Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.
Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc.
Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean only attempted)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.
One Perfect Something
I'll Be Just Fine
September 10 . . .
Sixth year had started ten days ago, and Harry Potter felt like a year had passed. Every day dragged on like a detention with Snape, and everyone's worrying over his mental state after Sirius' death dug at the already festering wound. Are you all right? Yeah, if you'd stop fucking asking me that! Is Sirius' death hitting you hard? Hmm, let me think about that for a minute. Well, duh. Of course it is! Are you stupid? Are you sure you're coping okay? Well, I would be if you leave me the hell alone! Every time you bring it up makes me think about it! So just shut up, already!
Nobody could take a hint.
On this wonderfully dreary day, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for breakfast. The food was bland, as usual, and Harry didn't have much of an appetite, as was common as of late, but he pretended to eat. This involved lots of moving the food around on his plate to give the appearance of making the food disappear. So far, no one had noticed this easy trick, although he was sure someone would catch on sooner or later.
His housemates were chattering about nothing in particular, too tired to make much effort on the conversation front, something he was glad for. And then someone brought up the topic of dating. Harry immediately wanted to slink away. He hated this kind of stuff.
Why? Inevitably, the conversation turned to him. They all wanted him to experience the joys of dating like they were. Seamus, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, asked him, "So Harry, you give any thought to lovely Ginny here?"
Ginny immediately blushed, although her eyes were focused on Harry for his reply. Harry sighed and ignored Ginny, turning to face Seamus. "Seamus, you know I don't want to date anyone right now."
It was a complete and utter lie, because the thing he desired most in the world was to have someone to be with. But they bought it, and even thought the reason for it was Sirius' death. This dimmed their spirits, but unfortunately, they were like dogs that wouldn't let go of a good bone. Ron blurted out, "But I think dating someone would help." Ron very much wanted Harry to date his sister because he felt that Harry was the only guy good enough for her. And then, Harry would really be one of the family.
Insert lie here. "I wouldn't be able to commit myself to anyone. You have to be whole to give yourself to someone completely."
Actually, Harry was under the belief that you have to have pieces missing so that they could fit with the other person's, like a puzzle. A whole person didn't need someone because they were just that, whole.
Seamus raised an eyebrow and said, "You don't have to marry the girl, just date her."
Ginny, although she very much wanted to date Harry, her crush on him having been renewed over the summer, didn't like how everyone was trying to force her on him. "Stop it guys. You can't force someone to date someone they don't want to."
In reality, her eyes gave away the fact that she thought this was very much possible if you just tried hard enough. Harry wasn't stupid, and had learned to read body language. He saw what she really felt. He hated himself for it. He knew she'd try over and over again to make him want her, and he knew he could never want her. Not like that.
"Of course you can, Weaselette. That's what the Imperius Curse is for," Draco Malfoy's condescending voice broke in. He stood a few feet away, a smirk on his face. His two goons grinned stupidly on either side of him.
Ron growled, his face going red. "That's illegal, Malfoy!"
"Really? I'm surprised you knew that, being so thickheaded and all."
"Shut it!"
Malfoy sighed melodramatically. "Is that the best comeback you have? Such a pity, but what can one expect from a weasel?"
"At least I'm not a pointy-face ferret!" Ron retorted, his eyes blazing. Hermione had her hand on his arm, attempting to make him sit down. Really, if he lost house points before classes even began for the day . . .
The blond-haired Slytherin ignored him now, instead turning his malicious attention to a certain green-eyed boy who had a bored expression on his chiseled features. "So, Potter, how's life without that mangy cur around? Did he really scream when he fell?"
His comment tore another hole in his already bleeding and broken heart, but Harry was not about to let him see that. Instead, he stood up and said, very calmly, "I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Malfoy. I find that I'm not in the mood to oblige your cruel nature today."
Then he walked away, knowing all the while that a terrible scowl was twisting the other boy's aristocratic features. There would most likely be hell to pay later, but Harry found that he could not bring himself to care. Short of death, nothing Malfoy could do would really hurt him.
Once Harry found himself in the corridor outside the Great Hall, he decided that he didn't really feel like going to Potions. Snape would probably dock him a hundred points for skipping, but he really didn't care. His housemates might, but he knew that all he had to do was save the wizarding world again by the end of the year and he'd win more than enough points back.
He walked the halls of Hogwarts for over twenty minutes until he saw that his feet had brought him to the library. It looked like a good a place as any to spend his time, and he walked inside. Madame Pince gave him a stern look, but did not say anything about him skipping class. She may have been a strict librarian, but she was a gentle person otherwise.
Harry nodded to her and lost himself amongst the book stacks. The dusty smell of the old tomes comforted him. Books only helped you, never hurt you, unless you counted that monster book Hagrid had them buy for third year. They didn't expect anything of you.
His eyes swept across the various titles, not really looking for anything, until he saw a book that caught his eye. It was bound in a deep violet leather, black letters embossed on the spine. Charms for the Wizard Who Wants Escape, by Braden Conlan. Harry thought it was the oddest title for a book, and so he was very much intrigued. He slid it off the shelf and made his way over to an armchair in the back of the library. Not many people knew about the armchairs, since the library was so big and most people thought it was only for studying, but Hermione had shown him in fourth year that the library could also be used for pleasure. He sometimes grabbed a book and simply relaxed in one of the comfy chairs, still around other people, but distanced and unbothered.
He sunk into the large armchair, smiling slightly at how at ease it always made him feel. Curling up into a comfortable position, he opened the surprisingly thick book. He turned to the author's page first, always wanting to know the background information on an author to see why they wrote what they did. Sometimes, the biographies were boring. But other times, they were very interesting. Like today's.
Braden Conlan, born into a prestigious pureblooded family in the seventeenth century, he saved the wizarding world from a rising Dark Lady by the name of Aris at the age of sixteen. He disliked his newfound fame, and thus began to withdraw from society. At the age of seventeen, he wrote this book so that other wizards or witches who wanted to escape from anything in their life could find some modicum of peace. Three days after the first edition went into publication, he disappeared. All that is left is a portrait hung in the back of Hogwarts' library by the armchairs.
Harry frowned and closed the book. He lifted his head and looked around. True enough; there was a portrait of a young man in seventeenth century clothing dozing in an armchair that looked oddly like the one Harry was sitting in. Having the feeling that this was a very strange coincidence, he got up and walked over to the portrait. "Braden Conlan?"
The blond-haired youth shook himself awake, opening stunning violet eyes. "What? Who's calling me?"
Harry gave a little wave and Braden blinked his eyes at him. "Oh, you've got my book. Is it a good read?"
"I wouldn't know. I only read the author's biography," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders in apology.
Braden narrowed his eyes in a very Slytherin-like manner and muttered, "A Gryffindor, I should have guessed."
Harry was only slightly offended. "And I'll take that to mean you were a Slytherin?"
The portrait nodded. "Of course. I'm a pureblood."
In response, Harry snorted. "Not all purebloods are in Slytherin."
"The good ones are, and thus, I suspect, you are either a half-blood, or a pathetic excuse for a pureblood. I'm betting on the half-blood."
The odd thing was, Harry should have been affronted by the portrait's arrogant and rather rude behavior, but he wasn't. He actually enjoyed the sparring. And so he decided to respond in kind.
"You're right. Unfortunately, my father disappointed his distinguished bloodlines and married a muggleborn witch."
Braden examined him closely for a few moments before asking, quite casually, "And what family is that?"
"The Potters of course. They were once up there with the Malfoys and Parkinsons, but now there is only me left to carry on the Potter bloodline. I think I've done quite well, though."
"Oh, truly? It would take much to wash away the half-blood taint, especially for a Potter. I'm afraid you're much below the Malfoys now."
Harry noticed the fond tone in Conlan's voice as he spoke of the Malfoys. Interesting. He decided to explore that. "Below the Malfoys? Yeah, I bet Malfoy wishes I were below him." He made sure to bring the innuendo in the sentence across.
Braden caught the innuendo, but instead of becoming angry, he nodded. "Malfoys are never on bottom. We are always on top, no matter what the situation."
"You're a Malfoy?" Harry had caught the "we" in the portrait's statement.
"My mother was. The Conlan's were quite prestigious when I was alive, but I'm afraid I was the last of the family. My mother was unable to have more than one child, and as in most pureblooded families, there are only ever a few of us each generation. I believe the Weasleys are the only exception, and I hear that they have lowered themselves greatly in the last couple of centuries. Pity. They were ever the tricksters and quite clever to boot."
Harry digested this, and then asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for the last five minutes. "Where did you go when you disappeared?"
"I infused my soul into this portrait and killed off my physical body," he replied simply.
The Gryffindor stared at him, stunned. "But why would you do that?"
Braden sighed and pushed a few strands of his long, blond hair behind his ear. "I did not want to live any longer. My love was killed in that final battle against Aris, and I hated the fame killing that cursed Dark Lady brought me. I could have withstood it with Ross by my side, but without him, I despised the fake worship I received. Thus I disappeared."
"Why did you not really die and find Ross on the Other Side?" Harry asked, curious.
"Because I was the one who got him killed. I could not bear to face him after failing him."
Harry could identify with that kind of guilt. He knew he would never be able to face Sirius after failing him the way he had. Sirius, the one person who had truly believed in him. And he had failed him in the worst way possible.
"Why do you frown?" the portrait asked, a mixture of curiosity and sympathy in his violet eyes.
Harry's emerald eyes had been gazing at the stone floor, but now they raised up to look into Braden's, tears shining in their depths. "I killed someone, too."
Braden merely looked at him, knowing the boy would eventually spill his tale. Guilt like the kind they felt always needed to be let out or else it caused someone to do something stupid, like turning themselves into a portrait. Since he knew he had been stupid, especially for a Slytherin, he decided to be the Potter boy's friendly ear.
"I defeated a Dark Lord by the name of Voldemort when I was a year old. He came back in my first year here at Hogwarts, and I've basically managed to defeat him every year since. But this last spring, I believed a false vision sent by Voldemort and ended up getting Sirius, my godfather, killed. He was the only one who loved me unconditionally for who I was, not what I had done. And I killed him. I killed . . . him . . ." Harry collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He sobbed quietly for a few minutes and then began speaking again, anger now filling his emerald eyes.
"I can't stand it now that he's gone. Everyone pretends that everything's okay, and they all believe me when I say I'm fine. I'm not fine, but nobody wants to look beneath the surface. And then they're all pressuring me to date this girl who I know I could never date because she's my best friend's sister and she's a girl and I don't want to date a girl! I don't like girls! They're frail and weak and clingy and they cry too much! And I just . . . can't! I want someone else, like Malfoy, although I'll never tell him that because he's a prat and I hate him and he hates me, and that's good, but then I can't be with him, and I want to, but everyone would think I'm insane and I can't because people would hate me and I just can't!"
He pressed his palms against the hard floor, gasping for air as he tried to breathe after his long rant. Emotionally spent, he waited for the portrait to give an utterly Slytherin response. Instead, Braden said, softly, "Ross was a Gryffindor. Page 54 might help." Then he walked out of the frame, leaving it empty.
Five minutes passed, in which Harry gathered himself together. He couldn't let anyone see him all torn up like he was. He wasn't ready to show anyone the truth. Instead, he would keep pretending and in the meantime, look up page 54 and see what it could do to help him.
He thus tore page 54 out of the book and left the library to go to his next class.
Influences: Finch and The Used
Note: This story is spawned out of my insane obsession for analyzing things, especially Harry's mind. I also think that it would be amazing if there were a spell where there could be an entire day that no matter what happened, no one would remember it. You could do anything that you're too afraid to do, and if you were rejected or ridiculed, no one would remember.
Please review, because reviews really do help motivate me. Keep reading, too, but marvelous things will begin to happen. I can't unveil them yet, but know that you will enjoy them! Oh, and I promise no long waits between updates because I have quite a bit of the story written already. So, expect Part two sometime before December 1.
Have a great day!
Roslyn.