Chapter One: F is for Faltering Hearts

Perhaps they didn't care anymore, or they were too frustrated to cope with his dismal behavior. Maybe the fact that Ron had finally opened up his feelings for Hermione made everything else fade away, leaving them two standing in the spotlight in their own little world. Not that Harry enjoyed the spotlight, mind you. And he didn't care either. This didn't faze him at all, for things like this would gradually slip by as time passed on. For example, his adoration for Cho. That had disappeared a while back. Many other things dissolved in his heart because as time wore on, so did his emotions. He felt like a barren soul, searching the earth for something, or someone, to piece him back together. This feeling was no stranger to him as he sat in a creaking wooden desk parallel to a window. He had stumbled across this room while escaping from Filch because of his loitering around the castle, thanks to his handy Marauder's Map. Now it was dubbed his escape place, the place where he could get away from the liveliness and exuberance of Hogwarts to just think. Think various thoughts, such as Quidditch, Voldemort, his love life...truth be told, he spent the majority of his time up there thinking about his life and its absence of love. Actually, he hadn't made a move to accept someone into his life, but plenty had made a move on him. He had simply and politely spurned their requests at his love. I'm afraid, Harry admitted in his mind as he gently rested his head against the bluish-tinted window. Staring out into the distance, he closed his eyes and listened to the dull but steady patter of rain hitting the window. I'm afraid of love. I'm afraid that by loving someone, it will hurt her instead. And Harry knew why. It was because he was the goddamn Boy-Who-Lived. Nowadays, Harry wasn't even so sure it would be a her. He'd been questioning his sexuality from a fairly young age. But he had avoided the question and the doubt...up until now.

Harry currently felt extremely tired and weary; it seemed as if life was wearing him down. He attempted to drift off into dreamless sleep, but it never came. He reopened his eyes slowly and glanced at the small room before closing them again. But something had caught his eye. A folded piece of paper lay on the floor, slightly hidden in the corner. Curiosity got the better of Harry, for he had assumed he was the only one who knew of this room besides the Weasley twins. He stood up and walked over, bending down to pick up the paper and brushing off some of the dust. This note, although discarded, appeared to have been written only a few days ago for the parchment was still crisp. Carefully unfolding the paper and spreading it out on the desk, his eyes widened as he recognized this person's handwriting, the one and only who had this fancy-schmancy cursive: Draco Malfoy. Blinking his eyes twice, he read the following message:

The urge to break free from the bonds haunts my

Heart and soul deep within until I can

Not bear it anymore, yet I have no

Solution to this dilemma for I

Am forever searching true for the one,

The one and only who can set my soul

Free and plunge beyond the faltering hearts.

Harry let his eyes scan over the supposed poem. "Never knew Malfoy had it in him to be emotional." Then something occurred to him. After minutes of thorough checking, he discovered that each line contained ten syllables each.

"Definitely not a coincidence," Harry muttered. He attempted a weak smile, something that he had not done for a long time. Smiling had become an action that had faded over time. But it would return because everything did. And this would prove to be the same.

Draco Malfoy woke up early to trudge upstairs to his private room. Not that it was really his; it was merely a well-hidden, unused classroom. The reason behind his daily morning treks: simply to watch the sun rise. How could something so natural seem beyond words? Draco pondered this thought, smirking out of good morning cheer. Sitting down on the only desk in the room, he gave his wand a flick, opening the window. As the smell of morning dew acquainted his nose, Draco could see the first few sunrays rise above the horizon. Gradually, a handful of beams spread over the Quidditch field, painting the grass with its brilliance of yellow, orange, and red hues. The room itself also flooded with warm sunshine, and Draco closed his eyes, allowing the warmth to spread over his face as a morning greeting. His mouth upturned slightly as he cherished the moment. Sunlight was now bouncing off the walls, and it had also banished the darkness from one particular corner. And there in the corner lay the paper he had accidentally left behind last week. He walked over and picked it up, opening the message. He recognized his poem, but there was more. Someone had added three ten-syllable lines at the bottom in a familiar handwriting.

Take a closer look and go beyond the

Boundary, into the faltering hearts

And there you shall find the person you seek.

It was if the person meant to finish his little poem, three sentences added to his complex seven lines. Draco knew the person who wrote this, or thought he knew. The name was on the tip of his tongue, and he racked his mind to find whomever this penmanship belonged to. Definitely not a Slytherin, they always wrote in a certain way with loops, curls, and twirls. It was someone else from the other three Houses who had this plain but slightly elegant writing style. Pushing that thought aside, he took a moment to uncover the sentence's meaning. Is this person asking me to look ignore my upbringing and go into the unknown? What do they mean by, "And there you shall find the person you seek?" What person? Draco reread his lines and mumbled, "Oh, that person..." with that, the meaning of those sheer three lines finally hit him. Hit him hard.

Morning sunshine welcomed the disgruntled Harry Potter as he tossed off his covers and located his glasses. Pushing aside his bed-hangings, he quickly showered and brushed his teeth before leaving the Gryffindor common room. He wanted to take a few quick laps around the Quidditch field before the school woke up. Peacefulness had always suited Harry because he had grown up in a world of noise and bustle. Plus, being out in the open and free calmed his nerves. He grabbed his broomstick and mounted the Firebolt, pushing off into the light blue sky. Feeling the wind rush around him pumped him full of adrenaline as he sped around the Quidditch field, circling the Quidditch hoops. The sensation of freedom unleashed his exhilaration that had been bottled up inside of him since last summer. Quidditch had always been a method of relaxation. He simply enjoyed this wizard sport as he dropped into an abrupt nosedive, easily pulling upwards two feet above the ground. As he gained elevation once more, he gazed at the lazy clouds dotting the sky. The solitude on this field granted him a moment of calm and quiet. And he cherished it for what it was worth.

Even for Draco, having Double Potions with the Gryffindors on a Monday morning was not very pleasant. He didn't mind Professor Snape; he was an excellent teacher. It's just that the Gryffindors were a bunch of bloody blathering idiots. The only one who paid close attention was the mudblood, and Draco would only admit that if he were going to be sliced, diced, and served in a stew. He smoothly slid into his usual seat and put on his mask of indifference as Harry rushed into class, worried about his tardiness. Ron and Hermione bid him a good morning as he took out yesterday's assignment. Harry merely nodded in return as he took out his Potions book, ink, quill, and parchment. Draco rotated his head so that he could see Harry out of the corner of his eye without looking obvious. Peripheral vision came in handy as he eyed Harry's windblown hair, his cheeks tinged with red. His eyes held a faraway look of better days to come. His robes were wrinkled and his tie was hanging off the back of his neck. Draco smirked, for he had been watching Harry fly that morning. Draco would never ever admit Harry was better than him, but he could grudgingly agree that Harry was good...to some degree. As Harry would say: a Malfoy's haughtiness in every way. And Potters were goody two shoes, Malfoy countered. Professor Snape walked briskly into the room and faced the class.

"Today, we will be learning about the Generis Cambiare Potion, a concoction that is not vital or important in any matter, but the Headmaster has ordered me to teach you. I, of course, will be instructing you on how to make the temporary version, obviously different from the permanent version. This potion is also the altered form, meaning that it is temporary from the start. Therefore, there will be no need to concoct the permanent version and alter it later to make the potion temporary. Any of you caught with this potion in its true and permanent form shall be punished accordingly," Professor Snape said with a nasty smile on his face. "Now, who can tell me what the Generis Cambiare Potion actually is?" Professor Snape looked around the room and focused his eyes on his Harry. "Potter, you seem a bit fazed today. Would you like to enlighten me on the purpose of the Generis Cambiare Potion?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie and fixed Snape with a bored look. "The Generis Cambiare Potion allows the subject that drinks the potion to undergo a gender change, temporarily," Harry responded smugly.

Professor Snape's smirk disappeared as he narrowed his eyes. "Very good, Potter. After all these years, you finally considered the notion of paying attention during class."

"We haven't even reviewed the Generis Cambiare Potion yet," Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Professor Snape addressed the whole class as he ordered, "Turn to page 326 in your textbooks." This potion was to be prepared in pairs, leaving Harry left out as Ron and Hermione gave each other looks. Harry moved across the classroom to pair up with Seamus, but Professor Snape caught his arm. "Malfoy, why don't you work with the Golden Boy?" Draco lifted an eyebrow as Harry grudgingly moved over to sit down next to him.

"Is the Boy-Who-Lived feeling dead today?" Draco mocked. Harry ignored him as his finger followed the list of ingredients to make their temporary Generis Cambiare Potion. Harry silently went to collect the necessary ingredients, dumping them on the table. Draco had attempted to annoy Harry many times, failing miserably as Harry ignored him. Eventually, Draco gave up and cooperated sulkily.

Later on during the day, Draco decided to visit the library and discover the ingredients and instructions to concoct the non-altered form of the Generis Cambiare Potion. Something to do when I'm bored, Draco thought haughtily as he located the thick, dusty book and leafed through the book. "There," Draco whispered as his eyes scanned the page. "Lovely."

The Gryffindor Quidditch team headed out onto the field for a few hours a practice. Their match against Ravenclaw was next week, and Ron had insisted on practicing four to five times a week. Ron had surprisingly become team captain after Angelina graduated. His dedication to leading the best Quidditch team had worn Harry down, but he still loved the excitement of the sport. The team had recruited new members, and some people had discovered other positions to play. Harry was obviously still the Seeker as he lazily circled the area for the practice Snitch. He watched Seamus and Dean flit through the players, smacking the Bludgers around the field randomly. Ron was zooming around the goal posts, trying his best to stop Ginny from scoring. Harry caught the Snitch in seconds, so he spent a few minutes playing quick games of snatch and release. As Seeker, he didn't have much to contribute in means of game formation. So he flew around idly, watching his teammates work through each step of their strategy. Ron dismissed them once he was satisfied with their progress, and Harry marched back to the Quidditch changing rooms to shower.

Harry wanted to go back to his escape place tonight, for he had many things he wanted to ponder. And something tonight would definitely leave him pondering.