Dedications to those who are worth it:
LadyJessy: Thank you! I will try to continue then.
DaNi: As you wish. I live to serve ;P
silverfeather: "Bloody fantastic" may be over doing it. I'll settle for "Groin grabbingly awesome" though.
Relle: Wee, what a boost of confidence!
Warning: This chapter is a little graphic. Not too bad though, I'm saving the "good" stuff for later ;) If you really don't like m/m slash, then well...You shouldn't be reading this story anyway!
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Weeks passed and Harry tried to coast through his classes giving as little as possible to the outside world. Ron was beginning to become very worried about his friend. Transfiguration class seemed especially hard on Harry for some reason. He would drag himself to his seat and basically sleep for the entire class. He used to lock himself up in the dorms, which was a sign of life. Perhaps a life not so willingly lived, but life. Now Harry just seemed dead. Day by day, there was some sort of poison inside Harry that was eating away at him. It hurt Ron to watch his friend disintegrate, but there was nothing more he could do other than watch. There was no intervention he could perform because really, Harry wasn't showing obvious signs of self-destructive behavior. Fate had just grabbed him around the neck and decided to play a mean joke with him. As Ron sat in class, blindly taking notes on how to transfigure magic wands into common muggle artifacts to reduce suspicion, he wondered what Harry was doing. He hadn't shown up for class. Ron had forced the other boy awake only to be swatted away as his best friend told him to go on without him. There was something in his tone that worried Ron. Something suggesting that under the depression, under the pain there was an evil dwelling. Something just bursting to get outside and bring havoc to those left around Harry. Or perhaps, rather than sitting up in the Gryffindor dorms, Harry had gone to visit Neville in the infirmary. The boy had recovered quite quickly for a vampire victim, according to Madame Pomfrey. It was a little disturbing because there had been no more attacks. Students were not easily calmed though. Clubs were started to learn about vampires and the best defense tactics, wards were hung around bunks, and yet still the students remained. Still, Dumbledore insisted there was no need for alarm. The man never thought there was a need for alarm. As Ron pondered whether or not the man was quite sane, Harry was thinking the same thing from the very spot Ron thought he was; Sitting on Neville's bed in the medical ward.
"And then Gran just threw all my Quidditch cards into the fire. Just like that! Poof, they were gone. I had spent years collecting them all." Neville sighed and shifted, rubbing the small scar on his neck. "I suppose my problems seem trivial to yours, eh Harry?"
"Come now Neville. I've only fought Vold-" He stopped as he saw Neville flinch. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about a million times since I was a baby. And don't get me started on his minions! But hey, your Gran makes You-Know-Who seem like a nobody."
Neville laughed a nervous laugh, as if he though his grandmother may just pop out from under the bed and scold him. He adjusted the pillows under his head and closed his eyes. Harry admired how young and innocent Neville seemed. He was always messing something up, but he was loveable. Every time he was hurt or in tears, Harry just wanted to scoop the boy up in his arms and hug him close. He still looked like the eleven year old boy Harry had met on the first day of school; wide eyed and filled with wonderment, or the one who insisted on grabbing onto Harry's robes when serving detention. Like Ron, Neville never seemed to spoil. He fretted over small things like a lost quill. Something simple like a marble could bring him so much joy. It was different for Harry. Harry couldn't become attached to simple things. If he lost something trivial, he just went out and bought a new one. Neville was concerned with the loss of his pet toad, while Harry was concerned with the loss of friends and their lives. Neville again opened his eyes and smiled.
"Harry. What's changed? I mean, with you?" Neville turned on his side. "You're not the Harry Potter I used to know."
"No. I'm not. But then again, I don't think anyone really ever knew the old Harry Potter."
"I knew you. I knew when you had that crush on Blaise for like a week, and I didn't tell. You're one of my best friends Harry. You and Ron are the only ones who ever stand up for me. I know I'm a little, well, clumsy and an easy target."
"Neville. I think you're perfect just the way you are." Harry pulled on a slow smile. "Don't change like I have."
"All right. I'll try to remain incompetent and a really easy target." Neville's eyes were closing again.
"Nev, you get some sleep. I'm going to go-" He paused. "I'm going to go."
Harry stood and pulled his robes straight, wanting to maintain the look of superiority even if he didn't feel it inside, and left the medical wing. He didn't know where he wanted to go, because he wasn't sure he knew where he belonged. If he returned to class, he would be scolded endlessly by Professor McGonagall. He decided he would go to the Gryffindor dorms and change his robes, then sneak to the old astronomy tower where he could spend the rest of the day peacefully. Vaguely aware of the many paintings babbling at him about various insignificant things, Harry climbed the many stairs up to his dorm. He stopped in front of the portrait hole, the fat lady starring at him quite inquisitively.
"And why are you not attending your current class, my young man?"
"Ill." Harry muttered. "'Tranquil Euphoria'. Going to get some rest."
All Harry needed was for the portrait that guarded the dorms to get on his case as well. It seemed that everyone was putting up these happy little "let's pretend we care" masks to try and make Harry fly straight again. For the first time in several years, Harry had sneaked a knife up to his dorm the previous night. It lay under his mattress, glistening in a light that no one wanted to shine. Harry collapsed on top of his bed, tucking himself into a tight little ball. Where were his incredible powers when he needed saving from himself? In all the problems he had faced, he was always the victor, the glorious pillar of strength in a crumbling world of pain. There was a silence that was growing in Harry. A sort of void that consumed every shred of happiness that once dwelled within the darkened caves of his mind. When in a place like this, it's hard for anyone to bring him or herself out into the light and beg for help from those around them. For Harry, it would be impossible. He couldn't let the school know about his weakness. He would harbor it inside him, let it grow, and never speak of it to anyone. He had spent the past sixteen years doing just that. He didn't see any reason to change his ways now. It really would be quite easy, he reckoned. To just pluck that knife out from under the mattress was no where near as difficult as it seemed. It seemed to sing to him in his sleep, telling him everything could be made better. With two little cuts, a lot of bleeding and all the pain that had been collecting inside him would be free.
"No!" Harry cried to no one in particular. "You just want to catch the weakness in me. I will *not* sink to that level again."
Salty, stinging tears began to work there way into Harry's eyes. He knew he had demons inside him, but he also knew how to control them. Like everything else in his life, he grew accustomed to them, and learned their habits. He knew when they like to surface, and what emotions they played at. He grew around them, ever vigil for their presence. Sometimes he wondered whether he was going crazy. The way he acted around himself was less than normal and he had the feeling that other people around him were taking notice. Shudders climbed down his spine, stabbing him painfully and causing him to gasp. He sat up slowly, blinking away tears and gazing around the room, a hint of paranoia tingling in the back of his brain. It was as if someone, or something, was watching him. Harry's breath quickened. He got up quite awkwardly, turning so that no corner of the room was out of his sight for more than a few seconds. His chest began to tighten, constricting across his lungs and making his breathing erratic and painful. He could feel it. Something was in the room with him. He couldn't see it or hear it, but he knew it was there. The scar on his forehead began to burn painfully. It was a blinding, scorching pain that tingled throughout his body. He slapped his hand over it, pressing down and hoping the pressure would ease the pain. As quickly as everything had started, it stopped. The pain eased away and Harry's breath returned to normal. Slowly, he eased himself onto the bed again, glancing around the room one last time. He peeled his sweater off and lay half-naked on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. His mind raced. Could it be what had attacked Neville was not a vampire, but Voldemort? Nothing else other than the dark lord had ever caused Harry's scar to burn like that.
"Hermione, I wish you were here." He muttered and closed his eyes.
In a way, she was with him. In his dreams, he was eleven again. He was running through the corridors of Hogwarts for the first time, Hermione and Ron right behind, grinning with the bliss of youth. They dodged teachers and students, taking in the awe of the castle. They ran outside to the lake and the scene shifted. They were now twelve, in their second year and a little of the pink from their cheeks had ebbed off over the long summer. They were huddled in the library, accusing stares being thrown at Harry. He stood to leave Hermione and Ron calling after him. As he walked up to the Gryffindor common room, he got a little taller and was now thirteen. He was shivering, clutching his wand tight, and looking around him for the dementors that had infested the school. He saw Hermione coming towards him, her figure beginning to become apparent under her Hogwarts robes. She smiled and reached out to him. He grabbed her hand and this time they grew together. His voice deepened and his muscles became more defined. Hermione's cheekbones smoothed and her breasts swelled. Ron emerged from behind them, his unruly red hair neatly gelled down and his Adam's apple bouncing as he congratulated Harry on being chosen from the Goblet of Fire. The next minute, Harry was falling, screaming and landing with a thud next to Cedric's cold body. As Harry's eyes teared up, he changed. His eyes became dark and his muscles became tight and strong. He was now in his fifth year, stalking the halls alone. He ran into Hermione, fifteen and beautiful. Her front teeth now reduced to a normal size, and her body curving gracefully. Ron had his head rested on her shoulder, his cheeks red and his eyes wild with mischief. There was a bright green flash and she was on the floor, a new figure standing in the shadows. Ron collapsed to the floor, crying as Draco emerged from the shadows, eyes blank and wand held high. The sun rose and set over the scene, and it was once again different. There was no Ron, no Hermione, just Draco and Harry. Draco's pale skin glowed in the moonlight, his eye sparkling with light. He was standing shirtless, his supple skin pulled across his lean chest, and his wiry form was exposed to Harry's dark eyes. Harry was also shirtless, feeling quite naked and breathing heavily. Words were passed quickly but none were heard. Draco's lips came down on Harry's and the castle crumbled away. Draco faded away and Harry sat with his arms tight around his body, much older now, and sitting in a cell. He rocked back and forth, screaming before a St. Mungo's nurse came to give him his pills. She was singing. Some muggle song Harry had heard when one of Dudley's friends was over. It wasn't a bad song, but the distraught dream-Harry began to scream louder at the sound of it.
Harry shot bolt upright in his bed. He often had dream similar, reflecting his past years and ending with him in a St. Mungo's cell. His lips were damp and he thought of Draco kissing him. He had never dreamt about Draco before. As a rule of being enemies, it was just something he didn't do. But there was something about that kiss that left Harry dissolving inside even as he was awake. Something was very real. A commodity about how soft his pale lips were, about the piercing gaze emitted from his slate-gray eyes, and about the slightly chocolate taste to his mouth. Never before had Harry dreamt so vividly, especially during the day. The sunlight was pouring gently into the room and the sweet serenity of silence surrounded him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed deeply. He didn't know how much of the school day was left, but he was hoping it was very little. He was lonely and desperately wanted to talk to someone. The dream had upset him, and although his dreams were usually vivid reflections of the death that followed him, none had upset him as much as this one. To watch his enemy kissing him like it was some sick television program made him want to vomit.
But then there was the matter of the prefect's bathroom. Being so close to Draco was so unbearably incredible for Harry. It was a hopeless situation for the boy. He didn't want to talk to Draco because he was sure any conversation would be based on verbal abuse, but he didn't want to avoid talking to Draco incase...Well, he wasn't sure what the "incase" was. Incase the pale-skinned demon felt the same way? It was abundantly clear to Harry that this was not the case. No, it was more incase Draco caught on to what Harry was feeling. Sure, the feelings were muddled and somewhat incoherent, but all the same. To have Draco running around blabbing to the whole school how the great Potter had fallen for his worst enemy would just make things more stressful. Letting out a deep groan and pulling his weight up and his body into a standing position, Harry stretched and screwed up his face as he worked out a kink in his lower back. The insomnia, the pain of everything had begun to manifest itself in Harry's body since last year. His muscles were often tight with stress and usually took many different creams to cause them to relax. Harry looked at the small clock on his bedside table and sighed. If he pulled on his clothes and ran, he could make it on time for dinner. The feeling of lonesomeness never left Harry, even when he was surrounded by friends in the Great Hall, but the feeling were somewhat subdued. As if in a trance, Harry got dressed and ran.
Harry sat in between Dean Thomas and Ron. Dean was going on about how he had met this incredible girl in Ravenclaw. Between distracted noises of semi-interest, Harry poked at his food without ever raising anything to his lips. His eyes were to busy locked onto the potion master sitting at the main table. As the other teachers conversed in harmless banter, Snape sat looking at his food somewhat reminiscent of Harry. His eyes almost never left the plate. He sat with his head bent down and his long greasy locks falling over his face. None of the other teachers attempted to strike up a conversation with Snape. He would every once in a while cast a sideways look at the rest of the staff. For the first time, Harry felt a pang of guilt and sympathy for the man. He had been tormented in his youth to the point where he almost lost his life and therefore was quite bitter and cold. Because of his less than charming personality, none of the students liked him, and he was more bitter. The teachers avoided talking with him because of the anger pent up inside him tended to burst out at inappropriate times. Harry couldn't help but think that perhaps Snape wasn't as bad as everyone made him out to be. There was a lot of animosity between the two, but that didn't stop Harry from feeling his heart stop as Snape looked up directly into his eyes. Before those cold, dark slits turned angry, they glistened with tears and looked like a black void, directly linked to the potion master's tormented mind.
"Isn't that great, eh Harry?" Dean swung his arms in excitement, emphasizing a point Harry hadn't heard.
"Humph." He remarked, still watching Snape.
"What are you starring at there?" Ron cocked his head around Harry to try and see what was so interesting. "Not making eyes at Snape, are you?"
Dean laughed and spewed water all over the table in front of him, but Harry just turned pack to his dinner and poked at it. It looked quite appealing, but Harry found he just wasn't hungry. Dean was wiping up water with his napkin. Ron nudged Harry in the ribs, jostling him away from his thoughts.
"Don't look now, but ol' ferret boy's gawking at you." Ron grinned slightly. "He must like your 'I've-just-skipped-an-entire-day-of-school-and-am-now-a-sweaty-mess' look."
Slapping Ron lightly on the head, Harry looked up across the hall to the Slytherin and indeed, the gray-eyed boy was starring intently in Harry's direction. Crabbe and Goyle sat on one side of him, shoving their piggish faces with food, and Pansy Parkinson sat on the other. Her eyes were closed in the bliss of hearing her own voice blab on about something Harry could not hear from the great distance, and was grateful judging by the bored looks on the surrounding Slytherins faces. Draco twitched slightly as Harry's green eyes locked with his. An invisible spark flew across the room and Harry's body immediately responded with goosebumps. He shivered and tried to continue watching Draco's eyes. Pansy dropped a hand on the Slytherin boy's shoulder, and Harry swore Draco winked as he turned and gave Pansy a very impatient look.
"Was he trying to jinx you?" Ginny asked breathlessly.
"Uh, no." Harry looked away and at Ginny. "No, probably just trying to find something else wrong with me."
Ginny was a great girl, she really was. Her hair was long now and the years of growing had been far too generous with her. Her face was smooth and oval, with her eyes spaced neatly above her nose, which curved down to pouting lips. Her shoulders showed muscle, yet flowed evenly into her body. She had a very elegant curve to her body, her breasts sitting firmly on her chest and her hips flaring out. Harry remarked to himself that if she had the right dress, something that wasn't purchased from a second hand store, she could easily be the most beautiful Gryffindor girl. Harry knew that Ginny would give the world for him to tell her this, but he couldn't bring himself to getting her hopes up. Ever since she had met him, she had idolized and adored him. She had the biggest crush on him, and that crush was beginning to turn into an infatuation, or worse, an obsession. Harry was used to Ginny's feelings by now. He accepted that she was falling in love with him and that he would never be able to love her in the same way because he was too afraid he would hurt her and in turn loose Ron. If the two were not related, Harry might have pursued her. He looked sidelong at Ron and then at Ginny. They were quite similar looking, actually. They both had that innocence burning behind their eyes. Harry blushed slightly in memory of the time where he had developed quite the crush on Ron back in fourth year. It was an awkward time and Ron had told Harry that maybe if situations were different (meaning if he wasn't madly in love with Hermione) that he would be more than happy to attempt a more-than-friends relationship. After Hermione's death, Harry hadn't brought it up in fear of bringing up old wounds. But it didn't matter anymore weather Harry was attached or not. He had found the presence of a boyfriend/girlfriend just didn't fill that void that was inside him. He wasn't sure if it was only because none of his past partners were his sole mate, or if it was because Harry was destined to spend life alone. The latter option frightened Harry. It was true that in his current position, love and happiness seemed impossible, but he didn't think all his life was going to be like this. He knew that if he fought hard enough, he'd overcome himself just like he had overcome every other adversity in his life. Harry saw Pansy stand up and leave out of the corner of his eye, but he paid no attention to it and turned so the Slytherin table was no longer in his view.
"Ron. I think I'll head up to the common room a little later." Harry muttered as the hall was dismissed.
"Are you okay? Do you want me to stay with you?" Ron grinned with concern.
"I'll be fine."
Harry watched the students and staff pile out of the hall. He stood as the last dwindlers' left. He walked slowly through the double doors and through the hallways with a very definite purpose. He made his way down to the dungeons and stood, hands shaking slightly at his sides in front of Snape's room. He knocked on the door before he pushed it open slowly. Snape was sitting at his desk. He looked up quickly, looking quite panicked.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" He spat.
"I want to talk to you professor. There are no rules against that, are there?" Harry didn't wait for an answer. He pushed his way through the room, marching up to Snape's desk and sitting on top of it with an air of determination.
"I should deduct points for you barging in on me when I am loaded down with important work to do!" Snape's face was turning red with rage.
"You can do whatever the hell you want. I really don't care." Harry shrugged to emphasize his point. He noticed a fine layer of white powder behind Snape's chair, but paid it no heed and continued. "I just have one thing to say to you."
"And what is that, Potter. And please, make it really good so I can justify a solid twenty five points from Gryffindor." He twisted his lips into a greasy smile.
"I just want to say I'm sorry. For everything I have done, for everything my father did, and for everything Sirius did."
There wasn't another word said. Harry stood, gave Snape a half wave/half salute and wandered out of the room, closing the doors behind him. His robes whipped silently behind him and a smile tugged at his lips. He felt a huge sense of control over his life suddenly bubble underneath the surface of all his doubt and pain. He mentally replayed the look on Snape's face when he apologized. The shock was classic. He would never forget that moment. He stalked up to the prefect's bathroom. He muttered the password and entered. He relieved himself and slipped his clothes off. There was a shower in the back corner of the room, and this was Harry's choice form of cleansing when in a hurry. He wanted to get back to his room before the staff made their rounds. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went over to the shower. He pulled open the door and felt a scream lodge itself in his throat. Lying, bleeding from several different places was Pansy Parkinson. Her eyes were wide and cloudy. Harry sucked in a deep breath and leaned over her body, most of her clothes torn off though there were no traces of them in the stall, and checked her pulse. There was no pulse. Harry's breath became labored and obstructed by his chest tightening in fear. He ran to his clothes and pulled them on, wrapped his towel around Pansy and hoisted her over his shoulder. He ran as fast as he could, blindly whipping his head around, paranoid that something was following him. The corridors turned endlessly but finally ended at the medical wing. Throwing the girl down onto the bed, Harry collapsed to the floor. Blood was smeared on his hands and clothes. Sobs wracked his body and he let out an unearthly scream, somewhat like a wounded puppy. He lay in a ball on the floor, convulsing, with the image of Pansy lying in the shower replaying in front of his eyes. Madame Pomfrey came running towards him, talking quickly but Harry couldn't hear her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he curled up tighter. He didn't want anyone to touch him. Something had killed Pansy and put her body right where he would find it. Time flashed by in a muddle of injections and strong hands lifting him into a bed. Potions, herbs, medicines flew around him and into him. He felt his mind slowly slip away into unconsciousness, but not without a definite struggle.
Harry's drug induced sleep was dreamless, but it wasn't refreshing. He woke up in what he assumed was the morning with a killer headache and feeling incredibly tired. He had no recollection of what happened to him after he had reached the medical wing, but he assumed it wasn't anything to pleasant. His robes were gone and he was wearing standard hospital wing pajamas. After an attempt to sit up straight, he finally noticed the sleeping from of Ron sprawled over a chair next to his bed. The sight of the other boy's red hair spiked in some places and flat in others caused Harry to chuckle slightly. He leaned over and tapped Ron on the shoulder, trying to arouse him from his sleep. Ron gave a few mumbles and groans before his eyes fluttered open. There was a slight pause before Ron spoke.
"You ok? You were a real mess last night. You were just lying there babbling." The red head yawned. "I was really scared."
"So was I. I-I walked into the prefect's bathroom to have a shower and I found her. She was just lying there, cold and-" Harry blinked back the urge to cry. "Her face. Damn it, Ron, the look on her face! She looked so frightened, so surprised like it was someone she knew."
"What if, you know, it was what attacked Neville?"
"It could be. I don't know. I was so frightened; I had to get out of that bathroom. Ron, what if people think I'm the one who killed her?" Harry's stomach twisted with anxiety. He felt very sick all of a sudden.
"Harry, you know that I can't predict that. It was pretty suspicious; you covered in blood and all. But then again, there was no way for you to carry her without getting blood on you. I think everything will be OK Harry. You rest up and I'm sure Dumbledore will talk to you when you're feeling better. If I were you, I'd use this as an opportunity to really catch up man. You've been acting so dead lately. I guess, well, I'm just really worried about you." Ron pushed back Harry's bangs and kissed him on the forehead. "You know that I'd die if anything happened to you."
The red head smiled a sleepy, youthful look to his face. Harry drank in the image of what someone truly caring for him looked like. It was like a drug. The sight made Harry's blood rush faster and a feeling of belonging to emerge. Ron turned to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed the other boy's hand. There were no words needed. Ron smiled slightly, trying to read into Harry's mind through those hungry, green eyes. Harry held on tight to the other's hand, refusing to let go of the warmth he was receiving. The moment was not really awkward, the boys would later decide it was tense. The tension had been building up for a while. Neither could keep track of how many years the tension had been building, struggling to get free but they both knew it had been there. Ron leaned forward slightly, his breath quite and slow. A nervous, tingling feeling pulsed in his stomach. Harry licked his lips slowly, leaned forward, and quickly caught Ron's lips in his own. The red head sat down on the bed, not loosing contact with the other boy's lips. It was as if all the tension was leaking out from between their lips. Both knew that as a couple, they would never last. But that didn't stop them from enjoying the kiss, and it certainly it didn't stop them from pushing it further. With his hand trembling, Harry wrapped his arms around the back of Ron's head and demanded entrance into the other boy's mouth with his tongue. Only too willing to comply, Ron tasted Harry for the first time. His mouth tasted slightly like iron from all the medicines Madame Pomfrey had given him to calm down, but it didn't matter. Ron lay back, pulling Harry on top of him. When neither boy could breath, they broke off, gasping with eyes wide with lust. Harry straddled Ron's hips, pulling at the sweater the boy wore.
"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked, slightly out of breath and ripping Ron's clothes off.
"She left. That's why I was here. To watch over you." The red haired boy laughed as Harry nipped at his neck. "There's no one else here."
With a grin of satisfaction, Harry muttered, "Good."
Everything moved so quickly in one ecstatic blur of passion. Harry had never felt so comfortable making love to anyone before. The familiarity of Ron's body, though virgin to Harry's touch, had been gazed upon before. The deep, baritone moans emitted from Ron's throat causing Harry to harden just by the sound. Thrusting into the flaming haired boy not only delivered the usual pleasures of sex, but there was something more; something that fit. Something in that feeling of them cumming together that made Harry feel warmer and more alive than he had for the past year and half. As Ron lay, naked in Harry's arms, the Golden Boy realized that there would be no awkward feelings between the two. It was as if the age-old friendship had been strengthened by the two of them sleeping together. Not that they would do this all the time. Harry believed that would be taking advantage of Ron. So, instead of them separating and feeling very embarrassed, they lay together. When Ron finally awoke, he dressed quickly, dressed the sleeping Harry, and reclaimed his position on the chair. He watched Harry sleep until Madame Pomfrey returned a small vile in her hand.
"Now, Mr. Weasley, I'm going to need your help." She handed the vile over to him. "I need you to sprinkle this on the wounds of the girl."
"What will it do?" Ron looked at the contents of the vile. It was a clear liquid that looked no different than tap water.
"It's Holy Water. Straight from Rome, and it will restore the flesh to its original state if the thing that killed her was in fact, a vampire or some other occult creature."
In a completely different part of the castle, Draco sat on an old desk, looking around the room where he claimed territory. It was somewhat similar to the old Astronomy tower, expect there were diagrams of people all over the walls. Perhaps the room once held a Biology-like course. It didn't matter what the past of the room was, for Draco was not in the past. He was living in his present, which he didn't like to think about anymore than he liked to speculate on the past of the desk on which he sat. There was something going on within the castle that was being kept to a dull roar. There was talk of a vampire, talk of demons, talk of blood and death. Of course, any information derived from the grapevine had to be taken with a grain of salt. The girls who made up the gossip train (mostly Hufflepuffs', for the poor kids had nothing else to do) liked to exaggerate details and omit key details so problems seemed much bigger than they really were. There had been many rumors spread about Draco himself. The girls would whisper and laugh as he walked through the corridors; stony faced with his white eyebrows coming together above his pointed nose in a look of disgust. His upper lip would curl when he caught their eyes. Eventually, the rumors stopped for the girls feared their lives. But there was something going on inside Draco that wasn't a rumor. He couldn't figure out exactly why, but the golden Boy had been on his mind constantly. Draco would see the boy in the halls and feel something that wasn't the hatred or anger he was used to. It was a sick sort of jealousy, or a form of respect. He couldn't tell what exactly what it was. Whatever it was, it was confusing him and he had never felt quite like it before. To watch Potter sitting at his table surrounded by friends, poking at his meal and somehow managing to look completely alone tugged at him inside. Sure Potter was good looking, but surely-
"Damn it, Draco. Pull yourself together!" He blinked hard and groaned.
There was something inside himself that he hated. Something disgusting that looked back at him in the mirror. He was beautiful on the outside, but inside he was a hideous knot of pain and anger. All the rot that built up inside him was amplified when he saw Potter, who had experienced many of the same problems as he himself had, but came out of it looking like a hero and gaining everyone's respect. So Draco had felt jealous and struck out, lashing at the great Saint Potter and trying to bring him down a notch to fly an even pitch with the rest of the world. Thinking about it now, Draco could see why Potter hated him so much. If things had been a little different, they could have been so much better. Starring at a spot on the wall, his mind freeing of thoughts, Draco concluded that in order to continue to please his father, he would have to omit all memory of this night. Sitting and thinking about Potter just wouldn't do. Draco thumbed around in his robes for a small container that held several green leaves. He placed one in his mouth and sighed. Every time he saw Potter and felt that tingle inside his stomach, it felt like deja vu because every time, he forced himself to forget.
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A/N: So that was the second chapter. I got a brilliant idea that I absolutely love and I will try to weave it in within the next chapter or too. Review!
LadyJessy: Thank you! I will try to continue then.
DaNi: As you wish. I live to serve ;P
silverfeather: "Bloody fantastic" may be over doing it. I'll settle for "Groin grabbingly awesome" though.
Relle: Wee, what a boost of confidence!
Warning: This chapter is a little graphic. Not too bad though, I'm saving the "good" stuff for later ;) If you really don't like m/m slash, then well...You shouldn't be reading this story anyway!
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Weeks passed and Harry tried to coast through his classes giving as little as possible to the outside world. Ron was beginning to become very worried about his friend. Transfiguration class seemed especially hard on Harry for some reason. He would drag himself to his seat and basically sleep for the entire class. He used to lock himself up in the dorms, which was a sign of life. Perhaps a life not so willingly lived, but life. Now Harry just seemed dead. Day by day, there was some sort of poison inside Harry that was eating away at him. It hurt Ron to watch his friend disintegrate, but there was nothing more he could do other than watch. There was no intervention he could perform because really, Harry wasn't showing obvious signs of self-destructive behavior. Fate had just grabbed him around the neck and decided to play a mean joke with him. As Ron sat in class, blindly taking notes on how to transfigure magic wands into common muggle artifacts to reduce suspicion, he wondered what Harry was doing. He hadn't shown up for class. Ron had forced the other boy awake only to be swatted away as his best friend told him to go on without him. There was something in his tone that worried Ron. Something suggesting that under the depression, under the pain there was an evil dwelling. Something just bursting to get outside and bring havoc to those left around Harry. Or perhaps, rather than sitting up in the Gryffindor dorms, Harry had gone to visit Neville in the infirmary. The boy had recovered quite quickly for a vampire victim, according to Madame Pomfrey. It was a little disturbing because there had been no more attacks. Students were not easily calmed though. Clubs were started to learn about vampires and the best defense tactics, wards were hung around bunks, and yet still the students remained. Still, Dumbledore insisted there was no need for alarm. The man never thought there was a need for alarm. As Ron pondered whether or not the man was quite sane, Harry was thinking the same thing from the very spot Ron thought he was; Sitting on Neville's bed in the medical ward.
"And then Gran just threw all my Quidditch cards into the fire. Just like that! Poof, they were gone. I had spent years collecting them all." Neville sighed and shifted, rubbing the small scar on his neck. "I suppose my problems seem trivial to yours, eh Harry?"
"Come now Neville. I've only fought Vold-" He stopped as he saw Neville flinch. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about a million times since I was a baby. And don't get me started on his minions! But hey, your Gran makes You-Know-Who seem like a nobody."
Neville laughed a nervous laugh, as if he though his grandmother may just pop out from under the bed and scold him. He adjusted the pillows under his head and closed his eyes. Harry admired how young and innocent Neville seemed. He was always messing something up, but he was loveable. Every time he was hurt or in tears, Harry just wanted to scoop the boy up in his arms and hug him close. He still looked like the eleven year old boy Harry had met on the first day of school; wide eyed and filled with wonderment, or the one who insisted on grabbing onto Harry's robes when serving detention. Like Ron, Neville never seemed to spoil. He fretted over small things like a lost quill. Something simple like a marble could bring him so much joy. It was different for Harry. Harry couldn't become attached to simple things. If he lost something trivial, he just went out and bought a new one. Neville was concerned with the loss of his pet toad, while Harry was concerned with the loss of friends and their lives. Neville again opened his eyes and smiled.
"Harry. What's changed? I mean, with you?" Neville turned on his side. "You're not the Harry Potter I used to know."
"No. I'm not. But then again, I don't think anyone really ever knew the old Harry Potter."
"I knew you. I knew when you had that crush on Blaise for like a week, and I didn't tell. You're one of my best friends Harry. You and Ron are the only ones who ever stand up for me. I know I'm a little, well, clumsy and an easy target."
"Neville. I think you're perfect just the way you are." Harry pulled on a slow smile. "Don't change like I have."
"All right. I'll try to remain incompetent and a really easy target." Neville's eyes were closing again.
"Nev, you get some sleep. I'm going to go-" He paused. "I'm going to go."
Harry stood and pulled his robes straight, wanting to maintain the look of superiority even if he didn't feel it inside, and left the medical wing. He didn't know where he wanted to go, because he wasn't sure he knew where he belonged. If he returned to class, he would be scolded endlessly by Professor McGonagall. He decided he would go to the Gryffindor dorms and change his robes, then sneak to the old astronomy tower where he could spend the rest of the day peacefully. Vaguely aware of the many paintings babbling at him about various insignificant things, Harry climbed the many stairs up to his dorm. He stopped in front of the portrait hole, the fat lady starring at him quite inquisitively.
"And why are you not attending your current class, my young man?"
"Ill." Harry muttered. "'Tranquil Euphoria'. Going to get some rest."
All Harry needed was for the portrait that guarded the dorms to get on his case as well. It seemed that everyone was putting up these happy little "let's pretend we care" masks to try and make Harry fly straight again. For the first time in several years, Harry had sneaked a knife up to his dorm the previous night. It lay under his mattress, glistening in a light that no one wanted to shine. Harry collapsed on top of his bed, tucking himself into a tight little ball. Where were his incredible powers when he needed saving from himself? In all the problems he had faced, he was always the victor, the glorious pillar of strength in a crumbling world of pain. There was a silence that was growing in Harry. A sort of void that consumed every shred of happiness that once dwelled within the darkened caves of his mind. When in a place like this, it's hard for anyone to bring him or herself out into the light and beg for help from those around them. For Harry, it would be impossible. He couldn't let the school know about his weakness. He would harbor it inside him, let it grow, and never speak of it to anyone. He had spent the past sixteen years doing just that. He didn't see any reason to change his ways now. It really would be quite easy, he reckoned. To just pluck that knife out from under the mattress was no where near as difficult as it seemed. It seemed to sing to him in his sleep, telling him everything could be made better. With two little cuts, a lot of bleeding and all the pain that had been collecting inside him would be free.
"No!" Harry cried to no one in particular. "You just want to catch the weakness in me. I will *not* sink to that level again."
Salty, stinging tears began to work there way into Harry's eyes. He knew he had demons inside him, but he also knew how to control them. Like everything else in his life, he grew accustomed to them, and learned their habits. He knew when they like to surface, and what emotions they played at. He grew around them, ever vigil for their presence. Sometimes he wondered whether he was going crazy. The way he acted around himself was less than normal and he had the feeling that other people around him were taking notice. Shudders climbed down his spine, stabbing him painfully and causing him to gasp. He sat up slowly, blinking away tears and gazing around the room, a hint of paranoia tingling in the back of his brain. It was as if someone, or something, was watching him. Harry's breath quickened. He got up quite awkwardly, turning so that no corner of the room was out of his sight for more than a few seconds. His chest began to tighten, constricting across his lungs and making his breathing erratic and painful. He could feel it. Something was in the room with him. He couldn't see it or hear it, but he knew it was there. The scar on his forehead began to burn painfully. It was a blinding, scorching pain that tingled throughout his body. He slapped his hand over it, pressing down and hoping the pressure would ease the pain. As quickly as everything had started, it stopped. The pain eased away and Harry's breath returned to normal. Slowly, he eased himself onto the bed again, glancing around the room one last time. He peeled his sweater off and lay half-naked on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. His mind raced. Could it be what had attacked Neville was not a vampire, but Voldemort? Nothing else other than the dark lord had ever caused Harry's scar to burn like that.
"Hermione, I wish you were here." He muttered and closed his eyes.
In a way, she was with him. In his dreams, he was eleven again. He was running through the corridors of Hogwarts for the first time, Hermione and Ron right behind, grinning with the bliss of youth. They dodged teachers and students, taking in the awe of the castle. They ran outside to the lake and the scene shifted. They were now twelve, in their second year and a little of the pink from their cheeks had ebbed off over the long summer. They were huddled in the library, accusing stares being thrown at Harry. He stood to leave Hermione and Ron calling after him. As he walked up to the Gryffindor common room, he got a little taller and was now thirteen. He was shivering, clutching his wand tight, and looking around him for the dementors that had infested the school. He saw Hermione coming towards him, her figure beginning to become apparent under her Hogwarts robes. She smiled and reached out to him. He grabbed her hand and this time they grew together. His voice deepened and his muscles became more defined. Hermione's cheekbones smoothed and her breasts swelled. Ron emerged from behind them, his unruly red hair neatly gelled down and his Adam's apple bouncing as he congratulated Harry on being chosen from the Goblet of Fire. The next minute, Harry was falling, screaming and landing with a thud next to Cedric's cold body. As Harry's eyes teared up, he changed. His eyes became dark and his muscles became tight and strong. He was now in his fifth year, stalking the halls alone. He ran into Hermione, fifteen and beautiful. Her front teeth now reduced to a normal size, and her body curving gracefully. Ron had his head rested on her shoulder, his cheeks red and his eyes wild with mischief. There was a bright green flash and she was on the floor, a new figure standing in the shadows. Ron collapsed to the floor, crying as Draco emerged from the shadows, eyes blank and wand held high. The sun rose and set over the scene, and it was once again different. There was no Ron, no Hermione, just Draco and Harry. Draco's pale skin glowed in the moonlight, his eye sparkling with light. He was standing shirtless, his supple skin pulled across his lean chest, and his wiry form was exposed to Harry's dark eyes. Harry was also shirtless, feeling quite naked and breathing heavily. Words were passed quickly but none were heard. Draco's lips came down on Harry's and the castle crumbled away. Draco faded away and Harry sat with his arms tight around his body, much older now, and sitting in a cell. He rocked back and forth, screaming before a St. Mungo's nurse came to give him his pills. She was singing. Some muggle song Harry had heard when one of Dudley's friends was over. It wasn't a bad song, but the distraught dream-Harry began to scream louder at the sound of it.
Harry shot bolt upright in his bed. He often had dream similar, reflecting his past years and ending with him in a St. Mungo's cell. His lips were damp and he thought of Draco kissing him. He had never dreamt about Draco before. As a rule of being enemies, it was just something he didn't do. But there was something about that kiss that left Harry dissolving inside even as he was awake. Something was very real. A commodity about how soft his pale lips were, about the piercing gaze emitted from his slate-gray eyes, and about the slightly chocolate taste to his mouth. Never before had Harry dreamt so vividly, especially during the day. The sunlight was pouring gently into the room and the sweet serenity of silence surrounded him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed deeply. He didn't know how much of the school day was left, but he was hoping it was very little. He was lonely and desperately wanted to talk to someone. The dream had upset him, and although his dreams were usually vivid reflections of the death that followed him, none had upset him as much as this one. To watch his enemy kissing him like it was some sick television program made him want to vomit.
But then there was the matter of the prefect's bathroom. Being so close to Draco was so unbearably incredible for Harry. It was a hopeless situation for the boy. He didn't want to talk to Draco because he was sure any conversation would be based on verbal abuse, but he didn't want to avoid talking to Draco incase...Well, he wasn't sure what the "incase" was. Incase the pale-skinned demon felt the same way? It was abundantly clear to Harry that this was not the case. No, it was more incase Draco caught on to what Harry was feeling. Sure, the feelings were muddled and somewhat incoherent, but all the same. To have Draco running around blabbing to the whole school how the great Potter had fallen for his worst enemy would just make things more stressful. Letting out a deep groan and pulling his weight up and his body into a standing position, Harry stretched and screwed up his face as he worked out a kink in his lower back. The insomnia, the pain of everything had begun to manifest itself in Harry's body since last year. His muscles were often tight with stress and usually took many different creams to cause them to relax. Harry looked at the small clock on his bedside table and sighed. If he pulled on his clothes and ran, he could make it on time for dinner. The feeling of lonesomeness never left Harry, even when he was surrounded by friends in the Great Hall, but the feeling were somewhat subdued. As if in a trance, Harry got dressed and ran.
Harry sat in between Dean Thomas and Ron. Dean was going on about how he had met this incredible girl in Ravenclaw. Between distracted noises of semi-interest, Harry poked at his food without ever raising anything to his lips. His eyes were to busy locked onto the potion master sitting at the main table. As the other teachers conversed in harmless banter, Snape sat looking at his food somewhat reminiscent of Harry. His eyes almost never left the plate. He sat with his head bent down and his long greasy locks falling over his face. None of the other teachers attempted to strike up a conversation with Snape. He would every once in a while cast a sideways look at the rest of the staff. For the first time, Harry felt a pang of guilt and sympathy for the man. He had been tormented in his youth to the point where he almost lost his life and therefore was quite bitter and cold. Because of his less than charming personality, none of the students liked him, and he was more bitter. The teachers avoided talking with him because of the anger pent up inside him tended to burst out at inappropriate times. Harry couldn't help but think that perhaps Snape wasn't as bad as everyone made him out to be. There was a lot of animosity between the two, but that didn't stop Harry from feeling his heart stop as Snape looked up directly into his eyes. Before those cold, dark slits turned angry, they glistened with tears and looked like a black void, directly linked to the potion master's tormented mind.
"Isn't that great, eh Harry?" Dean swung his arms in excitement, emphasizing a point Harry hadn't heard.
"Humph." He remarked, still watching Snape.
"What are you starring at there?" Ron cocked his head around Harry to try and see what was so interesting. "Not making eyes at Snape, are you?"
Dean laughed and spewed water all over the table in front of him, but Harry just turned pack to his dinner and poked at it. It looked quite appealing, but Harry found he just wasn't hungry. Dean was wiping up water with his napkin. Ron nudged Harry in the ribs, jostling him away from his thoughts.
"Don't look now, but ol' ferret boy's gawking at you." Ron grinned slightly. "He must like your 'I've-just-skipped-an-entire-day-of-school-and-am-now-a-sweaty-mess' look."
Slapping Ron lightly on the head, Harry looked up across the hall to the Slytherin and indeed, the gray-eyed boy was starring intently in Harry's direction. Crabbe and Goyle sat on one side of him, shoving their piggish faces with food, and Pansy Parkinson sat on the other. Her eyes were closed in the bliss of hearing her own voice blab on about something Harry could not hear from the great distance, and was grateful judging by the bored looks on the surrounding Slytherins faces. Draco twitched slightly as Harry's green eyes locked with his. An invisible spark flew across the room and Harry's body immediately responded with goosebumps. He shivered and tried to continue watching Draco's eyes. Pansy dropped a hand on the Slytherin boy's shoulder, and Harry swore Draco winked as he turned and gave Pansy a very impatient look.
"Was he trying to jinx you?" Ginny asked breathlessly.
"Uh, no." Harry looked away and at Ginny. "No, probably just trying to find something else wrong with me."
Ginny was a great girl, she really was. Her hair was long now and the years of growing had been far too generous with her. Her face was smooth and oval, with her eyes spaced neatly above her nose, which curved down to pouting lips. Her shoulders showed muscle, yet flowed evenly into her body. She had a very elegant curve to her body, her breasts sitting firmly on her chest and her hips flaring out. Harry remarked to himself that if she had the right dress, something that wasn't purchased from a second hand store, she could easily be the most beautiful Gryffindor girl. Harry knew that Ginny would give the world for him to tell her this, but he couldn't bring himself to getting her hopes up. Ever since she had met him, she had idolized and adored him. She had the biggest crush on him, and that crush was beginning to turn into an infatuation, or worse, an obsession. Harry was used to Ginny's feelings by now. He accepted that she was falling in love with him and that he would never be able to love her in the same way because he was too afraid he would hurt her and in turn loose Ron. If the two were not related, Harry might have pursued her. He looked sidelong at Ron and then at Ginny. They were quite similar looking, actually. They both had that innocence burning behind their eyes. Harry blushed slightly in memory of the time where he had developed quite the crush on Ron back in fourth year. It was an awkward time and Ron had told Harry that maybe if situations were different (meaning if he wasn't madly in love with Hermione) that he would be more than happy to attempt a more-than-friends relationship. After Hermione's death, Harry hadn't brought it up in fear of bringing up old wounds. But it didn't matter anymore weather Harry was attached or not. He had found the presence of a boyfriend/girlfriend just didn't fill that void that was inside him. He wasn't sure if it was only because none of his past partners were his sole mate, or if it was because Harry was destined to spend life alone. The latter option frightened Harry. It was true that in his current position, love and happiness seemed impossible, but he didn't think all his life was going to be like this. He knew that if he fought hard enough, he'd overcome himself just like he had overcome every other adversity in his life. Harry saw Pansy stand up and leave out of the corner of his eye, but he paid no attention to it and turned so the Slytherin table was no longer in his view.
"Ron. I think I'll head up to the common room a little later." Harry muttered as the hall was dismissed.
"Are you okay? Do you want me to stay with you?" Ron grinned with concern.
"I'll be fine."
Harry watched the students and staff pile out of the hall. He stood as the last dwindlers' left. He walked slowly through the double doors and through the hallways with a very definite purpose. He made his way down to the dungeons and stood, hands shaking slightly at his sides in front of Snape's room. He knocked on the door before he pushed it open slowly. Snape was sitting at his desk. He looked up quickly, looking quite panicked.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" He spat.
"I want to talk to you professor. There are no rules against that, are there?" Harry didn't wait for an answer. He pushed his way through the room, marching up to Snape's desk and sitting on top of it with an air of determination.
"I should deduct points for you barging in on me when I am loaded down with important work to do!" Snape's face was turning red with rage.
"You can do whatever the hell you want. I really don't care." Harry shrugged to emphasize his point. He noticed a fine layer of white powder behind Snape's chair, but paid it no heed and continued. "I just have one thing to say to you."
"And what is that, Potter. And please, make it really good so I can justify a solid twenty five points from Gryffindor." He twisted his lips into a greasy smile.
"I just want to say I'm sorry. For everything I have done, for everything my father did, and for everything Sirius did."
There wasn't another word said. Harry stood, gave Snape a half wave/half salute and wandered out of the room, closing the doors behind him. His robes whipped silently behind him and a smile tugged at his lips. He felt a huge sense of control over his life suddenly bubble underneath the surface of all his doubt and pain. He mentally replayed the look on Snape's face when he apologized. The shock was classic. He would never forget that moment. He stalked up to the prefect's bathroom. He muttered the password and entered. He relieved himself and slipped his clothes off. There was a shower in the back corner of the room, and this was Harry's choice form of cleansing when in a hurry. He wanted to get back to his room before the staff made their rounds. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went over to the shower. He pulled open the door and felt a scream lodge itself in his throat. Lying, bleeding from several different places was Pansy Parkinson. Her eyes were wide and cloudy. Harry sucked in a deep breath and leaned over her body, most of her clothes torn off though there were no traces of them in the stall, and checked her pulse. There was no pulse. Harry's breath became labored and obstructed by his chest tightening in fear. He ran to his clothes and pulled them on, wrapped his towel around Pansy and hoisted her over his shoulder. He ran as fast as he could, blindly whipping his head around, paranoid that something was following him. The corridors turned endlessly but finally ended at the medical wing. Throwing the girl down onto the bed, Harry collapsed to the floor. Blood was smeared on his hands and clothes. Sobs wracked his body and he let out an unearthly scream, somewhat like a wounded puppy. He lay in a ball on the floor, convulsing, with the image of Pansy lying in the shower replaying in front of his eyes. Madame Pomfrey came running towards him, talking quickly but Harry couldn't hear her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he curled up tighter. He didn't want anyone to touch him. Something had killed Pansy and put her body right where he would find it. Time flashed by in a muddle of injections and strong hands lifting him into a bed. Potions, herbs, medicines flew around him and into him. He felt his mind slowly slip away into unconsciousness, but not without a definite struggle.
Harry's drug induced sleep was dreamless, but it wasn't refreshing. He woke up in what he assumed was the morning with a killer headache and feeling incredibly tired. He had no recollection of what happened to him after he had reached the medical wing, but he assumed it wasn't anything to pleasant. His robes were gone and he was wearing standard hospital wing pajamas. After an attempt to sit up straight, he finally noticed the sleeping from of Ron sprawled over a chair next to his bed. The sight of the other boy's red hair spiked in some places and flat in others caused Harry to chuckle slightly. He leaned over and tapped Ron on the shoulder, trying to arouse him from his sleep. Ron gave a few mumbles and groans before his eyes fluttered open. There was a slight pause before Ron spoke.
"You ok? You were a real mess last night. You were just lying there babbling." The red head yawned. "I was really scared."
"So was I. I-I walked into the prefect's bathroom to have a shower and I found her. She was just lying there, cold and-" Harry blinked back the urge to cry. "Her face. Damn it, Ron, the look on her face! She looked so frightened, so surprised like it was someone she knew."
"What if, you know, it was what attacked Neville?"
"It could be. I don't know. I was so frightened; I had to get out of that bathroom. Ron, what if people think I'm the one who killed her?" Harry's stomach twisted with anxiety. He felt very sick all of a sudden.
"Harry, you know that I can't predict that. It was pretty suspicious; you covered in blood and all. But then again, there was no way for you to carry her without getting blood on you. I think everything will be OK Harry. You rest up and I'm sure Dumbledore will talk to you when you're feeling better. If I were you, I'd use this as an opportunity to really catch up man. You've been acting so dead lately. I guess, well, I'm just really worried about you." Ron pushed back Harry's bangs and kissed him on the forehead. "You know that I'd die if anything happened to you."
The red head smiled a sleepy, youthful look to his face. Harry drank in the image of what someone truly caring for him looked like. It was like a drug. The sight made Harry's blood rush faster and a feeling of belonging to emerge. Ron turned to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed the other boy's hand. There were no words needed. Ron smiled slightly, trying to read into Harry's mind through those hungry, green eyes. Harry held on tight to the other's hand, refusing to let go of the warmth he was receiving. The moment was not really awkward, the boys would later decide it was tense. The tension had been building up for a while. Neither could keep track of how many years the tension had been building, struggling to get free but they both knew it had been there. Ron leaned forward slightly, his breath quite and slow. A nervous, tingling feeling pulsed in his stomach. Harry licked his lips slowly, leaned forward, and quickly caught Ron's lips in his own. The red head sat down on the bed, not loosing contact with the other boy's lips. It was as if all the tension was leaking out from between their lips. Both knew that as a couple, they would never last. But that didn't stop them from enjoying the kiss, and it certainly it didn't stop them from pushing it further. With his hand trembling, Harry wrapped his arms around the back of Ron's head and demanded entrance into the other boy's mouth with his tongue. Only too willing to comply, Ron tasted Harry for the first time. His mouth tasted slightly like iron from all the medicines Madame Pomfrey had given him to calm down, but it didn't matter. Ron lay back, pulling Harry on top of him. When neither boy could breath, they broke off, gasping with eyes wide with lust. Harry straddled Ron's hips, pulling at the sweater the boy wore.
"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked, slightly out of breath and ripping Ron's clothes off.
"She left. That's why I was here. To watch over you." The red haired boy laughed as Harry nipped at his neck. "There's no one else here."
With a grin of satisfaction, Harry muttered, "Good."
Everything moved so quickly in one ecstatic blur of passion. Harry had never felt so comfortable making love to anyone before. The familiarity of Ron's body, though virgin to Harry's touch, had been gazed upon before. The deep, baritone moans emitted from Ron's throat causing Harry to harden just by the sound. Thrusting into the flaming haired boy not only delivered the usual pleasures of sex, but there was something more; something that fit. Something in that feeling of them cumming together that made Harry feel warmer and more alive than he had for the past year and half. As Ron lay, naked in Harry's arms, the Golden Boy realized that there would be no awkward feelings between the two. It was as if the age-old friendship had been strengthened by the two of them sleeping together. Not that they would do this all the time. Harry believed that would be taking advantage of Ron. So, instead of them separating and feeling very embarrassed, they lay together. When Ron finally awoke, he dressed quickly, dressed the sleeping Harry, and reclaimed his position on the chair. He watched Harry sleep until Madame Pomfrey returned a small vile in her hand.
"Now, Mr. Weasley, I'm going to need your help." She handed the vile over to him. "I need you to sprinkle this on the wounds of the girl."
"What will it do?" Ron looked at the contents of the vile. It was a clear liquid that looked no different than tap water.
"It's Holy Water. Straight from Rome, and it will restore the flesh to its original state if the thing that killed her was in fact, a vampire or some other occult creature."
In a completely different part of the castle, Draco sat on an old desk, looking around the room where he claimed territory. It was somewhat similar to the old Astronomy tower, expect there were diagrams of people all over the walls. Perhaps the room once held a Biology-like course. It didn't matter what the past of the room was, for Draco was not in the past. He was living in his present, which he didn't like to think about anymore than he liked to speculate on the past of the desk on which he sat. There was something going on within the castle that was being kept to a dull roar. There was talk of a vampire, talk of demons, talk of blood and death. Of course, any information derived from the grapevine had to be taken with a grain of salt. The girls who made up the gossip train (mostly Hufflepuffs', for the poor kids had nothing else to do) liked to exaggerate details and omit key details so problems seemed much bigger than they really were. There had been many rumors spread about Draco himself. The girls would whisper and laugh as he walked through the corridors; stony faced with his white eyebrows coming together above his pointed nose in a look of disgust. His upper lip would curl when he caught their eyes. Eventually, the rumors stopped for the girls feared their lives. But there was something going on inside Draco that wasn't a rumor. He couldn't figure out exactly why, but the golden Boy had been on his mind constantly. Draco would see the boy in the halls and feel something that wasn't the hatred or anger he was used to. It was a sick sort of jealousy, or a form of respect. He couldn't tell what exactly what it was. Whatever it was, it was confusing him and he had never felt quite like it before. To watch Potter sitting at his table surrounded by friends, poking at his meal and somehow managing to look completely alone tugged at him inside. Sure Potter was good looking, but surely-
"Damn it, Draco. Pull yourself together!" He blinked hard and groaned.
There was something inside himself that he hated. Something disgusting that looked back at him in the mirror. He was beautiful on the outside, but inside he was a hideous knot of pain and anger. All the rot that built up inside him was amplified when he saw Potter, who had experienced many of the same problems as he himself had, but came out of it looking like a hero and gaining everyone's respect. So Draco had felt jealous and struck out, lashing at the great Saint Potter and trying to bring him down a notch to fly an even pitch with the rest of the world. Thinking about it now, Draco could see why Potter hated him so much. If things had been a little different, they could have been so much better. Starring at a spot on the wall, his mind freeing of thoughts, Draco concluded that in order to continue to please his father, he would have to omit all memory of this night. Sitting and thinking about Potter just wouldn't do. Draco thumbed around in his robes for a small container that held several green leaves. He placed one in his mouth and sighed. Every time he saw Potter and felt that tingle inside his stomach, it felt like deja vu because every time, he forced himself to forget.
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A/N: So that was the second chapter. I got a brilliant idea that I absolutely love and I will try to weave it in within the next chapter or too. Review!