PROLOGUE

He woke up with a shrill cry, his forehead pulsing with pain. He was sweaty and disoriented, and everything around him was blurry, and a bellowing voice from downstairs was yelling at him to "keep his bloody gob shut" because "some of us actually want to wake up on time tomorrow".

He sighed, reaching under the bed and grabbing his glasses, sliding them on. His scar was burning a hole in his forehead, but that wasn't so uncommon anymore. Voldemort was slowly rising to power again, and even though the Prophet wasn't saying anything of the sort, Harry knew the snake- faced bastard was killing again. That people were dying. Dying because of—no. No they weren't dying because of him. No it wasn't his fault that Voldemort came back. And no, it was definitely not his fault that Cedric died because "even when your intentions are good sometimes things go crappy, Harry". That little pearl of wisdom wouldn't have come to him if it hadn't been for a very smart advice from Hermione and Hedwig's continuous attempts to make his life more bearable.

He remembered how it was at the end of last year. He came back quiet and withdrawn. His friends never saw him cry, never heard the full story from him, because he wouldn't tell them. Everything went dim. Since the talk in Dumbledore's office with Sirius, since Mrs. Weasley's hug, he hadn't cried. He refused to discuss the subject at all. But the nightmares haunted him. Cedric, his father's voice, the red eyes narrowed with mirth. And the Cruciatus. Most of all, the Cruciatus. He had become paler and thinner as the days passed by, so thin that Dudley's cast offs nearly fell off his hips despite the belt, that his robes hung loosely on his thin shoulders.

Finally, Hermione couldn't take it any longer. She had cornered him on the Hogwarts Express when they got to platform 9¾, while the Weasleys unloaded their trunks from the train.

"Now you listen to me, Harry Potter." Hermione said, sounding every inch like McGonagal. "You don't wanna talk to me and Ron about what happened, fine. But you have to deal. Harry, it's unhealthy what you're doing!" she said desperately at the look on his face. "You're killing yourself! Look at how thin you are! How pale! You're giving in without a fight. He's beating you without even trying, Harry." Hermione bit her lip, trying to find a way to make things simpler. "Write it down. Like... a letter. Like you're sharing this with someone. Don't let him win, Harry. Not that easily."

It was that comment, more than anything else, that caused him to sit down and write a letter as soon as he finished unpacking. Because giving up would mean betraying his parents and their sacrifice, betraying Cedric's memory and his own hate towards the bastard. He had cried while he wrote it, and smeared the ink all over the parchment. He had thrown it at the wall angrily and cried himself to sleep. When he had woken up, both Hedwig and the letter were gone. But he hadn't paid any attention to it, because Aunt Petunia was yelling at him to come down for "breakfast", and he realized suddenly that he would have to tell her. About Voldemort and the Death Eaters and everything that happened. Because even though he disliked the Dursleys very much, and hated living with them, he refused to cause their deaths by not informing them of the situation.

Hedwig had returned two days later, with a letter from an American girl. Said American had started her letter with expressing the shock of having a white owl zooming into her bedroom window, and for a minute there he thought she was a muggle but her next words were "but what the hell, I've seen weirder things on the hellmouth". She had a surprisingly accurate understanding of what he felt, and had insisted on him understanding that nothing that happened was his fault. According to her letter, she had caused her own sister's death (even though Harry really didn't see why she thought so), and had the logic shaken into her by a friend.

Her letter caught his attention, and he kept owling her, giving Hedwig the recovering potion for owls Hagrid had sent him a little after the beginning of school break, with no explanation whatsoever.

He smiled at the owlish shadow rising in the window, welcoming the exhausted Hedwig back, with Dawn's latest letter. She nipped his finger playfully before fluttering into her cage to sip from the potion-doused water. He sat down to read the letter.

Dear Harry:

You're going to a magical school? It must be wonderful! I'm gonna go back to 'normal' school! With Chemistry and Math! Bleagh!

I'm guessing that this letter will catch up with you just before you go to school. So, um, good luck, have fun, and don't forget to send me many cool magical things from that Hogsmeade place you mentioned.

Things are pretty good around here, even though I'm totally left out of the scheme of things. Gosh, you'd think that since we practically live at the Magic Box nowadays I'd get to learn stuff but they won't even allow me near the books. Anya said I'm too young. And I was like, "Well, not all of us were born on 860!" and I think that maybe it was very rude, but I didn't care at the time. Things are changing around here, and I don't know if I'm coping very well. I swear if I was a normal teenager going through this mess...

Even the non-Hellmouth events are weird. I mean, first, I had a crush on Xander, which is this really cute, really funny guy. But he had a crush on my sister, at the time, and then discovered the mystery-land of steady- girlfriend-ness. It made me angry (even though I must admit I had no right to). Not to mention he's seven years older than me. And then I moved on to Spike, which has leather and the bad boy thing working for him, but he was semi-evil, and then developed a crush on my sister. And way, way older than Xander is (but he luckily doesn't look his age). And now Xander and Spike are living together. In the gay way.

Which should've caused some serious trauma, but I'm weirdly happy for them. They're so sweet together.

It came as a surprise to everyone but me, really. The only thing that surprised me was Anya's reaction. She's insanely happy about all this, which means she and Xander probably broke up with both sides' consent (about which lucky Xander, she would've seriously maimed him otherwise), and also that she really does care, because she's Anya, and she's only been normal for two and a half years now, so the thing called tact is still unexplored territory for her. And would you look at the written babble. Who knew I could do that?

On a sadder note, a really close friend of mine left today. He's heading back for England. He was basically here because my sister was, and he's like a father to me in every sense of the word. But now that she's dead and I've got the gang to take care of me, he feels unneeded. Which is totally wrong, but it's his choice, y'know? I've been thinking about it today, and maybe it's too painful for him to stay here, without her. I kinda get that.

Wow there, looky here, all self-involved like and focused on me. How're things with you? Things still bad with this Voldemort guy? I mean, you seemed pretty upset about him. Is he that wizard who... who killed this Cedric you wrote about?

Harry was still shocked sometimes to realize that Dawn knew nothing of Voldemort. That she didn't know about the greatest, most fearsome wizard of the century, of the War and everything that happened. But it was a relief, because he knew she didn't become friends with him for his scar.

I do hope the nightmare thing is getting better. I could ask Tara to make a Dreamless Sleep potion for you if you want me to.

He was so tempted to write back that moment and beg Dawn for a Dreamless Sleep potion, but quickly decided against it. His dreams were horrid, and he hated feeling so helpless, hated being forced to watch people die. But this was his only way to know what was going on. And he needed to know.

On a wholly different matter, who is this Malfoy person you keep talking about? I mean, you mention him constantly. Tell me?

He was talking about Malfoy? Since when were his holidays spent thinking of Malfoy? Well, yeah, he was a bastard, and he always bugged him in school (even though it seemed to have switched to petty insults lately). But to talk about him on the school break?

Anyhow, write back soon. I could really use the distraction nowadays. Especially about this Malfoy person. "Piercing grey eyes" indeed. [evil grin]

Love, Dawn

He had written about Malfoy's "piercing grey eyes"??

Eww. Eww, eww, eww! If Dawn was even thinking what he thought she was thinking he was gonna... do nothing because she lived on the other side of the ocean. Bloody wonderful. And eww.

Malfoy's eyes were piercing, though. Sometimes when he had a stare-down contest with Malfoy in the hallways he was afraid that Malfoy could see to his very core and know everything there is to know about one Harry Potter.

Harry shuddered. Maybe the Dreamless Sleep potion wasn't such a bad idea.

August 31. At last. He was packed and ready and quite frankly eager to get back to school. It seemed things have changed pretty drastically in the last year, and he wasn't all that glad about it.

Since the death of Cedric Diggory, life has changed for Draco Malfoy. His father no longer had time enough for him, which could've been wonderful, since he didn't like spending time with his father, except being constantly manipulated felt wrong.

Lucius Malfoy, much like Draco himself, was cold and calculating, always plotting and filing every scrap of information in his brain. Draco thought that if they had to store everything his father knew in books, it would take a library bigger than the one in Malfoy Manor to store. And the Malfoy Library was probably three times bigger than the Hogwarts library. Which means it was BIG.

But that was just the thing. His father always had to control everything. He had a high-rank job in the ministry, he was one of the more appreciated Death Eaters when Voldemort reigned fifteen years ago, and his always- impeccable manners only served to increase the ire in his enemies and the awe in his servants. He even tried to control his son. And Draco didn't appreciate it at all.

It was ironic, how the very Malfoy pride seemed to work against the Lord of Malfoy Manor. Draco was always taught he had to be the best, that there should never be someone above him. That he always deserved the best and that he made the rules, because he was a Malfoy. And his father always contradicted those ideals by trying to control him. Usually Draco obeyed, partly because his father was a very fearsome man and Draco knew that it was for very good reasons, but also because he knew his father's guidance might give him a better place to start once he graduated from Hogwarts.

But when he came home at the end of the school year, everything was different. The house was full of people he didn't know. His father was always busy nowadays, shooing Draco to his room whenever he saw him, which made Draco's stay at the manor very unpleasant. The older Malfoy seemed to treat him like a silly puppet, which he resented very much. Apparently his father pretty much thought of him as a mindless fool who did whatever his parents told him.

He found that he actually missed Hogwarts, where he was king amongst his own. Every student knew his name. The Slytherins adored him and asked for his company at all times. He didn't particularly like any of it, and considered most of them beneath him, but it helped him get what he wanted, a thing he liked very much. Nobody ever told him what to do, and for once, it was in his own right, because he impressed people as a wizard not to be trifled with, and not because his father was Lucius Malfoy.

And then there was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, with his scar and fame and pack of followers. Harry Potter with his bright green eyes, who meticulously outdid Draco in almost everything except his grades. He was loved throughout the school, he was Dumbledore's pet student, he was most probably a better Seeker (even if Draco would never admit it to him), and on top of all, he was the Boy Who Lived In Draco's Brain.

Draco's lip curled and he sneered at the ceiling of his room. Since he had nothing to occupy him mind with for the last summer, he spent way too much time with his own brain, which he always considered very unhealthy. And he had come to a very unpleasant conclusion.

It had taken him four years and a summer alone with his thoughts to understand that Potter was occupying his thoughts way too much. He usually spent his free hours at school thinking of new ways to torment, outdo and humiliate Potter. Not to mention the fact that he always got a warm feeling whenever he saw those green eyes turning the colour of dark emeralds with passionate anger.

Draco wasn't a fool. He never lied to himself, not intentionally anyway He just tended to avoid certain thoughts and feelings he didn't want to face. And now he knew why. Why his Hogwarts life seemed to focus on the Boy Who Lived.

He was obsessed with Harry Potter. And not in the positive, murderous way. Nothing the Dark Lord would approve. Not even close.

He was lusting after Harry Potter.

Draco grabbed a pillow and slammed it on his face. The green eyes haunted him ever since he got to that conclusion. And there was no way Harry would agree to a one-time fuck to satisfy Draco's craving. Potter hated him, he was certain of it.

So. Another year of unfulfilled passion. Draco shrugged to himself, burying his face in his pillow and trying to get some sleep before the morning. At least he'd get to see those green eyes again.