A/N- There's going to be quite a bit up here, first chapter and all, so I apologise in advance. First Harry Potter Fanfiction *yay*. Anyways, this is just an introduction, and I'm sorry if it seems a little dull, just setting a background, and a little bit of a beginning. (Right at the end.)
Anyway, Harry and Draco have drunken sex on the night of a drinking-gathering due to the end of nasty old Voldemort! This is not what the whole fic will be based around, but you sort of need to know each of their opinions on everything.
Next, this is going to turn out Drarry. Don't like, give up now, and all that crap.
Finally (For now), I have magically disregarded the epilogue of the last book (obviously), and have also decided that both Dumbledore and Snape are still alive. Sorry if you liked them dead.
Now, if you would kindly read on…
Why This is So Wrong.
1- Introduction- I slept with him!
Harry sighed contentedly, his arms wrapped around Draco tightly, protectively, but the hold was softened by the way he kept brushing his hands lightly along the blondes back, accompanied by the kisses he occasionally distributed on said blondes head.
Draco nuzzled Harry's shoulder, but he was far from content. Worry was already eating at him, and it had only been half an hour. He would be a wreck by the next day.
He lay there worrying, something Malfoy's in general never do (or never show, for Draco was positive his family must worry sometimes.) The youngest Malfoy exhaled in relief as the arms around him finally went slack, it meant his partner had finally passed out. In that state on inebriation, Draco was very, very surprised at how long the brunette had stayed awake, among other things.
Draco slowly extracted himself from the arms of the passed-out-Potter, pausing to gently kiss his forehead. It was a cute gesture, one of familiarity and care, but Godric knew Draco was well aware of the chances of another opportunity like this one.
He then dressed as quickly as possible, almost frantic in his need to escape. He needed to escape because he wanted to stay, and there was nothing more persuasive than an emotional slytherin. He wanted to crawl back into bed and fall asleep, allowing himself to wake up in the arms of a sober Harry Potter. Draco was not foolish enough to indulge himself in his fantasy. He had enough of a brain to know that it would end badly, because come morning, the Gryffindor probably wouldn't even remember that he had taken a blond boy back to bed with him.
And an argument over sleeping together probably wouldn't be the best way to start the year. The school term wouldn't even properly begin for another three days.
'I love you, Potter.' His expression was soft as he stared at the sleeping Gryffindor, despite the habitual use of his last name. Distance. Or that was what it attempted, anyway. Draco noticed the other boy give off a small shiver, and reached to tuck his blankets more securely around him, making up for the space he had left.
Then he silently exited the room, going to hide in the almost empty slytherin dormitories.
* - * 0o0o * - *
Harry awoke to the dimly lit Griffindor dorm, an unusually quiet place with the absence of the other eighth years.
His head hurt, far more so than usual, and it took a good five minutes for his eyes to focus enough to even locate his glasses.
Once he had found them, though, the whole ordeal of the past hours unwound in a mixture of observations and memories:
The sleep cleared from his eyes, and he noted that his arms were completely bare, and a second later his body processed the fact that it was completely devoid of any and all clothing.
The Gryffindor stood up- not bothered about his nudity- everyone else who would be in his dorm was elsewhere. At home. That took a second, but it was the night after the drinking bash- they all mutually decided it wasn't a party. There was people and alcohol, but almost everyone was depressed or upset.
Walking across the room, he stepped on a pile of fabric about three metres from the bed.
His clothes. Wrinkled and messy, all in a heap.
With a strange flash of silver and green somewhere around the middle.
Frowning, he bent to pick up the Slytherin tie, a green and silver strip of cloth that contrasted beautifully with the Gryffindor reds and gold that practically smothered the room.
And he didn't have to look for a name to know who it had belonged to.
Yes, past tense, because the owner was probably never going to come and get it back.
Draco. The name he only thought, very rarely said. The boy who had (rather sadly, and Harry would always be loathe to admit this) prompted Harry to date Ginny- it was a lame attempt to force himself into some semblance of being straight. Not because he was insecure or confused, but because he figured that if he was straight, he couldn't possibly think that Draco was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. And that was his mildest description of Draco Malfoy.
They were normally a lot more crass.
It was funny, because he entertained all of these ideas on the basis that the Malfoy boy would never in a million years go for him.
Harry had actually been rather positive that the blonde would rather shag Ron, Hermione or both than even kiss him. The boy who lived.
Apparently, he had rather obviously been wrong. Yes, Draco had probably been just as drunk as him, but still. This momentarily filled Harry with elation- he had actually slept with Draco!
But, alas, he came back down to earth a mere moment later, slowly, sinking. He knew full well that he himself, though drunk, had been fully aware of the choices he was making. It might have taken time to process in the morning, but he knew he would have done identical while sober, if he could have gotten away with it.
The fact that Malfoy had even said yes to him was a testament to the fact that he hadn't been thinking even remotely clearly. Draco would never, in real life, kiss Harry, have sex with Harry. Bloody hell, he would not even allow him to hold him in a hug. Most days, the blonde could barely even tolerate a conversation with him, despite the baby-steps of progress they had made during the war.
Harry immediately felt a twinge of guilt, and more than a twinge of sadness and self-pity. In his drunken state, he had somehow convinced himself that he could show Draco that he loved him, cared about him so much despite their years of brawling. In retrospect, all he had done was take advantage of a drunken blonde, and of everyone's mixed up feelings over finally being able to stop fighting.
Harry felt the tears threaten, and didn't even bother attempting to stop them from cascading down his face, beautifully in sync with the rain outside.
Pathetic fallacy, that. He may as well been as poetic as to think of how the raindrops were the tears of every other witch or wizard that was crying with him, either from relief, or the loss of a loved one, or even confusion.
Even if he had been poetic by nature, he would not have thought of this, except harshly, for Harry Potter was very much one for suffering alone. So very unlike how he was often described.
No-one knew what they were going to do since they no longer had anything to fight against. Voldemort had been almost like a ruler, the way he had affected people's lives, whether they were on his side, not, or somewhere in between. A bit like a wizarding dictator.
It was actually the reason why Harry was even at Hogwarts to begin with. And Draco.
Unless everyone took strict tutoring and had control over their lives and awareness of those around them, havoc could easily appear through a fear of change.
Hence the bringing back of every possible Hogwarts pupil for an eighth year of education.
Dumbledore was taking control of all the Hogwarts students, sorting out plans to stabilise the situation between different groups of teenagers and the effects upon their families.
McGonagall, the kind but stern woman that she was, decided upon appealing to the wider community, helping to offer advice to others within the wizarding community.
Even Snape was to distribute leaflets and information packs, and the last time Harry had seen the potions-master, there was an expression of seriousness upon his normally disgusted face.
It seemed that hell really had frozen over.
But that didn't change the fact that Malfoy would always be Malfoy.
And no Malfoy would ever love a Potter.
Harry murmured a spell for the tie he was still holding, changing it to the Gryffindor red and gold, and placed it around his own neck.
…Which caused his brain to momentarily stutter. His own tie was not with his clothes, and Draco had left his- the blonde Malfoy must have accidentally taken the Gryffindor one with him.
And in an odd way, this comforted Harry immensely.
He liked the idea of a grumpy Slytherin wearing his tie.
Feeling slightly cheerier, Harry went to take a shower.
* - * 0o0o0 *-*
When Draco had finally reached the slytherin dungeons, he was literally shaking and loudly sniffling, despite the time he had had to calm down.
'You Bloody Hufflepuff' was the phrase directed at himself as he entered the room he normally shared with Goyle, Crabbe, Nott and Blaise. For three days, it would only be Blaise, which helped a little. Blaise Zabbini was the only one of them he really considered as friend, and it would have been humiliating for the others to see he new melancholy mood.
It was bad enough knowing Blaise was there; it was the reason that he was trying to quiet his sniffles, and had taken the longest route possible to the room.
His efforts were in vain, for Blaise was in bed but awake when Draco had entered the room.
Who happened to notice the Gryffindor tie, but knew the ways of the Malfoy far to well to bother asking him for details.
Draco would tell him when he was ready.
*_* 0o0o0 *_*
In the few days running up to the arrival of the other students, both boys spent the majority of their time in their respective common rooms, wearing each other's ties and hoping not to run into the other.
Both were stubborn by nature, and by the time the first feast of the year rolled around, they had convinced themselves that nothing could stop them from acting normally towards each other on the same aggressive way they always did.
The object originally being to 'delete' the 'incident', make it as though it never existed. However, without a talented obliterating in the brain, they were both out of luck, and settled for trying to act like everything was normal.
This was successful, as they didn't actually see each other until they were entering the great hall- through the doors opposite to the ones the new arrivals were entering (which was most of the school), and anyone watching the small exchange they had at the doors wouldn't have seen anything amiss.
Malfoy had barged past the Potter boy in a deliberate and slightly arrogant fashion, to which Harry grumbled after him with a 'Damn you, Malfoy.'
But the push was lighter than normal, a lot lighter, like Draco couldn't find the heart to put the effort in.
And the phrase uttered by Harry was a lot quieter than was usual, with Damn replacing the word fuck.
Both rushed to their house tables, neither looking particularly effected.
They watched as the first years got sorted, and also watched as they did not join their new house tables as was customary after being sorted. Instead, they stayed in a line, awaiting Dumbledore's speech.
He clapped his hands together twice, sharply, and it got the attention of the entire school, though most had been watching him anyway.
"Now, everybody, I can see that most of you sat along those tables look confused. The first years will not automatically join their tables this year. Of course, they will in a few moments, when we all sit to eat, but for now, they will stay here."
He paused, this speech totally uncharacteristic for the headmaster, though the message was one he always tried to get across. This year, he would have to be straight-forward to get everyone to listen to him.
"Did any of you know that you are allowed to sit with other houses? There has never been a rule against it, nor will there ever be whilst Hogwarts is Hogwarts. You are all witches and Wizards, all with the same opportunities and choices whilst you are under this roof." Here, he pointed towards the ceiling, a silent fireworks display in all of the house colours, over the top of the usual cloudy night sky.
"I encourage you all to welcome the new students, and not to judge them. And, I think, some of you need to start anew with some of the more familiar faces, too."
Some pupils nodded along happily, others just watching in polite interest. But it appeared no-one was outright stating the unlikelihood of everyone becoming friends and living happily ever after. That was amazing.
Dumbledore then turned back to the nervous looking first years.
"Now, you may all join your houses. As of tomorrow, sit where you like. However, out of convenience, I suggest you all sit together, so you will find it easier to follow your prefects and get to know team-mates at the end of this lovely welcome gathering."
They all did as instructed, many looking relieved, for they knew absolutely no-one in the school.
Once all were again seated, Dumbledore clapped once more; he had one more announcement to make.
"Lastly, a note to all eighth years. You will all be taking a set of specific classes this year, and also a new one. A Muggle one."
There was finally a hum of noise across the hall; a compulsory timetable?
Dumbledore smiled softly at the curiosity of all the young adults. "It will be a social skills and life-behaviour class, taught by both Professors McGonagall and Snape. It should stop some of you from getting what the Muggles call an ASBO." His eyes twinkled at them, amused by the expressions of confusion, followed by rebellious outrage.
They weren't really bothered; just thought to put in token protest due to their age.
"Let the feast, begin!"
A/N- I know that not a lot happened, it is an introduction. If you could give this a chance, it would be greatly appreciated. If you would also review, since you have found your way to the bottom of the page, that would be very kind of you, and even more appreciated. XD