Just a test to see if my writing skills are as horrible as I thought they would be. ;O Maybe, it's actually just a test to see if I've gotten rusty, eh? I donno, really. If anyone reads this, I give you my eternal and heartfelt love.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and co., J.K. Rowling does. Sob TT

Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Gryffindor Wonder Boy that had one hundred sodding lives, the boy who single-handedly defeated He-who-shall-not-be-named and just couldn't for the love of Shiva, immediately drop dead afterwards–

Was lying on his bed.

On Draconis Lucius Malfoy's bed.

His arch nemesis's bed.


And to reiterate this whole situation: Harry Potter was sleeping on his bed. On his sodding bed.

It had to be a nightmare of some sort. A hex, a spell, a… hell, it just had to be something, because a situation this good—no, something this fortunate and blessed could never happen to him. Ever.

Draco found that his hand had somehow wound into messy ebony locks minutes before, and after he had thought of the repercussions—well, he tried not to smile all too much. Keyword, try. He actually couldn't help it. When boy wonder had come to his room, lost, lonely and looking for comfort, Draco knew it was his chance—and this my friends, is where we find him, basically in the arms of his would-be lover.

At any rate, they had talked for hours, neither of them having difficulty disregarding how they both appeared to the other: Potter, with his baggy cast-offs, and he, Draco Malfoy with his designer labels. None of the materialistic stuff mattered when they spoke to each other. It didn't even matter that they had fought earlier that very morning in the Great Hall and caused a ruckus. That not-so-very-typical incident resulted in both houses with negative points. And to his annoyance, that didn't even seem to faze the green-eyed boy. Though nothing ever matters when it comes to th great Harry Potter, thought Draco wryly. Potter's special, so he has extra life insurance benefits.

Tingles ran up and down his spine, and although this would have cowed Draco (it usually did), he instead sighed, content. Just Potter's mere presence leant him an appreciative glimmer of what it was like to have a true friend. Of course, Blaise was nice and all, but the olive-skinned boy just didn't have that fine quality of friendliness that Potter had. If he ever.

In explanation, Blaise was just the epitome of that, Slytherin; cunning and sly to the end. Bravery? Draco nearly scoffed. Who needed bravery when manipulation could get you out of the worse case scenarios? Staying and fighting to the end was just so blasé.

"You know Potter," Draco told the sleeping boy conversationally, "if you were just a bit more intelligent and had a better fashion-sense, I'd shag you any day." And he meant it. If boy wonder there had brains that were half as great as his—to make a long story short, Draco wouldn't have a problem doing theaforementioned Gryffindor. But alas, since it was not meant to be, they (he) couldn't. He did after all have standards, low as they may be.

"Draco?" spoke a silky voice from his doorway, startling him.

"Severus," he responded with mild irritation at seeing the vampire-like man, "perhaps the next time you visit me in the middle of the night, there could be at least knock-?"

"No." Affection was hinted in that smooth tone, and his Godfather, Severus, wrapped his arms around his midsection, balancing his side on the doorframe. He tilted his head, greasy locks shading his aristocratic features. The man said lowly, "If you wonder why I came, you might as well cease to." Severus paused, and suddenly, his piercing black eyes glinted from underneath his oily fringe, "It has come to my attention that you have been slacking about with your studies."

Draco winced as he turned to face his Godfather. Severus was right, his grades had been slipping. He didn't really mean to, but… His arctic gaze swiveled to his rival, and he let out a soft sigh. He was getting distracted far too often to put much focus on his studies.

"I apologize," Draco said stiffly, unflinching as Severus made direct eye contact with him. Then, to his relief, the greasy-haired man shook his head, heaving out a disappointed breath. Draco had once admired Severus when he was a boy, when he hadn't taken the role of Potions Master at Hogwarts. That was when his Godfather's hair hadn't been so greasy—brewing potions all day long did expose hair to noxious and vile fumes. It explained his hair.

"Don't apologize," replied Severus, moving to sit on the chair opposite of Draco. "It is your last year in Hogwarts. Make it lively, because God knows I hadn't." They both shared a laugh at that, knowing what he meant.

"You know Draco," Severus said, soon after they had both caught their breath, "I heard you speaking to Potter."

"You did?!" Draco was aghast. He… What… How was he going to explain himself? Speechless, he stared at his Godfather for moments, before he began to chuckle nervously. "Ahh, well… you see…"

"No, no, no," Severus waved his hand dismissively. "I don't really care what you say or do to Goody-boy there, but please, for all that is sane, use a condom."

Draco sputtered, eyes bulging out.


Dear Parchment & Quills,

It had been a few days since Draco Malfoy and I had our 'talk' (which involved me blabbering about stuff, and sobbing all over his shoulder, heh). I suppose it wasn't just a talk when I put it that way… it was rather an emo over all the bloody unfair events in our lives more than anything. Sadly, it seemed Draco was more intent on trying to 'understand' my problem rather than to listen to me ramble on and on about how unjust life was. Ahh well. Bugger that.

Speaking of Draco…

Sometimes, I don't get him—he truthfully intrigues me, and if he wasn't such a prat, I'd shag him. Really. At any rate, it's back to the same hating routine: Draco crowing about how stupid my parents were (are), which escalates into a shouting matching that thus results in near suspension and a
detention with Filch at thirty past nine. Great.

And once again, it's too bad that the Great Slytherin Prince is such a prat. I would've done this ages ago, but, as circumstances wouldn't allow it, oh
well. I was going to tell him that I liked him for the longest of times and was willing to do something with him. Unfortunately, me being the coward I am—I can't do it.

Life sucks Parchment & Quills. Life sucks.

Excerpt from Harry Potter's very hidden Journal that he places conveniently underneath his pillowcase every night for the past four months



"Tell me this isn't what I think this is."

A pointed glare.

"…It is."

Lucius burst out laughing, clutching the diary in his arms, his whole frame shaking with mirth. "Ahaha! I never would of expected that our Golden Boy would have a diary! Oh this is just too good to be true!" the arrogant man threw his head back and cackled, then in a few minutes, his visage simmered down to a slow smirk.


The dark haired man sighed. "What is it Lucius?"

"Where did you get this?" he asked slyly.

"I confiscated it," Severus shrugged, nonchalant. "He was writing in it during Potions, and as luck would call it, I took the opportunity to deduct more house points and make him miserable."

There was an imperceptible nod from the other man, before he chuckled. "So I see."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Severus observed his friend flipping through the pages. With a snort, Severus offered, "Try to read the last page. There's nothing of interest in the other pages."

Head shot up from Severus's remark, Lucius's eyebrow arched, but he did as he was told.

Dear Parchment & Quills,

I hate Severus Snape. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Slimy git should die and go to Hell, so then I wouldn't have to fail his class so often. Who would want to write about the uses of Anolian Powder? I swear, that fifteen inch essay that we all wrote was used for his firewood.

Well, asides from the fact that I hate Snape, I'd like to point out that I caught Blaise snogging Neville down the hallways. I coughed discretely to get their attention but… I think they were too busy trying to get their hands down each other's pants. Fortunately, the benign soul I am, I both shoved them down in a conveniently empty classroom and went about my merry ways, hoping to God that Filch wouldn't find them.


There was also this freak incident a few days ago, one that I witnessed with full terror:

Severus Snape was smiling. My droll professor, smiling. Gods, maybe it was the fact that Ron had slipped on his butt during our lessons, or maybe it was the fact that Hermione finally got a question wrong—I don't know. But what I do know is that it was CREEPY! When I saw that curl of the lips, I knew it spelt trouble, so I ducked my head, wishing it would pass off as my mere imagination, and wham. I knew it wasn't when he specifically chose me to try out my Lusting Potion.

I still haven't gotten rid of that bumpy rash that developed on my neck. I don't know why it hasn't gone away either. Madam Promfrey just gave me a look, a minty ointment to slab over my neck, and ushered me out of her office, shaking her head and muttering, "Mister Potter, I do not need to know about your personal life." Now what the flipping sods did I do?

And why has Draco been shooting me these wistful glances?

Parchments & Quills, my life sucks.

Harry P.

Lucius closed the book in his hands, lips twisted into a half-smile, half-smirk.

"I think I understand now."

"Gods yes," Severus finally said, as he heaved a sigh of relief. "I thought I was the only one that understood that they were teenagers!"

The blond-haired man shot Severus a dirty look.

"That's not what I meant—I meant that…" Lucius rubbed his forehead in aggravation. "Oh nevermind, you're right."

And that's the end of it folks. Just something random. I hope it made as much sense to you as it did to me. D: