Title: Make Me Scene
Pairing: HD, a bit of R/Hr
Warnings: emo!Harry, slash, crackfic-ish, AU sixth year.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all things such related are copyright J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, am making no profit, and mean no harm by spinning my amusing little tales. I'm but a lowly student low on the pocket change, so please don't feel offended.
Summary: Harry spends a summer holiday in America and re-organizes his priorities. How will his friends - and not-so-friends - react to the re-invented Boy-Who-Lived?

xXxXxXxXx

Chapter One

"Well, We're just a Wet Dream for the Webzine
Make us it, Make us hip, Make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word that we wrote."
- "London Beckons," Panic! At The Disco.

Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat in his office on the last day of the term sucking idly on a lemon drop and pondering his unfathomable genius. Tapping the pads of his fingers together he smiled ever-so-softly, wondering if there was any way for this plan of his to go than off without a hitch.

In recent years during the annual sorting ceremony, the Sorting Hat had been giving, in place of fanciful tales about the four houses, somewhat frightening warnings to the faculty and students of Hogwarts concerning the lack of unity within the castle walls. Dumbledore agreed whole-heartedly with the old heirloom of Godric Gryffindor: the only problem was the way to go about orchestrating it. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs presented no real problem, both houses featuring boys and girls of honor, learning, and above all, understanding.

No, the problem came between the two houses that had been embroiled in a bitter rivalry since before Dumbledore ever assumed the position of Headmaster: Gryffindor and Slytherin. Being that the two houses were the more powerful of the four, and seemed to have the most sway over the student body, their constant bickering kept the enitre school in a perpetual state of unrest.

But, in the wizened Headmaster's eyes, all that was about to change.

Popping a new lemon drop into his mouth, eyes twinkling just as merrily as they always did, Albus leaned back in his cushy armchair and sighed.

Yes, he thought. Everything will turn out more than fine.

xXxXxXxXx

Several days before the end of term, a growing horde of students fresh from breakfast were crowded around an over-large bulletin board posted in the entryway just outside of the Great Hall. A boy with raven-coloured, tousled hair in shabby hand-me-downs stood with his two best friends, at the frays on tip toes, attempting to see what everyone was crowding around.

"What do you think it is?" Ron asked, a sort of scowl on his face as he attempted to crane his body over the head of a sixth-year Ravenclaw and failed miserably.

"Something to do with Hogsmeade?" Hermione offered from Harry's other side, holding herself with quite a bit more dignity than the two boys, but all the same continuously darting curious glances at the board.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, eyes widening a tad as he realized students were signing their names on various papers tacked to the board. "There wouldn't be so much excitement for something so commonplace."

A familiar drawling voice sounded like an anvil dropping behind them. "Don't tell me no one told you and your little friends, Potter."

Harry frowned and turned slowly, knowing exactly whom the voice belonged to. Now standing before him was none other than his Slytherin rival, Draco Malfoy - easily the most annoying, snide, and shrewd member of the house you could face - flanked on both sides by his closest friends Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry asked tiredly. He really was sick of Draco acting like he knew twice as much as he did at any given time. He hated even more when the Slytherin was right.

Pansy snorted, tossing her lengthy black hair out of her eyes, and pointed behind him at the board. "Honestly, Potter, could you be more dense? They're rosters for students who want to holiday abroad via the school." She smirked dangerously. "Of course, only those of us without the family standing, connections, and money -" she stressed, looking pointedly at Ron who flushed angrily. " - to take real holidays every year would even consider such nonsense."

Harry growled at the overt threats to him and his friends. Never mind the fact that the death of his parents was nothing Harry had control over, the Slytherins never passed up a chance to rub his lack-of-pureblood, orphan-status in his face. With a smirk and a haughty wave, Draco and his troupe sauntered off into the Great Hall, snickering loudly at the Gryffindor trio.

Hermione laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just let it go, Harry. They're not worth it."

Ron's eyes flashed in agreement. "Right, mate. Don't let it get to you."

Harry nodded, and turned back to the rosters, noting with pleasure that during their tiff with the Slytherins some of the students had cleared out. Moving closer, Harry eyed the individual rosters with interest, his eyes resting first on a rules sheet in the middle. "Shall I read the rules off?" He called back to Ron and Hermione with a quick look, and smiled as they nodded excitedly.

"A new Summer Holiday Abroad program is now open to enrolling sixth- and seventh- years. Many wizarding communities scattered across the globe have agreed to take in those from our own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as exchange students, in order to provide our ever-maturing student populous -" Ron interrupted with a snarky comment about how McGonagall must have written the notice, which earned him a kick to the shin from Hermione and a sympathetic grin from Harry. "-with the chance to understand various cultures of the world and become more well-rounded, productive, and understanding members of wizarding society.

"Holdiays will take place during the entire summer holiday - from the last week of June to the last week of August. Please take care not to sign up for a trip if you believe you cannot leave home for the duration." Harry snorted. What he wouldn't give to be able to go on holiday abroad and never have to return to the Dursley's.

"Sponsored Countries: Italy, Germany, France, Bulgaria, Russia, Japan, America, Brazil."

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "How are you ever supposed to pick just one of those countries? It's so fascinating to meet witches and wizards from opposite parts of the world."

Ron scoffed and replied somewhat bitterly, "We all know you have your heart set on Bulgaria, anyway, Hermy-own-ninny." Hermione blushed a deep red and Harry chuckled just a bit, though the sound caught in his throat as his bushy-haired friend threw a glare his way.

"Well," she retorted, "What country were you thinking of, then?"

"There's not much of a selection, is there?" Ron replied, tapping a finger to his temple in thought. His face broke into a sly grin "But as long as it's free ..."

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione breathed in exasperation as Ron pulled a quill from his pocket, shut his eyes, and stabbed his quill randomly at one of the rosters. He landed on Brazil. Shrugging unconcernedly to Harry, he scribbled his name on the roster and nodded perceptively as it glowed a scarlet color in recognition.

"Well, I'm set." Ron nodded with a lopsided grin, as Hermione rolled her eyes and began to berate him for not taking "such a serious choice" earnestly.

The raven-haired Boy Who Lived had long since tuned his bickering friends out as he stared at the rosters. If someone had brought up the names of the countries available to him yesterday, he would have hardly been moved by one choice or another. But standing in front of the magical rosters now, he could hardly pretend he didn't feel his heartstrings being pulled at even the mention of one of the names. Harry couldn't explain the feeling, but he had hunches of this kind before, and they had always led him to something fruitful: his godfather Sirius, his closest friends, and more adventures and wide-eyed experiences than he could shake a stick at.

Green eyes locked on the roster before him, he reached up with a shaky hand and scrawled his name on the roster labeled, "America." His name glowed the same scarlet as Ron's did, and he wondered abjectly why barely any one else had signed up on the same roster. Harry noticed the name of a seventh-year Ravenclaw and a sixth-year Hufflepuff, but the three of them were the only ones on the list.

Harry got the answer to his musings far faster than he would have expected.

"Mate ..." Ron began, gazing confusedly at Harry's freshly-penned name. "Why ... America? What interest have you got in the Yanks?"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "There's just something about the idea of a holiday in America that I -"

"Wouldn't you rather see a country with a language and culture wholly different from ours?" Hermione interrupted as she reached forward to pen her name on the list to Bulgaria.

"I knew it!"Ron seethed.

Harry just shook his head and looked away, ending the conversation in a way he was prone to do since Sirius's death. Hermione bit her lip but didn't say anything, covering Ron's mouth and silencing him with a glare before he could speak.

"We had best go pack, then." Hermione quipped, smiling at Harry in what she hoped was a heartwarming way, as she lead the way back to Gryffindor tower.

xXxXxXxXx

Later that day, Harry found himself fidgeting nervously in a place he seemed prone to fidget lately: just outside Dumbedore's office. At the end of his Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall had handed him a summons from Dumbledore, for "as soon as he saw fit."

Of course, Harry had rushed straight over.

Waiting here was making him somewhat concerned. Obviously, if it was crucially important, it would have been an immediate summons. Wouldn't it? He was a little queasy as he thought about it: he realized that he hoped it wasn't about Voldemort, not because he feared facing him at this point - which he thought he'd much prefer plunging into it sooner rather than later - but because he wanted his own share of normalcy. His own carefree moments in the sun. Remembering the end of fourth year, seeing everyone hugging their new-found friends, gossiping and making plans for the summer, made him realize how much he wished sometimes that he wasn't Harry Potter.

Or, at least, not just Harry Potter.

He sighed, shaking his head and absently straightening his Gryffindor tie. Harry was contemplating weather or not he should knock, or just barge in, when Dumbledore's voice emanated pleasantly from inside his office. "Enter, please."

After pushing the door open slowly, he stole a glance around the room as he stepped over the threshold. The office looked much the same as he remembered it: a wide, circular room featuring strange machines whizzing and huffing in puffs of strange smoke in varying colours, a long wooden desk polished to a glossy sheen, and Dumbedore front-and-center behind it, fingers steepled before his lips and his ever-present twinkling eyes giving Harry an appraising glance.

"Ah, Harry. Please come in and have a seat." He waved his hand at the plush armchairs before him. Noting the Headmaster's pleasant tone, Harry calmed and plopped down in one, an expectantly curious glance on his face.

Dumbledore folded his arms before him on his desk, and fixed Harry with an unreadable expressions. "I wished to have a quick discussion with you about this," he began, turning slightly to procure something from his desk. He straightened and positioned a piece of parchment before Harry. Green eyes widened: it was the sign-up-sheet from the hall marked "America." He gulped and shifted his gaze back to Dumbledore, wary.

To his relief, the Headmaster did not seem angry, though he did not seem entirely pleased either. The twinkle in his eyes were gone, and he now fixed Harry with an expression both curious and concerned.

"I feel I must be frank with you, Harry, in light of recent events." Harry's gaze dropped to the face of the desk as memory threatened to wash over him. "I am not sure it is the wisest decision for you to leave the country, even more so the safety of your Aunt and Uncle's home, for such a long period of time unattended." The headmaster leaned back in his chair, noting the icy shift in Harry's demeanor with grim understanding. "I suppose I would just like to hear from yourself why you have decided to make this choice."

Harry fidgeted in place, staying silent. How could he possibly answer this question when he hadn't really known in the first place? When signing up, it had seemed like the best choice in the world, but with Dumbledore's concerned gaze on him he felt like he was loosing his bearings. He couldn't pretend that the thought of leaving the Dursleys for the summer wasn't something he jumped at, but to say so to Dumbledore now seemed foolish. Harry knew why he had to be there, and much as he despised it, he had come to accept it.

It didn't mean he was going to march back to their house every summer with a smile on his face.

"I just ..." Harry began as he stared at his feet, feeling more jumbled in thought that he had in awhile, and not liking what it reminded him of. "It felt like a good idea at the time, sir."

Dumbedore's eyes twinkled, unbeknownst to Harry, as he observed the boy. "And does it now?"

Harry raised his head. "Yes." He had answered faster than he meant to, and felt himself flush at his rudeness.

The Headmaster chuckled. "Well, at least you are certain."

"But I'm not!" Harry blurted out, surprised at how the words seemed to flood out of his mouth in a torrent. "Not entirely, anyway. I just remember feeling a sense of ... rightness, I suppose, when I was in the entryway signing my name on that paper. I think I've just realized that I would rather spend a summer on my own, out of the Dursley's house, away from the present, away from Ron and Hermione and the Order and Remus and-"

He stopped abruptly, unable to say the word that undoubtedly came next. Sirius's name hung heavy in the air all the same, unsaid and carrying a wavering feeling of Harry's pent-up despair at loosing yet another parental figure in his life. Dumbledore sighed heavily, hearing Harry's point ring truthfully throughout his office. And I fear he may loose a great deal more than that before this war is over, he thought. Would it do so much harm to indulge the boy just once?

"Interestingly enough, as your Head of House, Minerva has expressed the same sentiment as you on this matter." Harry's eyes widened; McGonagall was siding with him for once? "I have agreed with her, on the condition that you still wished for it. But let me warn you," Dumbledore pulled himself into a more rigid position, donning a more serious expression. "as I am sure you are aware, there are dangers afoot that will, I fear, trouble you regardless of the country you find yourself in. You must take the greatest of caution, and you will never be truly alone this summer. If you should ever need it, call for help: someone will always be able to assist you."

The Order, Harry thought with a mixture of relief and contempt. So the choice is go to the Dursley's or be tailed for the summer?

He looked up into Dumbledore's peaceful gaze. Harry smiled as he thought, Being followed really isn't that bad, is it?

"Of course, sir. I very much appreciate this."

The Headmaster smiled. "I believe you have a break between classes right now?" His eyes twinkled playfully. "I'm sure Mr. Weasely and Miss Granger are waiting in the hall for you, and it wouldn't be my place to keep you any longer from regailing them with tales of our discussion."

xXxXxXxXx

The summer came and went quickly, as it is prone to do, and once again the students of Hogwarts found themselves riding the Hogwarts Express: looking forward to another year of learning, mayhem, and teenage angst.

Already, it seemed, some had delved into the teenage angst a bit faster than others.

"Where do you suppose he could be?" Hermione paced frantically back and forth across the cramped compartment, tossing her bushy hair this way and that as she turned, face etched with distress as she bit her lip nervously.

Ron, lounged in one of the seats, was watching her pace and slowly becoming dizzy. Somewhat annoyed, he replied, "Hermione, keep your hair on! I'm sure Harry's got a reason for not boarding with everyone else, just like he had a reason for not wanting correspondence this summer. He can take care of himself, you know."

She glared at him. "How can you be so sure, Ron? He could have been mugged, or captured by renegade Death Eaters, or ..."

The red-head threw up a hand to stop her. "Listen, 'Mione. You've been like this all summer - every letter I got from you was about how worried you were for Harry on his own in America. Harry told us all about that discussion with Dumbledore before the end of last year, about Order members stationed there. If there was a chance that he was in serious danger, do you think Dumbledore would have let him go?"

Hermione stopped pacing at that, thinking. "Well ..."

"Definetly." Ron replied, nodding. "Now, stop all that pacing and have one of these Cauldron Cakes."

She frowned ever-so-slightly, fighting the upwards quirking of the edges of her lips, and flopped down in the seat across from Ron. She nodded and took the offered cake.

Good, Ron thought, lolling his head back against the seat. Anything's better than that constant bloody pacing ...

xXxXxXxXx

Draco sat with his fellow Slytherins on their side of the Great Hall, watching as it slowly filled with students, milling about and chatting with their friends. His eyes narrowed as he instinctively zeroed in on the Gryffindor table and realized the Golden Trio was short one member - also, that neither present seemed all too happy about it.

Blaise seemed to have noticed, too. He pointed at them and said, "Where do you think Potter's off to?"

Pansy tossed her hair and rolled her eyes, pointing at an empty seat at the staff table. "Probably smarming up the new Defence teacher somewhere." Draco smiled as she tapped her right foot against the floor in impatience. "Why is this taking so long, I'm bloody starving!"

"Well, it's not like you're going to waste away any time soon," Blaise replied with a smirk, earning a shocked gasp and a napkin to the face from Pansy.

Draco chuckled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head at his friends light-hearted bickering.

A hush fell over the hall and the atmosphere itself seemed to change, from one of excited greeting to one of stunned silence. Draco's eyes snapped open as he turned to Blaise and Pansy to ask what what the matter, but was only met with their dumbfounded faces. Both were gazing at the door to the Great Hall: Blaise's eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull; Pansy's jaw hung open in disbelief, with just the slightest glint of amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Draco scowled and turned to the door. He fell gasping like a fish into shock, a heady flush creeping steadily onto his face, as he realized in an instant what had changed.

It was Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived stood in the entranceway, smirking softly at the stunned faces around him. The only way his look could be described in the circumstances was radical: not only had the boy sauntered into the Great Hall without his robes on, but in tight trousers. Black cloth clung to him in all the right places and hung loose at his ankles, topped low on his hips with a pyramid-studded belt. He wore a fitted camouflage-brown t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the muggle band "The Clash", and on his feet were a pair of chocolate Converse, embellished with a myriad of little black words and abstract designs. Even his glasses had changed: gone were the round monstrosities that made him look as if he were constantly attempting an owl impersonation, now replaced with frames of much smaller black-lacquered rectangles that seemed to intensify the deep green of his eyes; eyes that were rimmed smokily in black. His hair was as messy as ever, that same intense jet black.

Most shocking were Harry's new body modifications - in the forms of piercings and a tattoo. Shot through his right eyebrow was a large safety pin that glinted in the candlelight. Both lobes were pierced with black studs, and the cartilage on his right ear was pierced twice, one atop the other, caressing the curve of his inner ear with shining metal. Harry jutted his hands into his pockets, exposing the insides of his arms. Pansy gasped, delight in her face, and couldn't stop herself from pointing. On the inside of his left arm was a multi-tonal punk-star tattoo, done in the red and gold colours of Gryffindor.

Hermione and Ron sat shocked, mouths agape, completely unsure of what to do. His new appearance seemed to make many members of the Hall want to dash to the door and tackle him to the floor for a rampant, punk-rock shag - a good half of the people were shifting uneasily as they fought to remain in their seats, and the Slytherin table was no exception.

Draco felt like his brain had shut off. He was almost positive he was drooling, and wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He watched, eyes glued to the backside of Harry's barely-there trousers, as the boy sauntered into the Hall - like nothing was amiss - and slid gracefully into his seat at the Gryffindor table between his friends. Both Ron and Hermione turned and gaped at him, but got no recognition. Harry simply turned his attention bemusedly down to the table before him, pulled a paring knife from his pocket, and began to carve intricate designs in the polished wood.

The silence was deafening. Every student seemed riveted to Harry's position; the entire staff table sat gaping at the Boy-Who-Lived, with the exception of Dumbledore, who had his hands folded in front of his face, gazing around the Hall with twinkling eyes. Pockets of conversation emerged, and grew louder, until the Hall was alight with its usual buzz - though all conversations drew back to the same point - What had happened to Harry Potter?

Even the Slytherins couldn't help discussing it.

"How did this happen?" Pansy asked, grinning wildly with amusement in her eyes. She cast a look back at the Gryffendor table and eyed Harry appraisingly. "And why didn't it happen sooner?"

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "Part of me wants to ask why you're so interested, and another part of me would rather not know." Pansy smirked at him and tossed her hair, but said nothing. "What do you think, Drake?" he asked, turning to his left, but stopped abruptly when he noticed the look on his friend's face.

Draco still sat, riveted, eyes locked on Harry. He seemed stuck somewhere between revulsion, intrigue, and asphyxiation. His eyes narrowed and widened. The changes that flitted across his countenance at a mile-a-minute gave him a comical look: nothing like the cool, collected Draco Malfoy his friends were used to.

Blaise and Pansy shared questioning looks with one another. Pansy took the initiative and reached over to Draco, touching him lightly on the arm and shaking him lightly. "Draco, love? What's wrong ...?"

The blonde Slytherin jumped, jerking his arm back as if stung. His gaze flitted back and forth between his friends, startled, eyes wide. Draco clamped his mouth shut, a familiar scowl coming back into place. His eyes darted back across the hall and for a moment he caught Harry's eyes. His breath caught in his throat at being the recipent of that heavy-lidded green gaze: his eyes narrowed at his own behavior and his hand clenched into a fist in his lap.

Draco hated how foolish he was feeling and acting. Under the curious gazes of Blaise and Pansy, Draco jumped up and stalked as gracefully as he could out of the hall, gritting his teeth and hoping that no one would follow him.

His two friends jumped up and followed him immediately.

Harry watched him go under the heavy gaze of his two friends, somewhat confused at their exchange. He was shocked to see that when he looked up Draco was watching him; even more shocked at the emotion in his eyes. Harry had seen lots of variations of anger and hatred in those grey eyes, but nothing like he had just seen. It was indiscribable yet strangely familiar. A memory tugged at the back of his concious mind and he shrugged it away.

He sipped at his pumpkin juice. This year would prove to be more tumultuous than he had originally planned.

I'd better start that letter, Harry thought, thinking of the past summer as memory threatened to engulf him. He couldn't handle it here.

Best not to think of it at all. At least, not yet.

xXxXxXxXx

Authors Notes: Yeah. The Clash is a pretty popular British band stateside - what with the complete awesomeness of London Calling and all - so I figured it would be an appropriate choice for Harry.

Also, the Converse will be heretofore mentioned as "chucks", as that's their proper slang term. W00t, and all that nonsense.

I had fun with this, but some of it seems a bit tired. Contrite. Gah! I swear: it may seem like crackfic now, but it will get better. Eventually.

Please review!