Chapter One: Pessimistic Thinking

Author's Note: ok, this chapter goes back a little in time to Harry's seventh year. The prologue takes place in the near future.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, only the plot.

Harry stood leaning against a windowsill in the back of the library, with no intention of finding a book. He was trapped by a pair of muscular tan arms, one on each side of his body. He sighed happily, feeling something hard press against his stomach. It was a telltale part of the male anatomy.

"So, like I was saying…" Blaise whispered against the skin below Harry's ear. Harry could feel his tongue dart out every couple of seconds, massaging the tender flesh. "Are you even listening?" He growled, frustrated, against Harry's neck. "Damn, you'd think it'd kill you every once in a while to listen to me whine?"

Harry laughed quietly, knowing Blaise was only playing with him. Rolling his head back, he stared up at the ceiling and buried his hands in Blaise's dark hair. "No, not listening," he murmured, closing his eyes as Blaise's hands gripped his hips gently. "I have better things to do."

Blaise pulled away slightly to look at Harry. He was about four inches shorter than him, with a charming smile and teasing laugh. Emerald-green eyes peered out from under heavily lashed eyelids, fluttering enticingly every few seconds. He was rather cute, especially with those nerdy glasses.

"And what might that be? Certainly not homework," Blaise mocked, tightening his arms around Harry's waist. "I know for a fact you'd rather be with me." Rubbing his nose against his, Blaise planted a soft kiss on Harry's ample mouth, making him shudder. Blaise was always surprising him with the slow, tender actions. Harry exhaled slowly. Blaise never ceased to surprise him.

Harry didn't answer. Looking around the library, he took in his surroundings. On the bookshelf to his left, spell books with medical remedies lay half-forgotten, covered in a fine layer of dust. On his right, titles of how-to guides were written in fancy old-world script. Harry had to focus really carefully to read what they said. They seemed to be about…

Harry groaned mentally to himself. Of all the places Blaise could have taken him to in the library, this had to be it. Rolling his eyes, he disconnected one of his hands from Blaise's hair and reached for one of the volumes. "Hope you never plan on taking advice from one of these."

Blaise glanced at the cover of the leather-bound book. "Hmm… "The Art of Sex: Doing It the Magical Way"? Well, honey, it might come in handy one day…" Taking the book from Harry's right hand, Blaise dropped it on the floor beside him. "I think I might check that out." He smirked at the slightly shocked expression on Harry's face. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to practice before I use any of those moves on you." Kissing Harry's forehead lightly, Blaise stepped back from the boy and retreated down the isle. Harry sighed for the umpteenth time that day. He didn't really want Blaise to leave.

Harry ran his forefinger lightly over his bottom lip, still feeling the warm of Blaise's mouth over his own. The grip on his hips still lingered as well, a reminder of why Harry loved him so much. Too much.

Rubbing his temple, Harry mentally disapproved of himself. He knew that if he kept wanting him to stay, it would only be harder on him when Blaise left. He headed toward his common room slowly, giving himself time to calm his racing pulse. Why do I have to be so fucking emotional? he wondered silently, leisurely passing the Great Hall. He strolled casually by the Prefects' bathroom, pulse still fast from the recent encounter with Blaise. Why does he make me feel like this? How does he get me all worked up? He climbed the staircase at a maddeningly sluggish pace. If I were normal, I would only be with him for the shag, not "his personality". Fuck personality.

Reaching the Gryffindor entrance, he paused his mental ranting to give the password. Once inside Harry made a beeline for his dormitory, completely passing Hermione and Ron, who were sitting at a table working on Potions essays. He dove headfirst into his pillow.

You know he's too good to be true. The thought flashed through his mind as Harry turned over on his back, staring at the ceiling. Its not going to last. He tried to push the intruding thought aside, but after a few minutes' struggle, gave in. Pessimism flooded his conscience immediately, along with self-doubts.

Its not going to last…

He's too good to be true…

Harry let the ideas filter through his brain, not bothering to stop them now. He stared numbly around the room, one arm thrown behind his head. He was the only one in the room, except for Neville's toad, which croaked sadly on Dean's bed. He felt the urge to laugh, but couldn't quite make the sound happen.

You don't deserve him…

"Well, that's a new thought," Harry muttered aloud. Turning on his side, he took off his glasses and tossed them on his nightstand. They clanged loudly as the metal hit wood. He cringed.

Why don't I deserve him? Harry struggled to comprehend what he was thinking. In the back of his mind, he was convinced Blaise just chose him as his new "flavor of the week." He'd believed that what he had going with Blaise was just too good to be true, and would end as quickly as it started.

But that was three months ago.

Blaise was known as a player around school, someone who hooked up with people for the sexual thrill. Yet, all the girls wanted him. He could have any person of his choice. So when Blaise had chosen him, Harry was shocked. The Slytherin was revered as a Sex God; he himself was the Innocent Golden Boy. Innocent and Sex God weren't supposed to mix. I guess it did for us, though. After three months of being together, the two still hadn't had sex. But what surprised Harry the most was that Blaise never tried to get into his pants. He'd never made that kind of move on him, and instead respected Harry's personal decision.

I guess he's just a nice guy. Harry smiled at the ruling, sitting up. He felt better after having sorted through all of his thoughts. Still, one thing nagged him. Why is he still with me? He's known for short relationships; what's different about this one? Harry shrugged, letting the concern drop for now. I should just enjoy being with him, and quit thinking like this. Its not healthy. He wasn't really in the mood to think anymore. Standing up, he grabbed his glasses and headed back downstairs.

Ron and Hermione waved him over to where they were sitting. Plunking down on a cushiony green armchair, Harry looked at his two best friends. They both had smiles on their faces.

"What's going on, you two?" Harry inquired, catching sly glances pass between them. He squirmed in his chair, suddenly anxious.

"Oh, nothing much." Hermione stated this calmly as she handed a scroll of parchment to Harry. He opened it tentatively, thinking he would instantly recognize the handwriting. When he didn't, he read through it quickly, pausing only once to return a smile.

The message was short and specific, and the meaning was clear, but Harry had never felt more confused in his life.