Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K.R's beautiful creations...Sadly!
Author: Satania
Title: Cold
Rating: R
Summary: My first Harry Potter fic. Very angsty, very dark, and eventually Draco/Harry slash. In his sixth year, Harry decides maybe being a Golden Boy isn't as great as everyone thinks it is.
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Sitting alone on his bed, starring out the window across the lake that kept the grounds of Hogwarts inaccessible by any other than those who knew exactly where to find them, Harry wondered how different life had been before he found out that his destiny was that of a wizard. He would spend days at the Dursley's, locked up under the stairs, stomach growling and waiting for the day when he would be free. Many times he had written himself letters, describing how one day he would be free. To pass the time, he would compare the loudness of the creeks as Dudley went up and down the stairs, each month getting fatter and the creeks getting more strained as if the stairs were in pain. Harry had once written a suicide note, planning to steal a knife from the kitchen when he was called to make breakfast for his boorish uncle. It would have been so easy. But that very day, Dudley's birthday, the Dursley's figured it was too risky to leave Harry in the house by himself. For all they knew, he could mess up the beautiful white rug in the front hall with his filthy feet. How Harry wished he could slit his wrists and bleed all over that infernal carpet. But that day had changed his life. It was not every day he talked to snakes, and ever since he had that interesting conversation, Harry was certain there was something different about him. Not that sort of different that his Aunt Petunia always accused him of, for she would constantly crack him across the face when she thought he was straying to far from the path of what she believed was normal. This meant no mention of occult legends, of princesses in high castles, or heaven forbid, magic. Now Harry understood. All these years later, he finally knew why his Aunt and Uncle had been so oppressive when it came to the mention of wizardry. It was because the force they so feared was real, and it had turned Petunia's own sister into one of those "freaks" that locked themselves up in a castle all year, learning various curses an other abominations.
But this was all in the past. Harry was sixteen now, in his sixth year of schooling, a prefect and golden boy of the wizarding world. One more year and he would leave the school he loved so much for he would be done his training. Another year after that and he would be finally free, able to leave the Dursley's and live his life as he wanted to. The thought of owning his own flat, going out to local coffee shops with Ron and Hermione, staying up late listening to music. It all seemed so perfect, and so far away. Harry took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the night air and laying his head down on his pillow. This year was going to be a special one for him, he could tell. From the moment he had walked into the great hall this evening, looking at all the eyes of the students and teachers alike, he felt something in the air that this year would be different from the others. Better. Harry closed his eyes, thinking over what he planned to do after his first day of classes tomorrow. Something flashed in his mind quickly. He had potions first tomorrow, and like every previous year, the Gryffindors, loyal and true, were stuck with the Slytherins. That meant a certain platinum haired demon. One whose sole purpose in life was to make Harry's miserable. No one knew how deep exactly this demon's words affected Harry. But no one needed to know. Every day, Harry could play the same game. He wasn't hurt. Childish words meant nothing to him, and
Of course, teenage angst only got him so far. He was tired of tormenting himself with the thoughts of how hard life was, and he was tired in general. He felt a deep sleep overwhelm him, tugging at his senses and luring him into a prefect dream world where he was just an average boy, with average friends, and there was no Voldemort peeping in his bedroom window to fill his mind with nightmares. Of course, this world could never be.
There was shuffling around the sixth year boy's bedroom. The sounds of somebody, who wanted something, but didn't know exactly where to find it. Harry slowly opened his eyes, ready to tell whomever it was to shove off and get back into bed. Harry let his eyes adjust to the moonlight and blinked. Sitting up, he scanned the room for the perpetrator. He couldn't see anyone moving and the noise had ceased. He strained his ears to hear even the faintest sounds of movement, but there was nothing. He swung his legs cautiously over the edge of his bed and stood, a little shaky at first but then regaining his balance. He noticed the blankets on Neville's bed were slightly off looking, almost as if there were two bodies in there. Puzzled, Harry walked slowly over to the other boy's bed. Not wanting to awaken the whole room, he resisted the urge to holler out Neville's name. Instead, he bit his lip and stood beside the bed, still struggling a bit to see. The room was practically draped in shadows, creating a very eerie atmosphere. Reaching forward, his hand shaking, Harry grasped the edge of the blankets and pulled back. Horror washed over him and he fought the urge to scream. There was indeed another body in that bed. A creature, humanoid and glowing with the sliver moonlight, white haired and graceful, perched on top of Neville's torso, it's face buried in the sleeping boy's neck. The creature snarled and looked quickly up at Harry before moving into the darkest corners of the room, all before Harry had a chance to let the scene click into his mind. Whatever this thing was, it moved with super human speed. The thing laughed, gave Harry a wink with its glowing, silver eyes, and disappeared instantly. It had run, but to Harry, it seemed like the thing had disappeared into thin air. He looked down and Neville and tried to resist the urge to vomit. There were two puncture wounds and a free flow of blood pooling around the other boy's neck. Taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, taking in the scene before him, and trying to decipher it logically, Harry decided the best thing to do was not to scream like his mind was trying to convince him. Slowly and calmly he sat down.
"Ron." His voice remained quite level, sounding slightly upset yet holding that power it was expected to have. There was no response right away, so Harry tried again. "Ron!"
This time there was a groan and an expletive. Harry turned, still sitting, to face Ron's bunk and sighed. A mop of red hair popped out from under the thick red blankets and yawned. There was a look of innocence about Ron that always fascinated Harry. After all the past five years had presented them with, with all the death and pain, the red haired boy managed to keep happy, always looking at the positive side of things. He never could find anything positive about Snape, potions class, Slytherins in general, but those were childish things. Last year, when Harry had been suffering from terrible insomnia, Ron had stayed up night after night to comfort him and keep him company, all the time claiming it did him good to stay up with harry because they got to know each other even more. The red haired boy stood from his bed and immediately flopped to the floor.
"Do you have any idea what the bloody time is Harry? You not having problems sleeping again, are you?" There was a mixed tone of anger and concern in Ron's voice.
"No Ron, I'm fine. I-" Harry took a deep breath, feeling panic wash over him. He fought to gain control over his mind, feeling defiance in his mind against the fear. "Neville...He needs, he's, he-"
"What is it Harry? Bloody hell, spit it out." Ron stood again and very awkwardly made his way over to Harry, stopped, starred at the trembling boy, and walked over to Neville's bed. "Is there something wrong with Nev-"
Harry cringed as the red haired boy made a noise somewhat like a mangled scream mixed with a furious cry. He watched as Ron collapsed to the floor again, crying silently. The other boy's shoulders heaved in unison to the silent, terror filled tears that streamed down his face.
"Harry! We have to get him to Madame-"
"Pomfrey." He finished Ron's sentence for him. "Just what I was thinking. Ok, I'll cast a levitate spell on him. I don't think we should disturb his body, incase, well I don't know."
"Did you see the thing that did this?" Ron turned and faced Harry; his eyes wide like a child's.
"Sort of. It was so fast; I'm not sure what it was. By the looks of it, it was probably a vampire, but I want to know how a vampire could get on the grounds of Hogwarts. Vampires live out in the Northern parts of England, that's what we learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There are almost no vampires around here." Harry bit his lip, confused and frightened beyond all reason.
"Unless..."
"Unless what Ron?"
"Well, remember Lupin? I mean, like, a werewolf couldn't have gotten onto Hogwarts ground unless it was invited or if no one knew whoever it is happens to be a vampire."
"So, you think that maybe whatever did this to Neville could be a teacher?"
"No Harry, not a teacher. I think it was a student." Ron swallowed hard and stood, dusting himself off and calming himself down. "Now let's get him down to Madame Pomfrey."
Harry nodded and cast a levitation charm on Neville's sleeping body. He ripped a corner off the sheets on Neville's bed and wadded them up on the puncture wounds, not wanting to drip blood all over the place. He nodded at Ron, and led the way out the portrait hole, Neville floating peacefully behind him. He made his way through the twisting corridor's, down case after case of moving stairs until finally he reached the medical wing. Ron had stopped crying and was looking much calmer. The two boys entered the wing, making sure that Neville's unconscious form followed. They lead it to a bed, and Harry dispelled the charm, cringing as Neville's body hit the bed with a thump.
"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry called, running through the wing as soon as Neville was on the bed. "Madam Pomfrey, its Neville! He's been attacked!"
As he called, Harry realized his perfect year was off to a really awful start.
"All right then, stop hollering like a wounded dog. I'm here! Now, tell me what's happened."
As Harry went with Madame Pomfrey to the bed where Ron watched over Neville, he explained the whole story. Madame Pomfrey did not give the reaction that Harry had expected at all. She took Neville's pulse, removed the wadded up sheet from around his neck, and told the other two boys calmly to go fetch Dumbledore and then return to bed. As soon as they left the medical wing, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder.
"You go back to bed, I'll get Dumbledore." He instructed sternly.
"You'll be ok by yourself?" Ron smiled his famous lop sided smile.
"Ron, I'm always by myself." He muttered before he ran off towards Dumbledore's office.
Ron sighed and walked back to the Gryffindor dormitories, confused and worried about not only Neville's well being, but about Harry's too. That vacant look in the brunette's shocking green eyes was disturbingly unsettling. But it was not his business what went on in Harry's head. Sometimes it really bothered him how secluded Harry had become ever since Cedric's death in fourth year and the "purges in the fifth year. Things had become very different around Hogwarts. Harry had lost a best friend, and Ron had lost the love of his life. The Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts, not as themselves, but through their children. The Slytherin house committed the most deadly purges ever seen, slaughtering those who were not of pure blood with pure, animal hatred. Harry and Ron had fought hard against the possessed Slytherins, never quite sure when they were matching wits against the silver haired Draco, or when they were really dealing with the elder Lucius. Hermione had sacrificed herself in a deadly show down between Harry and Draco/Lucius. Ron had been there, watching the whole thing from a corner of the dungeon where the other two boys had begun to match powers. He had shouted at Harry to eliminate Draco, for with Draco's body destroyed, Lucius's conscious would be forever lost in the fabric of space ant time. But Harry didn't want to punish Draco for Lucius's actions. The Slytherins were not aware of the horrors they committed. Much like Ginny in second year, they were under the possession of their parents. Draco was not responsible for the murders his father had committed, and Harry could not justify his eradication. And in that moment of weakness, Lucius struck through Draco, casting the Avada Kadavera curse a grin of triumph on Draco's perfect features. Hermione's fate was sealed. She was so brave. She had stood in the way, taking the full blast of the curse to save Harry. Her scream still echoed in Ron's mind as he remembered her face, wide eyed and in pain. She had collapsed to the floor and Ron had attacked. He swung at Draco/Lucius with all his might, forgetting his wand, feeling the pure rage course through his veins. Of course, Dumbledore came to the rescue, pulling Ron off of Draco/Lucius and casting a spell that sent Lucius's conscious back to his own body. Draco had no memory of committing any murders, and no memory of that faith Harry put in him for that brief moment.
Ron shuddered involuntarily as he reached the portrait hole. He gazed up and down the corridor, finally resting his eyes on the fat lady in the painting in front of him. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to wake the sleeping picture. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and focused on the red haired boy.
"What are you doing up so late?" She asked, stifling a yawn.
"Well, you see, oh." Ron thought hard, not knowing whether or not to tell her. She was after all, only a painting. "Nothing. Did you perhaps let anyone into the tower that was, I don't know, unusual?"
"No, not at all my dear. Is anything the matter?"
"No, not really. Well, 'Tranquil Euphoria'." Ron breathed in sharply as the portrait swung open.
It finally occurred to him that whoever had attacked Neville may not have left. He or she could still be lurking in the shadows within the common room. Ron gazed around the room, his eyes wide with panic. He knew that if Hermione were still here, she would tell him to stop being such a baby and just go to bed. Not seeing anything suspicious, Ron dashed up the stairs to his bed. He dove under the covers, arming himself with his wand and pulling the blankets over his head. Whatever had attacked Neville might come back, he decided. He didn't want to be caught with his pants down so to speak. Before he fell asleep, one more thought poked Ron. Maybe the creature had come in through the open window. He stood up, closed all the windows in the room, careful not to awaken any of the other boys, and got back into bed. He quickly fell asleep again, but it was a troubled, uneasy sleep. The kind of sleep one had when one has stayed up all night watching horror films. Except for Ron, the horror films were his reality.
Harry awoke the next morning to a warm sunlight streaming down onto his face. The previous night's events still burned in his mind, as if they were painted onto his eyelids so whenever he blinked, he could see Neville's pale skin and the blood pooling around him. Harry couldn't stand the though of loosing another friend. He had lost Cedric, Hermione, Justin, Seamus, and countless others. More blood shed. More pain. Whatever Harry had felt as he had entered the Great Hall, that feeling that this year, everything would be ok, whatever that was it was wrong. It seemed to Harry that he couldn't go anywhere without all hell breaking loose. Maybe if he had never come to this school, if he had just endured the torture of living with the Dursleys, half the events that had happened in Hogwarts over that past five years would never have happened. Hermione would still be here. But, then again, it wouldn't matter for he would never meet her. Harry felt warm tears building up in the corners of his eyes. Ron would have still met Hermione. It was common knowledge throughout the school how deeply they had felt for one another. Ron could have been happy if it wasn't for him...
"Harry, are you awake?" Ron sounded slightly different this morning. The usual chipper tone he embedded into his words had eroded away slightly, but he still sounded quite happy.
"Yeah, I'm up. What time is it?"
"Um, it's, well I'm not sure. We'd best get up and go to classes. Don't want to be late for Potions first day."
Harry let his eyes close again as he groaned. He lay there, still and waiting as he listened to the sounds of Ron getting ready. Ron said something to the effect of meeting him in class, but Harry took no notice. His mind was set on the creature that had attacked Neville. Everything about it had glowed with an unearthly aura, a haunting silver tone that brought a shudder up Harry's spine as he thought about it. When he had told Dumbledore, he got the usual canned response telling him everything would be all right in the end. Dumbledore just didn't seem to understand that is was never all right in the end. First year, Harry had come back to the Dursleys and couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could barely talk from trauma. Second year, he came back paranoid; unable to move through the hallways of the tiny house he was fostered in without whirling around three times in all directions to make sure he was alone. Third year, he flew into a deep depression. Suicidal thoughts again bubbled in his head like they had before he had been accepted to Hogwarts. Fourth year, Cedric's death haunted Harry's thoughts and dreams. And finally, in his fifth year, Harry stopped being that happy little Golden Boy everyone made him out to be. He realized that the only person he could depend on was himself, because in the end, he was the only one who had defeated the evils that face him. He had countless amounts of help, but something inside Harry told him he would have been able to overcome all his adversaries even without the help of those around him. If that was true, then Hermione was a wasted life. Harry fought back tears, telling himself he was stronger than that, and walking into Potions first thing with eyes full of tears would not help matters. He quickly got ready, pulling on his robes and gathering his books and quills together. He stood in front of the mirror that sat above his bedside table, looking himself in the eyes. He could still remember when there was a flame there, flickering with anticipation for the new day. Where had it gone? This was no time for metaphoric battles with himself. Harry sighed and ran out the portrait hole, trying to escape the gaze of his own reflection.
With a hint of dread, Harry pushed open the door to the Potions dungeon. The air was dank and smelled a sickly, rotting, sweet smell. He crinkled his nose and found his seat next to Ron. Snape had not yet entered the classroom, which was a relief to Harry. The boy didn't want any confrontations. He pulled out the current book they were working with, "Practically Perfect Potions" by Pricilla Ponion. There was something about all the more famous wizards that bothered Harry. All their first and last names started with the same letter. And all their books had cheesy titles. Harry dreaded that when he grew up, he might have to change his name to Parry Potter, or Harry Hotter. There was a sharp crack of wood in the back room and Snape emerged, looking quite flustered and covered in a fine white powder. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have dismissed it as Snape's lack of personal hygiene. But something about his face suggested that it wasn't dandruff.
"Well, I see we're all here. Right then. Turn to page three hundred and forty two and read to page five hundred. If I hear one murmur, you'll all be in here after class serving detention." Snape dusted one shoulder off and glared at the class with his tiny, snake like eyes. "I'll be in the storage room."
With that, he turned around, flourishing his cape and stalking off into the depths of the back storage room. There were a few nervous chuckles and quick whispered comments as the class set into reading the newest chapter on the deadly Kurse Rute Poysun. With a quick read over, it was actually quite simple to make and Harry decided that there was something else on Snape's mind, for the man delighted in presenting the class with impossibly hard potions. He closed his book slowly and turned to Ron.
"Does any of this strike you as odd?" He queried, keeping his voice low enough so only Ron could hear.
"I could have made this in first year. I think, well, maybe Snape knows something?" Ron's eyes crossed slightly, a sign he was trying to think. "Maybe he's putting up wards or something."
"Perhaps. Something just doesn't seem right. Snape never gives us uninstructed in class reading."
"Come on Harry. We've spent the last five years suspecting Snape of the worst, and in the end he's always out there protecting you. You just need to learn to trust the guy. I mean, you see the man with a knife and you think he's trying to kill you when really he's trying to kill whatever is posing you a threat." Ron sighed and flopped down over the desk in front of him. "That being said, you know, I still don't fully trust him."
"You're such a child Ron." Harry laughed. It was an honest laugh, one Ron hadn't heard from him in a long time.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Harry snueeked off to the prefect's bathroom after dinner in hopes of washing up and cleaning some of the dirt off from working with Hagrid and his creatures. He spent a few minutes trying to remember the password, always getting the Gryffindor password and the bathroom password mixed up. Finally remembering it was "Lemon Scented" he entered the bathroom and sighed. The air was thick with water vapor and sweet and fragrant, meaning someone had just gotten out of the bath. Harry stepped a little deeper into the room, enveloping himself in the thick misty air. He couldn't tell if there was anyone else in the room, but the tub was empty so he turned a couple of the taps, filling the tub with a bright blue water with green bubbles that smelt like the fresh fields of Ireland. He inhaled deeply before disrobing and hopping in. The water was soothing, washing over his body like a much welcome wave. He swam a couple of laps around the tub before beginning to wash. With a deep breath, he plunged underwater, wetting his hair and running his fingers through the unruly mass. As he surfaced, he heard a chuckle from one of the far corners.
"So, Potter, figured you could escape the world with a dandy little bath?" The drawling voice of his demonic rival cut through the misty air and caused a twang of anger inside Harry.
"Shove off Malfoy, I just want to be left alone." Harry sighed and started to lather shampoo into his hair. "You're just using this as an excuse to see me naked."
"Ah, is that an invitation?" Something in Draco's voice sent a shiver up Harry's spine. Not a reassuring shiver, the kind one gets when in a graveyard. "Actually, I just got out of the bath myself."
Harry didn't respond immediately. He dipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo out, slowly, hoping that Malfoy would leave if he didn't respond. He grabbed a bar of soap from beside the tub and began to lather up his arms. When Malfoy cleared his throat loudly, Harry opened his eyes wide and sighed.
"Just leave. I'm not really in the mood for company."
"Don't be that way. I'm just trying to be friendly with the great Saint Potter." Malfoy chuckled, stepping towards the tub and kneeling at the edge of it.
As Malfoy's slate gray eyes burned into Harry's, both boys were silent. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to make his mouth work and form words. He glanced over his rival's toned body, pale and thin, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was loose, falling freely over his face. There was something about him that created a glowing effect, as if he were some sort of otherworldly creature. Like a veela, Harry found he was caught up in the gaze of this fiend. His bottom lip began to tremble despite the control Harry was trying to administer over his body. Malfoy leaned forward slightly, as if to capture the other boy's lips in his. Harry groaned inwardly as he realized he was hoping that was the case. But all Malfoy did was smirk, his breath smelling of wintergreen mints.
"Don't explode Potter." And with that, he stood and walked off.
It was as simple as that. He left. Harry let out a loud groan and slipped under the water. His mind raced as fast as it could, digesting what his body was telling him. He had just seen Malfoy, almost completely naked, and he liked it. Sure, Harry had gone through the odd crush on some of the other boys in the school, and he had always thought Malfoy was pretty cute for and asshole. But that closeness seemed to seal it in Harry's mind. He surfaced and took in a deep breath of oxygen. He wanted to cry or vomit. He wasn't sure which one was more appealing. The year was getting worse and worse by every second.
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Author's Note: So, that's the first chapter. Tell me what you think! Please don't be too harsh, it is after all my first fic. So, should I continue, or should I just fade back into obscurity? Please tell me the former is the case :)
Author: Satania
Title: Cold
Rating: R
Summary: My first Harry Potter fic. Very angsty, very dark, and eventually Draco/Harry slash. In his sixth year, Harry decides maybe being a Golden Boy isn't as great as everyone thinks it is.
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Sitting alone on his bed, starring out the window across the lake that kept the grounds of Hogwarts inaccessible by any other than those who knew exactly where to find them, Harry wondered how different life had been before he found out that his destiny was that of a wizard. He would spend days at the Dursley's, locked up under the stairs, stomach growling and waiting for the day when he would be free. Many times he had written himself letters, describing how one day he would be free. To pass the time, he would compare the loudness of the creeks as Dudley went up and down the stairs, each month getting fatter and the creeks getting more strained as if the stairs were in pain. Harry had once written a suicide note, planning to steal a knife from the kitchen when he was called to make breakfast for his boorish uncle. It would have been so easy. But that very day, Dudley's birthday, the Dursley's figured it was too risky to leave Harry in the house by himself. For all they knew, he could mess up the beautiful white rug in the front hall with his filthy feet. How Harry wished he could slit his wrists and bleed all over that infernal carpet. But that day had changed his life. It was not every day he talked to snakes, and ever since he had that interesting conversation, Harry was certain there was something different about him. Not that sort of different that his Aunt Petunia always accused him of, for she would constantly crack him across the face when she thought he was straying to far from the path of what she believed was normal. This meant no mention of occult legends, of princesses in high castles, or heaven forbid, magic. Now Harry understood. All these years later, he finally knew why his Aunt and Uncle had been so oppressive when it came to the mention of wizardry. It was because the force they so feared was real, and it had turned Petunia's own sister into one of those "freaks" that locked themselves up in a castle all year, learning various curses an other abominations.
But this was all in the past. Harry was sixteen now, in his sixth year of schooling, a prefect and golden boy of the wizarding world. One more year and he would leave the school he loved so much for he would be done his training. Another year after that and he would be finally free, able to leave the Dursley's and live his life as he wanted to. The thought of owning his own flat, going out to local coffee shops with Ron and Hermione, staying up late listening to music. It all seemed so perfect, and so far away. Harry took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the night air and laying his head down on his pillow. This year was going to be a special one for him, he could tell. From the moment he had walked into the great hall this evening, looking at all the eyes of the students and teachers alike, he felt something in the air that this year would be different from the others. Better. Harry closed his eyes, thinking over what he planned to do after his first day of classes tomorrow. Something flashed in his mind quickly. He had potions first tomorrow, and like every previous year, the Gryffindors, loyal and true, were stuck with the Slytherins. That meant a certain platinum haired demon. One whose sole purpose in life was to make Harry's miserable. No one knew how deep exactly this demon's words affected Harry. But no one needed to know. Every day, Harry could play the same game. He wasn't hurt. Childish words meant nothing to him, and
Of course, teenage angst only got him so far. He was tired of tormenting himself with the thoughts of how hard life was, and he was tired in general. He felt a deep sleep overwhelm him, tugging at his senses and luring him into a prefect dream world where he was just an average boy, with average friends, and there was no Voldemort peeping in his bedroom window to fill his mind with nightmares. Of course, this world could never be.
There was shuffling around the sixth year boy's bedroom. The sounds of somebody, who wanted something, but didn't know exactly where to find it. Harry slowly opened his eyes, ready to tell whomever it was to shove off and get back into bed. Harry let his eyes adjust to the moonlight and blinked. Sitting up, he scanned the room for the perpetrator. He couldn't see anyone moving and the noise had ceased. He strained his ears to hear even the faintest sounds of movement, but there was nothing. He swung his legs cautiously over the edge of his bed and stood, a little shaky at first but then regaining his balance. He noticed the blankets on Neville's bed were slightly off looking, almost as if there were two bodies in there. Puzzled, Harry walked slowly over to the other boy's bed. Not wanting to awaken the whole room, he resisted the urge to holler out Neville's name. Instead, he bit his lip and stood beside the bed, still struggling a bit to see. The room was practically draped in shadows, creating a very eerie atmosphere. Reaching forward, his hand shaking, Harry grasped the edge of the blankets and pulled back. Horror washed over him and he fought the urge to scream. There was indeed another body in that bed. A creature, humanoid and glowing with the sliver moonlight, white haired and graceful, perched on top of Neville's torso, it's face buried in the sleeping boy's neck. The creature snarled and looked quickly up at Harry before moving into the darkest corners of the room, all before Harry had a chance to let the scene click into his mind. Whatever this thing was, it moved with super human speed. The thing laughed, gave Harry a wink with its glowing, silver eyes, and disappeared instantly. It had run, but to Harry, it seemed like the thing had disappeared into thin air. He looked down and Neville and tried to resist the urge to vomit. There were two puncture wounds and a free flow of blood pooling around the other boy's neck. Taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, taking in the scene before him, and trying to decipher it logically, Harry decided the best thing to do was not to scream like his mind was trying to convince him. Slowly and calmly he sat down.
"Ron." His voice remained quite level, sounding slightly upset yet holding that power it was expected to have. There was no response right away, so Harry tried again. "Ron!"
This time there was a groan and an expletive. Harry turned, still sitting, to face Ron's bunk and sighed. A mop of red hair popped out from under the thick red blankets and yawned. There was a look of innocence about Ron that always fascinated Harry. After all the past five years had presented them with, with all the death and pain, the red haired boy managed to keep happy, always looking at the positive side of things. He never could find anything positive about Snape, potions class, Slytherins in general, but those were childish things. Last year, when Harry had been suffering from terrible insomnia, Ron had stayed up night after night to comfort him and keep him company, all the time claiming it did him good to stay up with harry because they got to know each other even more. The red haired boy stood from his bed and immediately flopped to the floor.
"Do you have any idea what the bloody time is Harry? You not having problems sleeping again, are you?" There was a mixed tone of anger and concern in Ron's voice.
"No Ron, I'm fine. I-" Harry took a deep breath, feeling panic wash over him. He fought to gain control over his mind, feeling defiance in his mind against the fear. "Neville...He needs, he's, he-"
"What is it Harry? Bloody hell, spit it out." Ron stood again and very awkwardly made his way over to Harry, stopped, starred at the trembling boy, and walked over to Neville's bed. "Is there something wrong with Nev-"
Harry cringed as the red haired boy made a noise somewhat like a mangled scream mixed with a furious cry. He watched as Ron collapsed to the floor again, crying silently. The other boy's shoulders heaved in unison to the silent, terror filled tears that streamed down his face.
"Harry! We have to get him to Madame-"
"Pomfrey." He finished Ron's sentence for him. "Just what I was thinking. Ok, I'll cast a levitate spell on him. I don't think we should disturb his body, incase, well I don't know."
"Did you see the thing that did this?" Ron turned and faced Harry; his eyes wide like a child's.
"Sort of. It was so fast; I'm not sure what it was. By the looks of it, it was probably a vampire, but I want to know how a vampire could get on the grounds of Hogwarts. Vampires live out in the Northern parts of England, that's what we learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There are almost no vampires around here." Harry bit his lip, confused and frightened beyond all reason.
"Unless..."
"Unless what Ron?"
"Well, remember Lupin? I mean, like, a werewolf couldn't have gotten onto Hogwarts ground unless it was invited or if no one knew whoever it is happens to be a vampire."
"So, you think that maybe whatever did this to Neville could be a teacher?"
"No Harry, not a teacher. I think it was a student." Ron swallowed hard and stood, dusting himself off and calming himself down. "Now let's get him down to Madame Pomfrey."
Harry nodded and cast a levitation charm on Neville's sleeping body. He ripped a corner off the sheets on Neville's bed and wadded them up on the puncture wounds, not wanting to drip blood all over the place. He nodded at Ron, and led the way out the portrait hole, Neville floating peacefully behind him. He made his way through the twisting corridor's, down case after case of moving stairs until finally he reached the medical wing. Ron had stopped crying and was looking much calmer. The two boys entered the wing, making sure that Neville's unconscious form followed. They lead it to a bed, and Harry dispelled the charm, cringing as Neville's body hit the bed with a thump.
"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry called, running through the wing as soon as Neville was on the bed. "Madam Pomfrey, its Neville! He's been attacked!"
As he called, Harry realized his perfect year was off to a really awful start.
"All right then, stop hollering like a wounded dog. I'm here! Now, tell me what's happened."
As Harry went with Madame Pomfrey to the bed where Ron watched over Neville, he explained the whole story. Madame Pomfrey did not give the reaction that Harry had expected at all. She took Neville's pulse, removed the wadded up sheet from around his neck, and told the other two boys calmly to go fetch Dumbledore and then return to bed. As soon as they left the medical wing, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder.
"You go back to bed, I'll get Dumbledore." He instructed sternly.
"You'll be ok by yourself?" Ron smiled his famous lop sided smile.
"Ron, I'm always by myself." He muttered before he ran off towards Dumbledore's office.
Ron sighed and walked back to the Gryffindor dormitories, confused and worried about not only Neville's well being, but about Harry's too. That vacant look in the brunette's shocking green eyes was disturbingly unsettling. But it was not his business what went on in Harry's head. Sometimes it really bothered him how secluded Harry had become ever since Cedric's death in fourth year and the "purges in the fifth year. Things had become very different around Hogwarts. Harry had lost a best friend, and Ron had lost the love of his life. The Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts, not as themselves, but through their children. The Slytherin house committed the most deadly purges ever seen, slaughtering those who were not of pure blood with pure, animal hatred. Harry and Ron had fought hard against the possessed Slytherins, never quite sure when they were matching wits against the silver haired Draco, or when they were really dealing with the elder Lucius. Hermione had sacrificed herself in a deadly show down between Harry and Draco/Lucius. Ron had been there, watching the whole thing from a corner of the dungeon where the other two boys had begun to match powers. He had shouted at Harry to eliminate Draco, for with Draco's body destroyed, Lucius's conscious would be forever lost in the fabric of space ant time. But Harry didn't want to punish Draco for Lucius's actions. The Slytherins were not aware of the horrors they committed. Much like Ginny in second year, they were under the possession of their parents. Draco was not responsible for the murders his father had committed, and Harry could not justify his eradication. And in that moment of weakness, Lucius struck through Draco, casting the Avada Kadavera curse a grin of triumph on Draco's perfect features. Hermione's fate was sealed. She was so brave. She had stood in the way, taking the full blast of the curse to save Harry. Her scream still echoed in Ron's mind as he remembered her face, wide eyed and in pain. She had collapsed to the floor and Ron had attacked. He swung at Draco/Lucius with all his might, forgetting his wand, feeling the pure rage course through his veins. Of course, Dumbledore came to the rescue, pulling Ron off of Draco/Lucius and casting a spell that sent Lucius's conscious back to his own body. Draco had no memory of committing any murders, and no memory of that faith Harry put in him for that brief moment.
Ron shuddered involuntarily as he reached the portrait hole. He gazed up and down the corridor, finally resting his eyes on the fat lady in the painting in front of him. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to wake the sleeping picture. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and focused on the red haired boy.
"What are you doing up so late?" She asked, stifling a yawn.
"Well, you see, oh." Ron thought hard, not knowing whether or not to tell her. She was after all, only a painting. "Nothing. Did you perhaps let anyone into the tower that was, I don't know, unusual?"
"No, not at all my dear. Is anything the matter?"
"No, not really. Well, 'Tranquil Euphoria'." Ron breathed in sharply as the portrait swung open.
It finally occurred to him that whoever had attacked Neville may not have left. He or she could still be lurking in the shadows within the common room. Ron gazed around the room, his eyes wide with panic. He knew that if Hermione were still here, she would tell him to stop being such a baby and just go to bed. Not seeing anything suspicious, Ron dashed up the stairs to his bed. He dove under the covers, arming himself with his wand and pulling the blankets over his head. Whatever had attacked Neville might come back, he decided. He didn't want to be caught with his pants down so to speak. Before he fell asleep, one more thought poked Ron. Maybe the creature had come in through the open window. He stood up, closed all the windows in the room, careful not to awaken any of the other boys, and got back into bed. He quickly fell asleep again, but it was a troubled, uneasy sleep. The kind of sleep one had when one has stayed up all night watching horror films. Except for Ron, the horror films were his reality.
Harry awoke the next morning to a warm sunlight streaming down onto his face. The previous night's events still burned in his mind, as if they were painted onto his eyelids so whenever he blinked, he could see Neville's pale skin and the blood pooling around him. Harry couldn't stand the though of loosing another friend. He had lost Cedric, Hermione, Justin, Seamus, and countless others. More blood shed. More pain. Whatever Harry had felt as he had entered the Great Hall, that feeling that this year, everything would be ok, whatever that was it was wrong. It seemed to Harry that he couldn't go anywhere without all hell breaking loose. Maybe if he had never come to this school, if he had just endured the torture of living with the Dursleys, half the events that had happened in Hogwarts over that past five years would never have happened. Hermione would still be here. But, then again, it wouldn't matter for he would never meet her. Harry felt warm tears building up in the corners of his eyes. Ron would have still met Hermione. It was common knowledge throughout the school how deeply they had felt for one another. Ron could have been happy if it wasn't for him...
"Harry, are you awake?" Ron sounded slightly different this morning. The usual chipper tone he embedded into his words had eroded away slightly, but he still sounded quite happy.
"Yeah, I'm up. What time is it?"
"Um, it's, well I'm not sure. We'd best get up and go to classes. Don't want to be late for Potions first day."
Harry let his eyes close again as he groaned. He lay there, still and waiting as he listened to the sounds of Ron getting ready. Ron said something to the effect of meeting him in class, but Harry took no notice. His mind was set on the creature that had attacked Neville. Everything about it had glowed with an unearthly aura, a haunting silver tone that brought a shudder up Harry's spine as he thought about it. When he had told Dumbledore, he got the usual canned response telling him everything would be all right in the end. Dumbledore just didn't seem to understand that is was never all right in the end. First year, Harry had come back to the Dursleys and couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could barely talk from trauma. Second year, he came back paranoid; unable to move through the hallways of the tiny house he was fostered in without whirling around three times in all directions to make sure he was alone. Third year, he flew into a deep depression. Suicidal thoughts again bubbled in his head like they had before he had been accepted to Hogwarts. Fourth year, Cedric's death haunted Harry's thoughts and dreams. And finally, in his fifth year, Harry stopped being that happy little Golden Boy everyone made him out to be. He realized that the only person he could depend on was himself, because in the end, he was the only one who had defeated the evils that face him. He had countless amounts of help, but something inside Harry told him he would have been able to overcome all his adversaries even without the help of those around him. If that was true, then Hermione was a wasted life. Harry fought back tears, telling himself he was stronger than that, and walking into Potions first thing with eyes full of tears would not help matters. He quickly got ready, pulling on his robes and gathering his books and quills together. He stood in front of the mirror that sat above his bedside table, looking himself in the eyes. He could still remember when there was a flame there, flickering with anticipation for the new day. Where had it gone? This was no time for metaphoric battles with himself. Harry sighed and ran out the portrait hole, trying to escape the gaze of his own reflection.
With a hint of dread, Harry pushed open the door to the Potions dungeon. The air was dank and smelled a sickly, rotting, sweet smell. He crinkled his nose and found his seat next to Ron. Snape had not yet entered the classroom, which was a relief to Harry. The boy didn't want any confrontations. He pulled out the current book they were working with, "Practically Perfect Potions" by Pricilla Ponion. There was something about all the more famous wizards that bothered Harry. All their first and last names started with the same letter. And all their books had cheesy titles. Harry dreaded that when he grew up, he might have to change his name to Parry Potter, or Harry Hotter. There was a sharp crack of wood in the back room and Snape emerged, looking quite flustered and covered in a fine white powder. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have dismissed it as Snape's lack of personal hygiene. But something about his face suggested that it wasn't dandruff.
"Well, I see we're all here. Right then. Turn to page three hundred and forty two and read to page five hundred. If I hear one murmur, you'll all be in here after class serving detention." Snape dusted one shoulder off and glared at the class with his tiny, snake like eyes. "I'll be in the storage room."
With that, he turned around, flourishing his cape and stalking off into the depths of the back storage room. There were a few nervous chuckles and quick whispered comments as the class set into reading the newest chapter on the deadly Kurse Rute Poysun. With a quick read over, it was actually quite simple to make and Harry decided that there was something else on Snape's mind, for the man delighted in presenting the class with impossibly hard potions. He closed his book slowly and turned to Ron.
"Does any of this strike you as odd?" He queried, keeping his voice low enough so only Ron could hear.
"I could have made this in first year. I think, well, maybe Snape knows something?" Ron's eyes crossed slightly, a sign he was trying to think. "Maybe he's putting up wards or something."
"Perhaps. Something just doesn't seem right. Snape never gives us uninstructed in class reading."
"Come on Harry. We've spent the last five years suspecting Snape of the worst, and in the end he's always out there protecting you. You just need to learn to trust the guy. I mean, you see the man with a knife and you think he's trying to kill you when really he's trying to kill whatever is posing you a threat." Ron sighed and flopped down over the desk in front of him. "That being said, you know, I still don't fully trust him."
"You're such a child Ron." Harry laughed. It was an honest laugh, one Ron hadn't heard from him in a long time.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Harry snueeked off to the prefect's bathroom after dinner in hopes of washing up and cleaning some of the dirt off from working with Hagrid and his creatures. He spent a few minutes trying to remember the password, always getting the Gryffindor password and the bathroom password mixed up. Finally remembering it was "Lemon Scented" he entered the bathroom and sighed. The air was thick with water vapor and sweet and fragrant, meaning someone had just gotten out of the bath. Harry stepped a little deeper into the room, enveloping himself in the thick misty air. He couldn't tell if there was anyone else in the room, but the tub was empty so he turned a couple of the taps, filling the tub with a bright blue water with green bubbles that smelt like the fresh fields of Ireland. He inhaled deeply before disrobing and hopping in. The water was soothing, washing over his body like a much welcome wave. He swam a couple of laps around the tub before beginning to wash. With a deep breath, he plunged underwater, wetting his hair and running his fingers through the unruly mass. As he surfaced, he heard a chuckle from one of the far corners.
"So, Potter, figured you could escape the world with a dandy little bath?" The drawling voice of his demonic rival cut through the misty air and caused a twang of anger inside Harry.
"Shove off Malfoy, I just want to be left alone." Harry sighed and started to lather shampoo into his hair. "You're just using this as an excuse to see me naked."
"Ah, is that an invitation?" Something in Draco's voice sent a shiver up Harry's spine. Not a reassuring shiver, the kind one gets when in a graveyard. "Actually, I just got out of the bath myself."
Harry didn't respond immediately. He dipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo out, slowly, hoping that Malfoy would leave if he didn't respond. He grabbed a bar of soap from beside the tub and began to lather up his arms. When Malfoy cleared his throat loudly, Harry opened his eyes wide and sighed.
"Just leave. I'm not really in the mood for company."
"Don't be that way. I'm just trying to be friendly with the great Saint Potter." Malfoy chuckled, stepping towards the tub and kneeling at the edge of it.
As Malfoy's slate gray eyes burned into Harry's, both boys were silent. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to make his mouth work and form words. He glanced over his rival's toned body, pale and thin, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was loose, falling freely over his face. There was something about him that created a glowing effect, as if he were some sort of otherworldly creature. Like a veela, Harry found he was caught up in the gaze of this fiend. His bottom lip began to tremble despite the control Harry was trying to administer over his body. Malfoy leaned forward slightly, as if to capture the other boy's lips in his. Harry groaned inwardly as he realized he was hoping that was the case. But all Malfoy did was smirk, his breath smelling of wintergreen mints.
"Don't explode Potter." And with that, he stood and walked off.
It was as simple as that. He left. Harry let out a loud groan and slipped under the water. His mind raced as fast as it could, digesting what his body was telling him. He had just seen Malfoy, almost completely naked, and he liked it. Sure, Harry had gone through the odd crush on some of the other boys in the school, and he had always thought Malfoy was pretty cute for and asshole. But that closeness seemed to seal it in Harry's mind. He surfaced and took in a deep breath of oxygen. He wanted to cry or vomit. He wasn't sure which one was more appealing. The year was getting worse and worse by every second.
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Author's Note: So, that's the first chapter. Tell me what you think! Please don't be too harsh, it is after all my first fic. So, should I continue, or should I just fade back into obscurity? Please tell me the former is the case :)