Confection

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Winter DeForgum, she is owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.
Author: Abyss

Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

Genre: Drama

Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU.

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Chapter One: An encounter of sorts.

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Sometimes… just sometimes when I'm alone… it seems that everything fades away into an unspoken nothing… as if I am the only one left in a pathetic existence that is called life. It is in those moments that I am free, where thoughts don't plague my contorted remembrance. In those moments I am pacified, yet it is those moments that I fear. Being content with my own sordidness perplexes me into thinking that I might in fact, always be the thing that I am. This cold creature that I am, this consuming bastard compiled of frazzled ideas and hopeless demise that my own self-loathing will one day consume all that is left of this small tortured body. That in my darkest moment I will not hesitate to use the means within my possession to conclude what little life I have lived. What little life that has been lived far too long.

I sometimes wonder when it all came to this, but as soon as the simple thought enters my head I am overwhelmed with belittling memories that hurt. There are stronger words I suppose I could use to describe the images that rush through my head other than 'hurt' but sometimes... sometimes I think that using such simple words have more meaning and effect than even the most extravagant of words. Father use to tell me that simplicity was often the greatest manipulative tool into success. Although my love and admiration for my father has long since wilted, I cannot deny the fact that his cunning wisdom and his overbearing nature is something I will always acknowledge and pay some small tribute to. I often find myself longing for days that have long since passed in my childhood. The days when seeing my father and being able to spend time with him meant so much to me, I used to love that man. I used to want to become a person much like himself. I used to have an uncontrollable desire to make him proud of me, his only son.

I used to believe that Lucius Malfoy was the perfect father.

Now I sometimes wonder if I should laugh at my own naivete, or if I should be crying. But alas, a Malfoy does not cry. A Malfoy is not weak; therefore a Malfoy would not have use of such a petty display of emotion.

It makes me wonder if I am worthy of that title... or if that title is not worthy of me.

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Draco set down his quill and stretched his arms back over his head. Hearing a satisfying crack in either of his shoulders Draco sighed and closed his journal. He once feared that someone would find it and read his musings, read the things that a Malfoy should not be thinking about, but with the amount of charms put on his book, most would not even bother taking the time to remove all of them. Even if they did they would not be met with much more than blank pages. Aside from simple charms, blood magic also deeply protected Draco's musings, only when his own blood, given freely, touched the cream coloured parchment would his words appear. Even though the blonde Slytherin hated his father, he will always remain grateful for all his training in the dark arts. Blood and occult magic are things he never would have learned at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts...

Only a few weeks until he returned for his sixth year there. Three to be exact. This summer has been horrible to Draco. Well... at least his father has. He never quite knew which was worse, the hateful punishments and cutting words from his father, or his mother's cold indifference to Draco's wellbeing. You could always tell when a person's mind started to slip when they craved the physical contact Draco received from his father's habitual beatings. Of course after all was said and done his father would hastily pick Draco up from the floor, lay him in Draco's room and heal all the physical damage done to his body. Couldn't scar that perfect body of his. No, that wouldn't be smart. Draco sometimes wished that his father left him in pain, at least then he would have some evidence to confirm that he isn't just imagining the things his father did to him.

Very few people ever saw the rage that resided within Lucius Malfoy. Most only witnessed the cool, collected, poised man that was a Malfoy, no the unruly demons within were saved for Draco, and Draco alone. The young Slytherin promised himself to never do anything for his father ever again. This included how he acted around others, he would do as he wanted, he would be himself; he would be Draco, not a Malfoy.

The only problem now was... Who was Draco?

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It was almost amusing to see, Draco mused, the confused looks upon his peers' faces. He smiled smugly knowing that the source of their befuddlement came from none other than Draco himself. He had never kept it much of a secret that he had held himself at a higher level than the rest of Hogwarts, that he himself thought very little of the other students (and even some of the teachers) that attended the school. Of course there were always exceptions to his disregard for the vast population at such an establishment, but those select few could be though about later.

Actually, now that it has been mentioned, Draco reflected; the wizarding world's own boy wonder Harry Potter has seemed to pick up quite a few nasty little habits, apparently unbeknownst to everyone else. Draco chuckled to himself, amused. Irony at its best, so ironic in the fact that Harry Potter's pseudo-evil foe would notice the boys own dark shadows before everyone else.

Oh my. Draco thought cynically, The Harry Potter fan club must be faltering!

Draco smiled, slightly amused, but then frowned slightly when he realized he had gone off topic. But then again... Do thoughts really have main points? Topics and sequences to follow? Are they not merely reflections? Biased ideas based upon the events of ones day/ life? Sighing Draco shook his head. All he really wanted to get across in his mind's own musings is that his house sorely missed their ringleader.

Hmm... Draco liked that analogy. The implication that this was just one big circus, a pseudo existence, a mere act of ridiculous characters with a poorly written script. Well Draco wouldn't be their pawn anymore. Parading around, directing a bunch of mindless fools was not the young blonde's idea of a good time. No, Draco thought, his pensive mind could be used for much better purposes. What those purposes were, he was not quite sure, but when he figures that out, at least he will know that he had picked his own future.

Everyone assumed Draco would run off with a little trophy wife and devote his life to a meaningless cause run by a man who couldn't even do off with a stupid little defenseless baby. Draco almost snorted at that ludicrous thought. Why would he ever degrade himself so much? Openly enslaving himself to a man who couldn't even stay alive. Further more, why would he mare his flawless skin with an overtly disgusting and crude looking burn? Draco was a slave to no one; not even Voldemort could get Draco to bow down. His father taught him self-pride well... Perhaps a little too well.

Draco had always favoured the idea of becoming a Potions Master. He had the brains for it, that was a given, but one of the more surprising traits Draco possessed was patients... and lots of it. The solitude that came with such a profession had never been much of an issue. Most Potion Masters enjoyed the detachment from society. Many had thoughts much like Draco about the majority of the population anyway, mindless sheep following along a pre-determined path. It was interesting to observe sometimes, but most of the time it was an intellectual hindrance.

With taking all that in, Draco wasn't too surprised when he found out over the summer that his animagus form was that of a cat. Pure white fur with startlingly black eyes. He'd always liked cats. Whether it was for their grace and beauty, or whether it was their intelligent, aristocratic and sly mannerisms that drew him to the relatively small animal, but whatever it was, it just made the discovery all the more appropriate for him.

Rolling over in his bed once again, Draco sighed and flung his legs off the bed and forced himself into a sitting position. The moonlight that filtered into the small dorm room reflected off his skin, which would have given him an ethereal disposition to anyone who could have witnessed the moment.

Draco hated restless nights.

Standing from his bed Draco ran his left hand through his loose locks of hair. He had always hated wearing it gelled back, it made him feel unclean with the amount of hair product that was slopped onto the top of his head. And secretly he thought that it made his forehead look unnaturally large, but that would be a thought he would keep to himself. His father had been furious when Draco had come back from London with a new haircut, his light hair falling freely in slight layers around his face, he had told Draco he looked like "Filthy muggle trash". Eventually his father had told Draco it made him look more like a man. Draco knew his father too well though, he just wanted to tell Draco that he approved of the rebellious (at least for the son of a Malfoy it was) action to help uphold his air of control over the household and all those that reside within it.

Slipping on some comfortable robes Draco stealthily made his way into the corridors or Hogwarts. Despite the fact that Draco had undying distaste for those that inhabited Hogwarts, the castle and surrounding lands were quite magnificent really. Draco could easily say that at least half of the large castle hadn't been used in years, and all the dusty mysteries held within its cool-to-the-touch stone corridors were left waiting for their greatness to be discovered once more. The dungeons were more like a hideous maze than anything else, for years Draco wouldn't travel very deep into the dank depths of the school for fear that he would get lost and wouldn't be able to find his way back to his common room. Draco almost smiled as he walked down corridor after corridor, twisting in obscure ways, deftly walking through the maze-like halls. He knew more about these dungeons than he did his own home.

The deeper Draco ventured, the more prominent the smell of decay came. It was when he turned down a certain hallway that the grotesque sent was replaced with something else. A sweet smell, almost like burning incense.... But more potent, and definitely not as perfume-like. Slowing his pace, Draco strained to hear anything. Just when he thought he was alone, he heard a small muffled cough. Confusion hit Draco for a few seconds because he knew that someone was down in the dungeons with him, someone who obviously knew his way around the school, and someone who was obviously trying not to get caught in the midst of doing something. And if Draco had identified the smell properly... he knew exactly who was down there.

As Draco entered a large open room (which was presumably used for storage room, or as a gathering room at one point or another) his assumptions were proved to be correct. There, in all his glory, was Potter... a very messed up Potter. For a few moments Draco pondered the idea of just leaving him alone, but the temptation of a worthy conversation (if Potter wasn't too far-gone) drew him closer to the boy. "My, Potter, awfully late to be out and about don't you think?" Draco drawled absently while moving into view of the small lighting charm Harry had cast. Had circumstances been different, Draco definitely would have found some way or another to get Potter caught and although he would no longer do such a thing, he found much amusement in the completely horrified shock that was so excessively prominent on the dark haired boy's face.

Long seconds passed before Draco said anything else; he was too busy enjoying Potter's paranoia. "Oh come down now, I'm not about to run off and get you into trouble." He moved in closer to the still overtly frightened Gryffindor, turned over an old wooden chair, and sat down in it. Harry looked up at the boy, still scared, but also confused and curious as well. Draco smiled at Potter's lack of speech, then wondered exactly how high the other boy really was. Draco snatched a small bag that sat next to Potter and looked inside. Yup, Draco was right. "Who'd you buy from? This stuff seems like it would cost you quite a bit." The blonde Slytherin idly took a small bud out of the bag, and lightly smelled it. Strong sent, admirable colour, excellent condition.

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed.

"Oh you can speak! I was worried for a moment that you had gone mute." His pale hands closed up Harry's small bag and passed it back to him. "What brings you down here Potter? Well, obviously smoking a few bowls... Or quite a bit more from the looks of it. But the dungeons? The mighty Gryffindor stalking around in the dank corridors, in Slytherin territory no less."

"Why are you here?" Harry spoke again, either ignoring, or failing to acknowledge the other boy's question.

"Hmm..." Draco paused for a moment. "Why, it looks like I am talking to you, unless of course I am mistaken."

"But why." He persisted.

"Why not? Despite the fact that you are hopelessly stoned, I figured you'd be worthy of a decent conversation, which, regretfully is something I haven't had in quite a long time. There really is a lack of intelligence in this school."

Harry just stared at Draco.

Laughing Draco shook his head. "You really are hopeless I guess. I suppose I should just leave." Standing up Draco felt a warm hand wrap around the base of his ankle.

"Wait." Harry looked up. Standing above him made Draco realize how small the boy looked. He looked very much like a child. His messy black hair skewed in all directions; large blood shot green eyes, which made him look more like he was crying, than sitting in the dungeons of an old castle getting high. A slight pout to his lips made him appear as if he wanted to say something, but held it back.

"Oh you want me to stay?" Draco analyzed the wizard's reaction.

"Well... I..." Harry looked down and bit his lip. "I mean... would you... you know?" Harry nodded his head towards a rather impressive (yet still small) pipe, a lighter and the bag Draco had looked through earlier.

"Is this an free invitation, Potter?"

Harry merely nodded.

Almost laughing at the thought, Draco smiled and sat down next to the already stoned boy.

"Alright then. There is one condition though." Harry looked over to Draco. "I get first hit." Smiling, Harry packed the bowl, then passed it over to Draco lighter in hand.

Taking the two Draco looked at them, then cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "What?" he asked.

"A dragon pipe, and a serpent lighter? Why someone might mistake you for a Slytherin." Draco laughed, shook his head and took his hit. Draco noticed that Harry was staring at him intently. Choosing to ignore the almost uncomfortable gaze, Draco passed the pipe over to Harry, and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the thick smoke that invaded his lungs. Slowly exhaling after a few seconds Draco looked over at Harry who was still staring at him.

"I never thought that you'd ever do this sort of thing." Harry thought aloud. "You seem to like being in control to much."

Draco smirked. "And who would have thought the great Harry Potter would secretly be a pot head?" Draco starred, intrigued as Harry laughed a little, before raising the elegantly glass-blown dragon to his mouth. He had to admit that it felt strange being here. Sitting on the cold dirty floor getting high with Harry Potter. Who would have guessed? Certainly not Draco.

"You know," Harry began, a small amount of smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin."

Draco was glad that he didn't have the pipe in his hand... he would have dropped it. Quickly regaining his composure, Draco took the offered pipe and lighter and laughed a little. "That would have been quite a shock. Harry Potter, boy wonder sorted into the horrible Slytherin house."

After a few more rounds of the pipe in companionable silence, Harry began talking again. "I sometimes wish I had been put in Slytherin..." It was quite, almost like he didn't really want Draco to hear it, but had needed to say it anyway.

"Why?"

"Because..." Harry trailed off, absently fiddling with the lighter in his hands. "I don't really feel like I belong in Gryffindor, I never really have. I'm surrounded by people who know me only as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived, not just Harry. It's not easy being surrounded by all those people, who seem to adore you but aren't really your friend. No, they're too frightened to get to know you, just in case. Just in case of what... Sometimes I wonder." He paused for a minute and looked up a Draco who was seemed oddly interested in what Harry was saying, so he continued. "In Slytherin... I think I don't think I would have been looked at like that, I'd have to prove I was worthy of someone's friendship, prove I was a worthy peer."

"Is that why you no longer talk to Weasley and Granger? Or at least, avoid them as much as you can."

"You noticed?" Harry seemed surprised.

"I notice a lot of things, more than you'd realize. I'm more observant than I appear."

"Oh?" Harry said, not exactly knowing what else to say.

"For example. I noticed that you got your tongue pierced over the summer. I congratulate you on hiding it so well, for this long."

Harry did nothing but stare, looking for an explanation.

"When school first started, you drank a lot, you didn't eat as much, and when you did it was rather awkward. I also noticed that you never put your fork all the way in your mouth anymore. You used to lick your lips as a nervous habit; you stopped doing that as well. You also speak much more carefully than you used to; your mouth doesn't open as much. You also play with the barbell during class lessons, which, by the way, makes you look rather foolish, so I suggest you refrain from doing so."

"And you came to that conclusion because of a few mouth movements?"

"That's an affirmative." Draco stretched his neck to the side, hearing a small, satisfactory 'pop'. "Then again, you really aren't the hardest person to read, you really are far too open for your own good."

"Should I be impressed, or should I be paranoid that you're stalking me?" Harry half-joked.

Draco shrugged and took his last hit. "Do whatever, just stop going to Snape's class high, he's starting to suspect something."

"You knew?" Harry was surprised.

"Like I told you... I'm very observant."

Harry half-heartedly shrugged. It was silent between the two of them for a long few minutes. Both teenagers just sitting and enjoying the high, and while neither would admit it, enjoying the company of each other as well.

"Why aren't we fighting?" Harry suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... why aren't we fighting? I don't think I've ever spent this much time with you, alone none the less, and to add to that, I don't think either of us have been together an not been at each others throats... I just think it's kind of odd."

"I suppose so, but I also think that we've both grown out of that silly animosity. You were a worthy rival Potter, more so than I think I realize." Draco idly looked down at his watch 3:47.

Silence.

"Think we ever could have been friends?" Harry finally asked.

"Perhaps." Draco mused. "But what says that we can't be now?"

That openly spoken truce, that offer of friendship startled Harry. He hesitated before answering. "I... I don't know. Nothing I guess..."

"Well?" Draco asked for an answer to the implied question.

"Well what?"

Not as observant as Draco had originally thought. The blonde rolled his eyes. "I am asking for your friendship Potter, I am also asking not to be turned down... again. I'm not quite sure why I am about to tell you this, and I rather wish I would stop myself, but oh well. You hurt me last time, when you dropped me for someone else, you hurt me a lot."

"I did?" Harry sat up (he was laying down? Draco didn't notice... well there goes their previous conversation).

Draco nodded, silently asking not to have to further explain.

"Well..." Harry looked away from Draco. "Let's just hope I don't do it again then." After a few seconds Harry looked back over at Draco. The two just stared at each other, neither quite believing what had just transpired.

"Now what?" Draco almost whispered.

"I don't really know."

They both smiled.

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End: Chapter One

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Author's Notes: Please review, no flames, but constructive criticism is always very much appreciated. This is my first HP fic I've ever written so... *waves to everyone* HELLO! Chapter two should be out relatively soon.