Author: DemonicCharity
Title: Lost Boys
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Slashy, but not to bad now. Will be H/D later tho. Don't like don't read. Don't send me flames for this reason!
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. If they were, I'd be rich, beautiful and would control all the children of the world because they love the characters so much. I'm just borrowing for the moment.
Spoilers: SS/PS, CS, PoA, GoF, OotP
A/N: Anything else that needs mentioning? This story used to be called 'Shifted', but it's totally different in light of the fifth book. Plus the old one sucked. I'll try to get a chappy out every week, but I can't promise anything.
Prologue
The sunlight barely clung to the edge of the horizon, fighting desperately to hang onto the very tips of the tall pine trees as a lanky young man stood in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by figures clad in strange clothing and wearing black masks meant to hide their identities to even one another. From a distance an unknowing mind might have assumed this lanky boy in the middle of the circle was the leader of the odd little 'cult.' But those knowing the boy and who stood around him would have known the nineteen year old young man was not addressing faithful worshipers who hung on his every word.
At the moment, he was, in fact, trying to come up with a rude plan of escape. Something clever but not flashy. Something that would give him just a bit more time to live...But the young man knew the only way out of that circle was either in the leader's good graces, or to have his cold, dead body dumped out side the Ministry of Magic.
Muggles wouldn't know of his defeat...Most of the Wizarding World wouldn't know. They had already deemed the young man dead long ago. Him and everything worth fighting for.
The troubled youth knew that the first idea was definatly NOT an option, as he refused to bow and kiss the hem of the leader's robes, and he would rather avoid the second if he could. He'd spent to long fighting to just give up. In his mind, he'd already come to the conclusion that no matter what it took, he was leaving alive.
For Harry Potter couldn't die. Wouldn't die. He wasn't afraid of death, by any means, because after all, what was there to live for anymore? But he couldn't just let the evil monster roam the world free with no one to oppose him. Harry Potter wasn't afraid of the Dark Lord anymore. In his mind, Harry wondered if he ever had. No, he had never feared the man's name, but he feared what Voldemort could do to his friends and family.
And he had rightly been afraid of him. He had never really witnessed his parent's deaths, but he had to live in the repercussions. Living with the Dursleys had been pure hell, with no way to fight the scathing comments about him being a 'freak'. Oh, how he would have loved to show them what a 'freak' he was! But again, Voldemort had interfered and destroyed them before Harry even had a chance to think up a proper plan of revenge.
But before he lost them, he had lost the last person that had meant everything to him. His surrogate father, Sirius Black, had been killed in his fifth year, causing such a void inside him he didn't know how to fill it again. Those memories still brought tears and such a strong anger that before that year, he had never known. How he had loved Sirius! How he had depended on him, and he left him all alone again with no one but the Dursleys.
The Weasleys had been a second family to him, but even that went sour. Percy's asinine behavior, Charlie's disappearence, all of Mr. Weasley's time spent at work or at the Order. And the last bitter reason that still made Harry's skin crawl. . . . His best friend's betrayal of him. Ron Weasley's descent into the darkness. His rebirth into the world of the Death Eaters. It tore his heart to think of him now, after he was long dead. It made him weep on the darkest night of the year, the anniversary of the night Ron had died in his arms, apologizing for letting power and fame corrupt him.
He also lost his other best friend. The one who had always made him think his plans out logically so he wouldn't end up in a mess like he was now. Maybe if Hermione was here now he wouldn't have to be looking into Death's blood red eyes. He wouldn't be standing on the edge of the ruins of Hogwarts, the school he had once attended as a child.
He wondered, though, if he had ever been a child? Maybe it was the first time he had called Uncle Vernon 'Papa' when he was two and had been told in a sneering tone that he didn't have a 'Papa', that his father was dead, as was his mother, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never love him as a child. After all they had Dudley. Maybe that was when he was forced to grow up. . . .Or maybe he was grew up the first time he had dropped the heavy pot of spaghetti when he was five years old, receiving a few firm swats and no food for two days. Or had it been when he received his Hogwarts letter and learned that he was the 'savior' of the Wizarding World for something he couldn't remember doing? Maybe it was feeling so angry to kill like he had in his third year. But by the time Harry had reached his fifth year and Albus had told him of the prophecy, he knew that it was too late. He was already grown, and sorely lacking when it came to trust and love. What would it matter if one of them eventually had to die?
And after Ron betrayed him in his sixth year, Harry doubted love and trust even existed anymore. All that was real to him was hate and the constant need to cry. Harry didn't even trust Albus anymore. How could he? How could he trust anyone? Wether it be the Minister of Magic or the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix?
It didn't matter much after that. Dumbledore was the next to die, shattering just one more piece of him. Then Lupin, the last of the Marauders, as Snape had already killed Pettigrew when the rat found out he was a spy. Moody had taken him in for a short time, but even his attitude of 'Constant Vigilance!' hadn't been enough. Mrs. Weasley was next, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he had never done that woman justice. She had always done so much for him, and in the end, he couldn't save her. Snape had followed shortly after, and so many other after him. Others who he knew, and who he didn't know. Some just vanished, but the living were left with the obligation of burying the ones who had been crudely dumped off in Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's and the Ministry.
Thus the Order of the Phoenix crumbled, as did the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. Voldemort's army's kept growing and growing, while what defenders of light were left, dwindling. The entire island of Britain was thrown into Chaos. No one could get in or out of the country. Muggle means of fighting with large explosions failed miserably. Wizards and Muggles were dying right and left. And where was Harry? Hiding like the coward he was.
'Harry Hunting' seemed to have made a very popular come back. Though, Harry suspected, that the 100,000 galleon prize on his head certainly helped persuade people to take part in the event. He wasn't safe anywhere anymore. And there was no where to hide.
But, with all the bad, there had to come good, didn't there? That was the 'eternal balance' that the universe survived by. And in Harry's case, irony was a fucking bitch. The only person who had ever bullied him, sneered at him and dumped him in a shit load of trouble was the only person who had been able to stand his presence, and thankfully not turn him into the authorities. That's right, Draco Malfoy became the one person who Harry could count on. The only one person who still mattered to him.
Nothing had ever changed between the two. That's what Harry could trust. He could trust Malfoy's dry humor in terrifying situations, trust the constant sparring that erupted between them on a day-to-day basis. He was the constant in Harry's life, and for that, he truly cared about the Slytherin.
It had come as quite a shock when he had found Malfoy in a beaten bundle, left to die in a puddle on the muggle streets. Some would call it luck that he stumbled across the blonde in time, but Harry called it fate. He had found Malfoy so he could heal and help him. 'Always the martyr. . . ,' Draco had said. And that was when his feelings for the blonde changed. He began to respect the Slytherin for turning his nose at Voldemort, even if it was done just out of pride. Instead of being just 'Malfoy,' he became 'Draco.' Instead of there being constant hate between them, something changed. They came to really understand each other.
No, it wasn't some summer romance story, far from it. They were the most wanted men in a country plagued by war, how could they just settle in an loft and 'live happily ever after?' Draco would have called him a fool for just thinking it. They complemented each other in every way, and neither regretted all the years of fighting at school. But those fights were used to lighten the mood when things got particularly bad. They would laugh at how foolish those trivial spars seemed compared to now.
Harry never told Draco that he loved him. Harry didn't know for sure if he *did* love the Slytherin. But he never told the blonde boy how he made life bearable for him again, and it broke his heart when Draco just disappeared one day, off to fight the Dark Lord by himself, leaving a note that made him realize what a mistake he had made by not telling the other boy his true feelings.
Did it matter now?
Yes, it did. Because it brought Harry that much closer to the insanity of wanting to just give up. Which brought him back to there here and now. 'So much for coming up with a plan,' Harry thought sourly, 'If that's how life flashes in front of your eyes before you die, I'm extremely disappointed. I thought it was supposed to make you fight harder? Gah. Bloody Hell!'
Title: Lost Boys
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Slashy, but not to bad now. Will be H/D later tho. Don't like don't read. Don't send me flames for this reason!
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. If they were, I'd be rich, beautiful and would control all the children of the world because they love the characters so much. I'm just borrowing for the moment.
Spoilers: SS/PS, CS, PoA, GoF, OotP
A/N: Anything else that needs mentioning? This story used to be called 'Shifted', but it's totally different in light of the fifth book. Plus the old one sucked. I'll try to get a chappy out every week, but I can't promise anything.
Prologue
The sunlight barely clung to the edge of the horizon, fighting desperately to hang onto the very tips of the tall pine trees as a lanky young man stood in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by figures clad in strange clothing and wearing black masks meant to hide their identities to even one another. From a distance an unknowing mind might have assumed this lanky boy in the middle of the circle was the leader of the odd little 'cult.' But those knowing the boy and who stood around him would have known the nineteen year old young man was not addressing faithful worshipers who hung on his every word.
At the moment, he was, in fact, trying to come up with a rude plan of escape. Something clever but not flashy. Something that would give him just a bit more time to live...But the young man knew the only way out of that circle was either in the leader's good graces, or to have his cold, dead body dumped out side the Ministry of Magic.
Muggles wouldn't know of his defeat...Most of the Wizarding World wouldn't know. They had already deemed the young man dead long ago. Him and everything worth fighting for.
The troubled youth knew that the first idea was definatly NOT an option, as he refused to bow and kiss the hem of the leader's robes, and he would rather avoid the second if he could. He'd spent to long fighting to just give up. In his mind, he'd already come to the conclusion that no matter what it took, he was leaving alive.
For Harry Potter couldn't die. Wouldn't die. He wasn't afraid of death, by any means, because after all, what was there to live for anymore? But he couldn't just let the evil monster roam the world free with no one to oppose him. Harry Potter wasn't afraid of the Dark Lord anymore. In his mind, Harry wondered if he ever had. No, he had never feared the man's name, but he feared what Voldemort could do to his friends and family.
And he had rightly been afraid of him. He had never really witnessed his parent's deaths, but he had to live in the repercussions. Living with the Dursleys had been pure hell, with no way to fight the scathing comments about him being a 'freak'. Oh, how he would have loved to show them what a 'freak' he was! But again, Voldemort had interfered and destroyed them before Harry even had a chance to think up a proper plan of revenge.
But before he lost them, he had lost the last person that had meant everything to him. His surrogate father, Sirius Black, had been killed in his fifth year, causing such a void inside him he didn't know how to fill it again. Those memories still brought tears and such a strong anger that before that year, he had never known. How he had loved Sirius! How he had depended on him, and he left him all alone again with no one but the Dursleys.
The Weasleys had been a second family to him, but even that went sour. Percy's asinine behavior, Charlie's disappearence, all of Mr. Weasley's time spent at work or at the Order. And the last bitter reason that still made Harry's skin crawl. . . . His best friend's betrayal of him. Ron Weasley's descent into the darkness. His rebirth into the world of the Death Eaters. It tore his heart to think of him now, after he was long dead. It made him weep on the darkest night of the year, the anniversary of the night Ron had died in his arms, apologizing for letting power and fame corrupt him.
He also lost his other best friend. The one who had always made him think his plans out logically so he wouldn't end up in a mess like he was now. Maybe if Hermione was here now he wouldn't have to be looking into Death's blood red eyes. He wouldn't be standing on the edge of the ruins of Hogwarts, the school he had once attended as a child.
He wondered, though, if he had ever been a child? Maybe it was the first time he had called Uncle Vernon 'Papa' when he was two and had been told in a sneering tone that he didn't have a 'Papa', that his father was dead, as was his mother, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never love him as a child. After all they had Dudley. Maybe that was when he was forced to grow up. . . .Or maybe he was grew up the first time he had dropped the heavy pot of spaghetti when he was five years old, receiving a few firm swats and no food for two days. Or had it been when he received his Hogwarts letter and learned that he was the 'savior' of the Wizarding World for something he couldn't remember doing? Maybe it was feeling so angry to kill like he had in his third year. But by the time Harry had reached his fifth year and Albus had told him of the prophecy, he knew that it was too late. He was already grown, and sorely lacking when it came to trust and love. What would it matter if one of them eventually had to die?
And after Ron betrayed him in his sixth year, Harry doubted love and trust even existed anymore. All that was real to him was hate and the constant need to cry. Harry didn't even trust Albus anymore. How could he? How could he trust anyone? Wether it be the Minister of Magic or the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix?
It didn't matter much after that. Dumbledore was the next to die, shattering just one more piece of him. Then Lupin, the last of the Marauders, as Snape had already killed Pettigrew when the rat found out he was a spy. Moody had taken him in for a short time, but even his attitude of 'Constant Vigilance!' hadn't been enough. Mrs. Weasley was next, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he had never done that woman justice. She had always done so much for him, and in the end, he couldn't save her. Snape had followed shortly after, and so many other after him. Others who he knew, and who he didn't know. Some just vanished, but the living were left with the obligation of burying the ones who had been crudely dumped off in Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's and the Ministry.
Thus the Order of the Phoenix crumbled, as did the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. Voldemort's army's kept growing and growing, while what defenders of light were left, dwindling. The entire island of Britain was thrown into Chaos. No one could get in or out of the country. Muggle means of fighting with large explosions failed miserably. Wizards and Muggles were dying right and left. And where was Harry? Hiding like the coward he was.
'Harry Hunting' seemed to have made a very popular come back. Though, Harry suspected, that the 100,000 galleon prize on his head certainly helped persuade people to take part in the event. He wasn't safe anywhere anymore. And there was no where to hide.
But, with all the bad, there had to come good, didn't there? That was the 'eternal balance' that the universe survived by. And in Harry's case, irony was a fucking bitch. The only person who had ever bullied him, sneered at him and dumped him in a shit load of trouble was the only person who had been able to stand his presence, and thankfully not turn him into the authorities. That's right, Draco Malfoy became the one person who Harry could count on. The only one person who still mattered to him.
Nothing had ever changed between the two. That's what Harry could trust. He could trust Malfoy's dry humor in terrifying situations, trust the constant sparring that erupted between them on a day-to-day basis. He was the constant in Harry's life, and for that, he truly cared about the Slytherin.
It had come as quite a shock when he had found Malfoy in a beaten bundle, left to die in a puddle on the muggle streets. Some would call it luck that he stumbled across the blonde in time, but Harry called it fate. He had found Malfoy so he could heal and help him. 'Always the martyr. . . ,' Draco had said. And that was when his feelings for the blonde changed. He began to respect the Slytherin for turning his nose at Voldemort, even if it was done just out of pride. Instead of being just 'Malfoy,' he became 'Draco.' Instead of there being constant hate between them, something changed. They came to really understand each other.
No, it wasn't some summer romance story, far from it. They were the most wanted men in a country plagued by war, how could they just settle in an loft and 'live happily ever after?' Draco would have called him a fool for just thinking it. They complemented each other in every way, and neither regretted all the years of fighting at school. But those fights were used to lighten the mood when things got particularly bad. They would laugh at how foolish those trivial spars seemed compared to now.
Harry never told Draco that he loved him. Harry didn't know for sure if he *did* love the Slytherin. But he never told the blonde boy how he made life bearable for him again, and it broke his heart when Draco just disappeared one day, off to fight the Dark Lord by himself, leaving a note that made him realize what a mistake he had made by not telling the other boy his true feelings.
Did it matter now?
Yes, it did. Because it brought Harry that much closer to the insanity of wanting to just give up. Which brought him back to there here and now. 'So much for coming up with a plan,' Harry thought sourly, 'If that's how life flashes in front of your eyes before you die, I'm extremely disappointed. I thought it was supposed to make you fight harder? Gah. Bloody Hell!'