A/N: Hey, kids. Here is chapter three. I finally thought up a backstory. I believe it is sufficient. Anyway, I hope you like this one.

Disclaimer: I came up with Harry Potter and all the surrounding environments and characters. (Not really.)

Chapter Three

The next day, Harry and Draco met up again and walked and loitered. And the day after that. The first time, though, Harry had picked up Draco at his house. And the second time, the Dursleys had been absent again. So, the day after the day after the day the boys had met, Draco came to the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, only to find himself looking up rather than down at the thin, bony face belonging to the person who had opened the door.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Dursley," said Draco with aristocratic politeness. (Here, aristocratic means false.)

The woman smiled widely and gave a very awkward sort of curtsey to the handsome young son of a very important neighbour.

"Draco!" she squealed. "How good of you to come! Have you decided to take up Dudley's offer of tea?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Dursley." He decided to just be honest and break the news to her that he couldn't stand the thought of socializing with her many-chinned offspring. "You see, I don't believe that Dudley ever invited me to tea. I don't believe that your son and I are quite interested in the possibility of a friendship between us."

Mrs. Dursley looked as if she might be sick.

"What?" she hissed. "You...you didn't like my Dudders?"

"I don't trust that Dudders and I could ever become friends. We just, aren't compatible, I think."

"But you don't even know him yet!"

Gods, this woman was cracked.

"Is Harry there?" Draco asked, peering over Petunia's shoulder impatiently.

A look came over the woman's face that might have come over a normal person's face had you told them some horrific, gruesome medical story you'd seen on Discovery Health.

"Har- Why? Why do you want to see him? HOW DO YOU KNOW HIS NAME?"

Draco was now trying really really hard not to laugh.

"My dear woman, is he here or isn't he?"

Petunia sort of faded away from the door, looking like a ghost; white and not totally solid.

Draco wasn't sure if he was meant to follow her or wait. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before deciding to go inside the house. He stepped forward, but found himself nose to nose with the boy he was looking for.

"Ah, Harry!" Draco cried with relief.

Harry's eyebrows were raised and the corners of his mouth were turned up.

"What did you do to Aunt Petunia?"

"I told her I didn't want her son. Then I told her I was looking for you."

"Oh. Well that warrants a good cry, a violent inquiry from Vernon, a few days of fasting in protest, and much more glaring then usual."

"Erm, what?"

Harry took Draco by the elbow and led him away from the house, and back onto the sidewalk they were already so used to treading.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit of an outcast among the Dursleys."

"I sort of had. Why, though?"

Harry snickered.

"Well, Petunia was my mum's sister, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay, well, my mum was like, the favourite. She was good at everything, and she was really smart, and she got accepted to this really good school that Petunia wanted quite badly to go to."

"Oh, so Petunia was all shadowed and bitter."

"Ha, yes. But then, after all those years of bitterness, my mum married my dad. Who was devastatingly handsome (I look just like him), and brilliantly charming."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes. Petunia was hopelessly in love with Dad."

"GASP!"

"Yes, she was crazy with envy and lust."

"Then she married Gluttony."

Harry laughed.

"Right, so, Petunia hated her sister, and therefore any offspring she would ever produce."

"You."

"Mmm. And then my mum went and died, and left me, her evil spawn, to be cared for by Petunia and her charming family."

"Aww."

"And of course she told Vernon all sorts of nasty stories and made him hate me too, not that he is ever too opposed to the concept of hate, in general. And their son is just horrible."

"Oh, dear, Harry."

They walked in silence for a few moments. The weather these past few days had taken a turn for the worse. The sky was an opalescent grayish purple, like a bruise. The wind was now fluttering about fiercely, creating a refreshing bout of goosebumps every once in a while. A sultry, passionate, hot summer storm was imminent. Draco loved the sun, but storms evoked something even better than love in him. Storms were dark and violent and dangerous and loud. Summer storms especially. Unpredictable, untameable.

In that wild sort of way, warm, fat drops began falling from the sky.

Harry asked Draco if he wanted to go back.

The rain started to fall harder, and Draco shivered.

"That's no fun."

They took shelter in the dark, damp tunnel bridge of the play equipment at the park, watching the droplets fall out of each other's hair.

A/N: Please! If you want me to live, you'll review.