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The End Shall Come, And We Will Dance Forever	By : makochan0217 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6655 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimers: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros. I make nothing from this. In fact, I lose money to write this, so… no suing, ‘kay?

Chapter List
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Title: The End Shall Come, and We Will Dance Forever

Author: Makoto Sagara

Series: Harry Potter

Archive: MakotoSagara-dot-net, Fanfiction-dot-net, Foreverfandom-dot-net

Category: Angst, Drama

Pairings: Unknown

Warnings: Angst, language, OOC, 7th year timeline based upon OotP

Disclaimers: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros. I make nothing from this. In fact, I lose money to write this, so… no suing, ‘kay?

A/N: Well, it seems that everyone liked the prologue of this. I don’t know what came over me to actually write a Harry Potter fic, but it looks like it turned out well. What can I say? I like angst. I’m good at angst. It’s what I know. Now, let’s see what my three darned muses do with this fic.

Chapter One: Well, Reality Sucks

Harry woke up drenched in sweat, his forehead aching with as if a whole marching band was playing and a rock concert was going on behind his eyes at the same time. He lifted a pale, shaking hand to his brow, wiping away the moisture with a deep sigh. Belatedly, he realized that it had all been a dream. He hadn’t been facing Voldemort on a battlefield of misery. Dumbledore wasn’t missing. His friends were where they were supposed to be; in fact, he could hear the snores from both Ron and Seamus as they slept in the dormitory with Dean, Neville, and himself.

Groping in the semi-dark, Harry managed to obtain his glasses and put them on. He pushed the bed curtains back, sending an unkind stream of sunlight into his sore eyes. As he sat there, blinking, he realized that the snoring that was beside him a second ago had stopped.

"'Arry, you okay?" Ron croaked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Ron. Go back to sleep." The black-haired boy bit back on the sigh that was threatening to spill out anyway. Letting it go, Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed and moved to his trunk, picking out a fresh change of clothes and his toiletries.

"You sure you're okay?" Ron's voice was close behind the green-eyed boy, much to his surprising annoyance.

"No, but I'm going to take a shower. Meet you down in the Great Hall for breakfast." With that, Harry was out of the dorm room and heading towards the boys' bathroom.

Letting the hot water cascade down his lanky form, Harry tried to ignore the nearly tear-wrenching pain from the scar on his forehead. He rubbed at it absently, replaying the dream in his mind again. It had felt so real. Of course, everything that had to deal with Voldemort recently felt real. Not that he hadn’t had this problem before, but Harry refused to let a dream that felt so real rule him again. The last time, it had cost him the life of the last of his family, his godfather, Sirius Black.

Even though Dumbledore had told him not to blame himself, that the Headmaster was more to blame, Harry couldn’t help it. If only he hadn’t let Voldemort use him. If only he had tried with Occlumency. If only he had done something different. If only….

He sighed, realizing that he was doing the same thing he’d accused himself of in his dream. Placing himself in the middle of fruitless questioning of his actions. Hermione had told him that it was normal to question everything around him after something like this, but he didn’t feel normal. He never had, and he wished that he had had the chance. But then, something that Dumbledore told him rushed to the front of his mind. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been Neville.

Neville Longbottom, saviour of the Wizarding world. It was kind of scary when he thought about it like that. But then again, he didn’t want to be known as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived or Saviour of anything.

With a frustrated growl, Harry hit the wall of the shower. “God damned Voldemort!”

His shout was followed by a few sharp intakes of breath from the other boys in the bathroom, and with a snarl, he finished rinsing his hair and dressed quickly. The whole time he was in there, he could feel the eyes of the three first years by the sink on him. Not that he wasn’t used to it by now. Ever since he reappeared in the Wizarding world, someone was always staring at him, and it was usually accompanied by whispering, and sometimes snickering.

Of course, the snickering was always closely followed by Malfoy’s sneer or voice, trying to bait Harry into hitting him. Not that Harry didn’t want to do it again. It had felt so good to just punch him in their fifth year. However, spending any more time in detention with any teacher wasn’t exactly how he was looking forward to spending his last year at Hogwarts.

His sixth year had ended up seeing the death of Professor McGonagall. Since then, the school had settled down, but the Wizarding world was shaken to its very core. Voldemort was back, and there was no avoiding it. Too many people had begun disappearing or dying, just like the last time that He had come into power.

Why had he returned? Why was the school still open? Why hadn’t Dumbledore gone underground by now? When was Voldemort going to strike again?

Those questions plagued the teenager as he entered the Great Hall. It was probably the emptiest he’d ever seen it, outside of the winter holidays. Most noticeably was the decrease in the Slytherin table. There were maybe fifty students sitting at the long banquet table, when there should have been close to two hundred. Of course, it wasn’t surprising that most of the children missing from that house were children of known Death Eaters or sympathizers.

However, Slytherin wasn’t the only house that had taken a blow in numbers. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were missing at least one hundred students as well, and Gryffindor was missing over seventy-five percent of its previous years’ numbers. There would be no Quidditch this year, and it wasn’t because of a famous tournament. Snape was gone as well. They’d met his replacement the night before, an older man that had been the Potions professor before the greasy git. Harry couldn’t even remember the man’s name over the searing pain from his scar.

Last year, Dumbledore had told him it would be useless for him to take Occlumency again. Instead, Harry had spent most of the sixth year, and summer after it, preparing for when he would face his mortal enemy. Most of the time was spent thinking, “How does one prepare to die and/or kill? How do you make that okay with yourself?”

“Harry? Are you alright?” Hermione asked, taking a seat next to her friend. “Ron said you had another nightmare.” She glared at him as he gave her astounded look. “It’s no use trying to hide it from us. We’ve been there from the beginning.” She leaned in close to him and began whispering. “Was it about Voldemort?”

“Yes.”

“Well?” Ron had come to side on Harry’s other side, noticing that they were left all to themselves, even by Ginny, who’d somewhat become a part of their little group last year. She seemed to be talking to Neville and Luna Lovegood, who’d decided that eating at the Gryffindor table was better than with the boring Hufflepuffs.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now, Ron.” Harry snuck a look up at the teachers’ table, noticing the gap where McGonagall should have been. Everyone in the Great Hall quieted down as they noticed Dumbledore stand up and clear his throat.

“In light of recent events, all of your classes will be shared with those in the same year. Hagrid is now passing out your schedules. Please keep in mind that we are hoping that you find a way to remain harmonious and cordial during class time,” the old wizard said, straightening his spectacles on his nose. “Also, your new Transfiguration professor has just arrived. It seems her cat caught on fire and she was unavoidably detained last night.”

He gestured to a slight woman with brown, curly hair, glasses and very neat looking blue robes that was entering the Great Hall through the door the teachers used. “Please join me in welcoming Professor Swanly. She will also be acting as Gryffindor’s Head of House.” Only Professor Dumbledore and a few Hufflepuffs bothered clapping. “Also, I would like for you to welcome back Professor Lupin as your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Cheers and whooping came from fifth and sixth years at the Gryffindor table for the haggard-looking man, who waved and sat down to breakfast. “Now, let’s enjoy this meal and begin our day.”

“So, Lupin came back, did he? Isn’t that a major blow to the Order of the Phoenix? With him here, Snape missing, and McGonagall gone,” Ron asked as he stuffed his face with poached eggs.

“Snape’s not missing. He’s back with Voldemort! So is Malfoy. Don’t be so dumb, Ron,” Harry said, irritated, picking at his food but not really eating anything.

“There’s no need to be irritated with us, Harry,” Hermione responded, sighing and pushing her plate away. “Who is this Professor Swanly? I’ve never heard of her. She looks sort of…. Cross.”

“I’d say she has a bigger stick up her bum than even McGonagall,” Ron added.

“Is that how you talk about the dead?” Harry asked, jumping up from the table and storming out.

“What?” the redhead asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.

“Oh, really!” Hermione got up and followed after her friend to talk to him privately. Sometimes, Ron just didn’t get it.

TBC
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The End Shall Come, And We Will Dance Forever