Authors Note: ^_^ Hi. First time posting a fan fiction. I usually stick to original work and essays. This is my first attempt to write fan fiction, so, please be kind. (By the way, I make grammar errors and spelling mistakes quite frequently… I wish I could claim English to be my second langue so I wouldn't seem like an idiot. ^_^() ) Read and Review! (please >. I'm planning on keeping this story going for awhile. Yes, there is a major plot line. (ohh, ahh) It's just hard to find…(because I don't even know what it is yet…) Rating: PG-13 to maybe an R for adult jokes and situations. (I'm not a pervert; however, I have a very sick sense of humor…) Character Pairings: SLASH!! Harry/Draco; Ron/Hermione; and a little bit of Sirius/Lupin Summary: Harry wants to do things his way. The Boy-Who-Lived is sick of being told what to do, plus, he's bored with the normal. This can only mean trouble for everyone! WARNING: Order of the Phoenix SPOILERS!
Chapter One: Summer Sucks
Harry Potter, Dumbledore's Golden-Boy, the school-hero, was bored. Summer had a way of dragging out longer than it should. Every summer, it was the same; the Dursleys terrorized Harry, his birthday passed, his hair grew and he was miserable. This summer not much worse except for the fact that Sirius was gone, Voldemort was stronger than ever and Harry was stuck in a little muggle house with no news from the magic world.
Harry stormed around his small room. Ron had only wrote twice during the holidays. One letter was to inform him that they were staying at the Black Manor. The other letter , or rather short note, told Harry that Ron and Hermione were finally a dating couple. Joy. Now they would really be annoying, fumed Harry, re-reading the latest letter again.
Ron's tiny owl zoomed around the room. Hedwig hooted angrily at the horrid ball of feathers. Sighing, Harry grabbed a clean piece of muggle lined paper and a muggle pen. It would be rude to ignore Ron's letter, smirked Harry.
Ron,
Congratulations on banging Hermione. Really, next time, send me something worth while.
Harry
PS: I hate your owl.
Catching Ron's owl was more difficult than catching a snitch. Once he got his hands around the ball of feathers, Harry almost squeezed it to death. The lack of oxygen stunned the owl and Harry was able to tie his note around it's tiny leg. Harry heaved the owl out of his window then went back to his desk. Moving aside a potions textbook, Harry took out a small personal journal. The pages in the book were filled with drawings of various people and places. After many years of doodling Professor Snape dying painful deaths on note paper, Harry had become quite the artist.
There was absolutely nothing interesting in the room to draw. Maybe he could give a shot at memory drawing. For the next twenty minuets, Harry just let his hand draw what his mind thought of. Even drawing was boring in the summer. Although, he finished sketch was one of his best. The eyes, the sexy smirk, where had he seen this face before?
Malfoy. Harry almost gagged. Glaring at the picture, Harry briefly considered chopping off his hands. What would that accomplish? Nothing. He would still be bored. An insane idea crossed his mind. Maybe pissing off Malfoy would bring an end to his boredom. Besides, what was the worst case scenario? Getting Malfoy pissed off and receiving a cursed letter in return? At least it would be exciting. It was all good. A win-win situation.
Grinning like a mad-mad, Harry pulled out another piece of paper.
Malfoy,
How is summer with a mass-murder? Oh, wait, your daddy dearest is lock-up, isn't he? Oh well. My summer is sooo boring, I've resorted to writing to you. I should have started the letter with "Dear Satan…" but that would have been too formal. Anyways, I'm perfectly miserable, just wanted to let you know. I bet you're crying now, knowing that I'm miserable and it's not your fault.
Not much else I can say. At least write back.
Potter
PS: Not that I really care, but, what is summer like for a pure-blood snot like you?
"Boy! You had better get down here and start making lunch!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "Dudley, get out of the sweets! You'll gain back all of your weight!" There was a loud crash and the sound of the front door slamming.
Smiling with glee, Harry scampered down to stairs. Dudley had begun to develop a rebellious side this summer, much to the Dursleys' horror. Aunt Petunia was sobbing into her yellow dish rag and Uncle Vernon was pacing back and fourth in front of the door when Harry came into the room. Harry leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
Uncle Vernon glanced up and took in Harry's appearance. The teen was scruffier than ever. Harry's messy black hair was sticking up at all angles and his second-hand pants were almost falling off his hips. The flannel shirt had been ten sizes to big; however, Harry had taken a pair of seizers to it. Despite his awesome wizard powers, Harry couldn't properly sew a shirt if his life depended on it. He had cut a bit too much off and sewed in a little too much. The end result was a torn mess showing a fair bit of Harry's tanned and slightly muscled chest.
"Can't you even dress yourself?" Yelled Uncle Vernon. "Get into the kitchen and cook. Then, maybe, I'd be willing to give you another shirt."
"I don't want anything you have to give." Miserable once again, Harry stormed into the kitchen. As he got ready to cook, he made sure to bang the pots as much as possible. Uncle Vernon had not told him exactly what to cook, so Harry had to flip through the recipe book laying on the counter. Meatloaf sounded wonderful. Hopefully, the Dursleys would be too upset about 'poor Dudley-kins' to check on their slave. Most of the time, Harry was able to sneak off with a little bit of the good food. He was getting rather sick of the stale bread his Aunt put forth each day for him.
Eggs, bread, meat and spices. Harry's mouth was watering. Like magic, cooking also came naturally to Harry. Then again, it was more likely a learned skill. Every summer, Famous Harry Potter became a slave to evil muggles. There were some times Harry wanted nothing more than to kill the Dursleys', but that would be a Voldemort action. By the time Harry put the meatloaf in the oven, Uncle Vernon had gotten worried about his 'darling son' and went to go find him. Aunt Petunia was still in the living room, sobbing and plucking dead leaves from her various potted plants.
Harry sat on the floor next to the oven. He hated this small, yellow, daisy-patterned kitchen. The floors sparkled more than the hospital wings' at Hogwarts. Instead of the pleasant smells of food, Harry's nose could only pick up the strong reek of kitchen cleaner. The oven timer dinged and Harry grabbed the yellow oven mitts. The meatloaf looked perfect. He set the hot pan on the counter and began to set the table. He set the dinner wear out for the Dursleys'. He knew he didn't need to put any for himself. Most of the time, Harry was just given a plastic knife and sent to his room. As if on que, Harry heard the family car pull into the drive way. Two doors slammed. Dudley was home.
Harry scrambled to cut the meatloaf. He divided the meat on the three plates, then scooped a medium sized portion into his hands. "Bad idea, bad idea!" Harry hissed under his breath. Quickly, he deposited the hot meat into a small paper bag and placed that into his pocket. He placed the dinner plates on the table, poured the tea and slipped out the kitchen door just as Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley came into the kitchen.
Ok, so eating in the garden on a blisteringly hot day was not 'fine dinning', but it was better than nothing. Harry practically inhaled his dinner. After licking his fingers clean, Harry lay back on the ground and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Life couldn't get any worse. Eating like a beggar, wearing torn, oversized clothes and desperately wanting to use his magic to fix his glasses, Harry's life was far from perfect. For a while, school work had offered a refreshing relief to the long summer, but now all he had left was potions. Oh, the pain. Better than nothing. Harry retreated to his bedroom.
Harry paused outside of his door. Loud owl hoots were coming from his bedroom. Ron couldn't have replied that fast, could he? Instead of finding the damned small owl, Harry discovered a new feathered intruder. A large golden owl stood on Harry's windowsill. It's hooting stopped as Harry approached it. The owl proudly ruffled it's feathers and held his leg out.
A large envelope was tied to the owl with silk cord. Smirking, Harry examined the envelope. Now, who other than Malfoy had a family crest of a snake eating a lion? Also, what other snobby brat would write to their worst enemy on the most expensive parchment a wizard could afford? Harry torn the top off, knowing that it would piss Malfoy off that he had not used a silver letter opener.
Potter
What potion did you swallow? For now, I'll ignore your remarks about my family, for I have better things to write about. I have to admit, I am thoroughly saddened that I was not the one to make you miserable. I am highly curious about a few things. First of all, why would the Boy-Who-Just-Would-Not-Die be miserable? Second, why do you live with muggles?
Summer at the mansion is boring. I have no one to challenge at Quidditch, my swimming pool is too cold and mother forced me to stop terrorizing the house-elves. She said something about elves not being able to work with broken limbs or something. Mother gave me a kitten to play with instead. Later, she caught me throwing darts at the paintings (you should try it some time, magic paintings squeal if you hit them). So, as it stands, I am confined to my room.
So, Potter, I have a request. Meet me in Diagon Alley tomorrow at one o'clock sharp. I promise I have no evil plans for you. I simply want to spend the day shopping and insulting you. Maybe a quick match, seeker to seeker. See, I am truly more bored than you.
Malfoy
PS: I enclosed a Port-key. It activates at 12:59 pm. Oh, and by the way, I cursed the letter. Enjoy!
Harry dropped the letter to the floor, expecting it to blow up. Nothing happened. Harry walked over to his mirror to inspect his appearance for signs of a curse. Forest green hair. Damn him.
~*~ End of the first chapter. I promise it will get better. (I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this fan fiction thing.) Reviews, please? Thank you for reading. ~*~