A/N: Heya! Happy (belated) New Year everybody!
Hugs and roses for all your lovely reviews! @)-;--
Well, Harry has been living as a muggle since Hogwarts. He just keeps on
forgetting about his cooker because he usually uses his wand for stuff like
that, but has a cooker to make him more . . . 'muggle-like' in the
neighbours's eyes.
Keep reviewing this people! The more reviews I get . . . the sooner I'll
TRY to post! : )
Losing Grip
Chapter 1
The alarm clock in Harry's room went off. He cracked an eye open.
Ten o'clock. Good enough. What day was it? Tuesday. He didn't have to go to work. Although he had a nagging suspicion that he was supposed to meet someone at around eleven . . .
And then he remembered. He had to go to the Coffee Republic nearest to his house where he had arranged to meet his new flatmate. They had kept in touch with letters. Another flatmate. Harry sighed.
Yes, he had had his fair share of lodgers in the last two years. Since he owned the house, or flat, as he preferred to call it, his 'roommates' had to pay him rent, which he paid the landlord. So, therefore, Harry had the power to kick them out if he didn't like them.
Although he didn't exactly call it 'kicking them out'. He called it 'politely showing them the door'. Sometimes, his sanity worried Ron, who still remained his best friend after Hogwarts.
Anyway, because of too many lodgers on the waiting list, Harry had taken to changing his name when he put out advertisements to avoid being recognised.
Harry had a reasonably quiet life - and that was how he liked it.
It had not always been quiet, of course. There was that time two years after Hogwarts where some ex-Death Eater who hadn't yet been caught had made an attempt on his life. Harry winced - he had to live with strong wards around his house for two weeks after that. No one apart from him or special-class Aurors could enter the house without alarms going off and twenty Aurors running in. There had been one particular embarrassing time when Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry's boyfriend at the time, entered his house and ran up to greet his lover with a kiss - ten Aurors had run in, and, trying to ignore the interesting shade of red he was turning, Harry was forced to explain to them that Justin was NOT planning to kill him. Just, well . . . kiss him.
Then, of course, there had been that time three years after that when his house had been robbed - Harry had been very upset. The burglars had stolen things that had belonged to the deceased - people who had died during the Final Battle. Remus Lupin's photo album with his own-penned thoughts on the people from his days at Hogwarts had been stolen - one of the few things of Lupin's that Harry owned. He had been killed by Wormtail's silver hand while in his wolf form. Neville's Herbology book that helped him get some of the best marks in the class had been stolen. Hermione's locket had been stolen. It had a picture in it of her and Ron, her boyfriend during Hogwarts.
Harry sighed. He really HAD to stop living in the past. Hermione was gone, and she wasn't coming back. There was nothing he could do about it.
A year after his house had been burgled, Harry had moved to the flat he lived in now. And through the years he had nosey reporters stalking him (though now less than usual), trying to grill him on if he thought that people still wanted him dead, despite the fact that he had defeated Voldemort in his seventh year.
And there had been the time, well, THOSE times, actually, when Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron and people would either beg for his autograph, stare, mutter about him behind their hands, or all at once.
And that blasted muggle cooker having smoke that just decided to float out of it as if it were a cloud around three times a week.
OK, so maybe Harry Potter's life wasn't THAT quiet. But it was alright for a wizarding-world-famous twenty-five year old.
Harry glanced at the clock.
"Dammit!" he snapped at it. He had been lost in his thoughts for almost half an hour. Harry quickly ran into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed quite a big amount of toothpaste onto it, and started brushing his teeth. Unluckily, some of the 'big amount' of toothpaste had slipped down into his throat, practically choking him, causing him to spend the next five minutes trying to spit it in the sink. He ran back into his bedroom, hurriedly pulled on a blue shirt and black trousers when he remembered that he had told, or, more specifically, wrote, his new 'flatmate' that he'd be wearing a green jumper and jeans (so as not to cause any confusion).
Cursing, Harry threw his clothes off and yanked on his jeans and grabbed his green jumper as he ran out of his flat. Then he realised that he had left his keys at home. He ran back towards his house right before the door closed, rushed up the stairs, grabbed his keys (which it took three minutes fifty-five seconds to find), then ran out of his house, remembering (for once) to lock his door.
He jogged all the way to the coffee house, which was luckily only twenty- five minutes away from his house. Ten, if you ran. Really fast.
He often went to the Coffee Republic: coffee house by day, disco bar by night. Harry usually went alone, but sometimes dragged Ron along for the fun of it. But Ron was frequently quite busy, him being the captain/Keeper of his Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, and all.
Harry ran into the coffee shop and looked at the clock.
Great. Just great. He was ten minutes late.
Harry sighed and plopped himself down onto a leather couch with a round coffee table. He hoped that his new flatmate (D. Mall, he had signed it at the end of his letters - Harry supposed that his first name was David, or something like that), would recognize him by his clothes and approach him.
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of anyone coming over to Harry, apart from the coffee-waitress, who, wearing an incredibly skimpy skirt and revealing top, would flutter her eyelashes at him every time she asked him if he would like some coffee.
Harry started drumming his fingers on the round coffee table, irritated that the lodger was even later than he was. He sighed and looked at the clock (he seemed to be doing that a lot this morning).
11:24
He then attempted to bore a hole through the coffee table by glaring at it, amidst the boredom of having to wait for someone an entire fourteen minutes. Harry's patience had worn very thin in the years after Hogwarts. Now, he couldn't even wait for the microwave (which was actually quite fascinating to use) to heat up his food, without starting to pace around the room.
There was a loud 'Ahem' coughed in front of Harry, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry's eyes moved from the coffee table to the man standing in front of it. He had very fair blonde hair (Harry was sure that it must've been dyed) up in spikes (Harry was sure that at least a whole can of gel must have been used), and a slightly darker-coloured stubble on his chin, which made him look either twenty-eight or twenty-two depending on if you found stubbles attractive or not. Not that Harry had a thing for stubbles - Justin never had a stubble - just . . . he found them quite . . . alluring.
"Harry Paye?" the man drawled casually, inspecting his nails in a sophisticated fashion, not even glancing at his roommate-to-be's face.
"That's me," Harry said, standing up to shake 'D. Mall's' hand.
As soon as he came face to face with the blonde, Harry's eyes widened. The man didn't seem to notice, thought, as he started speaking.
"My name is Draco Mall, but you can call me-" he broke off suddenly, eyes widening a bit as he looked at Harry's face as if suddenly seeing him properly for the first time. Which, he was, considering the fact that he was too busy checking his nails to pay attention to the black-haired man in front of him. Draco Mall's grey eyes seemed to be trying to bore holes through Harry's intense green ones.
"P . . . Potter?" he said, sounding as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
"Malfoy?"
A/N: WELL! I'll bet you all knew that before THEY did. Maybe you didn't. Hmmmm . . . anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which is the longest one I've ever done! Yaaaaaaaaaay! Woooooooooo! Wheeeeeeeee! *cough * Um, sorry about that. I'm just a little hyper is all. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE REVIEW! They really mean a lot to me, and they are what keep me going into the new world! That didn't really make sense, did it?
Losing Grip
Chapter 1
The alarm clock in Harry's room went off. He cracked an eye open.
Ten o'clock. Good enough. What day was it? Tuesday. He didn't have to go to work. Although he had a nagging suspicion that he was supposed to meet someone at around eleven . . .
And then he remembered. He had to go to the Coffee Republic nearest to his house where he had arranged to meet his new flatmate. They had kept in touch with letters. Another flatmate. Harry sighed.
Yes, he had had his fair share of lodgers in the last two years. Since he owned the house, or flat, as he preferred to call it, his 'roommates' had to pay him rent, which he paid the landlord. So, therefore, Harry had the power to kick them out if he didn't like them.
Although he didn't exactly call it 'kicking them out'. He called it 'politely showing them the door'. Sometimes, his sanity worried Ron, who still remained his best friend after Hogwarts.
Anyway, because of too many lodgers on the waiting list, Harry had taken to changing his name when he put out advertisements to avoid being recognised.
Harry had a reasonably quiet life - and that was how he liked it.
It had not always been quiet, of course. There was that time two years after Hogwarts where some ex-Death Eater who hadn't yet been caught had made an attempt on his life. Harry winced - he had to live with strong wards around his house for two weeks after that. No one apart from him or special-class Aurors could enter the house without alarms going off and twenty Aurors running in. There had been one particular embarrassing time when Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry's boyfriend at the time, entered his house and ran up to greet his lover with a kiss - ten Aurors had run in, and, trying to ignore the interesting shade of red he was turning, Harry was forced to explain to them that Justin was NOT planning to kill him. Just, well . . . kiss him.
Then, of course, there had been that time three years after that when his house had been robbed - Harry had been very upset. The burglars had stolen things that had belonged to the deceased - people who had died during the Final Battle. Remus Lupin's photo album with his own-penned thoughts on the people from his days at Hogwarts had been stolen - one of the few things of Lupin's that Harry owned. He had been killed by Wormtail's silver hand while in his wolf form. Neville's Herbology book that helped him get some of the best marks in the class had been stolen. Hermione's locket had been stolen. It had a picture in it of her and Ron, her boyfriend during Hogwarts.
Harry sighed. He really HAD to stop living in the past. Hermione was gone, and she wasn't coming back. There was nothing he could do about it.
A year after his house had been burgled, Harry had moved to the flat he lived in now. And through the years he had nosey reporters stalking him (though now less than usual), trying to grill him on if he thought that people still wanted him dead, despite the fact that he had defeated Voldemort in his seventh year.
And there had been the time, well, THOSE times, actually, when Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron and people would either beg for his autograph, stare, mutter about him behind their hands, or all at once.
And that blasted muggle cooker having smoke that just decided to float out of it as if it were a cloud around three times a week.
OK, so maybe Harry Potter's life wasn't THAT quiet. But it was alright for a wizarding-world-famous twenty-five year old.
Harry glanced at the clock.
"Dammit!" he snapped at it. He had been lost in his thoughts for almost half an hour. Harry quickly ran into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed quite a big amount of toothpaste onto it, and started brushing his teeth. Unluckily, some of the 'big amount' of toothpaste had slipped down into his throat, practically choking him, causing him to spend the next five minutes trying to spit it in the sink. He ran back into his bedroom, hurriedly pulled on a blue shirt and black trousers when he remembered that he had told, or, more specifically, wrote, his new 'flatmate' that he'd be wearing a green jumper and jeans (so as not to cause any confusion).
Cursing, Harry threw his clothes off and yanked on his jeans and grabbed his green jumper as he ran out of his flat. Then he realised that he had left his keys at home. He ran back towards his house right before the door closed, rushed up the stairs, grabbed his keys (which it took three minutes fifty-five seconds to find), then ran out of his house, remembering (for once) to lock his door.
He jogged all the way to the coffee house, which was luckily only twenty- five minutes away from his house. Ten, if you ran. Really fast.
He often went to the Coffee Republic: coffee house by day, disco bar by night. Harry usually went alone, but sometimes dragged Ron along for the fun of it. But Ron was frequently quite busy, him being the captain/Keeper of his Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, and all.
Harry ran into the coffee shop and looked at the clock.
Great. Just great. He was ten minutes late.
Harry sighed and plopped himself down onto a leather couch with a round coffee table. He hoped that his new flatmate (D. Mall, he had signed it at the end of his letters - Harry supposed that his first name was David, or something like that), would recognize him by his clothes and approach him.
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of anyone coming over to Harry, apart from the coffee-waitress, who, wearing an incredibly skimpy skirt and revealing top, would flutter her eyelashes at him every time she asked him if he would like some coffee.
Harry started drumming his fingers on the round coffee table, irritated that the lodger was even later than he was. He sighed and looked at the clock (he seemed to be doing that a lot this morning).
11:24
He then attempted to bore a hole through the coffee table by glaring at it, amidst the boredom of having to wait for someone an entire fourteen minutes. Harry's patience had worn very thin in the years after Hogwarts. Now, he couldn't even wait for the microwave (which was actually quite fascinating to use) to heat up his food, without starting to pace around the room.
There was a loud 'Ahem' coughed in front of Harry, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry's eyes moved from the coffee table to the man standing in front of it. He had very fair blonde hair (Harry was sure that it must've been dyed) up in spikes (Harry was sure that at least a whole can of gel must have been used), and a slightly darker-coloured stubble on his chin, which made him look either twenty-eight or twenty-two depending on if you found stubbles attractive or not. Not that Harry had a thing for stubbles - Justin never had a stubble - just . . . he found them quite . . . alluring.
"Harry Paye?" the man drawled casually, inspecting his nails in a sophisticated fashion, not even glancing at his roommate-to-be's face.
"That's me," Harry said, standing up to shake 'D. Mall's' hand.
As soon as he came face to face with the blonde, Harry's eyes widened. The man didn't seem to notice, thought, as he started speaking.
"My name is Draco Mall, but you can call me-" he broke off suddenly, eyes widening a bit as he looked at Harry's face as if suddenly seeing him properly for the first time. Which, he was, considering the fact that he was too busy checking his nails to pay attention to the black-haired man in front of him. Draco Mall's grey eyes seemed to be trying to bore holes through Harry's intense green ones.
"P . . . Potter?" he said, sounding as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
"Malfoy?"
A/N: WELL! I'll bet you all knew that before THEY did. Maybe you didn't. Hmmmm . . . anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which is the longest one I've ever done! Yaaaaaaaaaay! Woooooooooo! Wheeeeeeeee! *cough * Um, sorry about that. I'm just a little hyper is all. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE REVIEW! They really mean a lot to me, and they are what keep me going into the new world! That didn't really make sense, did it?