Rating: M/NC-17

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended – Standard disclaimer.

Summary:

Warnings: Strong language and explicit sexual content between two males (eventually) – slash; spoilers; AR.

Prologue

By Dani-ko
Beta'd by MrsHellman, Sevfan, and Tavia_d

Harry Potter lay on his back on his absolutely huge bed in the main suite of his house. His mind was reeling with possibilities for his new plan. A plan he felt he should share with no one . . .

He'd been living at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place ever since May, and in all honesty, nothing much had happened.

It was the house of his godfather, but it didn't look like it anymore. Hermione had hired a few wizard experts in construction that had made his house look like new. Everything was clean and free of the dust that had used to cake every available and unavailable surface; any lingering dark magic was dispelled; they had bought some new furniture; basically, it looked like home. There were pictures of his friends and family all around. The smell of home-cooked food filled the air thanks to Kreacher. The rugs were soft and allowed him to walk around without shoes on. He was comfortable.

However, what this house couldn't offer him, and what he prized now more than ever, was privacy. The same family and friends he was so fond of were becoming a problem, and he had never expected them to become so.

It wasn't their fault, he reasoned. It was his. He was the one that couldn't let go. He felt so guilty; maybe if he had been faster or smarter or had deciphered Dumbledore's intentions earlier, many lives could have been saved. He didn't blame himself though, oh no, but he didn't feel like the hero everyone expected him to be either, but the world didn't agree with him on that. They deemed him to be their leader, their definition of hope, courage and morality. They all wanted to thank him, to touch him, to know him, and he had never felt so smothered ever before.

On the other hand, he had killed a man; a man going by the name Voldemort, who had been one of the darkest wizards ever born, yes, but regardless it had been a man. He had seen the light disappear from those red eyes, knowing very well that he would become a lost soul. That kind of power that Harry had had over another human being had scared him. As if that wasn't enough, he had even died at the hands of that same man. He had died, and he had come back.

Why?

Why wasn't he dead like everyone else? What was his purpose? He didn't know. And that scared him even more. Especially when everyone else seemed to have already found a purpose for him.

He was supposed to be a hero, Ronald Weasley's and Hermione Granger's friend, Ginny Weasley's boyfriend, the youngest Auror ever admitted, and so on . . . he wanted to be those things, yes, but he also wanted to be just Harry – a normal wizard with no expectations put on his shoulders and mind – and right then, he wasn't so sure who that was. Who was Harry after all? Besides "The Boy Who Lived" or "The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord", that is.

He didn't know, but he wanted to find out, and that's how his mind had come up with that treacherous plan. He just needed to get away. To be left on his own for a little while. Then everything would be just fine, he was sure of it.

He felt a little pang of guilt because of Hermione, but he hoped she could forgive him. He knew that Ron would be upset, but right now he needed space and that was something that Ron wasn't willing to give him. He also wasn't concerned for the Weasleys; they would be okay on their own; they would miss him of course as it was proven hundreds of times that they thought of him as family, but they would understand. They'd seen two wars after all. And, of course, most of all, he couldn't care less about all those people who were trying to get a piece of him.

Harry got up with his decision clear in his head.

He went to his walk-in closet and took out his trunk, opening it on top of the bed while he started to pack. As he put away his clothes, he grimaced. His entire wardrobe was brand new. Hermione decided that if he was to be a public figure, he needed to dress properly, and so they went shopping in Muggle London. He couldn't care less about his looks . . . and then because he couldn't care less, he had indulged her.

Then he put away his books. He had them all sorted out in what had been Lord Black's office on the floor beneath him, and he wasn't going to need school books anytime soon, but some of them, he could use; he chose to take a few of them with him, so that he could do something in his free time.

The Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map and the Golden Snitch, the one Dumbledore had given him with the Resurrection Stone, were the last things to go. He placed them carefully amongst his other possessions and closed the trunk with a loud click that sounded final in his mind. Then he sighed. He'd better hurry, because if he was a Gryffindor, he was also a Slytherin; he should take advantage of his Gryffindor impulsiveness before his Slytherin streak would start to kick in, and he'd begin thinking about the consequences.

If he were to be honest with himself – which he wasn't very often – he would realise that all of his actions were influenced by both sides.

He carried his meagre possessions to the drawing room, which was now being illuminated by the sunshine that came through the windows. He sat down by the small tea table that was located on the right side of the room and wrote a letter to Hermione, telling her that he needed some time alone, and that he would write again as soon as he could. He sent his love to the Weasleys and then he asked Kreacher to deliver the letter.

After that, he arranged his travel cloak around his jumper and black jeans, checked if the Elder Wand was in its holster and his pockets for his wallet. Once everything was set, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Looking around one last time, he turned his back on his home.

"Hog's Head pub!"

TBC