The Agitation of a Rose

"I wish that I could cry- fall upon my knees

Find a way to lie bout a home I'll never see

And misunderstood but don't be naïve

Even heroes have the right to bleed

I may be disturbed, but won't you concede

Even heroes have the right to dream

It's not easy to be me."

-Superman (It's not easy), Five for Fighting

Prologue

"You should really be wearing a hat, you know."

A young woman looked up, startled, from the place she was kneeling in the bright summer grass. She had been bent studiously over a small garden uprooting weeds and planting new seeds. Her face broke into a smile as she saw who had spoken. Obviously she had been in the sun long, as her shoulders were quite tan and smattered with freckles. "Look who's talking, Mr. Weasley," Hermione Granger said with easy playfulness.

Ron Weasley smiled and bent down next to her to help. It had been hot that summer in Godric's Hollow and they were both tanned and freckled. His bright red hair contrasted brightly with his skin, which he had let grow out a bit for it to curl around his ears and down the nape of his neck. "Where's Harry?"

Hermione shrugged and went back to pulling out weeds. Her long chestnut colored hair tied back in a braid slid down on to her shoulder so that it hung almost to the ground. Ron moved behind her and ran his fingers through it before replacing it where it had previously hung down her back. He had been awarded with a soft laugh and a playful bat on the hand. She suddenly stood up to stretch her back and have a look around.

That previous summer when they had left Hogwarts, the famous trio was nowhere near ready to part. Instead they had all chipped in money to buy a comfortable cottage to fix up in the village where Harry had once lived. The house was made of actual logs on the outside but reinforced on the inside with wood colored walls. It had a large wrap-around porch, wood also, with a comfortable swing on it. Flowers bloomed everywhere and a large willow tree stood near the back of the house, its sweeping vines reaching the ground. Inside there were four bedrooms (three for them, one for guests), two baths, a spacious kitchen, a cozy dining room, and three other rooms for various things. There was really only one floor, but from Harry's room you could climb a ladder and be in a little loft with a spectacular skylight. Daily he visited the burnt shell where he had once lived with his parents to place flowers.

In fact that's just where he was now...

*

Harry Potter stood with his head bowed in the middle of the wreckage where he believed the family room once was. His hair hung down in his face obscuring his eyes and his forehead where his trademark scar was. A bouquet of wildflowers was held tightly in his hands and every once in a while his shoulders shook, but no sounds were made. After taking a couple deep breaths, he composed himself enough that he could speak without breaking down.

"Hullo again mom, dad... it's me Harry, your son. I know I was just here yesterday babbling on about things, but I'm back. You know why? Because I really miss you... I wish you both were here so I wouldn't have to talk to nothing and think you could hear me. I wish you could have seen me back years ago where time after time I saved people and made things right... those days are gone now. I just couldn't take it and I let Dumbledore just go ahead and get hurt just because I was scared. He almost died... and it would have been my fault. Some hero, eh? Sure people think of me as the 'Savior of the Wizarding World' but I don't feel like that's true anymore. I've lost my will to fight and trust me, there's still a lot more to be done. Hermione and Ron say they understand but I really don't think they do. They're so wrapped up in their own lives and even though we live together I feel like they're drifting away... and if they go too, I have nothing left!" He collapsed to his knees in the wreckage and slammed his fists down. The only time he had really had this kind of behavior was the first time he had visited the site. Sobs wracked through his body in irregular intervals and tears splattered the soot below him.

He wasn't sure how long he kept that up but it must have been long enough to draw attention. Cool hands appeared, pushing away his hair and removing his glasses. Harry looked up, startled, to see a middle-aged woman cleaning his glasses and holding a tissue out to him. Her black hair was cut short to curl around her chin and had more than its share of gray. She wore a simple summer dress with a frilly apron tied over it and no shoes. He noticed that her legs were streaked with dirt and even thought he could hardly see, her eyes were brown and warm. With a final brush, she returned his glasses with a smile.

"Alright there, lad?" her voice asked with a lilting Irish accent.

"Er... yes, thank you. My name is Harry, Harry Potter. May I ask who you are?" he replied politely, his cheeks stained red from embarrassment. He shoved his glasses on his face hurriedly and wiped away the last of his tears, smiling bashfully.

"Well aren't you just the cutest little man. You said you were a Potter?" She paused for a moment to look around at their surroundings and shook her head. "A truly terrible thing that was. Do you remember me, Harry?"

"I'm sorry but no I don't."

"I thought so. Well see I've been around this village since I've been but a lass and that was oh about thirty-nine years ago. Your parents were the nicest young couple I've seen in a long time. I used to watch you occasionally when they would go out with friends... you were such a happy little baby. We were all so devastated when He came and left behind destruction. It was a queer thing that... all the rest of us villagers were away that night as if someone was pushing us away from the village. When we returned it was too late." Her eyes were a bit misty as she finished and as an after thought she said, "By the way my name is Catherine Kelly."

Harry looked at her blankly, trying to recall her face. Due to a memory potion he had asked Severus Snape to brew him in sixth year that caused the drinker to remember rather than lose previous memories, bits of his early childhood had come back. He could remember his mother, father, Sirius, and a little bit of Remus well so he figured that maybe this woman had come up at one time. Shutting his eyes briefly he vaguely remembered being outside with Sirius and a woman... with dark hair and dark eyes. If he tried hard enough he could hear their laughter as he toddled around on the grass, his black tuft of hair bobbing around. The missing piece clicked and a wide smile grew across Harry's tear stained face. "Cat! I called you cat! You were Sirius's girlfriend, weren't you?"

Catherine laughed gaily and hugged him to her chest. "Yes, yes! I was your "aunt" Cat... my I haven't thought of Sirius in years... tell me, is he still around?" He knew her question was more, "Is he still in Azkaban?" but was too polite to say it.

"He's been out for four years, he was found not guilty. Remus and him share a flat in London," Harry explained, trying to further place the woman in his memory. She nodded slightly looking off into space for a moment before abruptly getting to her feet. Smiling, she extended a hand down to him.

"Need an escort home? I'm sure your friends are worried about you." He accepted her hand with a gracious smile and lifted himself off the ground. Harry set the flowers down on a rock; she nodded understandingly and set off towards the path to his house. They walked along in a comfortable silence, both of them lost in thoughts about the past. When they arrived at the quaint wooden gate they stopped.

Harry smiled and held out his hand, shaking hers. "I'm glad to have met you again, Catherine, feel free to stop by for lunch or for a chat anytime."

"Likewise to you I'm just up the lane a little bit." Catherine pecked him on the cheek, ruffled his hair, and set off towards her own home. Harry smiled in reply and opened the gate, walking slowly wondering if his friends were home.

He saw that Ron's broom was leaning against the swing and gardening tools lay abandoned near the garden so he figured they were inside. "Hello?" he called stepping into the front entryway.

"In here!" Hermione called from the general direction of the kitchen. Harry paused in the doorway of the kitchen taking in the sight. Ron was chopping vegetables half-heartedly and throwing them into a bowl already filled with lettuce. Hermione was watching him with one eye and writing a letter with another. She was staring at the parchment blankly, her quill balanced on its tip, brows furrowed. "How was your day at work?"

"I didn't have work today, I was...elsewhere." He sat down heavily at the table, hands clasped in his lap, eyes fixated on the ground. She reached over and gently put her hand on his shoulder. Harry looked up to see her brown eyes looking at him with concern; he looked away quickly. "It's no reason to be concerned 'Mione, I'm fine." His voice told otherwise, for it was tired and low from crying. Ron looked over his shoulder form his position at the corner and noticed Harry for the first time.

"Harry you looked like you've been beaten with a shovel! Twice! What's bothering you, mate?" He set down his cutting knife and walked over to the table, leaning on it. Harry shrugged and pushed his chair back from the table. He shuffled over to the fridge and took out milk, drinking straight from the carton. Hermione sputtered indignantly but held her tongue. Harry was obviously not in the mind frame to use correct manners, she thought to herself. "C'mon Harry!" Ron persisted, "girl problems?"

Harry scoffed and looked at Ron with a raised eyebrow. "Tell me Ron, when was the last time you saw me in a fit about a girl?" Ron looked at him blankly, thinking for a long moment. "Exactly."

"It's true!" Ron exclaimed. "I haven't heard you talk about a girl since Cho in fourth year! Jesus Harry, are you asexual?" He was ranting by now throwing his hands up in the air, going on and on. Harry laughed, shaking his head and walked off towards the direction of the living room, milk carton still in hand. Hermione sat looking at Ron with amusement and bafflement mixed together, her eyebrows delicately raised.

"You know he's gone now right?" She said, laughter dancing in her eyes. Ron looked at her dumbfounded and his hands drooped down until they were hanging at his sides. His ears turned a bright shade of red and he laughed with her, severely embarrassed.

"But honestly Herm, what's wrong with him?" His hand had slowly inched along until it covered hers no the table and she smiled at him.

"His parents of course. I don't know why he insisted on us living here since it gives him so much grief. And I am worried about him... he hasn't had a relationship since Gin-..." she broke off, her eyes going wide. "Oh Ron I'm so sorry I shouldn't have I-..." He put one finger to her lips and shook his head sadly. Ginny Weasley had been murdered in their sixth year at Hogwarts, her fifth year. It had been of course Death Eaters. They had gotten wind that Harry had a girlfriend and they went after her right away...unfortunately, that girl was Ginny. The Weasley family did not like to talk about it, Ron particularly since he had been the closest to her. Hermione gently kissed his finger and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer to her. He opened his mouth to say something but she shushed him, just happy to be having a moment.

Harry collapsed on the bottle green sofa, milk carton clutched in his dangling hand. He felt like someone had thrown a ton of bricks at him then run him down with a big, big truck for good measure. Ron's comment had only made it worse. It was half true... he hadn't thought much about girls since Ginny. It worried him a bit that he seemed indifferent to every come on he received from female and male. Perhaps he was asexual; he preferred to think he was just waiting until the very right person came along. For a brief period in his seventh year he and Hermione had shared a short but passionate relationship. Both of them had decided though it was because they were both lonely, that they didn't really have feelings like that for each other. Hermione may have been truthful on her part, by Harry knew deep in his heart that Hermione would be the only girl he could see himself with. But now she was with Ron and he had no intentions of breaking up the happy couple just because he had a longing. Harry took another swig of milk and wiped the mouth with the back of his hand. I should really be having alcohol, he though to himself, it would undeniably chase this bloody melancholy away.

"Hermione, Ron!" he yelled, "How about we take a trip to Diagon Alley, perhaps have a round at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Are you quite sure Harry? You have work tomorrow!" Hermione replied, coming into the room to look at him doubtfully.

"Give a lad a break, Hermione!" Ron retorted, trailing after her from the kitchen. "Look at him! He needs a drink! Besides you look a bit stressed, I think it's safe to have a little relaxation." Just for good measure, he widened his bright blue eyes and pouted, pulling off a perfect "puppy dog" face.

Hermione cuffed him on the ear but nonetheless agreed to go. Ron and Harry pumped their fists into the air yelling enthusiastically. She shook her head at them, walking off to find her shoes and perhaps a sweater. They followed her lead, going to the entryway to get on their shoes. Hermione returned, her hair undone falling in graceful waves to the small of her back asking, "Brooms, Floo, or Apparation?"

"Floo." The men said in unison. Ron had trouble some time with Apparating, and Harry simply felt to tired to pull it off. Hermione nodded and the trio went into the study where a magnificent fireplace stood. "Incendio," Harry said, pointing his hand at the fire. He had learned to harness some of his unmanaged magic and could do basic and some intermediate spells with his wand. Every Sunday he had trainings with Dumbledore to harness it even more. They were preparing for a big battle and they needed all the tricks up their sleeves they could get. Flames shot up, crackling merrily and turned a dark green when Ron threw the powder in. Harry stepped in first and disappeared, the others following him shortly.

They arrived in the Leaky Cauldron, more than a little disoriented but in tact all the same. The bar as filled with mostly The Official University of Wizard Politics and Harry recognized some faces. He waved to Dean and Neville who were sharing a table, on their way to get raucously drunk.

As a group they decided that essentials would come first, then drinks, so they head out the back and tapped the correct stones to gain entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry looked around in awe, it never lessened the wonderment that there could be a whole other world right next to London, a pub and a wall of bricks the only thing standing between it. Hermione made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts, dragging the reluctant men behind her. When books were involved, no one, no one kept Hermione away. Ron ran off to the section about Quidditch, leaving Harry to be Hermione's extra books carrier. It wasn't the fact that she loved bookstores so much that irked them; it was the fact that she stopped to read every title and thumb through the pages or read the back cover. So far she had five books in her hand, each of them mini encyclopedias in side when she handed him The Book.

The Book started everything in the downward and unusual cycle that his life would soon take. It's title was simple and elegant all at one, silver letters that winked and shimmered on the simple black cover spelling out, "The Sorceress' Sock Drawer: All of your Favorites In one!" Harry read the cover over and over with curiosity; Hermione had been quite pink on the cheeks when she had handed it to him. He noticed that she kept looking back, her eyes darting to the book then to Harry's face all in one second. When she had found a section on theories of magic's origin and squealed in delight, he took the distraction as a chance to sneak off and find out exactly what the book was.

Looking around sneakily before opening it, Harry slid down until he was crouched in a rather mundane aisle about proper wand care. Mentally awarding himself for being so good at sneaking away, Harry opened the cover and gaped in shock for a good two minutes. His mouth went dry and his eyes glazed over as he tried to take in the picture staring back up at him. A wizard with a well-placed bed sheet winked and stretched for his enjoyment on the page. In the corner tiny letters said, "Mr. December, Year: 1996." He flipped through the rest of the pages, all which had the same type of thing on them, some of them more clothed or not as clothed as the first one. Almost near the end of the book that would plague him for months on end, Harry choked on his spit and made a weird noise in the back of his throat.

The one and only Draco Malfoy was in a picture entitled Sensuous Slytherins, his head propped up on one hand, his fringe falling over his eyes in silvery strands. He blew a kiss and winked at Harry, making him throw the book in the air with a shout of disgust.

"Well, well Potter, making a scene yet again?" Harry's heart stopped. This was definitely not the voice he wanted to hear, the voice that belonged to the man in the picture, and the voice that was the bane of his existence in his younger years at Hogwarts.

"Malfoy. How nice of you to show up at the wrong moment, as usual," Harry retorted easily, slowly turning and raised up to face him. They stood almost nose to nose, Harry just a tad shorter, their eyes looking each other over in malice. Malfoy's eyes flickered down to the book and his lips turned up in his trademark smirk. He bent down with fluid grace, snatched the book and read the title aloud.

"Ahh so Harry Potter does play for the other team, eh? We all had our suspicions, but who would've thought it was true?" Draco flipped through the book quickly until he came to his own page. His eyes lit with something akin to pride and mimicked the picture by running his hands through his own hair, letting it fall back into his eyes. He was very vain, and his hair was one of his physical aspects he was most proud of. "And not only does he play for the other team, he's ogling me as well! I don't know whether to be pleased or disgusted."

"It's Hermione's!" Harry yelled, color flaring up on his cheeks in anger. He quickly snatched the book back and glared at Malfoy.

"So the buck toothed Mudblood has a crush on me? Can't blame her really, I am the picture of male beauty." To many, Draco Malfoy was in fact the handsomest guy in the Wizarding world. He had oh-so-touchable silver/blonde hair, cheekbones like a model, grayish blue eyes, and slightly pouty lips. Not to mention he had a nice build from all the Quidditch training and kept himself well dressed and cleaned. Currently he was wearing a high collared blue shirt much resembling the school uniforms of Chinese wizards and witches, black pants, and highly polished black loafers. A cloak had been clasped to his shoulder by two pins in the shape of a dragon roaring.

"She wouldn't touch you with a ten foot broomstick." Harry eyed Malfoy disdainfully and spat, "No decent person would."

"The question is, Potter," Draco whispered, his lips almost brushing Harry's ear, "Would you?" With that last decidedly odd statement, Draco swept off, his cloak swirling behind him.

Harry stood slightly shaking until Hermione found him minutes later. He wordlessly handed the book to her and said, "I suddenly don't feel like drinking. I think I'll just go home." Without a look back, he pushed past her and made his way out of the store.

"Harry!" she yelled surprised after him, worry evident in her voice. For a moment she considered going after him but decided she would never be able to find him until he wanted to be found. Ron strode up next to her, confusion etched on his features.

"What was that all about?"

"No clue."

*

Harry Apparated home with a satisfying pop! and went wearily to his room, shoulders slumped dispiritedly. He had no idea of what to make Draco's statement out of, but it had made him have feelings he hadn't had for a long time. Oh sure, countless witches had come to him, whispering seductive things in his years, but he usually looked at them blankly and went on his way. This time was different. The words sent a shiver through Harry and made him feel cold and warm all over at once. Undressing silently and donning pajama pants, Harry slid into his warm bed, still very confused. If it had been any other person, he would have jumped for joy at the prospect of possibly finding someone he liked. But this was Draco Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy. The git who had bugged him all through his school years, no matter how bad Harry looked.

His dreams that night were plagued with images of a certain Slytherin.

*

Draco Malfoy always considered things before he said them. The little comment made to a certain Harry Potter was mulled over for weeks before he would even think of saying it. It was all part of the master plan. Whose or what master plan could not be said yet, for it was too soon, but Draco suspected this is what would start the turning of the wheel. And he was ready. Oh gods was he ready.