Chapter Two

Time passes so slowly, when you're having fun. I can almost hear father say softly, in my left ear, 'sarcasm is a weapon, son. Use it well.'

And, here I sit, surrounded by imbeciles, challenged individuals, who refuse to be illuminated. Crabbe, well, he sits opposite reading a comic, and I greatly doubt that he can read the words. Pansy sits next to me; with her hand sitting softly on my upper thigh, she purses her lips into what she believes is a sultry smile -- it's not. It only makes her look more...puggish, and as she tries her best to allure me -- it only succeeds in making me feel more sick. The mark on my arm starts to itch.

"I wonder what Slughorn wants with Zabini?" Pansy thinks aloud.

Who fucking cares, I think viciously. Who bloody cares about that pompous windbag -- he'd clearly lost any sense of priority, otherwise I would have received an invitation by now. Overlooking a Malfoy, just who does he think he is? But, anyway, who bloody well cares -- the man is a coward, hiding behind Dumbledore's coattails, afraid to face the Dark Lord. The man is a blood traitor, running scared -- not like me, I'd accepted my summons with pride. No matter, though, I don't care. Let him and Zabini schmooze together, they can go and have bloody babies together for all that it means to me -- I have bigger fish to fry. The itch begins to burn.

"Draco, are you quite...well?"

Pansy's words are soft, but her eyes are shrewd. The silly cow is just looking for an opportunity. Stupidly, I give it her. "Just a headache, Pansy."

It's all she needs. Her lips stretch into a simpering smile. "Then lay your head on my lap, Draco. I will massage it -- my grandmother could heal, you know. It will make you feel better, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

No I fucking wouldn't - keep your hands to yourself, you foolish bint. The burn is now an inferno of pain, a thousand insects crawling under my skin. I need to touch , to scratch the wound raw, but her eyes never leave me, so I stay my hand. "Stop bloody looking at me like that, Parkinson. For fucks sake, I'm not a museum piece, you know."

"Don't be mean to me, Draco..."

Merlin, the stupid girl actually looks upset, what the hell is wrong with her? I take a deep breathe, I try to dispel the overwhelming flood of raw emotion that pours. Ever since...

The compartment door swings open, in comes Goyle, his arms full of sweets. "Got them, Malfoy. Couldn't get the chocolate frogs, though. They were all out of them."

I welcome the interruption, but wave a dismissing hand his way, "You two have them." I feel no need for confectionary now, I just want to close my eyes and think. The brain-challenged idiot plonks his large behind down beside Crabbe, thuggishly elbowing him further along the seat. And, making much more noise than necessary, their lips smacking together and making disgusting grunting sounds, the ugly pair tuck in like pigs at a trough. Clutching my hands to my head, frustrated, I grope for some control; the Dark Lord rewards control and command, my head begins to pound.

A small and perfumed hand rests lightly on my back. "Draco, are you alright? You seem troubled..."

"I'm fine, Pansy. I've never been better," I grit out, finally gaining some much needed restraint. "In fact, when Zabini finally gets back, I have a lot of important things to tell-"

"Oh, what things, Draco?" Her eyes are shining brightly, a look of excitement inches onto her face, her mouth is slightly agape.

That's more like it, I'm comfortable in this position, I have myself in command again. Fuck your pity and stupid, bloody small talk, Parkinson. Just carry on eyeing me in admiration, leaving the sex out of it, of course. Let things get back to normal, then maybe I'll manage to pull this off.

"Draco - tell me..."

Her voice is urgent and pleading, making the first true smirk of the day appear on my sour lips. "Later, Pans-"

"Don't tease, Draco!"

The smirk widens, my voice holds its first true happy note. "Have you no patience, Parkinson? -- I said later," I stretch up my arms in an exaggerated yawn, clasping my hands behind my neck. "Show some decorum, why don't you?" Then, with my contented smirk still firmly in place, I lay back and close my eyes, placing my head on her soft lap.

The squeak of the compartment door sliding open disrupts my peace. My eyes fly open, it's Zabini. I begin to sit up, suddenly alert again.

"What's wrong with this thing," Zabini snaps angrily as he smashes the door repeatedly against some invisible blockage. My eyebrows rise, what was going on? I snigger. Honestly, he looks so bloody stupid, just what did he think he was doing?

The door suddenly flies wide open, sending Zabini sprawling into Goyle's lap. What on earth is happening? A flash of white distracts me; quick as a lightning, it disappears into the luggage rack, I follow it with my eyes. What is that? An ankle -- did I just see an ankle? What on -- could it be? An idea forms and takes root. Potter?

The sound of the door slamming distracts me. My eyes travel towards a snarling Goyle, who throws Zabini off him. Zabini crumples in his seat and I snigger again. Could anyone look more ridiculous? What a bloody idiot! Then, as I lay my head back down in Pansy's lap, my thoughts return to that flash of white. Potter! Is Potter in the room?

I just don't know, I can't be sure -- I need more information. Had Potter been invited to Slug's compartment too? Schooling my thoughts, I make my voice a bored drawl. "So, Zabini," I say as casually as I'm able, "what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people..."

Merlin! I wish she'd stop playing with my hair -- it was so distracting, the silly bint. What was Blaise saying ... well-connected people? What was that supposed to mean -- why didn't he invite me? Bloody pompous, old snob! I'm a bloody Malfoy - this is an outrage - I wont let him get away with this. Bloody blood-traitorous fool! Who does he think he is? But, a small voice in the back of mind distracts my thoughts, a voice that keeps on whispering...Potter.

And, back on track, I keep on probing. "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor."

Oh, yes, I know him. He has money and connections in the family. Father knew his uncle. Some sort of big-wig, father said. "Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the ministry," I begin to say.

"-someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw-"

How dare Zabini interrupt me? I haven't finished what I was saying, you prat! I open my mouth to tell him so, but Pansy gets in before me.

"Not him, he's a prat!"

Zabini takes as much notice of her as he did of me, and carries on undeterred. "- and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl."

I shot up. So Potter was there. He could have followed Blaise. He could be in this compartment. He could be in the luggage rack, bloody spying down on me. And, did Zabini say Longbottom, had that poor excuse of a wizard had been invited instead of me? This was an outrage! "He invited... Longbottom?

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there."

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"

Blaise just shrugs at me in a way that drives me insane, not bothering to answer. But, honestly, why Longbottom, why not me? The answer suddenly hits me. i Potter! /i That's why the prat was there, he was in The Department of Mysteries with Potter. My lip curls into a snarl. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One," my thoughts turn to the Weasley girl, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," interrupts Pansy, obviously trying to gauge some sort of reaction out of me. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you..."

Did the stupid bint really think I was interested in the Weaslette? Merlin, how could she be so blind? I drone out the rest of her speech as I have more important things to ponder on; things such as Potter, hiding on top of the luggage rack.

Is he up there? Is he scrunched up there spying down on me? And what was he hoping to hear, if, indeed, he was? My head begins to pound again, the insistent itch continues to nag. The day that had begun in sunshine, now begins to fade to grey. With too many questions left unanswered, I struggle to make sense of my world: Blaise being far too superior, Pansy and her pathetic pity; snubbed by a fat pig of man, who dared to call himself a pureblood. And, Potter, of course, popping up as always; whether imagined or not, he is always there to haunt me. I struggle to make sense of it all, lost in my thoughts, I struggle to find the real essence of me.

The conversation that surrounds me halts; I realise that I'm expected to speak. Stalling, I lay my head down on Pansy's lap first, this gives me some time to find my bearings. Now, what is it I'm expected to do? Oh, yes, I remember, it's time for me to join the game again. I decide to save face.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day my father used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or-"

"I wouldn't bank on a invitation," interrupts Zabini. "He asked me about Nott's father..."

My lip curls into a snarl as I blot his words out. So that's his game, is it? Zabini is aligning him self with the pompous buffoon.

"-I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

You don't think so then, Zabini? And, where, may I ask, do your alliances lay? I force out a humourless laugh.

"Well, who cares what he's interested in?" I spit out, almost viciously. Now, let's find out where you stand on this Zabini. "What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." I let out an exaggerated yawn and wonder if Potter is really up there listening. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

If he is up there, I smirk to myself, that'll have his ears tingling.

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?"

Pansy's hand ceased it's infernal fussing. Well, at least, I had her full attention. If they only knew what I knew. Involuntary, I think of him; my smirk begins to fade. However, I brave it out, putting a Slytherin face on things.

"Well, you never know," I pause here, to emphasise my next words. "I might have - er - moved on to bigger and better things."

My words had the impact that I'd aimed for: the troll's gawp, the luggage rack creaks; Zabini's face is, at last, curious, and Pansy stares at me dumbfounded. Her hand resumes its constant grooming.

"Do you mean -- Him?" she asks, her eyes wide.

Of course I mean him, who do you think I mean, stupid girl! And stop grooming me, do I look like a bloody cat? Outwardly, though, I merely shrug, and chose my next words carefully.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it ... when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't ... it'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion shown."

Of course Zabini chooses to disagree. "And you think you'll be able to do something for him? Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

I choose to ignore his scathing tone. Is he being this thick-headed on purpose, is he refusing to see? I lower my voice a decibel. Maybe, this will help get through to his pigheaded skull.

"I've just said so haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something you need to be qualified for."

Ah, that has the effect I wanted, they're all looking dumbfounded now. Yet, somehow, I don't feel the pride that I thought I would feel, something inside of me just doesn't seem right. Do they really understand what I'm telling them, or do they still think it a game? Not knowing the answer, I turn to the window; my thoughts turn to darker times.

'Do you understand me, young Malfoy?' Red eyes burn through me with uncontained fury.

'Y-Y-Yes, my Lord.'

'Then go forth and restore my faith in your family -- I expect results, Draco. Don't fail me'

"I wont , my Lord!'

'Step forth, Draco 'One small step can lead to great things.'

Dully, I step forward.

'Will you take my mark, Draco?'

I raise my head, 'I w...'

Rushing forward, the train suddenly let's out a large hoot; it sends me spinning out of memory. I glance up, startled. Through the window, I see several large towers loom ahead, and I realise that I'm rather glad of their distraction.

"I can see Hogwarts," I tell them matter-of-factly, as I point out of the window. "We'd better get our robes on."

The spell is broken; everyone begins to hurry into their robes: Zabini and Pansy already have their robes on and are already buttoning them up; Goyle reaches for his trunk and swings it down, narrowly missing the top of Crabbe's head; someone gasps in pain.

I look up sharply and frown. That had come from overhead, I was on the right track all along, there's someone hiding up there. Potter. It had to be Potter, I'd bet my last Galleon on it. But, I'm still staring and that wont do, he'll probably guess that I've caught on. Careful Malfoy, remember control and command. And, with my two new commandments in mind, I turn to put my new travelling cloak on.

And, as I button up my cloak, the beginnings of a plan start to form in my mind. If I'm careful, if I'm thorough, maybe I'll be able to pull it off. Maybe, this time, I'll finally get to thwart Potter.

The corridor begins to fill outside, Goyle flings open the door, Crabbe and Zabini follow, and Pansy stands at the edge of the door waiting for me. I wave her and her outstretched hand away.

"You go on," I tell her quickly. "I just want to check something."

Her face pulls into a disappointed grimace, but, thankfully, she leaves without a word. I step forward immediately and pull down the blinds, blocking out the compartment from curious eyes. Then, turning to my trunk, I hope this will work. My wand is now gripped tightly in my perspiring hand.

I spin on my heels. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Something, or someone, invisible crashes loudly to the floor in front of me, the floor of the carriage shakes and reverbs, and the image of Harry Potter suddenly appears before my unbelieving eyes.

Dear Merlin! Is this actually happening - have I finally bested Potter? A slow gleeful smile turns up my lips. Look at him all curled up and defenceless -- I've done it, I've actually done it; at last, I'm one up on Harry Bloody Potter! Who'd have thought it? ... Finally, I've done something to make father proud. Feeling the first few tingles of pride, some strange form of happiness begins to surge through me; it is all I can do to resist the urge to howl with joy. So, instead, I gloat.

"I thought so," I say, needing to tell of my cleverness, needing to bolster my pride. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back..." I break off to eye Potter's trainers. Odd, I know, but I still can't believe what is happening. It must be shock, or something, I suppose. But, strangely, seeing Potter's ugly, white footwear, the air of joy seems to flee me, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. I ask another flat question, not quite knowing what to do next. I'm stalling for time. "That was you blocking the door when Zabini came in, I suppose?"

Of course, Potter cannot answer me; he just stares up at me blankly, with his strange green eyes seeming to pull all the joy from my world. The complete and utter bastard couldn't even let me enjoy my five minutes of glory; blistering anger, that only he can manage to provoke, begins to swell. And, keeping myself in rein, I consider him carefully.

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got here..."

The bridle snapped; I stomp down, hard, on his face, a nauseating crack follows, the blood spurts everywhere. I still feel no joy; elation has left me, leaving me wallowing in the dark. I remember my father.

"That's from my father. Now, let's see..."

I want him gone from my sight. I cannot bear to look at him any longer. Spying his Invisibility Cloak trapped underneath him, I drag it out from under him, throwing it over his distorted form. Instantly, he disappears. Soon, he'll be gone.

"I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London," I tell him, monotonously. "See you around, Potter ... or not."

A memory comes flooding back, a memory of me laying defenceless on the floor; a memory of me laying there helpless and vulnerable, a memory of one of his do-gooder friends stepping purposely on me as they left. So, as I depart from the carriage, I happily return the favour before I leave. On a new path now, I slide the compartment door quietly shut behind me. And, as I walk down the now deserted train's corridor, I wonder exactly this path will lead.

TBC

AN: This fiction is from Draco's point of view throughout HBP. Now, this means that although a lot of the words are mine, a fair few of JK's are in there too, in places where my fic and her book merge. I take no credit for her words, I just borrow them for the sake of this fic, and will try to keep JK's words to a bare minium.