Draco's body swayed with the motions of the carriage. His thoughts were overrun with fear as he thought about the year to come. He looked up to the castle he had called his home for seven years, and remembered the events that happened the last time he was here. The Dark Lord had fallen after so many years of believing he would be the victorious one once again. He really believed he could beat The Boy Who Lived after a second time. What a stupid arsehole.

Draco knew it wasn't going to work. Harry Potter wasn't going to let it happen. Just like the first time, Potter didn't die. The Dark Lord only killed the last part of him that was inside Potter with that second Killing curse. Potter must be immune to the Unforgivable curses or something. He could never be Imperiused during fourth year in that crack-pot Moody's class and he survived both times he was on the business end of a killing curse. Potter had come to death so many times.

Draco would never admit it out loud, but he's envious of Harry Potter's will to live. After staring death in the face so many times and still triumphant, Draco was sure one would be down trodden at least a bit. But Potter looked almost as cheerful as he was in first year, before he knew what was to become of him. Draco watched the boy in the carriage before him, laughing and joking with the two youngest Weasley's and Granger. Potter had his arm wrapped around the female Weasley and had kissed her temple just a moment before. He looked happy.

Well, he bloody well should, said a voice in the back of Draco's head. He's the Savior of the Wizarding World. And what are you? A pathetic, loathsome, weak little boy.

Draco rubbed his face with his palms. It's funny how the voice in his mind deeply resembled his father's. It couldn't be, though, even if it was over a Legilimency link. Draco had found both of his parents dead in his father's study when Draco got back from a trial deciding his fate. His father killed his mother then poisoned himself to avoid going to Azkaban again. Draco's eyes pricked at the memory. His mother lying on the floor pointing to the door as if she was trying to run away while his father was slumped over his desk, a vile in his hand.

Draco shook his head as if he was trying to shake away the memory of his parents. He looked at the rest of the empty seats of the carriage. Alone, as always.

No one loves you. The voice reared its ugly head again.

"Shut up." Draco muttered. At least when he was alone, he didn't have to act like he wasn't losing his mind. Since the Dark Lord had pinned him with the responsibility of Dumbledore's death, his sanity started to slowly slip from his grasp. His friends noticed around the beginning of seventh year and let him be. Draco didn't think anything of it at the time, but now that he was alone in his starting of his now mandatory eighth year, he wished he did have some sort of connection to the peaceful times before.

A loud laugh brought Draco out of his head, just to look at the carriage before his. Bright green eyes met his, and the smile that came with them vanished, replaced by something Draco couldn't figure out. He quickly looked away, but the eyes made an imprint on him that he couldn't shake off.

It's pity, Draco. You should be used to it by now. Draco ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. He wished the voice in his mind would just shut the fuck up.

The carriage came to a stop. Draco stood up and carefully walked down the stairs to the earthy ground. Walking towards the castle, he made extra care not to look at the now visible thestral drawing the carriage. The magical creature frightened him even more than hippogriffs.

"Shut up, Ron," a voice growled. "You'd look like that, too, if you had been through the same things he went through."

Draco paused for a moment, looking towards the voice. Three were purposefully busying themselves so they didn't look at him. Potter stared at him, green eyes wide, and nodded. A shiver went through Draco, and as he pulled his robes tighter to his body, he nodded in response. Potter smiled and turned to his friends.

Stepping through the castle doors, he was enveloped in warmth and old memories. He kept the infamous Malfoy mask on his face, but mentally smirked at the times he had with his friends.

You have no friends anymore. Besides, they were never your friends. They used you to gain power, the voice in his head sneered. Draco sighed and walked into the Great Hall. Ignoring the stares of those already seated, he picked the very last seat at the Slytherin table. He heard his name whispered many times, ignored it and stared at the empty plate in front of him.

He saw his reflection. His hair was messy and pointing up in several directions. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a permanent frown. But, the most terrifying feature was his eyes. There were dark purple marks under his eyes; a side-effect of not sleeping. His eyes themselves were a dark grey color. They were the darkest he'd ever seen them. He vaguely remembered staring into an Inferi's eyes and the resemblance shook him.

He grabbed his napkin and threw it over the plate, blocking out the Inferi's stare. He realized someone was speaking and looked up to the Head Table to see Professor McGonagall—now Headmistress, Draco supposed—standing at the podium. Draco tuned out what ever she said. Until he heard Harry Potter's name.

"...no pestering whatsoever. He is a student here and should be treated as such. If anyone is found bothering him for autographs, stories, interviews, dates—anything—I will personally administer your detention.

"Also, this can be applied to any victims of the war, whoever they may be." Draco felt eyes on him, but ignored them.

"And with that, I hope to have a great new year. Enjoy your feast." McGonagall waved her hands and food appeared on the table in front of him. Moving the napkin off the plate and taking great care not to look at his reflection, he took a scoop of mashed potatoes and plopped it in the middle of his plate. He picked up the fork and stabbed the mound.

He rarely was hungry these days. He hardly ever ate, and when he did, it was usually just a biscuit or a piece of cheese. The house elves at the Manor didn't know what to do with themselves. Draco sighed and looked up.

Many heads turned away from him. Except one. One with an unruly mop of hair and green eyes looking through round glasses. He stared into the green eyes, trying to find the reason why they hadn't moved as soon as he looked up. He saw no malice or pity.

All he saw was curiosity and something else he couldn't place. Draco was stuck in those eyes. He didn't look away and neither did the green orbs.

Something flashed in front of the eyes and frightened Draco. He refocused and saw that someone had waved a hand in front of the face. Draco realized the eyes he was staring into were Harry Potter's eyes. It was the girl Weasley's hand that broke the trance. Potter was now talking to her, but his eyes slipped back to Draco for a second before going back to her.

Draco sighed at looked back down at the mound of potatoes on his plate. The mystery emotion confused him.

Why would Potter, of all people, look at you with anything but pity and hatred? You're a disgusting, loathsome little cockroach that should have been stepped on years ago. You might as well do everyone a favor and jump off the Astronomy Tower, but you won't. You're too much of a coward to kill anything, much less yourself, which is severely overdue.

The voice in his head was practically screaming. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and grasped the fork tightly. Breathing through his nose, he opened his eyes. The fork was bent and mangled in his hand. He quickly dropped it and ran a hand through his messy hair. A loud throat clearing sound was made, making Draco look up to the head Table once more.

McGonagall was standing once again. Draco hadn't noticed that the platters before him had changed foods to desserts.

"Would the following students please meet me in my office immediately after dismissal: Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy,"—eyes went to him—"Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley. The rest of you may make your ways to your respective dormitories. Thank you and have a good night." She nodded and watched as people exited. A few of the Slytherins even made sure to shove him while going to the doors, once almost knocking him down. He turned away from the crowd and saw the backs of the Gryfindors a few feet in front of him.

Wrapping his arms tight around him, he walked with slumped shoulders to the Headmistress' office.

Disclaimer: This is all J.K. Rowling's doing. I'm only borrowing her characters and such to satisfy my own and everyone else's fix for Drarry sexy fun times. It's all her fault.