Draco's POV:

There is a certain point of boredom that is reached where it cannot even be called boredom any longer; the absolute final stage of boredom. The first stage is typical of everyone, when they were doing something previously but presently have nothing to do. This can easily be cured with just about anything. The second stage is pretty identical to procrastination; you should be doing something, but you would rather sit and be bored rather than doing what must be done, and eventually to preoccupy yourself, you do that thing. The third stage comes usually with too much time, mostly during vacations. You enjoy yourself for a few hours doing absolutely nothing until you're satisfied, but then realize quite quickly that you have nothing to do for more hours and so preoccupy yourself with childish or mundane things. The final stage is almost never achieved by most; where you have all the time in the world to do nothing and have no contact with the rest of the population of Earth. This is often common in jails, during punishment as an adolescent, or being stranded on a deserted island. There is no cure to this except leaving the place where you are stuck, though many in such situations believe sleeping, singing, dancing, and imagining things will fix such a state (but I assure you it's all a bloody lie). Not only do these things become dull after much time has passed, but the person seems to be infected with many mental problems afterwards.

As I said earlier, the final state of boredom should not be called boredom. It has an entirely new name altogether. It's abhisiondom, pronounced "ab-HIS-on-dom" (Yes, I have been infected with it, and to try and pass the time, I came up with the name myself). You may be asking yourself, "Abhisiondom; does that have some combination of roots, suffixes, prefixes and possibly other things put together to form the general definition and connotation of the absolute torture you describe?" Well, to you, I answer no. I picked letters from the alphabet that sounded nice together (I spent an hour at least seeing which ones sounded best together and wrote them down) and put them together, then added "dom" at the end, like the word "boredom" has. That is the history of that word. Put it into every dictionary you have.

An owl flew straight into my room, since I had left the window open from when I was singing at the top of my lungs to the outside world (lost my voice and had to stop), and landed next to my foot. It was the same spotted owl I had sent Hermione earlier, and so I figured this was her response. It was, of course (Just because I'm insane does not mean I'm not observant). When I untied it from the owl, two notes were there. I read the first.

Dear Draco Malfoy,
I am very pleased to inform you that your request to attend the one year anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise has been accepted. Only a select amount of people were allowed in, Harry's close friends and fans, to keep the enemies, journalists, and other dislikable figures out. We have it confirmed that you were an acquaintance of Harry throughout your school years at Hogwarts, and so you qualified to attend the May 2nd celebration, which Mr. Potter will be attending. You are also welcome to attend the May 3rd, 4th, and/or 5th celebration(s) if you wish, which Harry will not be attending. We do hope to see you there.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Head Planner/Decorator

I smiled to myself, both in admiration for Hermione's uncanny ability to pull an event from thin air and in embarrassment of what she had done. It's a bit of a story, and I decided to think about it when I was bored and not when I had another note to read.

Dear Lucius Malfoy,
I am very sorry to inform you that your request to attend the one year anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise has been rejected. There is only a select amount of people that may go, as to keep Harry Potter's close friends and fans separate from enemies, journalists, and other dislikable figures. You seem to have no ties at all to Mr. Potter, and therefore have no qualifications to attend the May 2nd celebration, when Mr. Potter will be attending. However, you are very welcome to attend the May 3rd, 4th, and/or 5th celebration(s) if you wish, when Harry Potter will not be attending. We do hope to see you there.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Head Planner/Decorator

I sighed. Though I was overjoyed that I would be going without his accompaniment, I despised having to willingly talk to him. I would rather die of abhisiondom.

Walking out into the hallway from my room was just about the oddest thing that had ever occurred. I had almost forgotten there was more to this manor. I walked down several hallways to the grand study, where I was sure my father would be. Of course, I knocked on the doors, and his voice clawed through the cracks. "Come in."

I walked through the doors, my eyes to the floor until I stopped a few feet into the room, then up to his face to speak to him. "A letter for you." I held out the letter and commanded it to float to him so I would not have to be any closer than we were now.

My father opened it, read it over, and his peaceful face turned into a frown. Even through the distance, I could hear him mutter to himself, "How could they reject my request? I have significant ties to Harry Potter. How could…"

He stopped a moment and looked up to me, realizing I had not left, and therefore had other things to discuss as well. "Yes, Draco?"

I swallowed hard. "I also received a letter, father. I was accepted to attend the celebration."

My father tilted his head as if to say "Really-now?-How-absolutely-curious". "Explain how this occurred. You never had the opportunity to even send in a request form. And as I recall, you are no friend of Harry Potter's, correct?"

"Yes, father, but I have recently become friends with Hermione Granger, the planner of the event, and she must have made sure I attended as her guest, if nothing else." I really hoped he didn't see the shades of red I now wore on my cheeks.

Moments of silence passed as my father planned out each step he wanted me to take as his puppet. "You will go, without me. Say nothing to anyone about the Dark Lord or the Malfoy family. Tell me who attends, as I wish to see what sorts of buffoons were let in over me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, father."

"Good." He looked back at his book, but added last minute, "Have fun, enjoy the mirth, meet a nice girl. Don't let my expectation get in the way of the celebration."

"Yes, father." I nodded and left back to my room, first at a normal pace, then faster and faster until I was running at full speed to my only safety zone. I arrived, jumped onto my bed, and buried my face into my pillow (Now it's time for the story).

I could obviously never just be normal. Ever since fourth year, when I realized so much about myself, my view of myself was always off. I had never told anyone until more recently. Yes, I was gay. I had been fighting with myself all through my fourth year; one side said I was abnormal and disappointing, while the other said I was just me and there was nothing to change that. I finally accepted it afterwards but didn't tell anyone. After the war was over, and I decided to make my life a bit easier to live, I told my parents. My mother hadn't had a chance to say anything before my father yelled, swung arms around, and finally disowned me, though he didn't actually disown me until after our trial, since we had been associated with the Dark Lord.

Hence why my father had added in "meet a nice girl" to the list of "fun things" I was allowed to do at the celebration.

I had made a life for myself, making friends where I realized there should always have been friends. They were trustworthy, and kind, unlike how I had acted toward them during our school years together, so I told them not only that I was gay, but who had held my fancy through the years without any sort of question or uncertainty.

Hence why Hermione had not only created a celebration for me to attend, but for Harry to make a guest appearance at.

I'll admit it, I was in love with the famous Harry Potter, who was everyone's savior, and best friend, and idol, and person to count on when they have nothing else, even if my family was the only exception to all of that. She obviously had something in mind when she invited both of us. Really, I had planned to be his enemy through all our years at Hogwarts, but something about 4th year, when he was in the Triwizard Tournament (or really the Quadwizard Tournament), when his life was so at risk (and not because of the tournament), there was something in me that was scared for him, and I worried my butt off until he came back. I couldn't help but think that I had a thing for him after that; not very many people care that much for someone they consider an enemy.

Which is why I've only become more infatuated with him ever since he rescued me from the Room of Requirement. Yes, I realize he is a hero who can't help but save people (it's what he does best) and would probably have tried to save the Dark Lord himself if he could have. And yes, I know he also went to rescue Crabbe, so I'm not really special at all, but still…he saved me, in more ways than one. Without him, I would still be a coward to my father. I never would have tried to get a better life for myself, or made the friends I did, or come really close to getting a job but they wouldn't hire me(It's not my fault that I have no people-skills). Of course, I did give it all away to get where I am now…

And here we are again. I can't even stop thinking about how good I had it, and how I instantly gave it all up for some garbage can (and by garbage can, I mean huge, multi-million dollar, cold and hollow garbage can with marble floors, more rooms than one can count, and a backyard that can accommodate its own Quidditch field). I'm not even sure an insane person would even do such a thing anymore. I was past insane. I'm…thrinticane (place this in your dictionaries as well).

I inhaled deeply, then held my breath. Maybe I can suffocate myself for fun, I thought. Wonder what my record will be. Of course, I started counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…

…23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31….

…45, 46, 47…48…49…

I exhaled, my lungs on fire and my heartbeat present in my ears. My chest felt extra dense as I started breathing in slowly. I sat for a while, just staring at things and keeping in tune with how I felt exactly after not breathing for nearly a minute. Nearly a minute. Have to try again, then. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…

20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27…

40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50…

52…53…54….55….56…..57…..

Once again I exhaled sharply. This time, I was quite lightheaded. I obviously didn't have the lungs to do this. I read a book once about two different types of people who can hold their breath for a while and only get lightheaded much after most others do: Musicians and swimmers. Swimmers, obviously, because they go underwater a lot and must hold their breath quite often as to get farther without popping up for air, which would cost them seconds in their competitive matches. Musicians, with the exception of stringed instrument players and percussion instrument players, must be able to hold their breath and only give out so much air at a time to play correctly, with dynamics, speed, and whatnot. Singers must do the same, but also control their pitch with their diaphragm, and not to mention have a natural talent for it, since anyone can learn to play an instrument. The term "golden pipes" is given to them for a reason.

I sighed to my invisible friend, Paisley the miniature dragon. "You know, Paisley, I question how I ramble to myself about random facts that have nothing to do with anything. Do you think that I may be thrinticane?"

Paisley's small, dark green, shimmery body twisted to look at me from near the window because he couldn't blow bubbles inside my room, he would get soap everywhere. He smiled with pearly white, sharp teeth and lovely silver eyes with black pupils.

"Maybe," he said, "just maybe."

3rd Person POV:

The Minister of Magic sat at his desk, rubbing his temples while the next person came in to complain. He was sure he couldn't take it any longer; these people were driving him insane! And all over a little party. Of course, he had no other choice but to let the party go on. It was an important holiday, the 1 year anniversary of the Dark Lord's Demise.

His assistant opened the door and stepped in. Usually she knocked before entering, but she figured he could care less at the moment. "The next person is here about the celebration, Minister."

A lady walked in, looking no more than 19 years of age with black hair and hazel eyes. She went right ahead and sat down in the chair across from the Minister's desk without even allowing him to motion for her to sit. "Minister, I don't understand. I sent my request to the party, and I received a letter back saying that I was rejected because I have no ties to Harry Potter."

"Do you have any ties to Harry Potter?" The minister asked rather blandly. He already knew the answer. The same thing had happened 6 times today already.

"Yes, of course. I'm his sister."

The Minister raised an eyebrow. He had heard cousin, aunt, and even uncle's cousin's son twice removed. Did she really expect him to believe that Harry Potter had a sister no one knew about? And older than him, nonetheless. "Oh really now? I hadn't known Mr. Potter had a sister."

"Yes. Can't you see the resemblance?" She smiled like it would make a difference.

The Minister only half-matched her smile. "But of course. I see it. You look exactly like your mother, Misses…," he trailed off for her to finish.

"Potter." She said.

"Misses what Potter?"

The lady did not respond for a moment. She merely looked at the Minister, and her cheeks ever so slightly rosy in dismay.

"Surely you know the name of your own mother." She opened her mouth to speak, but the Minister interrupted. "And how odd that you had sent a request and have it be rejected. His friends, and whatever remaining family, were invited to the celebration before the requests were even available to fill out." The lady's mouth hung open, knowing she had been found out. "That is what I thought. Now, if will excuse me, Miss Potter, I really do have quite a busy schedule." He gestured to the door with his hand; she rose and left his office quietly, her Glamour falling away and revealing her brown eyes and light brown hair.

As the door closed behind her, the Minister took back to rubbing his temples. It really was preposterous that people really thought they could pose as family members of the boy-who-has-no-(magical) relatives-left.

"Minister, the next person is here about the celebration."

This time, a man walked through wearing glasses, with black hair and green eyes, looking to be in his 40s. This man got straight to the point and didn't even bother sitting down across from the minister.

"Why has my request for the celebration been rejected? I have more ties to Harry Potter than anyone else. I'm his father!"

The Minister openly sighed and rubbed his forehead. Dear me, he thought. This is going to be a long day.

Cygnus's POV:

I was relieved. Beyond relieved, really. I hadn't planned to be outside on a grassy hill where no one ever cares to go. I loved the fresh air and being so free from everything. I might have repercussions later, but I cared less about them.

A speckled owl flew overhead, and I smiled at its familiarity. It descended and delivered me my note, which I untied and read.

Dear Cygnus Holloster,
I am very sorry to inform you that your request to attend the one year anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise has been rejected. There is only a select amount of people that may go, as to keep Harry Potter's close friends and fans separate from enemies, journalists, and other dislikable figures. You seem to have no ties at all to Mr. Potter, and therefore have no qualifications to attend the May 2nd celebration, when Mr. Potter will be attending. However, you are very welcome to attend the May 3rd, 4th, and/or 5th celebration(s) if you wish, when Harry Potter will not be attending. We do hope to see you there.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Head Planner/Decorator

I smiled to myself. Good.