Disclaimer: I don't own anything really. I am obviously not Rowling, and this is obviously not for profit. All this is just for my own fun. Also, the lyrics are not mine either, they're Matthew West's "Family Tree".

Authors Note: This... is going to be a very long story. Actually, it may even become three long stories. It will be SLAAAAASH. If you're not a fan, you have been warned ;). Also... it will, eventually, be slash of the Harry/Draco variety. I'm giving that away so anyone who reads this can calmly make the decision whether to read it or not.

I'm not certain I'll ever actually write any hard sex scenes, because I think I'm a bit of an anxious and nervous person and I feel I may royally screw it up.

Now, please enjoy my little tale.

You didn't ask for this

Nobody ever would

Caught in the middle of this dysfunction

His eyes remained transfixed on the mounds of earth surrounding the rosebush. Beneath the sweating, blue petals and thorny branches, tall, a tall dark weed had begun to grow. He imagined it for a moment. The feeling of being suffocated, drained of all life, for the purpose of an others growth. His hand came up to pull at his pale fringe in an anxious gesture.

When Pansy pushed at him gently, Draco nearly passed out at being disturbed from the mounting pressure of his anxiety.

"Are you feeling well, Draco?" she asked, worry clouding over dark eyes, "You didn't even react when Mcgonagall dismissed us."

He was breathless, and his arms felt hollow. The blond managed a small smile anyway.

"I'm fine, Pans. I swear," he told her, trying his best to erase the hint of unease that threatened to give his emotions away.

Her dark eyebrows fell together. Beside her, a dark arm reached out to feel his forehead. Draco held himself back from swatting the offending appendage away.

"Calm down, Pansy," Blaise scolded, "his temperature is normal. He'll live."

Draco ignored Pansy's vehement retort and Blaise's neutral tone in favour of collecting his belongings. The three hurried out the door, down to the Great Hall for lunch.

While the argument between his two friends carried on over winding steps and passing archways, Draco found himself back with the roses. He tried to ignore the thoughts but he kept thinking and thinking of how they lay there, choking and sweating and slowly dying. He thought and thought about how they would die, and that would be it. They would no longer bloom and they would no longer give off their perfume to the bees. Instead some thick, gangly, clingy weeds would grow. Death for life.

Draco's thoughts finally gave way to reality as he crashed in to something tall and fleshy.

He barely heard Pansy's scared murmur of Draco or the arrogant, self-righteous huff of Ferret! When his eyes lifted and he stared straight in to green.

Like the bush, Draco thought absently, or like the weeds.

He pushed himself away, and nearly tripped when he ran towards the doors leading outside. He ran without taking note of Pansy's worried calls, or Blaise's angry tone, or Weasley's guffaws. He didn't care for Potter's bewildered look.

Draco ran until he was outside, and then ran down the slope towards the gardens.

He stopped in front of the roses, and stared.

Slowly, Draco knelt to the ground. His knees squelched in the damp earth, and his eyes found the stems of the weeds. The blond reached forward, softly grabbing the weed around it's stem and pulled.

It gave, roots and all.

He smiled.

"Malfoy?" a gentle voice came from behind him.

He whirled around quickly, smile vanishing and replaced in one instant with his usual icy glare. Gone was the anxiety threatening to strangle him. In turn, his sense of self came back to him with a resounding crash of reality.

"What is it, Lardbottom?" he flung venomously at the Gryffindor.

Longbottom made his way towards Draco cautiously. His dark brown eyes taking in the scene before him. The blonde narrowed his grey eyes and peered down his nose haughtily at the other boy, his stance threatening and tense.

When Longbottom finally reached Draco, he knelt slowly to the ground. The brunette eyed the weed still clutched tightly in Draco's fist.

"Tell me, Malfoy, did the weed offend you?" Longbottom asked, cautiously but not without a trace humour.

Draco felt his face warm suddenly. Longbottom snickered lightly.

"I-I'll have you know that I was simply collecting this weed for a potion I'm to make later this week and-"

"Look, Malfoy, I understand," Longbottom interrupted, smiling all the while, "weeds offend me too. How dare they try to steal the place of far prettier plants?"

Draco lowered his eyes to look at the aforementioned offender still clutched tightly in his hand. It was green, prickly, and utterly distasteful. He could do nothing but agree with Longbottom on that count. Not to his face, however, because then he'd seem...soft.

"Whatever you say, Lard-bottom," he spat, "I couldn't care less for the... prettiness of plants. If they have no use, then I see no point in their existence."

The blonds attempt at covering up his apparently psychotic urge to save the rosebush did little to darken Longbottoms increasingly warming brown eyes. A smile was slowly creeping over Longbottom's face.

Draco scowled, pushed himself up, pocketed the weed, and glared at the other boy. Longbottom did nothing but hum and begin to gently feel the petals of the rose closest to himself. The Slytherin brushed his trousers off, and sauntered away.

~~~Wilting~~~

"I don't understand, Draco!" Pansy shrieked, "Why, in the name of Merlin, did you feel the need to run off like a madman?"

Draco scowled. It's not like it even matters, he thought. He did not, however, interrupt the raving Slytherin.

"You left us there with those bloody-bloody..."

"Saviours of the Wizarding World?" Blaise added helpfully. Draco snorted.

"Shut it! And snorting is unbecoming of you-you... Ferret-face psycho!" Pansy was turning an odd shade of purple now, "We had to try to save face while you went ... to what? Roll in the mud?"

Draco sighed, eyes turning slowly to the mildewy cobblestone of the dungeon ceiling.

"Save whose faces?" Draco asked her, softly, "The former Deatheater and his sympathizers faces? Surely theirs aren't faces worth saving."

Blaise clucked his tongue. The blond returned his gaze to the girl in front of him.

Pansy's face had paled considerably. Her eyes widened for a split second, before welling with tears.

"Stupid!" She shrieked, before running off to her room.

Draco watched her go, feeling his face pink with shame. He hadn't mean't for her to be hurt by it. But...

It's the truth.

"You never did have any tact, but now..." Blaise peered at him through lowered lids, "Now you've simply become an arse."

"Blaise?" Draco's gentle tone denied the sudden threatening atmosphere that surrounded the blonde.

"Yes, Draco?" the other Slytherin answered, somewhat confused. The blond's eyes narrowed threateningly, his mouth slowly turning in to a sneer.

"Go fetch me some biscuits from the kitchens," he unquestionably commanded, "do not return until you've found my favourites."

Zabini's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he realized the threat laced within the other Slytherin's dismissal. He quickly jumped up and made a beeline for the Slytherin entrance. Draco smirked as his friend nearly tripped over a large cobblestone.

"At least I still inspire some fear," Draco murmured.

"Yeah," Vincent Crabbe agreed in an empty voice.

Draco turned his focus to the silent boy beside him. He'd barely realised the other was in the room. Vincent's eyes were staring up, vacantly. His mouth was slightly open and his breath was coming in and out heavily, yet he made no sound. His skin was paler than Draco's own, and he had lost a few pounds since the beginning of the year. The blonds eyes lowered thoughtfully.

Draco shifted a little, so he could reach in to his pocket. The weed was still there.

Such a horrible thing, the Malfoy heir thought, mildly disgusted, I wonder...

~~~Wilting~~~

He roved gently between the bookcases. The pads of his fingers lightly skimming the titles. Winnona's Wicked Weeds, Weeding with Wilfred, When the Weird Weeds Wilt, he pulled from their homes. The blond slung them under his arm with a little difficulty due to their weight. He made his way to the back of the library.

Draco seated himself at a table near a window. The small wooden table was located far in the back of the library. It was glowing softly in the light, covered in a layer of dust from disuse. Here, behind rows and rows of bookcases, he was hidden.

He cast a quick cleaning charm. Relaxing in to his seat, Draco gently pulled the weed from his pocket. He examined it thoughtfully. Green, a deep green. Draco traced the stem gently. A sudden pain sprouted at his fingertip. The Slytherin pulled his finger back and watched as tiny rivulets of blood dripped from his finger on to the table.

Sharp, incredibly sharp.

He cast a quick healing charm before opening Weeding with Wilfred. The blond rummaged through the tome in search of the weed he had in his possession.

Deep green, incredibly sharp.

He paused at page 509. There it was! A slow smile of victory broke over his face. It was an uncontrolled thing, simply blooming in the warmth of the sun.

The Caedes Cornix is a variety of plant that grows in tandem with the Blue Rosebush known as the Risum de Cornix (see Botanical Beauties p.1029). It evolved as a parasite from it's ancestor, the common Venini Radicis, a few generations after the creation of the Blue Rosebush. Caedes Cornix grows by latching itself in to the roots of the Risum de Cornix, slowly tangling itself in the very fragile roots of the Rosebush, until it's able to fully imbed its own roots to the more delicate ones. Once fully entwined, the once normal sized weed can no longer be removed without magical aid. If left to its own devices, the Caedes Cornix will quickly overtake the Blue Rosebush, robbing it of all its nutrients until it is nothing more than deadheads. Many Herbologists grow the Risum de Cornix with the intention of allowing the Caedes Cornix to thrive. While the Blue Rosebush is beautiful, it is essentially useless. The Caedes Cornix, however, has many uses, and is especially versatile, as it is used in a plethora of Potions ranging from Healing to Dark as its leaves and roots are perfect for balancing...

Draco's smile had long vanished.

Beautiful, but essentially useless.

~~~Wilting~~~

The essay he had written on the effects of Rowan in Healing Draughts burnt slowly. The flames seemed to consume it with slow gluttony. His legs shook in terror. He lowered himself to the ground before the flames, almost with reverence.

But Merlin it was hot. The heat rolled off the parchment as it burned, warming his face. He wouldn't be able to save it. He could never save it. He could never save-the fire-oh it burned hot-it boiled-when Goyle had-Goyle was-

Somewhere, someone was pulling him away from the flame. Pansy was yelling.

"Get him away from it, Merlin, Draco get-"

"Draco, c'mon mate, Draco listen, it's just-"

"Malfoy, bloody hell, don't touch-"

Vincent was crying.

Suddenly there was a whoosh. The flame steamed as the Aguamenti doused it just as his fingers prodded the parchment.

"Merlin, Malfoy, what were you thinking? You could've burnt yourself," Longbottom was drawn up, pale in the candlelight of the dungeons. Oh, but they didn't understand.

Draco looked up at the Gryffindor.

"I...it was my only copy," he told the boy-no, man. Hero.

Longbottom's eyes narrowed, he glanced about. His soft, brown hair swinging belatedly as he swiveled around to face their other classmates.

"Who did this? How could anyone think setting a fire would be a smart idea?" Longbottom was raging. When had he become so confident as to face their peers with such justice-induced rage?

The war, moron.

Right.

Pansy knelt beside him. Her face pale, her hand shaking as she reached for his burnt essay.

"Oh Draco, it's ruined," her dark eyes were large and wet with pity.

"Oh," Draco replied. It had taken a long time to write. He was very passionate about potions, wasn't he? Instead of outrage, all the Slytherin felt was numb.

Blaise knelt beside his two friends. His dark features were twisted in to a terribly rage. He too trembled, but not with fear. Draco silenced any ensuing yelling the other may attempt with a hand to his friends arm. Blaise's eyes flashed up to meet his. Draco shook his head. Longbottom was still yelling at the rest of their classmates.

'What's going on?" Harry Potter asked as he arrived, late to the spectacle, "Why's Malfoy on-"

"Harry, mate, someone's set Malfoy's essay on fire," Weasley filled him in, "he was trying to touch it and Neville had to put it out before-"

"Shut it," Pansy hissed at the redhead, "it's none of your bloody business!"

"For all we know, it was you who set the damn fire!" Blaise shrieked at Weasley as he stood to glare at the Golden triumvirate. Weasley looked affronted.

"Why in the name of Merlin's white arse would I do that?"

"Ron would never stoop to that level!" Granger piped up, "He's not like that and you know it, Zabini!"

"Why would you even-" Potter was beginning to say.

Draco's focus on the argument shifted as Longbottom nudged his arm with his own leg. The Gryffindor stood, looking down with determination, hand held out to Draco. Draco looked at the offending offering before sighing and taking the hand.

As he was helped up the door to the Potion's classroom finally opened, and Slughorn stood eyeing up the situation. The class froze.

"Twenty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor both," the old coot said, as he finished assessing the lot of them, "Also, Mr. Malfoy, when class is over, come see me in my office."

~~~Wilting~~~

"Mr. Malfoy, I was under the impression, due to the notes of my predecessor-"

"You mean, Severus Snape?" Draco cut in, staring beyond Slughorn at the damp wall of the Potions professor's office.

"Yes," Slughorn corrected, "professor Snape, forgive me. You have my condolences. I understand the two you were...close?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally, eyes trained on the stone of the wall. He was only my Godfather.

"Yes, well," the Potion Master coughed, "he quite clearly states that you have always held a kind of, affinity, no, passion for the fine art of brewing. He also states your skill level is high enough to back it up."

Draco shrugged again, still examining the wall. Slughorn cleared his throat again.

"Well, then, Mr. Malfoy, please do explain to me how it is you've failed to hand in three essays to date," Slughorn's voice held a tick of irritation.

Draco's eyes roved upwards to examine the tapestry that hung from the ceiling of the office.

"Severus," Draco started, "would never have hung such a dreadful travesty from his ceiling. He was quite proud of his minimalist lifestyle."

Draco finally turned his gaze to the professor seated before him. He leaned forward.

"I think," he whispered conspiratorially, "that he lived his life simply and without distraction because he thoroughly enjoyed the idea of being a martyr for the fine art of brewing."

Slughorn paled, before flushing a deep maroon.

"Mr. Malfoy, please answer the question!"

Draco yawned.

"I completed them, your abysmally boring essays," Draco explained, "but they've all mysteriously disappeared, or, as you've seen today, been destroyed. If you'd like, I could just give you an oral recount of the Properties of Phoenix Feathers, or perhaps, you'd better enjoy an actual brewing of the Draught of the Living Dead? No? How about a few love potion's of actual high calibre. Unlike the cheap ones you can get off Knockturn for a knut."

Slughorn sighed. He rubbed his temples with his fingers.

"I thought as much," Slughorn said tiredly, "you're not the only one either. It seems my House keeps mysteriously losing their property. But ... that's neither here nor there, I would like to offer you an alternative, a way to make up your lost marks."

"And this alternative would be?" Draco eyed the tired man warily.

"I would like for you to work as my assistant throughout the year," Slughorn said, "I will assess how you work and your marks shall be made according to your effort and skill. Then, when you take your NEWTs, and with the high probability of full marks, you shall have completed your course workload as well."

Draco stared at the man. If he hadn't suffered years of etiquette training, he would probably have been gaping like a fish.

"Why do this?" the blonde questioned, having collected himself, "What is the point of doing this for me?" What's in it for you?

Slughorn eyed the boy with something akin to pity.

"Do I take this as a yes?"

Draco looked at the man, and sighed again.

"I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

~~~Wilting~~~

Theodore's eye was an angry purple and blue. His lip was split and his robe torn near his left sleeve, displaying a bloody scar. He was trying to sit as still as he possibly could as Pansy dabbed the cuts clean. She would cast some healing spells after she was sure there would be no danger of infection. Always thinking ahead, that Pansy.

Blaise paced the center of the common room like a caged animal. His dark eyes were storming with rage. His hands were shaking, his breath coming in raggedly.

"It could've been worse," Theodore Nott tried to calm the other Slytherin.

Blaise stopped pacing, and faced the other Slytherin.

"How?!" Blaise screeched, "Please explain to me how exactly any of this could be worse? How we can't even hand in assignments-can't even walk around by ourselves. The war is over and we can't even feel safe!"

"It could've been one of the First Years," Theodore interjected softly, "they could've actually tried to kill me. They could've-"

"Tsk, that's enough Theo," Pansy said softly, "Blaise understands. Stop talking or you'll make the cut worse."

Blaise lowered himself shakily next to Draco on the sofa. The blonde's gaze was caught in the fireplace. He seemed to be entirely unaware of his surroundings.

"Draco, what are we going to do?" he asked the blonde, "It's not getting any better. The younger Slytherins get bullied just as much. They're kids Draco. And us? We're nothing anymore. We can't even walk outside without being spit on, or worse." Blaise motioned towards Theodore.

Draco turned from the fire to gaze at his bloody peer. He could barely stand it.

Blood, it's all that matters. Blood and bones. But it's all ash eventually.

"Blaise, take Pansy to her room," he told Zabini, who looked about to contradict him, "Don't worry. I'll see to Nott."

Blaise glanced back at Pansy. Her face was ashen and her fingers trembled. She could barely keep back her tears. Blaise nodded to Draco, and stood. He walked towards the girl, gently removed the clothe from her hand, all the while mumbling soothing words.

When they left, Draco stood and made his way to the other boy. Theodore glanced up at him and smiled brokenly. The cut on his lip stretched painfully, tearing more skin.

"You look like shit, Draco," Theodore informed him with a dry humour. Draco laughed softly.

"Sorry, I've not any reason to do myself up anymore," he informed the beaten and bruised Slytherin.

Theodore chanced a slight touch of his hand to Draco's wrist as it came up to wipe away the new blood coming from Theo's lip. His fingers gently drew the hand away from his lip, to rest at the side of his face. Draco's eyes shifted from the broken lip to the left ear.

"You don't look at me anymore," Theodore whispered, "you don't look at any of us."

"I can't. It's ... we're not..." Draco glanced towards the fire again, "We're not ... complete anymore, Theo."

Theodore's lids fell shut. Too heavy to keep them open in the crushing weight of silence. Neither spoke another word as Draco finished his healing. His absence was too loud.

He stood in front of the Blue Rosebush once again, eyeing the ghastly Caedes Cornix that had sprouted in little over two days. This one wasn't nearly as tall as the last had been, but it seemed to grow even as he observed it. Draco was shocked by its persistence.

How disgusting, he thought, as he eyed the tango the Caedes Cornix seemed to be doing with the Risum de Cornix. The delicate, blue petals of the rosebush were utterly violated by the presence of the weed. Draco knelt to the ground before it.

Just as he reached out his hand, he heard a gentle voice behind him.

"Malfoy," Neville Longbottom began, "if you're going to be using the Caedes Cornix for a potion, you'd best wait for it to fully overtake the roses. They need to wilt before the weed can be of any use to you."

Draco's hand stilled and rested on top of the weed. His head whipped around to glare at the Gryffindor.

"What, are you stalking me now? I'll have you know, I'm working as-" Longbottom's hand came up to silence the blonde.

"Yeah, I heard," Longbottom said with a rueful smile, "Sprout's got me working as her assistant. She and Slughorn get on well enough. Tell's her everything, that one. Still doesn't explain why Slughorn would need a useless plant."

Draco eyed the other warily. His fingers tightened on the weed, grasping the sharp stem as he felt the tiny prickles cut open his fingers. He pulled it up, out of the ground, smoothly. Neville's smile grew.

"Smug," Draco noted. Neville shrugged carelessly, hands lowering in to the pockets of his denims. Muggle, Draco thought condescendingly at the other.

"Maybe," the Gryffindor conceded. Draco rolled his eyes and drew his wand. He cast an incendio on the Caedes Cornix, then picked himself up off the ground. Once on his feet, he noted with some resentment that the Gryffindork had somehow grown taller than him.

"Whatever, you overgrown freak," Draco spat out, scathingly, "I don't have time for this."

"Doubt that. If you've enough time to garden," he ignored Draco's protests, "you've enough time to grab a pint with me."

Draco scoffed at that.

"I wasn't gardening," Draco argued. Neville laughed.

"Oh, really? Malfoy, from where I'm standing it certainly-"

"It doesn't matter!" Draco interrupted, "I don't have time to grab a pint. I'll never have the time. Not for the likes of you."

Neville sighed, walked a few paces forward until he was looming over the blonde, and swiftly snatched Draco's wand. Draco stood, eyes wide and utterly shellshocked. He flushed angrily and snarled, lunging at the other.

"Ah, ah, ah," Neville grinned, "enough of that. It's my hostage now. I'll give it back if you come with me. And behave, or at the very least, try."

Draco stomped his foot. He balled his hands up in to fists in his frustration. Eyeing the other. Fucking Gryffindor persistence. Fucking Lardbottom. Fucking saviours. Fucking heroes.

"... Fine," Draco spat out, "lead the way, Lardbottom."

Well, there's the first chapter. Not much of a cliffhanger. Hope you enjoyed. Read and review please. :)

~Pip.