Title: Carry On My Wayward Son

Author: ArtemisEmerald

Rating: Hmm, I'll stick with 'M', since it's likely to go up in the future.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, due to the fact that I'm not Rowling. I don't think the saying, 'I think therefore I am,' applies here.

Pairings: H/D, SS/RL, BZ/NL, amongst other smatterings of pairings as I see fit.

A/N: Hmm, well, its A/U. Takes place after book 5 NOT book 6. I'm not…fond…of book six; therefore, few if any of my stories with deal with Rowling's continued timeline and ideas. Slash of course. No like, no read. That simple. Remus, Severus, Neville and Blaise will all be semi-major characters, basically the supports need to hold up the base. Ron and Hermione bashing. OOC for most of the charac's. Some of the story based on inspiration from the song 'Carry On My Wayward Son' by Kansas. Fantastic song. I recommend it. Fits Harry very nice.


I don't feel much of anything anymore. I think that Dumbledore sending me to Grimmuald so soon after Sirius' death is what happened. I haven't had a good laugh in months it seems, exempting a few chuckles here and there for something I normally would have found hilarious. I feel sadness and anger mostly. Anger at myself for my mistakes that I can't go back and fix, anger at other people for not noticing anything was wrong with me.

Isn't that a hoot? I want people to notice that something's off and ask about it, just so I can tell them to 'bugger off, you wouldn't understand.' I actually want that. I think I'm going mental. Maybe I'm craving attention for something or some reason. That has to be part of it, 'cause everyone here is skirting around me like I'm a bomb about to go off. Try that analogy around the Weasley's and see how far you get. I tried. It was totally lost on them and now they won't talk to me. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled?

Ron hasn't spoken to me since the train ride back to London. It may have had something to do with the fact that I 'came out' so to speak. It was Hermione's doing I think, what with her growing up in muggle society, like me. Heck, if I hadn't come across books in the library on it, I would have been freaking out a lot more then I was. One would wonder how it is that Hermione didn't come across those books. Well, they were in the sexual education section, which is the one section Hermione steered clear off. She is such a prude. Psst, I normally wouldn't call her that, but they've been on my last nerve. The second I walk into whatever room they're in; off they trot, muttering obscene things at me.

So, here I am, about a week before my sixteenth birthday, sitting at the window seat in my room, staring down at an…well, not so empty sidewalk 'cause if I'm not mistaken, and it's totally possible considering how old my glasses prescription is, that's Dumbledore coming up the walk, carrying something in his arms. I'd say it's a person, due to an arm flopping up and down at the elbow with every step the Headmaster took. I probably would have laughed if it weren't for the blood trailing along the ground.

I got up and walked out of my room and into the bathroom to grab medical supplies. I've been the only one in the house, not including meetings, for the past week. I probably scared off the Weasley's when I started playing with the kitchen knives. The Weasley Matriarch hasn't been to kind to me since the failing friendship with Ron. It's kind of…weird I guess.

Anyway, I could tell Dumbledore was in the house, 'cause Sirius' mum just went off the deep end, singing praise about the person with Dumbledore. Must've been a relative of Sirius' or something. I trotted down the curved staircase (A/N: You know, it's been awhile since I read the fifth book and I'm not keen on pulling it out just to look up architectural details, so suffer if I'm wrong. Thank you.) and into the sitting room, coming to a halt when I saw the shock of white blond hair falling over the armrest.

"Harry, I see you've brought down the supplies. Good, good. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey are on their way with some potions, but we need to get to some of these gashes before he loses anymore blood." Dumbledore began to slowly and carefully strip away the tattered black silk button up and khaki trousers.

I gasped when I saw the cuts and gashes were a far cry worse than what I thought they were. I'd bet my last Knut that he was whipped with either a leather switch or a belt, thought the markings indicated a possibility of both, "What happened?"

"I'll explain later. Start cleaning off his face and neck, if you would." Dumbledore muttered, already well underway on the legs.

I grabbed a cloth that had been sanitized with a flick of the Headmasters wand and then added a cleaning potion to it. I lifted the head and slid in underneath it carefully so as not to jar him, and laid him back down so he was resting in the space between my thighs with his neck cradling by my right thigh.

I brought the cloth to his face slowly, almost afraid that the sting from the potion would jar him awake. That was the last thing he needed. When I finally touched skin, there was small movement behind the almost translucent eyelids, but the dark blond lashes never left the pale and bloody cheek. I kept cleaning until almost all of the dry blood had been removed. Dumbledore handed me a dry cloth and another potion, which I knew from experience healed up cuts quite nicely and left nary a scar behind.

Once that was in place, and Dumbledore was done with the legs and torso, I did his arms; we sat and waited for Pomfrey and Snape. The Headmaster said it wouldn't be much longer and that he expected Snape had to brew up one of the internal healing potions, as the one needed was a bit rare due to ingredients, even though it wasn't time consuming.

I just shrugged and ran my fingers along the pale face in my lap, trailing along his pale eyebrows, noticing that they were a shade darker then his actual hair, and I had the itchiest feeling to look and see if that blond was his natural color. Of course, I blushed at the thought, 'cause well the headmaster was in the room, and I only had to glance to my right to see the trail of hair atop his boxers. I couldn't do it.

The corner of my mouth lifted as I ran my finger down his nose. It wasn't at all as pointy as it looks when we're in each other's face yelling and hollering. It fact it was kind of button shaped at the end, even if it was a bit long, which is where the point comes in. His lips were, in a word or two, supple looking. Not thin, but not overly thick either, like mine. The coloring of them was that of a soft pink rose and I couldn't resist the gentle outlining of my finger to trace along those curves either.

Have you noticed that I have seemed to do at least a 45-degree arc in attitude since he arrived, or, well, was place on my lap? He was the other reason Ron went berserk. Could handle the gayness (bi actually) he said, if he had too, but the crush was it. 'That was the caramel that broke the straw!' he had hollered when he stormed out of the compartment I was in. Hermione had actually giggled until she caught up to what was going on and followed him out.

"Potter, I need you to tilt his head back slowly and open his mouth."

I jumped slightly at the soft command as I realized who had come in. I was so caught up in thought that the professor managed to walk right up to me without me realizing it. I did as requested and tipped his head back as I grasped his chin in one hand. With his mouth open, Snape poured and two potions and instructed me to then close his mouth and hold his nose. He would subconsciously swallow to clear his airways. That was an interesting piece of trivia that I stored with everything else I proclaimed useless but interesting.

We did this a few more times, before Madam Pomfrey administered the 'enervate.'

His eyelids fluttered for a moment before blinking open to show off the light baby blue irises. His eyes instantly flew to mine, which made my heart flutter, although I knew nothing was showing on my face. My eyes might have been a bit brighter, but it's not as if I could tell or anything, "H-Harry." He coughed out. He actually said my first name instead of spitting out my last, and it was as if he was expecting my to be there when he woke, or maybe I'm just being a romantic again.

I threaded my hands into his hair gently, so as not to rub the newly healed cuts the wrong way, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Draco."


TBC? Let me know what you think, please! And whether I should continue this or not. It's the power of the people! Please, review/comment/suggest, whatever…just, no flamers. Constructive criticism is great, but telling me my story is old hat and a plot used many times over isn't going to help me make this unique. So don't bother reviewing if that's all your going to say. 'Tis not nice.