Whew! another story, another wasted time on a senseless fanfiction...please excuse this, I haven't been myself ever since I drank two gallons of caffe latte...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, nor the others. End of story.


Friday, 6:30, Potions class. Boring.

Harry Potter sat at his desk, absent-mindedly playing with his quill. Potions with Snape wasn't exactly the most interesting activity one could come up with, and the fact that the teacher had a mean streak where Gryffindors were concerned didn't help. Pushing the tempting thoughts of sleep out of his head, he tried to listen as Snape droned on about the "unique potion" one of Hogwarts' founders made.

"…potion…made by Godric Gryffindor…"

He sat up straight. Did Snape just say Godric?

"Made with a lion's heart, claw and hair, this potion was said to have made the drinker sharper, braver, more acute to his surroundings. Although of course, that seems to ask too much from Gryffindor himself." Slytherins laughed at this. "Those in consideration, no one really knows the true purpose of this unnamed potion. Studies have identified only a number of effects. We don't know the others, nor do we know whether it should be drank, or applied to the skin, or God knows what…"

Harry tuned him out. He studied the vial, wanting to see what was so special about the potion. It was deep red, akin to blood. Blood, which, unfortunately, graced many of his encounters with Voldemort. That, and a hell load of swearing, screaming and dying. Harry closed his eyes, stilling the impulse to shudder. As he contemplated his experiences, he sensed something flash along his scar-something hot, deep and bright, yet not painful. He felt different, strange, as if he was someone else; not quite himself, but someone that lived in the trenches of his being. In a second, it was gone.

"Potter!" Harry's head snapped up. "Potter! How dare you sleep through my class!" Snape barked at him, his face resembling a suspicious, moldy, one-year old sandwich. He dauntingly approached Harry's desk. Unbeknownst to the teacher, a student's bag ( a rather large one ) was in his way. He tripped unceremoniously, dropping the potion towards Harry. The boy reached for it, but as his hand neared it, the stopper fell off, spraying him with the potion. Harry's skin flared with cool, red flames, which disappeared altogether the next instant.

"The- the potion!" Snape exclaimed dismally. Nobody saw what happened to the vial's contents. They were only aware that Harry tried to salvage the potion, and did not- well, not in the literal sense-succeed. Nor did Harry tell the truth. He felt weird…the persona was coming out of its hole, and was trying to take over his body.

When class was dismissed (a bit early, though no one complained), Ron and Hermione dutifully followed Harry, who seemed totally out of it.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Ron began.
"Huh? Er, yes, how come?" Harry hesitated. Was he supposed to tell them?
"Well, today at po-oh no, it's Malfoy, and we're alone in this corridor…no Crabbe or Goyle in sight, though…"
"Ron! It's not wise picking on him just because he's an insufferable git." Hermione butted in. "Well, you've got to admit…"

Harry wasn't really listening. He left the two standing there, bickering once again. Will they ever stop? Urgh, he had a raging headache just listening to those two… what was going on with him? Who was that person…that person that plagued him earlier? Grrr! It was so frustrating!

"Why Potter! Fancy meeting you here, of all places…where's that Granger and Weasel?" He passed Malfoy. He had no time for Malfoy's insults, let alone fighting.
"What's the matter cat got your tongue? The dullness of your friends getting to you? Oh, boo-hoo!"
"Leave them out of this, Malfoy."
"Why should I?" he retorted, his face contorting into one of anger.
"Back off." Harry's low voice echoed in the large corridor.
"Give me one good reason why." Malfoy smirked.
"Now."
"Your mudblood mother would be sooo proud…" His eyes widened. Something flashed in Harry's eyes as he pounced quickly on him, pushing him roughly down on the floor. Harry was never the one who'd attack-retaliate, yes, but never attack. Harry straddled his hips, pinning his arms to his sides. He bent down near his ear.
"Never." His voice was hot.
"Ever. Include. My. Mother. On This." Harry licked his lobe.
"Draco." He lifted his head and gave Draco a feral grin, which reminded him of a predatory lion playing his food.

Harry's eyes flashed a startling emerald. His grin was wiped off and horror dawned upon his face, as if he wasn't the one who had straddled Draco, licked his lobe, and smiled at him. He stood up , and, without looking back, ran blindly.

Please review...anyway, should I continue? telling me would be a favor, since I would know whether I'm wasting time or not...