The Pursuit of Happiness

*shakes head and sighs* I shouldn’t write Harry Potter fanfiction. I’m definitely not worthy. Oh, well. Please review.

rating- R and NC-17 This story will contain slash, bad language, and sex. Don’t like it, don’t read it.

disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter and I don't owe JKR a thing, no matter what that mean spirited witch says. *grovels* Please don’t sue me. The cost of living is sooo high! *whimper*

::The Pursuit of Happiness- Flowers in May::

Harry Potter sat in the Snape's classroom, staring at the Potion's master with unadulterated hatred. He had been wrongfully accused, yet again, for starting problems with none other than Draco Malfoy. In their Seventh year Draco and Harry had as many problems as their First. Harry wondered if Draco's ego still stung from him declining his friendship, as he twirled his wand on the top of his desk.

"Mr. Potter, will you please desist." Severus Snape was in an ugly mood. He had lost a bet with Professor McGonagall and now he owed her an enchanted prism that reflected every shade of green. She had informed him, while wearing the brightest of smiles, that she was going to change the color to red. "Please, continue on in your studies without distracting me from my paperwork." Professor Snape looked down at the papers on his desk and sighed, loudly.

"Sorry, Professor." Harry wasn't really sorry; it was just habit to apologize to Snape, when he was annoyed. "It's almost time for me to return to my room..." Harry saw the way Snape stopped breathing and paused. "Isn't it, Professor?"

Professor Snape dropped his quill and grunted. "Are you quite sure you have learned your lesson? I could keep you another hour or so, until I've finished up here."

Harry quirked a brow and groaned, inwardly. Was Snape lonely or something? "Actually, I have some tests in the morning."

"You should have thought about that before pestering my best student." Snape stated, huffily.

Harry dropped his head on the desk and shook. It was nearing midnight and he was worn out: physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. "Damned Malfoy and his fucking 'I'm a perfect little Prefect' act." H mut muttered into the confines of his arms.

Professor Snape didn't really know what Harry had said, but he understood the meaning well enough. He almost caught himself smiling, when he turned his face back toward his papers and tapped the top if his desk, in order to summon Harry's attention. "You're dismissed, Mr. Potter."

Harry raised his head and looked at Professor Snape. He was dismissed? "Goodnight, Professor." Harry jumped up from his seat, grabbing his wand and books, before running for the door. Once in the hallway, Harry headed toward the Gryffindor wing and started when he ran into something solid and warm.

There was the sound of books hitting the floor and an almost silent curse. "Damn it, Potter. Watch where you are going." Draco's voice was a harsh whisper in the, otherwise, silent hallway.

"What are you doing, Malfoy? You already got me detention. Isn't that enough of an accomplishment for one day?" Harry sighed and shook his head. He was tired of this ongoing rivalry with Draco. Hogwart’s Golden Boy against the ‘perfect’ Prefect. The Boy Who Lived against the Prince of Slytherin. Potter against Malfoy. It was getting old and Harry had made a decision. "I'm tired of this constant bickering. We are no longer eleven, Malfoy, and I've decided to throw down the gauntlet."

Draco looked the boy over and shook his head. “Do I have to remind you that you ran into me?” Draco wasn't here to start anything with anybody. He hadn't expected to run into or get run into by the boy. "Throw down whatever you deem necessary, Potter. Just let me pass. It's late and I want to go to bed." Draco grabbed the base of his skull and groaned, quietly.

Harry lost some of his bravado after hearing Draco's reply. The other boy hadn't argued or hexed him. Draco sounded tired, above all else, and that bothered Harry more than any hex. "Are you okay, Malfoy?"

"No, I am not... if you must know." Draco tried to growl, but it came out weaker than he had planned. Draco's head started to spin and he reached toward the wall to steady himself. “I think I may need to sit down, Potter.” As he said it, Draco fell forward, stumbling into Harry.

Harry dropped his books and tried, with all his might, to lift the Slytherin back into a standing position. “Malfoy? Malfoy!” Harry shook Draco and gasped when he realized the boy was knocked out cold. “Snape!”

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Draco awoke the next morning and stared up at the ceiling. His head hurt and his mouth was dryer than it had ever been before. "Where..." Draco took a deep breath and let it out in a wheeze. "Oh, Merlin." He coughed and gasped, before turning on his side and hawking up some phlegm.

"Eww..."

Draco gasped and looked up at his audience of one, Mr. Harry Potter. "What are you...?" Draco began choking and started to convulse. He clenched his sheets and thrashed his head back and forth.

Harry bit his lip and shook his head. Madam Pomfrey had given Draco a draught the night before to make him have a night of undisturbed sleep. She had hoped that whatever it was that Draco had contracted could be taken care of with a little bit of rest. "I'll get Pomfrey."

Draco wheezed and shook his head. He looked over at Harry and growled. "No!" The blonde closed his eyes and sighed. "Leave it be."

Harry wasn't sure if it was the tone of Draco's voice or the way that his eyes had filled up with tears of pain, but he felt like he should do as he said and 'let it be'... for the time being, at least. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry swished and flicked his wand, while muttering 'defluo modio', summoning a garbage can out of nowhere and pushing it next to Draco's bed.

Draco smirked and shrugged, eyes still closed. "You could piss off and die."

Harry nodded, with a sigh. "Remember that gauntlet I was going to throw down, last night?"

Draco opened an eye and peered at the other boy, curiously. "What are you on about, Potter?" The blonde cleared his throat and leaned over the bed, spitting into the garbage can Harry had materialized for him. “You have to enjoy this annoying little banter as much as I do.”

Harry looked at Draco with a mixture of derision and skepticism. “What do you mean, Malfoy? This really is some game to you? Make me upset and you get another few point?”

Draco shrugged and sighed, before pointing over at his Potion’s book on the bedside table. “Actually, I use tally marks.”

Harry reached over and picked up the Potion’s book, flipping to the inside of the front cover. There, in seven perfect rows were lines of tally marks.

“Eighty-seven for Potter and Eighty-one for Malfoy... and we are hardly through the first half of the year.” Draco shook his head. “I’m really off my game, this time around.”

Harry shut the book and chewed on his bottom lip. “A game? Mentioning my dead parents and how I’ll always be an unloved little orphan was part of a game?” Harry was disgusted at the unfeeling way Draco looked at the world.

The Slytherin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Those th get get points too, Potter, but not on that score sheet. You would have to look in my Defense Against the Dark Arts book.” Draco shook his head again and turned over on his side. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps a part of me has figured out that I’m dying and that it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry watched the way that Draco stared at the wall. His eyes were unblinking and his lips moving slowly, as if they were still trying to wrap around what he had just said. “You’re dying?”

Draco looked up at Harry, startled, and gasped. “Did I say that?” The blonde pushed himself up in the bed and stretched his back like a cat. “Where has my mind gone?” Draco looked over at Harry and smirked. “Don’t look so troubled, Potter. You weren’t the one to strike the final blow that killed the Malfoy heir.” He paused a moment and then looked thoughtful. “Or is that why you look so down?”

Harry’s mind couldn’t take it all in. Draas das dying? Who would kill Draco Malfoy? Hex him, sure! Make it so that his lips were stuck together or that he remained flaccid for the next week or so, but to actually kill him?

Draco sat back against the headboard, as he watched the wheels in Harry’s head turn. “I know what you’re thinking, Potter. Who would go up against the son of Lucius Malfoy?” Draco shrugged. “You would think that Daddy Dearest would kill whatever bastard set their sights on cursing his only son, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He allowed the curse and now I feel the ice in my veins starting to kick in.” The blonde looked around the room; he looked at the door, at the foot of the bed, at the window, anywhere that Harry was not. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anybody. It’s kind of a blow to pride if it gets out that my father didn’t deem me worthy to save from a curse that kills.”

Harry shook his head, his jaw hanging on a hinge. “What if we talk to Dumbledore? He could surely help.”

Draco scoffed. “Anybody but him would be a better choice, Potter. The old man wouldn’t admit to his relief of me being gone, but he sure would be rather joyful at my funeral.” The blonde shot Harry a wicked smirk. “Just you watch.”

“Watch?! You’re killing yourself now, by talking like that. Now, hold on a minute and let me think.” Harry grumbled and growled a while, but he was coming up with nothing.

Draco sighed and reached for his Potion’s book, grabbing it off of Harry’s lap and successfully ripping a page out of it. He balled up the paper and pegged the Gryffindor in the face. “Stop trying to save my life, Potter. It pretty damn annoying.”

Harry was shocked, to say the least. Draco had just thrown a piece of paper at him! He hadn't done something that immature since, at most, their third year. “Well, tell me something, Malfoy. If I don’t try to save you, who will? Who else cares enough about your sorry ass to save it?”

Draco nodded slowly and grabbed up his wand, summoning a quill from the other side of the room. He put down the wand and snatched up the quill, opened his Potion’s book, and put another tally under Harry’s initials. “Nice comeback, Potter. That’s number eighty-eight. Although, in all actuality that one may be more fit in the cover of my DADA book.”

Harry looked down at his feet and shook his head. "That one's for 'below the belt' comments, isn't it?"

"You're smarthanthan I took you for, Potter. Do you want a cookie?" Draco tossed his book over to the side and tried to decline slowly, allowing himself a little comfort in an uncomfortable situation. "Even the mediwitch doesn’t want to check in and make sure I'm okay. All I get is Harry-bloody-Potter as a watch dog." The blonde closed his eyes and hissed out a breath. "Did you... what is that muggle saying? Oh, yes. Did you 'draw the short straw', Potter?"

"Actually, we played quarters. I was the only one sober enough to watch you by the end of our session." Harry smirked at the look of disbelief the other boy shot him. "Turns out I'm really good at bouncing coins."

Draco nodded and sighed. He then did something that had Harry puzzled. He laughed. "You're an ass of the first degree, Potter. I'm a dying man here and you're making fun at my expense."

Harry started chuckling, himself. "You were begging for it, Draco, and you know it."

Draco sobered up instantly and bit his bottom lip. "I need some rest and you should probably get to class. Could you tell Pomfrey I'm feeling somewhat better, on your way out?"

Harry pushed himself up from his chair and slipped his wand into the pocket of his robe. "Sure I will. Do you need anything else?"

Draco nodded. "Discretion. If you're going to save my life, don't go announcing it to your little buddies. I rather die than have the Weasel or his female feel sorry for me."

Harry smirked and shrugged. "Don’t worry, Malfoy. You will never have to worry about that."

Draco hit the top of the bed with a fist and grunted. "Where is my Defense Against the Dark Arts book when I need it?"

Harry grinned and started for the door. "I'll see if I can get one of your lemmings to bring it to you."

Draco nodded his approval and turned over onto his side, back toward Harry. “Go on, then.”

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“You had a civil conversation with Malfoy?” Ron looked as if he was about to spit up a slug. “What did you talk about?”

Harry shrugged and shook his head. “We didn’t talk about anything really, but we didn’t fight either. Well… we didn’t hex each other and that’s a in in the right direction.”

“Right direction for what, Harry? You don’t want to be friends with him after six years of hell, do you?” Ron shook his head, figuring that this was so unlikely he shouldn’t have even mentioned it. “Did you know that Hermione is talking about babies?” Ron’s ears turned as red as his hair, as he told Harry of his girlfriend’s newfound eccentricity. “She’s seventeen for Merlin’s sake! Why would she want a baby at seventeen? I’m not ready to…” Ron turned pale and shook his head. “I don’t want to have children! I grew up in a house full of people. I’m glad to be rid of the people, Harry! I just want it to be Hermione and me.” Ron let out a deep breath and sunk into the couch.

Harry nodded his understanding. “Have you told Hermione how you feel about this?”

Ron chuckled and shook his head. “I do want to get laid sometime this next millennia.”

Harry grinned and shrugged. “Maybe you should just tell her you want to wait until you are both ready.” The raven-haired boy saw the look of skepticism he was receiving and sighed his accord. Hermione was pretty adamant when it came to getting what she wanted. If she wanted a baby, she would get one, whether Ron helped or not.

“Did you know that Draco Malfoy is on sick leave from class?” Hermione walked into the room, hands propped on her hips. “I need another prefect to bounce ideas off of before our next meeting.”

Ron frowned at his girlfriend’s distress over Draco Malfoy. “Why not bounce ideas off of Tipsy McClellan from Ravenclaw. She’s just as smart as Draco and a bit nicer, at that.” And a girl, Ron added silently, with a smirk on his face.

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned at the disgruntled girl. “I can get you in to see Malfoy. I was the one who brought him to Pomfrey last night.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked, worriedly.

Harry was touched by Hermione’s concern and a little more than surprised over it. “Since when have you cared about what happens to Draco?”

Hermione smiled and shrugged. “Since he started acting more like a human being. Since when do you call him Draco?”

Harry looked over at Ron and quirked a brow. “Did I?”

Ron nodded, his disgust obvious. “It was pretty gross, Harry.”

Harry nodded resolutely and sunk further in his chair. “I’ll try not to do it again.” The Gryffindor sat in silence for a long time, listening to his friends chatter and wondering what had possessed him to call Draco Malfoy by his given name.

TBC

~*~ No, the attraction is not addressed yet. Sex has not happened. Love is not established. I haven’t read enough Harry Potter fanfiction to know if this is clichéd or crap. So, yell at me, curse me, throw me down and spit on me… or you could give me verbal kisses by saying I didn’t waste your precious time and my own. (Sorry if this seems weirdly written. I felt odd writing fanfiction that wasn't 'Buffy' related. Hope it doesn't suck too bad, because I really want to take this somnewhere, once the weirdness is shaken off.)~*~

The title is ‘The Pursuit of Happiness’ because everybody should have the right to pursue happiness... point blank. ‘Flowers in May’ is a poem I wrote when I was fifteen or sixteen, and I think it makes a pretty subtitle for chapter one.