for practise. Speaking of which, people usually started turning up around this time.

With a growl, Harry dragged himself from his comfortable heaven and slumped across the room, resolutely ignoring the flares of stabbing pain that echoes through his body and flooded his skin like volcanoes spitting lava. The men's bathroom was empty and pristine, which was what came from Hermione insisting that even if they did not allow her to step foot in their one refuge they were still to keep it clean. His face looked blotched to say the least, prickly and speckled with dark patches but relatively unharmed. His fingers found the cold metal of the taps and twiddled with them. Soon, cold water was running down his face and he felt less like he had just woken from his grave.

It took more effort than he was willing to admit for him to shuffle back to the studio room and come to rest, perhaps collapse would be more of a suitable word, before the mirrors in a heap on the floor, shivering slightly from the cold wetness of his clothes. His breath fogged over the mirrors slightly and he found a fascination in watching the vapour disintegrate for a few moments before he pushed it away and turned to the reason he had settled into this particular place. The baggy, threadbare T-shirt he had inherited from his whale of a cousin revealed far too much bluish tinted flesh for his liking, dipping well into his chest at the front and then seeming to want to compensate by hanging to his elbows in the sleeve.

The sound of arguing outside brought him out of his short stint of thoughts and he stood up, stubbornly ignoring any flares of fire. The door banged open sharply and Harry half expected it to drop off its hinges but he could not help the small smile that fell on his lips at his best friends' tempers, some things never changed.

The red-head stormed into the room, his face flushed and his ears blazing with a murderous maroon colour. He staggered slightly when he spotted his friend, flashing a wolfish grin at him before continuing on his journey straight towards the bathroom. A frazzled looking brunette marched into the room behind him, he chocolate eyes searing ferociously into his back. The toilet door slammed shut behind the gangly boy, hard.

"Oh yes, Ron, that's very mature!" Hermione Granger shrieked after the boy whose relationship status Harry was currently unsure of. "You can't hide from me forever, I'll just be waiting out here when you're ready to grow the hell up!" Her rant over, she then resumed her journey to the sitting area to sulk, snatching a fresh carton of apple juice from the fridge as she passed.

Harry wanted to say something to his friend but before he could even stutter in her direction, she flicked a switch on the sound system in the corner venomously and loud beats began pounding through the room boisterously enough that he swore his very skin was vibrating, creating an unpleasant itching sensation over his bruises, reminding him of their presence.

"Right then, I'll just…er…go talk to…erm…Ron then, shall I?" He doubted she heard him over the music, he was admittedly quite soft spoken most of the time when around his friends and he had not attempted to really catch her attention, it was more just a device so as he would not feel guilty later should this plan backfire completely.

When he reached the bathroom, he found Ron striding doggedly from the urinals to the sinks and back repetitively. He stood leaning against the door, a relatively comfy position he had just discovered by accident. In a way, he was pleased he had been blessed with this drama, it pumped adrenalin into his veins and made him forget about his own selfish needs and discomforts. He stood for ten minutes, not really sure if he had even been noticed before Ron began muttering angrily to himself quietly so he could only just hear every few words.

"…can't believe she would…diabolical agreement…be the death of me…disastrous ending…" He trailed off as he seemed to notice Harry for the first time. He grinned again, pausing in his pacing to wave idiotically at him before resuming, chewing irritatingly on his little finger as he did so.

"Were you going to tell me what was going on?" Harry questioned as he shifted his position slightly after noticing that he was sliding dangerously close to one of the marks on his ribs. His friend paused again, seeming to consider the question before huffing and throwing himself down on one of the loos and placing his elbows roughly on his knees. Harry almost sympathised with his friend, he looked so pitiful flopped on the toilet seat, his arms hanging down between his knees and his head bowed, auburn hair curling around his face.

"Sure, mate, sure. It's just, well, you see the thing is, Hermione's being all difficult about…something, and it's getting me all uptight…but it's really not my fault. Thing is she won't shut up about…something else and it's driving me nuts." Ron scowled down at his feet. That was what gave him away and Harry's tinged features suddenly lit up with a beaming smile.

"You're jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous. He can't be all that gre…" He puffed at his fringe in annoyance. "How did you know?" He asked Harry as the black haired boy ventured further into the bathroom and rested against a vacant, tiled wall.

"How long have we been friends now, Ron?"

"Yeah, 'spose you're right."

"Well?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, motioning with a hand for his friend to continue in a more fluent way.

"Apparently the kids upstairs, you know the rich ones that are always playing their posh music, yeah them, had a little accident and one of their bogs flooded the entire place. Plumber said he was surprised we didn't get any leakage. Anyway, Hermione says one of these kids is big in society, Malfoy's his name and he's a whiney little snot who always gets everything his way so obviously he wants some other place to practise and, guess what, the prat's got some kind of influence with the owner, blackmail if you ask me, and…"

"Malfoy? Ron, didn't you pay attention when 'Mione explained this to us. The Malfoy that uses the upstairs studio is the son of the owner."

"Oh, really?! Never knew that. Still a whinging snob of a ferret though. Anyways, so now we've got to share this place for a couple of months."

"And that would make you and 'Mione fight because…?"

"She won't bloody shut up about him. How he's perfect prince charming and his hair is soooo soft and flaxen and he's this and that and sometimes I just want to strangle her. She's making me pull my hair out, literally. You know I swear I saw a bald patch hiding under there this morning." Ron's face, if possible, reddened even further during his rampage.

"You do realise that if your bald spot has hair it's not really a bald spot, right?" Ron's flushed face shot up with a glare and his lips were pursed so tightly Harry thought they were in danger of being swallowed.

"You're not really helping, Harry."

"Well what did you want me to do then? You're not really explaining very well." The red-heads heated face fell once more, caught in his freckled fingers, which immediately began to tug at the nearest strands of hair on contact.

"Look, Harry, I realise I'm not really dealing with this very well, it's just, me and Malfoy, we go back and we've never really…"

"Harry!" Hermione's voice penetrated through the walls, "You're mobile's ringing." Harry smirked slightly with the new knowledge that at least Hermione's sulk must have abated for her to come and find him.

"I'll be back in a bit, Ron," and with that said he strode from the male bathroom with a purposeful gait.

Draco Malfoy was not happy with the current turn of events. In fact, this was a grave understatement, he was down right furious. He could handle sharing the grossly ugly decorated studio with the frizzy haired annoyance he had talked to on the phone and then met this morning. He was also sure he could handle having the other petty irritations that would be in his presence - Granger had assured him none of them were intrusive or bothersome. But then she had mentioned the puffed up Weasel, which was something he could not handle.

Once upon a time, they had been friends, when they were young as they were the same age and their families had, at one point, been of a similar social standing. Then the father of the Weasel brood had made a single idiotic mistake that had lost the family their status. Draco remembered the argument he had walked in on when he was about five, in which his ever reasonable father had been trying to convince the balding flame haired man that he really should buy into these stocks as, after they began to trade and sell, they would revolutionise their world. But the insufferable Weasel had started to argue with morals and ethics, which even Draco knew at his tender age was not the correct way to conduct a business. So what if some of Riddle's stock was illegal, so what if the consumers purchasing it were begin ripped off, that was just how business and society functioned.

So the Weasel's lost everything in that little grapple that did indeed revolutionise society. Draco imagined they had moved to some dirty little hole on the edge of town, living off their home grown vegetables and eggs. About a year after the change, of which he and 'ickle Wonnie-kins' had spent arguing, their family left, and not on good terms with anyone else he might add, to go and curl up, never to be heard from again.

And so, as you can imagine, Draco was not pleased with the new arrangement Granger had offered him, but what other choice did he have? She had mentioned other names as well, but he only recognised one other name - Plotter, was it? - and he was not even sure where that was from and his father had shrugged him off when he had asked.

A group of them stood outside the obesly bright, maroon doors, listening to the sound of a pacing footsteps and silence. The only sound on their side of the door was the scattering of huffs and sighs and an inconsistent shuffle of feet every-so-often combined with the ringing silence that comes after thumping music has been turned off. Suddenly, the sound of a mobile phone squelched the tension that had taken hold of the situation. The sound was a sharp, harsh call that rang out for several seconds before a girl's voice yelped, although muffled through the opaque wood of the door, a name that none of them could make out completely.

"Oh for God's sake!" Pansy snapped, slapping the doors open in a very masculine manner and marching through. A girl - Granger with her frizzy hair - stood beside an unobtrusive door to the right, holding up a small plastic device and cupping her rounded chin with the other hand. Draco snarled at her ignoring them and strode past his partner towards her.

"Miss Granger, so nice to see you again," he murmured silkily as he approached her only to stop short when she halted him with a hand. His lip curled in disgust and he grunted in indignation.

"Harry!" She yelled again, making every new comer jump. The bathroom doors banged open and a short boy with the messiest black hair Draco had ever seen stormed out, his full lips pursed in rage. He snatched the phone from her, whispering something that sounded like 'Well done, 'Mione' sarcastically and collapsed on the cushions in the corner, not giving their guests a single glance - how rude!

"Now see here, Granger, I'll inform you know that…"

"BOY!!" The echoes from the mechanic voice resounded around the room. Draco swivelled on his feet to snarl at where the noise had come from only to find the small boy topple over onto the padded surface beneath him, whipping the phone from his sensitive, young ears. "WHERE ARE YOU? THERE ARE CHORES TO BE DONE AND I WON'T HAVE MY POOR PETUNIA GETTING DUST POISONING!" The line went dead.

A gangly, read-head appeared out of the bathroom, seemingly ignoring the newcomers, and moved to stand next to Granger. Draco hissed like a strangled cat at the obvious dismissal again, but still remained unnoticed.

"Mate, you're not going back, right? I mean…" The Weasel mumbled towards his shaggy haired 'mate,' who swiftly whirled around to face him, fire glazing his eyes with ignited anger.

"What choice do I have, Ron? Stay here?" His fingers curled into tight, determined fists and his voice came out at a harsh whisper that echoed eerily around the sunlit room. Granger stepped forward between the two boys and looked up.

"Harry, you think I didn't notice this morning? It happened again and you are not going back there. End of discussion." She nodded her head in a decisive way as if her simple words would put the whole word to rights.

"I have to, 'Mione. I'll be fine."

"It'll just happen again."

"And what about when I go back tonight?"

"I…well…Harry, I just…" She was halted in her stuttering as Weasel lunged forward and grabbed his best friend's arm tightly. The boy cried out. Everything went still as the last of his scream echoed ominously around the mirrored room. The idiot stepped back, releasing his friend.

"Look, it's nothing!" The little kid grunted, his voice low, determined and passionate. "I just fell awkwardly when I was dancing this morning." He did not look up at any of the occupants of the room. Draco scowled, fed up with the unnecessary melodrama.

"Don't lie to me, Harry." Draco shifted his eyes to the Weasel, stunned by the malevolent hiss that escaped from his supposedly angelic character. He glanced through his lashes back at the tramp-midget. He was staring at the scarlet haired dinosaur with eyes slit thin as a snake's barbed tongue, as if he would lash out him maliciously at any time.

"What the fuck do you know, Ron?" His voice was a low growl. "Nothing! You don't have a fucking clue!"

He ran, elbowing past Draco and his troop. The door slammed shut violently in his wake. The only sound that followed was Weasely's fervent curse and Granger's loud gulp.

So what you think, R&R please

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