December 5 2004

A/N

This is my very first HP fanfic, so please forgive any extreme ooc-ness (aside from the whole shônen-ai issue, which I don't think JK Rowling has planned for book 6. I wish she did.)

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters, wish to GOD that I owned Draco and Harry, as they're getting to be pretty good-looking -- based on the third movie -- and Snape, for being the coolest quasi-evil guy ever.

This story is for entertainment only (of a rather twisted nature. Such is the life on fanfiction authors…) It contains shônen-ai themes that may not be appreciated by all readers.

If you are a rabid potter-head who disapproves of such pairings, please read something else. If you flame me, I will flame right back.

((Title is taken from the song "Mixtape" by Butch Walker.))

About Me and You

Prologue:

There was a figure in the darkness, moving in the shadows at the edge of his vision. The mist curled away from the edge of its black robe, as though fearing to touch such evil. The fog swirled away from its every footstep, washing back over itself like waves on the beach, frothing, foaming, building itself into a thick, cloying wall.

He pushed at the wispy tendrils that circled his features, coaxing his eyes to follow their eldritch shapes and plastering his hair flat, beading it with mist.

He brushed the damp from his eyes, blinking at the thousand rainbows that formed on his lashes, refractions of the torchlight that leapt suddenly from the sconces on either side of the pillar of stone. The eerie light flickered, tinged with blue and green, casting weird shadows on the ground that snatched at his heels sullenly.

The figure was still now, the shadowed face staring fixedly at something the mist still hid from view.

He became aware of the low music as soon as it stopped. The absence was a physical pressure lifted from the air, taking a weight from his heart.

The laughter that followed into the silence was far, far worse.

A skeletal hand reached out from the clinging black robes, a wand clutched in pale, twisted fingers.

Hands grabbed him from behind, dragging him forward, out of the shadows and into the unnatural light that lapped around the rock.

He struggled, tried to scream, but no sound was forthcoming; there was only that cold laughter.

He was turned roughly to face the scarred rock. A wave of the wand, and the mist rolled aside.

Green eyes stared at him, condemning him from a bruised and bloodstained face. Black hair, spiked with sweat and blood, dampened by dew, fell over those peculiar eyes. His robes were ripped and stained, revealing a skinny torso abnormally pale in the fire-glow, marked with blue and purple and black. Bruised and burned. Blood ran from deep wounds across his skin.

He was released abruptly, pushed forward to meet his silent accuser. He stumbled, reached out to catch himself, and touched the boy's face.

Then he screamed.

Screamed and screamed and screamed, unable to block out the sound of the high pitched laughter that echoed in his head, unable to tear his eyes away from those curiously blank eyes.

Blank eyes…dead eyes.

Harry was dead.

TBC

Please review and tell me what you think!! Any guesses as to who the "he" in this little opening is? Any takers?? Well, you'll find out soon enough. Thank you very much for reading, but it'll be a double thank you and a hug if you post a review!!!

Arr, matey

Xtine the Wizardess Pirate.

(Not witch, you'll note. Wizardess. Anyone who has read the Discworld novels will know the difference. And that women apparently can't be wizards. But that's not the point.)