The Violet Eyes of Malfoys

By Blasphemy Maker

Chapter One

The first week of his freedom passed in motley silence as Harry exercised the remains of his self-control, not returning to 'X.U.S thrift', or buying a large crate of blood flavored candies that had grown fairly fond of.

The first week, he did venture into muggle London, in the bad company that was Shane tailing him.

He'd bought hair dye for later days, a top hat for winter, and a large amount of vinyl records of which nearly got him arrested if not shot. Lesson learned that day: Crazy muggles carry guns … do not, and I repeat, DO NOT attempt to take vinyl records from under the noses of mad muggles. YOU WILL GET SHOT AT and possibly blamed for the situation.

Three stark, deafening weeks after the incident, of which Harry had spent reading textbooks and muggle romance novels, listening to music, and sleeping until noon for the first time in his unnaturally born life, it was finally time for his Hogwarts unveiling.

Needless to say, his last attempt at getting a proper nights sleep did not turn out to be all that relaxing seeing as Shane, the raven, would not cease his innate squawking.

In an attempt to silence Shane, Harry bought a muggle sewing kit, threading yellow ribbon into a massive sewing needle, and brought the needle down in though the soft flesh on the extended part of his arm.

Letting out the piercing scream of years of pent up cold-blooded rage, the grizzled bird was scared into a damaged silence.

That was two weeks ago, Shane still has not expressed a sound. Harry tends to mutter at him insanely, calling him a 'gory pessimistic bird' compassionately. It turns out that it wasn't all Shane's fault that Harry had extreme insomnia.

Stark, distorted music filtered in and out of Harry's derelict room at the Leaky cauldron as Harry played acid washed records from the thrift store he christened as his own.

Pulling on a black and white stripped, fitted sweater and black jeans, Harry noticed the still existent and fairly new welts on his thighs.

"Beautiful freak." Harry mumbled mockingly.

Harry did his hair up into twin blood-red braids, his eyes painted in charcoal. He looked very androgynous and oddly abstract.

Harry placed all his things soundlessly into his black, lacquered chest, which he had carved into one insomniatic night prior.

Harry, who had been practicing doing uncomplicated to complex spells with his new wand, preformed a small cleaning spell over his sheets, removing all traces of his flesh scorching urine.

Dragging his trunk down the spindly stairs, Harry attempted to produce a levitation charm on his trunk; it feebly was achieved, but broke down halfway out the door as Harry's concentration was misdirected.

Harry was hurtled towards the ground as he stared at a morose looking Draco eating breakfast with his father.

Draco's father, Lucius, looked up at the commotion of Harry being half crushed by his engraved trunk.

"You know you love me." Harry said unconvincingly, grimacing, as he approached Draco, his trunk trailing behind him with help from Lucius.

"I do." Draco said dully, grinning down at him.

"Jaded, dainty little Draco, going to wait until they send a limousine for you?" Lucius asked his drab son.

Draco frowned.

"Go on with Harry," He pulled his son in close. "I'll see you at Christmas, the love is all ways there." He whispered.

"In all ways. Good bye father."

Draco's deep green trunk was piled atop Harry's, still under the spell so that it was to tail them on their way to Platform 9 ¾. Harry wondered how many muggles they would disturb merit to their self-propelling trunks.

Draco sat atop the pile as Harry skipped out of the Leaky Cauldron ahead of him.

Whilst on their trek to Platform 9 ¾, Harry began singing under his breath about fading stars manically.

Draco, who had recently moved from his perch above the trunk, was slightly confounded.

He had tried calling Harry's name but found it simply made his sing more ineffectively.

Finally he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder causing Harry to flinch immensely.

"'M sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-" Harry's pathetic rant was cut off by Draco who had pulled him into a loose hug. Harry stood rigidly in Draco strong but subtle embrace.

"Harry, there is nothing to be sorry for, I just wanted to see you conscious." Draco muttered as he brought them both to eye level.

He stared into Harry's violet eyes, blood red irises glinting.

"Come on," He said, breaking eye contact. "We'll be late for the train lest we move foreword."

Harry nodded, pallid cheeks tinted red, obviously ashamed of his outburst as he regularly is.

They proceeded to trudge foreword, past the biased onlookers whom they both flipped the middle finger towards.

As they walked, Harry noticed Draco's attire. A long, black, feathered skirt and a black trench coat over a simple grey t-shirt.

"Not subtle at all, are you Draco?"

Draco grinned at him.

"Trying to find an identity that does not resemble my father's always includes skirts of a sort."

"He called you jagged."

"He called you a bad influence."

"He seems nice."

"That's about right."

Harry questioned Draco about this 'mysterious' Platform 9 ¾. Draco proceeded to tell him that all you had to do was stride casually into the brick wall. The rest of their trip consisted of Harry walking randomly into stone and brick walls, the pair receiving dirty looks, and Draco repeatedly rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Harry sat down, not on the plush, velvet train seat, but upon the slightly dust coated floor. Draco sat beside him as the train began to move.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked quietly, as if a loud sound might shatter the panes of glass separating them from the free world.

"I don't know," Draco whispered, quieter than Harry. "Perhaps we scream."

Harry took clumps of Draco's platinum blond hair in his hands, braiding it loosely.

"What is your favorite color?" Harry asked, parting Draco's hair into sections.

"Midnight blue. Yours?"

"Sun-burnt orange. Food?"

Draco's cheeks reddened slightly.

"Muggle Cheetoes."
"I figured. Puffy, right?"

"How did you know that?" Draco asked fluidly.

Harry just cracked him an extravagant white smile.

"I will never tell…?" He said, almost question-like. "I don't know." He admitted.

"What is your favorite food?" Draco looked at Harry's insubstantial frame, wincing.

"Peaches, and cigarettes," He said, laughing. "But mostly peaches." He sounded odd. Draco decided not to ask.

An hour pasted, Draco's hair finally done up into muddled braids, until their conversation gained fuel and Draco bought chocolate frogs from the food cart for Harry and himself.

"Draco, if you really want to differentiate yourself from your father, which I know you do, for it is practically oozing off of you and saturating those around you, then you should go out of your way to disconcert yourself."

"Nice." Draco said dully, but pleased.

"I know," Harry began, crawling to his knees in an attempt to reach his carry on bag.

Harry grabbed it, proceeding to empty it of its relics.

A potions book, a muggle novel, pens, a notebook, and two bottles of what looked like thick, gluttonous poison.

"Going to kill me, or just knock me out for a few hours whilst you pretend to be me?" Draco said touchily.

"Damn Purebloods." Harry mumbled under his breath, clear enough for Draco to hear. "It is hair dye."

"No."

"You will love it." Harry said airily.

"No."

"It is part of the 12 step program to differentiate you from your father."

"No." Draco whined petulant.

"Lucius jr."

Draco whimpered.

"If you don't like it I can bleach it back, Draco." Said Harry, picking up a large jar of Vaseline.

Draco stuck his tongue out at him.

"All I long for is human affection and to dye your hair midnight blue."

Needless to say, Draco ended up with dark blue streaks marring his platinum blond locks, no longer braided of course, but hanging bountifully off his shoulders.

Harry ended up with streaks of orangey-magenta maiming his ruby tresses.

They washed the remaining dye out in the lavatory sink of the Hogwarts express, staining the immaculate white sink orange-magenta and blue eternally, or at least until someone found a muggle stain removing charm.

Thank you all for your reviews.

Flames still burn.

I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K. except the plot and my defects.

Sorry for the wait, not for my exceeding weight. The computers at the library would not let me upload new chapters.

REVIEW PLEASE!