Disclaimers: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any of them. If I did, the Harry Potter books would be the first internationally adored children's slash series. So until that happens, you can rest assured that all rights lie in the hands of JKR.

Warning: Contains slash, angst, and the like.

This is my first Harry Potter fic, so please let me know how I'm doing.



The Songfic Arc

Prologue



Everything you have read, up till now, has been the truth.

After Voldemort's return, certain parties within the Ministry came together and agreed that, eventually, the wizarding community would need to make itself known to the rest of the world. But we couldn't simply walk down the streets of London in our robes and caps, waving our wands about and levitating objects as if there were nothing strange about it at all. Not unless we all wanting to end up in asylums, at any rate. Therefore, a plan was devised, one which would slowly prepare the Muggle population for the coming awareness of our existence.

A witch was hired, a woman by the name of Rowling, who had managed some level of success as an author of bedtime stories for children of wizarding families. She was commissioned to write a new series of children's books, fictionalized accounts of actual events. This is, as you know it, the Harry Potter series.

The idea was simple. Each book, based on some part of Harry's life (and I assure you, Harry is real), would reveal more information about the wizarding world: how we lived, talked, dressed, what manner of creatures we associated with, what games we enjoyed, what rules we abided by, and so on. They were also to contain details about Voldemort and his followers, and the war being waged between certain factions. After the first book was published, and found to be a wild success, the members of the Ministry breathed a collective sigh of relief. This was, after all, the greatest security breach they'd ever faced, and the future of Muggle relations depended upon the hope that the books would be well liked.

At present, there are four books in print, and another on the way. Although told as fiction, they are books of historical fact; the history of a young boy's life.

I should know. I was there.

My name is Draco Malfoy. You know me as a spoiled, arrogant young twit who gets off on the suffering of others. I can only hope that by the end of the tale I am about to tell, you will still regard me so highly as that.

This is neither a children's story nor a work of fiction. Although memory may deceive me here or there, the events I am about to describe did happen, and the characters do exist. I believe, however, that I will style this as a work of fiction; after all, what harm can it do? Perhaps it will ease the pain a bit if I pretend that it's all sprung from my imagination.

Enough dallying. Let's get on with it, then.