DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling; I own the ridiculous plot.

PS, CoS, PoA, GoF

7th year at Hogwarts

CATEGORY: humor/romance

RATING: R

WARNING: SLASH, LANGUAGE, OOC-NESS.

PAIRING: DM/HP, RW/HG, SS/SB, RL/NT

SUMMARY: He could have been anything. A Goblin. An Orc. A Mountain Troll. Hell, he could have been the King of Dwarves, for all Harry cared. But NO, of all the magical creatures, Draco Malfoy had to be a Vampire.

Short A/N: This fic is dedicated to Kat-chan, my poor comrade lost in a godforsaken town of England. Cheer up. The rain will stop. Err. One day.

Short A/N 2: THIS IS THE REVISED VERSION! Enjoy!

oOoOo

He's a WHAT?

"A Vampire. You know, Nosferatu. Bloodsucker," Hermione repeated patiently.

Ron cupped his chin in his right hand, pretending to think.

"Well, he is a sucker, so I guess we'll just have to figure out the blood part."

"But—how would you know this, Hermione?" asked a bewildered Harry, while Ron rubbed his head where the young witch had smacked him hard.

"You know, being the brain of the Golden Trio sort of helps. Besides, everybody knows I know everything," she answered in a no-nonsense tone.

"But—there has to be some mistake!" the Boy Who Lived insisted, while Hermione absently smacked the redhead again for his less than pleasant comment about her brain – something about it being huge, scarily so.

"But—I mean, haven't you seen him? He's a freaking blonde—"

"I didn't know you had that kind of prejudices, mate," Ron chimed in unhelpfully.

"—and he's got grey eyes, for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione was looking at him suspiciously now.

"Harry. Have you by any chance noticed that each and every one of your sentences started with 'butt'?" There was a pause. Then, very seriously: "Are you sexually frustrated?"

Ron emitted a strangled noise. Since when had their innocent, bookwormish friend turned into a gay sex advisor? Umm, maybe ever since she had attacked that part of the library. Whatever.

"Ha bloody ha, Hermione." Harry safely chose to ignore where exactly the bushy brown-haired girl had found that kind of knowledge. Hell, he wasn't sure he wanted to know why. Poor, poor Ronniekins. Probably won't know what hit him.

Harry sighed.

Ron wouldn't understand love if it bit him in the ass, so poor Hermione would—

Um—

Note to self: never associate "Ron", "'Mione" and "bite in the ass" in the same sentence. Ever.

True, he liked his best friends, but he didn't need the mental images. Ew. That was just—ew. Harry decided to get back to the matter at hand.

"Geez, I'm not bloody frustrated," he sighed, "What I mean is, he's not the Dark type—"

"Well, it depends on your definition of the concept, really," Hermione interrupted.

Ron frowned.

"Mate, as much as it pains me to say, the git is the Ice Prince of Slytherin. Y'know, with the Wicked Dark Reputation that comes with it."

The Boy-Who-Lived was getting more and more annoyed.

"But—I mean, err—oh hell, it's just a matter of logics! How by Hades can you be a Vampire when you look like a bloody Elf? Well, except for the pointy ears and dreamy looks," he added thoughtfully. "Anyway, the story has got it all wrong!" he exclaimed, arms flailing about, "If Draco Look-At-Me-And-Drool-To-Death Malfoy is anything, it has to be a Veela, VEE-LA, not a freaking Vampire!"

"Harry," Hermione warned.

"There's no way he can be a Vampire, he's just some snot-nosed little—"

"Harry," said Ron looking worried.

"I can't believe that arrogant sonova—"

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione yelled.

"What?" he snapped.

"You wouldn't happen to be—" Hermione slowly began.

"See, it's just that you sort of sound like you're—" Ron began as well.

"—jealous," they ended together, wearing an identical horrified look.

oOoOo

It was official. Harry Potter was Pissed Off.

How dare they think that— that—

UGH! He felt like going to the Lake and yell there like a madman. He might as well drag the Malfoy heir and drown him there while he was at it. He pondered over the thought for a while. That would certainly help. Anyway, he was furious that his best pals would think that he, Harry Potter, was jealous of Malfoy.

Hell, their very names were an oxymoron.

Talk about morons.

The insufferable git had yet to prove that his face wasn't stuck in a sneer while he was bloody sleeping. Satan would be making snowmen in Hell the day that Draco Malfoy would actually smile.

The Great Git actually thought the whole world owed him a life-debt for being born. AAARGH! Harry definitely needed to break something now. Not that he hadn't, already...

oOoOo

Earlier that day...

The Great Hall was full of the usual packs; the first years had been a bit more difficult to unglue from one another than last term – something to do with Snape's Glare of Doom™ – but they were now happily digging in the delicious food provided by the House Elves.

The Headmaster was his usual twinkling self. Snape still looked ready to hex the far-too-noisily-happy first years into next century. Flitwick and McGonagall were absorbed in a discussion about the pronunciation of some obscure spell – "I assure you Minerva dear, there is no way the second 'i' would be stressed; you would end up conjuring a bunch of ghouls that would start worshipping you as their goddess." "No, no, what I am trying to say is, in order to get the spell to last longer, you have to pronounce it very slowly." – Hagrid had to be thinking of Madame Maxime since he was currently trying to feed his right ear with his spoon, and Remus Lupin was back as the DADA teacher, happily eating his soup.

The Slytherins were already plotting their Ultimate Revenge against a certain Savior of the Light. It did not matter that they had been on the same side during the war, even victorious, Gryffindorks would always be Gryffindorks. The Ravenclaws were not visible anymore, hidden behind a huge barricade of books. The Hufflepuffs were chatting about the next Hogsmead weekend – "And then I'm going to kneel down in front of her and read my poem." "Oh my God! Don't you think that's a bit too bold?" – and the Gryffindors—

Well, our dear Gryffindors were now dealing with a furious Harry Potter who was positively scandalized at the news that his best worse enemy – now that the other was a bit, let's say, dead – had dared to be a Vampire. That was unfair. Did he mention that it was not possible? Anyway, he was having great difficulties behaving himself when his two best friends had had the most ludicrous, preposterous idea. Him, jealous of Malfoy being a Vampire – of all people!

It had been too much to take. To say that few breakable things at the Gryffindors' table had survived Harry's wrath would be the understatement of the century.

So while Dumbledore distractedly cast a quick 'Reparo', he took a mental note to keep the irritable teenager away from his secret stash of lemon drops jars. Too many little pieces to assemble back, really. Wouldn't want to waste poor, innocent candy now, would we?

oOoOo

So here Harry was, stomping down the corridor to the Gryffindor Tower. He had stormed off the Great Hall without looking at the mess he had created, deciding that enough was enough. To Hell with the Feast, he would not tolerate this anymore.

Such were the rambling thoughts of the Great Harry Potter when he looked up to see the very object of his jeal—er, rage walking his way.

Draco Malfoy was indeed coming from the opposite direction, accompanied by Blaise Zabini. Crabbe and Goyle were nice enough, but Draco feared that hanging out too much with people whose life depended on the next dessert might be contagious. Blaise had a theory about this kind of behavior being related to the Pansyist Compulsive Syndrom, which consisted in purchasing everything that looked even remotely pink, fluffy and/or sequined. "There must be some common gene," he had concluded.

When he saw The Savior of the Cowarding World – how could all those people think that a mere boy had to save their sorry asses? – Draco realized it was already too late to attempt a subtle retreat. Not that he was afraid of his Nemesis; he was actually rather disappointed in the new turn his relationship with the Gryffindor had taken. After all they had gone through – among others, five years of hatred as well as a War against what had to be the Ugliest Lord Ever – Harry had just gone from hatred to a dull indifference, avoiding all types of confrontations and mostly keeping to himself. Draco sighed mentally and came back to reality with a start when Blaise elbowed him in the ribs. What could happen to him, anyway? Potter wouldn't even notice him.

Draco was already turning back to Blaise to continue their previous conversation about the Quidditch trials when he felt Harry's furious gaze on him. What was going on?

In a few quick strides, Harry was next to the Slytherins, not even stopping when he snarled at Draco: "You couldn't have been a Veela, could you?"

Draco blinked once. Twice. He turned to say something to the offending boy, but Harry had already disappeared around the corner, stomping so hard it made the paintings shake on the wall.

"What's wrong with him? Time of the month?" asked Blaise, annoyed. Draco just shrugged but couldn't help wondering as well. Everybody knew that Draco was a Vampire. Well, it was kind of implicit since he hadn't bothered telling the whole school of the changes he had gone through the day of his sixteenth birthday. Suffice to say that baring his fangs was a lot more explicit, if that much more credible, than any kind of declaration. So why did Potter seem to have just learned about this?

The two Slytherins resumed their walk towards the Great Hall, the first muttering darkly about 'temperamental, bloody Gryffindorks' while the other wondered if he should take the Veela thing as a compliment. What was that all about, anyway?

oOoOo

Harry was certainly not sulking in the dorms, thank you very much. He was just righteously depriving his friends from his presence. There. Stupid friends saying stupid things about him. He lay sprawled on his bed, curtains closed.

Snapping at Malfoy had helped him calm down, but still. How could he do this to him? They had been enemies for so long and yet Harry had failed to see such a huge part of Malfoy. Closing his eyes, Harry let all his barriers crash down. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he was indeed jealous of Draco Malfoy. But he would never tell a single soul. No. Over his dead body. Because it was one thing to be the Hero of the wizarding community, but it was another to have dreams and impossible wishes.

Like wanting to be a Vampire.

Harry would always remember how the last months before the war made him ache to be free to roam the country as he pleased, having no responsibility whatsoever towards anybody but himself, since he had never asked for anything, especially not for an ugly scar left by some psycho-maniac that would more or less directly influence the rest of his life.

Sheesh. Sometimes Harry couldn't help but compare himself with that poor bloke in the Muggle book who had to carry a bloody ring at the expense of his own life, being brought down by a burden he hadn't asked for. Well, Big Bad Baldiemort was now keeping company to Hades' Hounds, which was definitely an improvement.

Back when he had been a child, Harry had stumbled upon a book about Vampires among a pile of presents his cousin had declared "dangerous for his health." Trust Dudley to think books made one stupid. Of course, the book was written from the Muggle perspective, which was only a very simplified version of reality. Nevertheless, Harry recalled perfectly well how he had wished so hard to be able to fade away in the shadows, to escape Dudley's beatings thanks to his inhuman speed and to scare the Great Whale to death by just flashing a bright set of sharp fangs. Sure, he would have had to find some blood to sustain him but at that time, simply being a Vampire had meant freedom to the imprisoned child.

Harry sighed for the umpteenth time. He shouldn't dream about this anymore.

After the end of the war, Sirius Black had been declared innocent of Lily and James' murders and Harry had finally been able to move to his Godfather's house. Pettigrew had finally paid the price for his foul actions; a Dementor had taken the liberty of kissing him right before the end of the battle. Bellatrix Lestrange had been last heard to talk to her bunny slippers at the psychatric hospital. It seemed that one of her awful curses had backfired. As for Lucius Malfoy, he had been kicked out of his own house by his furious wife who had recently discovered that, despite claiming the contrary, he had still been crawling at the feet of the well-known demented snake-faced psycho, him, a Malfoy. And that's how the Aurors who had come to drag Lucius Malfoy before justice found him: sucking his thumb and pouting like a child on the very step of the closed door of Malfoy Manor. His now ex-wife had cursed him with a de-aging spell to "punish the capricious brat he had been all his life."

So yes, Harry's life had definitely improved. So why had he clung to his stupid dreams about Vampires? Harry sighed deeply. He knew why. There was this something that was missing, like a habit he used to have but had suddenly forgotten; like the nagging feeling of something important he was trying to remember, but couldn't quite pinpoint.

Whatever. What was lost, was lost. He'd better go to sleep anyway. Tomorrow would be the first day of his seventh and last year at Hogwarts, and he had promised Sirius to enjoy it as much as he could.

And so he would.

End of chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! First, thanks for reading until here. Congratulations. You are definitely impervious to bad puns and to my lame humor. Haha. Anyway, I just wanted to make a couple of things clear:

English is not my native language; French is. Same goes for my lovely beta-reader Ash of Mine. If you want to know more, go check our profiles.

This is my very first fiction hence the horrible structure, the awkward sentences and all the mistakes you'll find.

Conclusion: DON'T FLAME! However, constructive criticism is most welcome. Thanks again!