Falling

Chapter One:

I Hate Mondays

Disclaimer: Not mine! J.K owns Harry Potter!

Rating: NC-17!! Lots of Fluff, eventually after all the quarrel!

A/N: Hey there guys, again! I'm writing two fan-fictions at one time but will update at LEAST once a week for both, usually twice though. This is so that when I have writer's block with one, I will just write the other! This Fan-fiction revolves around a series of incidents at first which bring both Harry and Draco into terrifying, although cute, realizations! Set in Seventh Year, ignoring the events of the HBP. Will be shorter chapters than my usual fan-fictions, and also shorter in general. Probably around 10 chapters. R&R, it will be greatly appreciated!

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Draco was not having a good day. It was Monday, the worst day of the week and a fortnight into term. The blonde Slytherin spent nearly two hours primping himself in the morning, as perusual, and all female (along with some unexplained male) eyes followed him as he strutted around the Slytherin Common Room swaying his hips, collecting his scattered books fo classes that day. Once his book bag was full, Draco scuffed and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle, are you imbociles eating today?" and immediately he was joined by the two oversized goons.

With one last look at his fellow housemates, Draco stuck up his nose and stalked his way out of the Common Room and into the dank dungeon of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He walked ahead of the other two, who mumbled and grunted behind him and lead the group up to the Great Hall. Pansy Parkinson jumped up from the Slytherin Table once the three entered and ran to meet Draco in front of the Entrance doors.

She threw an arm around his neck and hung lightly off of him, her eyes sparkled upwards with adoration as he shrugged her off. "Oh, Dracey! What's wrong? Anything I can't fix?" she giggled, fluttered her eyelashes which made the blonde roll his eyes.

"Piss off Parkinson, I am not in the mood," he growled and pushed past her to the Slytherin Table. She hurumphed but was greeted by Crabbe and Goyle, so now the four sat down at their table, facing the rest of the Houses in the hall.

Draco began to elegantly place pieces of toast on his plate and kniving jam onto them, his silver eyes leaving his plate every once and awhile to glance around the Hall at his fellow students. Most of whom he felt were not worth his time.

"Did you hear? The Mudblood and that Weasel finally got together this summer," Pansy gossiped to Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini who now joined the group of Seventh Years. This peeked Draco's attention for a different reason, as his vision strayed towards the Entrance door where the Golden Trio were striding in.

Parkinson was right, the Mudblood and the Weasel were tightly holding hands as Potter had his own hands in his pockets, laughing alongside his friends as they joked about something or another. Draco growled, how he hated those three. They had plagued his Seven Years at Hogwarts, a school he hadn't wanted to be at in the first place, and they always were the pinacle of Current News. The blonde gritted his teeth and held tight to his knife as the three made their way to sit directly across from him in the Hall, the couple's backs to him as the brunette faced him.

"Look at them," Draco spat as all eyes turned curiously towards the venomous blonde. "Who do they think they are? Potty-head and his Muggle-loving friends...disgusting if you ask me, not worth the dirt on our shoes," he held his nose up and directed his attention back at his breakfast. His classmates all chortled darkly with his comments, but only Draco knew the malice in his voice was mostly acting. Only Draco would ever know.

The morning post came in, his large eagle owl dropped a brown wrapped package, The Daily Prophet, and a letter. Attached to the package was a note, he opened it up; Dear Draconis, Do not disapoint us. He sighed at his Father's writing, he was never good enough for him although he tried with all his energy. He ripped open the package, his classmates peering in. It turned out to just be Endless Ink supply and a silver plated quill with the Malfoy crest engraved halfway up the staff.

His second letter he could tell immediately was from his Mother, her handwriting so precisely done upon the parchment. Softly, he unravelled the letter, it was short, as always but he cherished her kinder words in comparison to his Fathers.

Dear Draco,

I hope that your Father's message does not discourage you, I know you will do well this term at school as you always do. Stay on top of your studies, your Godfather is always willing to assist you when need be. I will be sending more books along soon that I believe will help you as well. Let me know how you do on any assignments or tests, I do want to be kept up to date completely.

Your Father has been busy with meeting clients, I am home alone most of the time and must keep myself busy with research and the rare trips to Knockturn Alley I am priveleged to make. I am not to leave the Manor that often, as you well know at this point. I am in fear that your Father maybe losing his touch, his attitude has changed drastically over the past couple of weeks. We are awaiting your return home for the Christmas holidays.

Love From,

Mother.

Draco smiled inwardly but did not dare show his emotions on the outside, he must remain in cold demeanor by his Father's wishes. The war was at its height, the final battle coming closer and Lucius was at the top of Voldemort's inner circle. Though Draco saw faults in this, he saw all those within the inner circle faltering, they were becoming weary and tired of Voldemort's antics. And Voldemort himself was becoming more of a skeptical maniac everyday, his attacks becoming much more visible and he was being much less careful. Draco had denied the Mark last year, his Father had been upset at first but that was the worst for him. He took on a neutral part in this war, and that was something in itself.

Now, the seventeen year-old teen was something short of a bargaining chip. He was to keep their family values towards the public known and held strong, their standing in society to be kept hightened by his performance in school and afterwards as well as his Mother's appearance and his Father's alliances with Ministry officials. For if the Dark Side ends up losing the War, which Draco saw as more than a possibility now with a madman leading them, then his family would have to fall back on their appearance, money and connections.

Stuffing the letters in his pocket and keeping his package on his lap, Draco finished his breakfast and read the newspaper. Two more Death Eaters had been caught and charged to a 25 years sentence in Azkaban for illegal activity and allegiance with Voldemort, they were of a lower circle though this was still a great impact to Voldemort's small, though powerful, group of followers.

"Malfoy, what is with you today?" Zabini had slid in beside him, he nudged the blonde in the ribs causing an immediate growl in response.

"I hate Mondays," Draco snapped, he held a tight grip on his package and The Daily Prophet as he took off out of the Great Hall and towards the Slytherin Common Room so that he could put his recieved things away.

He had taken more time than he thought he did, so arriving to Double Advanced Transfiguration that morning he was late. Draco realized this as the bell rang and he was still in his dormitory, he cursed himself and began to start with quick pace towards his class.

On the way, another two persons were late and flying down the stairs as Draco was flying up them. As both late parties came to the Transfiguration corridor with quickness, they turned the same corner at the sametime and two bodies crashed together. Draco found himself falling ontop of a flustered looking brunette, his hands on either side of his head now as a redhead peered down at them with a stern mouth.

"What are you doing Potter? Transfiguration is that way," Draco nudged his head, still unmoving his body, in the direction from which the two had come.

"Didn't you hear? McGonagall's class got moved to the first at the top of the other stairs," Harry responded curtly, though not angrily as he looked curiously up at the boy above him. His emerald eyes were searching the silver ones curiously for something, and Draco found himself searching for something back.

"Uhm...guys, shouldn't we be, erm...Malfoy, get off of Harry!" Ron was confused at first, but then he found his anger for the Slytherin and lightly yelled at him.

Draco scrambled elegantly off of Harry and gathered himself, picking up his forgotten school bag before turned on his heel in the other direction. "Glasses not thick enough, Potty? Or is it that you are just too thick?" he drawled characteristically and swaying his hips as the two Gryffindors glowered after him, grumbling and following him late into Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class.

The rest of the day, Draco found himself coming oddly back to his strange and apprehensive interaction with Potter. Anger began to boil inside of him towards himself because of not being his usual self with The-Boy-Who-Lived. He should have been quicker, and harsher with their interaction. Draco should have penalized Harry, being a Prefect and all, for causing bodily harm. He knew it was an exageration, but that is what he usually would have done. And now, Draco was questioning himself as to why he hadn't.

It wasn't an easy rest for him that evening, as he tossed between his parents expectations and his faltering in his solid acting as Draco Malfoy.

"I hate Mondays," Draco muttered before he fell to sleep.