Summary: When Harry went down into the Chamber, instead of trying to save Ginny he got distracted. Amazing what one little difference can do.

Questions? Comments? Limericks? Put in your review. I'll answer if I can.

-Pseudonymous


1, something's got to give, 2, something's got to give, 3, something's got to give

NOW

Let the bodies hit the floor, Let the bodies hit the floor, Let the bodies hit the

FLOOR

Push me again, This is the end

Here we go!


Pain. Darkness. Loneliness.

Life before magic was horrible. Life before magic was a sea of endless gray with Harry floundering in the middle searching for purchase, trying not to drown, no sense of direction. No purpose. He was a freak and freaks didn't mean much in the grander scheme of things. That's what he was told. That's what he believed. It was all he knew, all he understood, and he grew to be secure in his place in the world of service he was made to endure as a freak, and the warm darkness of a locked cupboard.

He'd accepted his lot in life. He was Freak. He was no one and nothing and frankly he was good at being nothing. There was only breathing, and focusing, and pushing through the day. Because there wasn't anything else. There never would be. No one was going to save him or protect or even ask if he was okay, not the nurses or teachers or even his old babysitter with the cats. Because he was freak.

"Harry."

Then there was magic. Albus Dumbledore gifted it to him in the form of a half giant with a pink umbrella. He gifted it in a golden keep to a vault of equally golden coins. A wand.

A ticket to a new world. Literally.

Life after magic was confusing, and amazing and terrifying. Suddenly anything was possible. Just as suddenly, monsters were real. And they were looking for him. There were killing curses, and trolls and snakes who killed people with their eyes. And Albus Dumbledore patting him on the head and telling him what a good boy he was. Telling him how sorry he was but he couldn't let Harry stay at school over Summer break. He couldn't let Harry stay at the Weasleys for the Summer. He couldn't give him a pass to the restricted section. He couldn't give him extra lessons. He couldn't tell him about his parents, or Voldemort, or Death Eaters or Dark Magic. These things weren't his concern and he was only protecting Harry. He cared about Harry. And Harry had to defeat the Dark Lord and evil doings in the castle and battle with the Slytherins and ignore Dark Magicks and behave and do as he was told. His thoughts didn't matter nor did his opinions or desires. Because, even in the wizarding world, he was a freak.

"Harry."

And then it was back to scrubbing floors and harsh words and smacks to the head and bruises on his arm and spending the night outside because he was locked out for breaking a glass. Leaning against the tool shed, shivering and staring at the stars and dreaming of the day he'd return to Hogwarts. Letters returned unopened by Dumbledore. Vaults hidden by Dumbledore. Will sealed by Dumbledore. Home chosen by Dumbledore.

Magical Guardian.

Freak.

"Harry! Dammit Harry snap out of it!

He could have lived somewhere else. Anywhere else. Hell he was The-Boy-Who-Lived and the heir to a noble house there had to been a good number of pureblood families willing to take him in. He could have been raised with adopted siblings, like a family. Treated like a human being. He would have known about magic and about Hogwarts and getting trained in his legacy. He would have met Ron and Draco and other kids his age long before school started. Harry wouldn't have thought his name was freak until he was six. No cupboards or days without speaking for fear of being laughed at or ignored. That was his greatest fear. When he five his cousin Dudley took to pretending Harry wasn't there. At dinner that night his aunt and uncle liked the idea so much they decided they wanted to play too. For three weeks Harry wasn't there. He tried begging and screaming and crying and throwing things. But no one could hear him or see him because he wasn't there.

Because Albus Dumbledore put him there with those people.

Albus Dumbledore who, according to the very official document in front of him, was required by magical contract as his guardian to physically check on and confirm his living situation and health, twice every year. On the dates he was sent to his babysitter for what were suppossedly yearly faimly days for his aunt, uncle and cousin. Albus Dumbledore signed a paper after every visit confirming that he had been chosen Harry's room, his clothing, and his medical records. Albus Dumbledore who knew Harry's darkest secret and did nothing to change because, according to the paper, he honestly believed that Harry was exactly where he needed to be.

Someone was shaking him and speaking to him and Harry wanted to answer but he couldn't hear them above the rushing in his ears and the fire in his veins and the swirling, snapping, stinging waves that was rolling around him and blurring everything around him. He didn't what it was or why it was there or how to make it stop or even if he wanted to. Because the cutting, searing, biting feeling was intoxicating. In him, out of him, around him, burning and chilling and filling. And then he couldn't remember who he was or where he was or what he was doing there, there was only his magic and it's whispers vowing vengeance on behalf of it's master. Drawling, hissing whispers caressing his cheeks and weaving patterns along his skin, promising him vindication if he would only free it but he didn't know how and it was frightening. Harry reached for it, clawed for it, and felt it reaching back on the other side of the glass. There was a barrier keeping them apart. Why was it there? He needed his power! It was a part of him. And now an aching that had always been there was suddenly more noticable and unbearable and...

Something brushed his Lips lightly, Harry felt it through the hazy chaos his mind had become. It pushed on his lips, a hand tangled in his hair. Spice. Blood. Stale Water. A hand was on his chin, a tongue in his mouth, a strong arm pulling him up along a hard body. And the haze faded and everything started to clear. He could feel cool hands and soft hair, and the pain receded resulting in a small moan escaping his lips which was embarrassing and ohmygodsomeoneiskissingme.

Harry snapped his eyes open and promptly fell over backwards.

"Draco!"

The blonde, whose face was very flushed, waved his hands about desperately.

"I'm so sorry but I didn't know what else to do. You just sort of had a fit and you couldn't hear me and then this wind kicked up and your magic went mad. Everything was breaking and the magical pressure was unbearable and I was afraid you were going to kill yourself and then Nimbletack said Magical Chaos was caused by emotional upheaval which makes your magic unbalanced and it needed to be countered with an opposing emotion and I didn't know what else to do!"

"So you thought molestation was the answer?"

Draco sat in his char and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh Merlin never bring this up again I beg you. I only did it because he told me to." The Slytherin moved a hand to point at the goblin who was grinning.

"I only wanted to see if he would do it. And if it would work."

Both boys gaped.

"You mean you didn't know it would work? I could have died!" Draco's face couldn't decide if he ought to be mortified or outraged and the result expression was hilarious.

Harry couldn't help it, he snickered.

Silver eyes snapped to him. "And just what is so funny? I was worried you know. And that was my first bloody kiss too and oh Merlin how am I going to tell my mother?"

And then Lucius Malfoy walked in.

A regal cane snapped on the floor, the Malfoy Lord looking as intimidating as ever greeted Donovan and Nimbletack before standing to the left of the desk. He pulled out a packet of parchment and set it down.

"The list, as requested. I have to admit I'm a little surprised by this entire ordeal, this is very out of the ordinary."

Donovan grinned, "You have no idea."

Lucius turned to Draco then paused, his brows coming together slightly. A large hand settled on the smaller blonde's forehead.

"Dragon? Are you ill? Your face is a bit red."

Harry lost it.


And there is the new chapter ya'll crazy kids!


AN: Hey guys, alright so I'd normally never do this but this really bothered me so I felt the need to bring it up.

I was told in a PM that sometimes I write 'too straight' and that if I were 'more comfortable with my sexuality' my writing would be even better because I "am obviously suppressing" and it's "insulting to write straight when there are slash elements" to my stories. Does anyone else feel this way or is it just the one? Also I don't see how my sexuality has anything to do with how well I write, for one, and there isn't any actual slash in any of my stories. Just lots and lots of innuendo and implied slash, especially where Harry and Tom are concerned in Very Bad Boys but I see that more as their obsession with controlling and dominating each other rather than anything legitimately fluffy or romantic. Some of it is also for the lols. Sorry for the rant, I just wanted to know, and honestly I felt a little offended. My sexuality isn't anyone's business and I don't desire to advertise it.