Summary-In which Harry Potter can not bring himself to actually care about how people see him, things like pride and dignity were thrown away long ago. But then again, eleven years under a stair case will do that to you.

Authors Note- Eh, It was just an idea, nothing to take too seriously, if at all. Still my darlings, be gentle. I own nothing and update at my leisure.

Warnings- Language, something is seriously wrong with my Harry, does any get those happy cat posters?, Harry's English assignment is the best ever and if I had the guts to do what Harry did, I would. Oh, porn with plot written by Harry and weird as hell interpretation of fairy tales and ancient Greek art.

Chapter One- Porn with plot or Symbolic Tragedy? (Harry's English Assignment.)

.

.

.

.

Harry Potter, resident bad-ass, child-gone-wrong, burden of number four Privet Drive, stared dully at the pink poster featuring a hideously fat and smiling cat and contemplating how such bright colors were imposing their will on his emotions. Okay, not really. What he was really trying to do was understand why any higher being would let such a creature exist, all the while ignoring the stuttering mess that was his very much embarrassed teacher.

Thin fingers raked through a wild mess of red hair as the man in his mid thirties read out what Harry would forever call his greatest masterpiece- his English assignment.

"She blushed, panting and squirming on the spot but not knowing why. He hadn't even touched her, at least not physically. His voice though, soft and low whispered such naughty, naughty little secrets into her ear as he leaned partially across the tree, allowing her to breathe in the gentle scent of wood and what had to be the forest air. Fire seared across her skin where she felt his moist breath hit her exposed neck, saliva pooling at the back of her throat and refusing to wet her dry tongue."

Mister Craver's tone raised in pitch, his voice choking within his throat but he kept reading, his blue eyes darting across the page with urgency.

"Red couldn't move, frozen to the spot as the beast before her growled into the junction between her throat and shoulder, sending a cold and yet blazing spark of something unnameable through her. His claws, sharp and deadly scraped across her small waist and drew her in and she wanted so badly, so desperately, to let the beast consume her in ways she just couldn't imagine without jerking out with a cry of-" Finally the teacher threw the paper down on his desk, his own self looking a little out of breath as he slumped against his chair.

Blinking, Harry tore his eyes away from the deformed and obese feline to look at the teacher who had called him from his art class to talk to him about his written assignment and now looked oddly...parched. "Did you need some water, Mister Craver?" Harry cocked his head to the side, all innocence despite the account he had written the night before.

The red haired man tugged on his tie, loosening the collar and unbuttoning the first two buttons, all the while waving away the ten year-old Harry's offer. "Harry," He tried, licking his lips to gain some form of hydration. "I don't think you understood the assignment." Having watched the boys indifferent reaction to it, he couldn't deny the boy had written it.

The green eyed boy frowned, nothing but a small furrow of his brow. "I don't understand, Sir. Wasn't I supposed to rewrite a fairy tale? I choose Little Red Ridding Hood, did I do something wrong?"

He coughed, obviously uncomfortable but Harry for the life of him couldn't understand why. "N-no, not particularly. But one of the conditions of the assignment was that every students story was to remain as canonical as possible."

Harry nodded, "And I did, Sir."

Mister Craver fumbled with the twenty-two page smut story the ten year old had brought in, beaming with pride the morning just passed, rearranging pages and straightening them out. "No, Harry. I don't think you did."

The boy huffed but said with all the certainty a child of his age could, "Little Red totally wanted up on all that Wolf, Sir. Why else would she stray from her path?"

"I-" The teacher started, but it was too late. He had already awakened Harry James Potters inner literacy interpreter.

"It's symbolic, Sir! Clearly the road is meant to signify the path she treads as a pure child, cooped up in her own little world and guarded by her mother. Then along comes a wolf- a man of the world, jaded and knowing, he's seen it all- he sees Red, glorious and pure Red. She's humming, ignorant to the view outside her narrow path, blindly following the will of her mother and grandmother! She is everything he wishes for, that little bit of light in his world of darkness and instantly he knows he needs to own it, keep the little flame huddled by his wretched heart. He doesn't understand love, only want, only possession!" Harry cried passionately, standing from his chair and reaching out to catch something in the distance before bringing it close to his heart, where he cradled it.

"He meets her where the path comes to a wedge, it's there he means to seduce her, to lure her into his world of unending night. He doesn't use gentle words, no he uses his body and whispers to her delightfully sinister things, things little Red has never know of before and they call to her, he calls to her." Harry twirls, arms opening to embrace something.

"She steps off her path, it's love she says, it's lust he says. And she's hurt but eager to show him that what he feels for her is so much more than physical. She weaves flowers into his hair, flowers that form sentences and little secret messages he doesn't know of. And in the stillness of the night, he takes her, again and again and again!" He twirls around and around, collapsing on the carpeted floor with a forlorn expression. "And each night she tells him she loves him and each night he calls her foolish."

Harry rolls over on his stomach, his little legs kicking sadly in the air, "Until one night she finally believes him. She is being foolish, he cannot love her and she simply leaves, stepping back onto that path he cannot follow. Panicked and angered, the Wolf releases a deadly howl, blood lust on his tongue and hurt in his heart. He vows to have her one way or another, he remembers what lies at the end of the path and beats her to her prize, destroying it so that no other can hold the place this old and dreary woman seems to hold for his Red."

He leaps up once more, doing some complicated ballet move as he tells his soap opera tale. "It's there he pretends to be the woman Red loves, so sure that what he wants is Red's light he devours her, takes pride in her anguished screams and the taste of her blood on his lips, then there is nothing. Nothing but silence and what should have been that glorious feeling of victory but he is alone and he hurts, my god does he hurt."

The boy smiles, sad and just that little bit lonely. "She is gone, and he realizes he loved her all along. Somewhere, he doesn't know when exactly, he had fallen for more than her light. Was it when she smiled at him that first time? When she gently carded her fingers through his matted fur? Or perhaps when she stepped off her path, willing to place her trust in a wolf. Maybe he loved her before their story even began, maybe before anyone set pen to paper he had given over his heart without a thought."

Harry turned wide eyes to his teacher, large and sparkling with emotion, "That is the story I tell, Sir. Their story beyond the good and the bad, the black and the white, the light and the dark. It's a story full of tragedy, of recognition, self discovery. Beyond the small scenes of intimacy, there is a tragic and lesson giving tale to tell."

The red haired teacher narrowed his eyes, "Harry, you wrote porn and about two fairy tale characters too. One of which was an animal who ended up eating the other after sex during which she thought he was her grandmother."

The dark haired boy gasped, looking for the world like someone had confessed to killing his pet rabbit who turned straw to gold after eating it as he clutched at the spot his heart was located. "There is far too much plot for it to be porn, Sir, far too much!"

Picking up the stack of papers, Mister Craver rifled through them, quickly doing a mental count as he moved through the pages and finally coming to a conclusion, "You wrote twenty-two pages, Harry. In those twenty-two pages there are exactly nineteen sex scenes."

Harry shrugged, his expression a little regretful, "Well, I needed to have some dialogue," He huffed. "And it was symbolic sex, Sir. Symbolic sex!"

"Really? Would you mind telling me what this scene symbolizes?" The teacher cleared his throat, having obviously forgotten the age of his student sometime after Harry had walked into the room. "She whimpered, drawn out and wanton as she pushed herself closer to her wolf, anything to get that heat he brought out in her. He paused with a chuckle, finding her sweet keening to be the most glorious of sounds, but not nearly as wonderful as when she begged, down on all fours looking up at him with glazed eyes and incoherent words flowing from her pretty little tongue. This is how he wanted her, twitching with need only for him."

Harry rolled his eyes, pushing his too large glasses up the bridge of his nose to look at the older man as if the answer was obvious and he was clearly an idiot for not understanding it. "He's dominating her to show his ignorance about his feelings. He thinks this is what he wants, he just get it yet. That scene shows his will to impose his superiority on her, it shows his insecurities as a male and his need to pull himself up on a pedestal for her to see."

"And what about this one?" The teacher read once more, "He didn't know where it was coming from, he swore it couldn't be from the depths of his heart, that useless organ couldn't be more redundant. But his lips wouldn't stop moving, 'I wish those perfect lips of your would open and let out cries of ecstasy. I wish I could feel you squirm beneath me, your hot breath all over my bare skin and tears of pleasure pooling in your eyes. I want to feel your lithe thighs wrapped around my hips, your chest pressed against mine and I want to hear you moan my name against my neck. I want to feel the press of your hip bones as you buck wildly against me, your hair tangled in my fingers and your nails, those small claws of yours tearing into my skin as you scream, more, faster, harder. I want your everything.'"

Harry smiled fondly at the back of the paper from his spot on the ridiculously small and plastic neon green chair, "Ah, that's when he starts realizing that his feelings are a little deeper than he likes. It's a turning point, he's too far gone to let her go, it would be agony. But he can't risk letting himself have feelings. So he distances himself, he runs from the heart he shuns."

Mister Craver honestly wanted to know if this was how the boy truly viewed his porn with plot or if he was just making shit up on the spot. If it was the latter...he was doing a pretty good job. He sighed, exasperated, "All right, an 'A' for creativity, I guess." With a red pen he places the mark on the report that was due in a few weeks, ready to be sent to parents.

Harry smiled, reaching out to grab his recount when a quickly shouted, "No!" Stopped him, his entire body freezing as he zeroed his eyes on the now standing teacher.

Mister Craver, giggled nervously, clearing his throat. "Ah-no. I, ah, I'm going to need to take that home for further analyzing ofthe...the..."

"Intricate emotional responses? The complicated relationship between the main characters? The many metaphors?" Harry supplied.

"I was hoping to focus more on that symbolism."

Harry shrugged, "Whatever you want, Sir. Now if you don't mind I have a finger painting of the Greek, 'Pan copulating with goat' from the Pompeii exhibition to finish." He grinned, "It's for my art assignment, we're using a different media to express famous works of art!"