A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the people from the Harry Potter
books. I don't own Hogwarts. I don't own London, King's Cross Station, or
any part of England (or Britland) at all.
Not that England is copy righted.
So, to those ppls who say that my stories have no plots, you're probably right. As of yet, this story doesn't have much of a plot either. And I can't really think of one. But that's ok, I'll just make it up as I go along. Or I'll stop. Whichever one comes first.
But, I've been thinking about this for a while. In short segments of course, too much thinking could cause permanent brain damage. So here it is.
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~ Sex Is Just a Letter~
Chapter 1
-~*~@~*~- It all started in second year, although there might have been hints of it before, but to have fully noticed and taken them in would have led almost any student at Hogwarts down a bunny trail that would have involved somewhat crazed, flesh-eating rabbits. And not cute, fluffy ones either. But it did come to an abrupt beginning in second year, one of those cursed years of great changes. And quite a few surprises. (Ones that don't involve Seamus Finnegan suddenly switching to the side of evil and prancing around the halls in Snape's hair accessories)
-~*~@~*~- The sun had barely just risen, but it was hard to tell due to the fact that there was at least 50 feet of stone between the dungeons and anything that slightly resembled sunlight. He'd gotten up early as he usually did and was beginning his daily examination of perfection in his full-length mirror. It didn't take long. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, the very epitome of physical attraction itself. And in the tiny, slight, minute, so- insignifigant-that-it's-hardly-worthy-even-considering-thinking-about possibility that he hadn't even made the top three in that category, he was still damn good-looking for a second year. Draco ran his hands through his light, golden colored hair, pleased at the way the fine strands felt like several smooth sheets of silk. But, as much as he would have loved to admire his lovely features in further detail, he had to go get changed and down to the Slytherin common room or be faced with the waking horrors that Crabbe and Goyle were every morning. Sighing and giving his reflection a longing look, which it gave right back at him, he turned away to change into his school clothes. However, for those few seconds that his reflection was perfectly caught in a profile, something was not right. It was gone the minute he shifted a single degree more, but to allow even a fraction of a second of wrongness would have been a great crime. Marching back to the mirror, he stared critically at his reflection. And slowly turned to study a side view of his lean frame. He frowned, there was definitely something different. Hurriedly, he started unbuttoning his silver silk pajama top, but, in his haste, got his fingers caught in a buttonhole. After a short period of going around the dorm room cursing his pajamas and, for some reason, hopping, he managed to get his shirt off. Ruffled and slightly out of breathe, he stared some more at his bare- chested reflection. Now he definitely knew something was wrong. Could it be muscles? No, although Draco was in good shape from all of the Quidditch practices, Malfoys were never burly. Anyways, muscles didn't develop in such a way. Perhaps he was getting some sort of chronic disease. Draco lay down in his bed, totally dazed by the ideas his overactive imagination kept feeding him. Yes.....some sort of deadly, terminal illness that caused...unusual enlargement of the upper che— Then it hit him. Hard. And painfully, in a way that was most likely calculated to leave as many years of psychological scarring as possible. A vast feeling of horror built up inside him and threatened to engulf him. He opened his mouth to scream, but bit down on his tongue as he looked around the room at the three other occupied beds, silently cursing the fact that his father had not managed to persuade, convince, coerce, bribe, or blackmail Dumbledore into giving him his own room. He sat, and said, in a horrified, crackling voice, "I've got man boobs..."
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Rambles: Like the open and closing things? I do. Can you tell I spent (wasted) time and effort on them? It wasn't that bad was it? Review. Right now. You know you want to. Even if it is to tell me that I'm an incredibly stupid, useless person. I Shall Just Ignore the Words and Bask in the Glow of Having Gotten Reviews. Unless you say something nice. Then, you will have done so.
=^.^=....._......o_O......-.-...V_V....^_~.....'_'......x_x.....^_^...... Review
So, to those ppls who say that my stories have no plots, you're probably right. As of yet, this story doesn't have much of a plot either. And I can't really think of one. But that's ok, I'll just make it up as I go along. Or I'll stop. Whichever one comes first.
But, I've been thinking about this for a while. In short segments of course, too much thinking could cause permanent brain damage. So here it is.
.
. . .
. . . . .
. . . . . -~- . . . . .
. . . . . . -~*~- . . . . . . . . . . . . . -~*~*~*~- . . . . . .
.
~ Sex Is Just a Letter~
Chapter 1
-~*~@~*~- It all started in second year, although there might have been hints of it before, but to have fully noticed and taken them in would have led almost any student at Hogwarts down a bunny trail that would have involved somewhat crazed, flesh-eating rabbits. And not cute, fluffy ones either. But it did come to an abrupt beginning in second year, one of those cursed years of great changes. And quite a few surprises. (Ones that don't involve Seamus Finnegan suddenly switching to the side of evil and prancing around the halls in Snape's hair accessories)
-~*~@~*~- The sun had barely just risen, but it was hard to tell due to the fact that there was at least 50 feet of stone between the dungeons and anything that slightly resembled sunlight. He'd gotten up early as he usually did and was beginning his daily examination of perfection in his full-length mirror. It didn't take long. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, the very epitome of physical attraction itself. And in the tiny, slight, minute, so- insignifigant-that-it's-hardly-worthy-even-considering-thinking-about possibility that he hadn't even made the top three in that category, he was still damn good-looking for a second year. Draco ran his hands through his light, golden colored hair, pleased at the way the fine strands felt like several smooth sheets of silk. But, as much as he would have loved to admire his lovely features in further detail, he had to go get changed and down to the Slytherin common room or be faced with the waking horrors that Crabbe and Goyle were every morning. Sighing and giving his reflection a longing look, which it gave right back at him, he turned away to change into his school clothes. However, for those few seconds that his reflection was perfectly caught in a profile, something was not right. It was gone the minute he shifted a single degree more, but to allow even a fraction of a second of wrongness would have been a great crime. Marching back to the mirror, he stared critically at his reflection. And slowly turned to study a side view of his lean frame. He frowned, there was definitely something different. Hurriedly, he started unbuttoning his silver silk pajama top, but, in his haste, got his fingers caught in a buttonhole. After a short period of going around the dorm room cursing his pajamas and, for some reason, hopping, he managed to get his shirt off. Ruffled and slightly out of breathe, he stared some more at his bare- chested reflection. Now he definitely knew something was wrong. Could it be muscles? No, although Draco was in good shape from all of the Quidditch practices, Malfoys were never burly. Anyways, muscles didn't develop in such a way. Perhaps he was getting some sort of chronic disease. Draco lay down in his bed, totally dazed by the ideas his overactive imagination kept feeding him. Yes.....some sort of deadly, terminal illness that caused...unusual enlargement of the upper che— Then it hit him. Hard. And painfully, in a way that was most likely calculated to leave as many years of psychological scarring as possible. A vast feeling of horror built up inside him and threatened to engulf him. He opened his mouth to scream, but bit down on his tongue as he looked around the room at the three other occupied beds, silently cursing the fact that his father had not managed to persuade, convince, coerce, bribe, or blackmail Dumbledore into giving him his own room. He sat, and said, in a horrified, crackling voice, "I've got man boobs..."
. . . . . . . -~*~*~*~- . . . . . .
.
. . . . . . -~*~- . . . . . .
. . . . . -~- . . . . .
. . . . .
. . .
.
Rambles: Like the open and closing things? I do. Can you tell I spent (wasted) time and effort on them? It wasn't that bad was it? Review. Right now. You know you want to. Even if it is to tell me that I'm an incredibly stupid, useless person. I Shall Just Ignore the Words and Bask in the Glow of Having Gotten Reviews. Unless you say something nice. Then, you will have done so.
=^.^=....._......o_O......-.-...V_V....^_~.....'_'......x_x.....^_^...... Review