Disclaimer: Do I own these pants? Oops, nope, they're borrowed. Do I own
this bracelet? No- borrowed. Do I own anything HP? Follow the pattern with
this one...
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat in the Gryffindor common room along with about the entire of the Gryffindor population. It was Christmas Day, but it didn't feel like it. Two years before, Lord Voldemort had returned to power with a form of his own, and in the past year he had since exercised his strong power. Hogwarts was always regarded as a safe haven, so most parents had opted to let their children remain there over the holiday.
The students were scared. If there was even any talking amongst them, it was done through tight lips and an unmoving frown. Not at all like Christmas! There was no utterance of "Happy Christmas!" or "Look, there's some mistletoe..." No one even paid attention to the festive decorations which the professors had hung in an attempt to boost morale. No student could keep up the façade.
Harry had an itching feeling. He felt like he should be doing something worth his while, like his holiday homework, or, oh yeah, killing only the most feared wizard ever, how could he forget about that one. He had over the years, however unwillingly, became somewhat of an adrenaline junkie, and his nerves just simply couldn't stand being silent and still for so long. The clock ticked on. Seconds stretched into months, minutes to decades, until Harry was sure he had fallen asleep long ago. No wait- not him, Ron.
Ron was sitting next to him on the overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace and was dozing slightly and softly snoring. His head was propped against Hermione's shoulder and his flame red hair was stuck up at odd angles with a few stray locks tickling at Hermione's chin. Hermione, who also appeared to be sleeping, looked very peaceful. Her normal uptight, worried expression had vanished and been replaced by a serene half-smile, although her eye twitched jerkily once every minute or two. Harry watched them for a moment. They deserved sleep after all the tension he felt that he brought into their lives.
Noticing his chance to escape for some time alone, Harry stood. His joints, which had set in his sitting position, complained painfully, but his muscles yearned to run far away, to hop on a broom and fly for hours. Unfortunately, the other occupants of the common room had other plans for him.
When Harry had risen, faces turned up all over the place. They stared at him with eyes big and full of hope. They wanted him-no, they needed him- to reassure them. Silently they seemed to plead with him to reveal any information he had. How? When? Where? And who, who could possibly stop him? Harry stood uncomfortably in front of each nervously curious face.
The Gryffindors watched The Boy Who Lived. He looked the same as he had last year. A bit older perhaps, but the same nonetheless. He looked so similar that, if you didn't look at him closely, you might miss the subtle changes in his appearance since the ordeals of the last year- since Sirius died. His posture had never been outstanding, but the slight stoop in his shoulders was getting more and more noticeable. Harry's hair seemed to have taken some kind of hint and settled down a bit. If his mind wasn't already occupied, he might have found this a wonderful thing to have behaving hair, or he might have found it sad that he appeared to slowly resemble his late father less every day. His eyes were only faintly bloodshot and flanked by small dark bags, but were very troubled. They seemed hardened, more guarded, and drenched in a new burden of responsibility, the kind of responsibility that no boy his age should bear: the responsibility of life versus death.
Harry opened his mouth and several people sat up in anticipation of his worldly and wise words of advice.
"Happy Christmas, everyone," Harry croaked, his throat scratchy and dry. Disappointment shone plainly in all of the students' visages. Harry picked his way through the crowd toward the portrait hole, trying to avoid the terrified glances he was receiving. Once away from the throng, he quickened his pace. His eyes glazed over; he didn't need them. His feet knew his destination and they were taking charge. Had he let his eyes be in control for only seconds longer, he would have seen the tall, muscular body blocking his path before he collided with it at top speed.
"Oof! Potter, you crock! Get offa me!"
Harry recognized that drawl.
"Malfoy."
"Very good, Pothead. Let's label other things, shall we? Over there we have a suit of armor, there's a portrait..." Draco pointed at various objects in the hall, labeling them respectively.
"What do you want Malfoy?" Harry growled. Lately, Harry wouldn't get so worked up about Malfoy, seeing as he had more important problems to deal with, but now, this was seriously cutting into his alone time.
"Why, whatever gave you the impression that I *wanted* something, and from you of all people?" Draco sneered, but the insult fell flat; it just didn't come out as it used to. It was as if Draco hadn't truly meant the jab, but said it instead out of pure habit. Harry folded his arms across his chest and succeeded in looking rather intimidating and Draco's eyes darted around furtively.
"Ok, Pottey. I do need to talk to you... but not here..."
A/N: The beginning of my new HP story! What do you think? And NO, Harry and Draco are NOT getting together romantically. Anyways, I have a great vision for this fic, hope you liked this 1st chapter! I hate begging for reviews but, PLEASE REVIEW!
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat in the Gryffindor common room along with about the entire of the Gryffindor population. It was Christmas Day, but it didn't feel like it. Two years before, Lord Voldemort had returned to power with a form of his own, and in the past year he had since exercised his strong power. Hogwarts was always regarded as a safe haven, so most parents had opted to let their children remain there over the holiday.
The students were scared. If there was even any talking amongst them, it was done through tight lips and an unmoving frown. Not at all like Christmas! There was no utterance of "Happy Christmas!" or "Look, there's some mistletoe..." No one even paid attention to the festive decorations which the professors had hung in an attempt to boost morale. No student could keep up the façade.
Harry had an itching feeling. He felt like he should be doing something worth his while, like his holiday homework, or, oh yeah, killing only the most feared wizard ever, how could he forget about that one. He had over the years, however unwillingly, became somewhat of an adrenaline junkie, and his nerves just simply couldn't stand being silent and still for so long. The clock ticked on. Seconds stretched into months, minutes to decades, until Harry was sure he had fallen asleep long ago. No wait- not him, Ron.
Ron was sitting next to him on the overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace and was dozing slightly and softly snoring. His head was propped against Hermione's shoulder and his flame red hair was stuck up at odd angles with a few stray locks tickling at Hermione's chin. Hermione, who also appeared to be sleeping, looked very peaceful. Her normal uptight, worried expression had vanished and been replaced by a serene half-smile, although her eye twitched jerkily once every minute or two. Harry watched them for a moment. They deserved sleep after all the tension he felt that he brought into their lives.
Noticing his chance to escape for some time alone, Harry stood. His joints, which had set in his sitting position, complained painfully, but his muscles yearned to run far away, to hop on a broom and fly for hours. Unfortunately, the other occupants of the common room had other plans for him.
When Harry had risen, faces turned up all over the place. They stared at him with eyes big and full of hope. They wanted him-no, they needed him- to reassure them. Silently they seemed to plead with him to reveal any information he had. How? When? Where? And who, who could possibly stop him? Harry stood uncomfortably in front of each nervously curious face.
The Gryffindors watched The Boy Who Lived. He looked the same as he had last year. A bit older perhaps, but the same nonetheless. He looked so similar that, if you didn't look at him closely, you might miss the subtle changes in his appearance since the ordeals of the last year- since Sirius died. His posture had never been outstanding, but the slight stoop in his shoulders was getting more and more noticeable. Harry's hair seemed to have taken some kind of hint and settled down a bit. If his mind wasn't already occupied, he might have found this a wonderful thing to have behaving hair, or he might have found it sad that he appeared to slowly resemble his late father less every day. His eyes were only faintly bloodshot and flanked by small dark bags, but were very troubled. They seemed hardened, more guarded, and drenched in a new burden of responsibility, the kind of responsibility that no boy his age should bear: the responsibility of life versus death.
Harry opened his mouth and several people sat up in anticipation of his worldly and wise words of advice.
"Happy Christmas, everyone," Harry croaked, his throat scratchy and dry. Disappointment shone plainly in all of the students' visages. Harry picked his way through the crowd toward the portrait hole, trying to avoid the terrified glances he was receiving. Once away from the throng, he quickened his pace. His eyes glazed over; he didn't need them. His feet knew his destination and they were taking charge. Had he let his eyes be in control for only seconds longer, he would have seen the tall, muscular body blocking his path before he collided with it at top speed.
"Oof! Potter, you crock! Get offa me!"
Harry recognized that drawl.
"Malfoy."
"Very good, Pothead. Let's label other things, shall we? Over there we have a suit of armor, there's a portrait..." Draco pointed at various objects in the hall, labeling them respectively.
"What do you want Malfoy?" Harry growled. Lately, Harry wouldn't get so worked up about Malfoy, seeing as he had more important problems to deal with, but now, this was seriously cutting into his alone time.
"Why, whatever gave you the impression that I *wanted* something, and from you of all people?" Draco sneered, but the insult fell flat; it just didn't come out as it used to. It was as if Draco hadn't truly meant the jab, but said it instead out of pure habit. Harry folded his arms across his chest and succeeded in looking rather intimidating and Draco's eyes darted around furtively.
"Ok, Pottey. I do need to talk to you... but not here..."
A/N: The beginning of my new HP story! What do you think? And NO, Harry and Draco are NOT getting together romantically. Anyways, I have a great vision for this fic, hope you liked this 1st chapter! I hate begging for reviews but, PLEASE REVIEW!