QUICK BEFORE NOTE: I have a tendency to never finish stories, so I apologize in advance if I suddenly stop updating this and never pick it up again. It's really just a fun aside, something to help me de-stress while working on an original story I'm trying to finish.

That being said, I hope you enjoy reading this.

Draco had just left the compartment that housed Harry Potter and the Weasley boy, feeling quite miffed by the Potter boy's rejection of his offer of friendship. How dare he? Clearly Potter hadn't a clue who he was messing with, but he would soon learn. Potter would regret siding with that―that blood traitor. Draco would be sure of it.

He returned to the cabin he'd settled in earlier alone; Goyle had run off somewhere to nurse his wounds and Crabbe had likely gone with him. Those two were two big, dumb peas in a pod and followed each other around like puppies. Draco didn't mind; he was too busy fuming to even really notice their absence. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn't even notice that there was someone else in the cabin until they spoke.

"Oh, hello there."

Startled out of his reverie, Draco froze in the doorway. Lounging on one of the seats was a rather small and unremarkable-looking boy dressed in muggle clothing. Choppy golden hair tumbled into blue eyes, hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses. His faded black t shirt seemed a size or two too large for him and sagged on his slender frame, where his blue jeans seemed almost uncomfortably close-cut.

He sat with his back against the far wall, legs drawn up onto the seat in front of him and crossed at the ankle, a tattered copy of a book resting in his lap. The boy offered Draco a wide, crooked smile that dimpled his left cheek.

"What are you doing in here?" It came out a bit harsher than Draco intended, but the boy didn't flinch.

Instead, he blinked his big blue eyes, looking slightly surprised. "The rest of the train was full," he said, with an accent that sounded suspiciously American. "I hope you don't mind that I parked here." He closed his book and rose, crossing the short distance and sticking out his hand. "I'm Dominic Darling, by the way, but everyone calls me Nick."

Draco glanced down at the boy―Nick's―extended hand. The side of it from his wrist all the way up his pinkie finger was smudged with either pencil or charcoal, Draco wasn't certain which, and the nails had been bitten down to the quick. It wasn't the hand of someone accustomed to physical labor, but it most certainly wasn't the hand of a dignified young man. Also, the young Malfoy was quick to notice, Nick's hand was shaking ever so slightly. He was nervous―or excited, Draco considered, or perhaps even a little bit of both.

With these factors in mind, Draco came to the conclusion that Nick's outstretched hand was to be ignored―though a moment later when he brushed it aside, Nick's momentary look of surprise and hurt sent a flash of guilt running through him as Draco recalled just a few minutes earlier when he'd experienced the exact same rejection. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," Draco responded coolly, biting down his guilt.

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Malfoy, huh? I've heard of you―your dad's big cheese in the Ministry, isn't he?" He plopped down on the seat he'd been sitting on before, not waiting for Draco to reply before continuing. "My uncle works for MACUSA, but I'm not certain what he does." Nick shrugged nonchalantly, as if it mattered not to him that he hadn't a clue what his uncle did for a living.

Warily, Draco perched himself on the bench opposite of Nick. "You're from a wizarding family?" he asked cautiously.

"Yessir." Nick nodded vigorously, picking up his book once more. Suddenly he frowned, as if realizing something. "You, uh, never did answer my question about my being here. If you want me to go to another compartment, I'll scram―"

"No, it's fine." Draco wasn't entirely certain why he said it; Nick didn't seem like the kind of person he would normally associate with, considering that in the first five minutes of meeting, the boy was both American and clearly quite odd. "What house do you suppose you'll be in?" Draco queried, quick to change the topic. "I hope to be in Slytherin myself―it runs in the family after all."

Nick tapped his knuckle to his lower lip, thoughtful. "I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "Ravenclaw seems to be the berries, but I dunno if I'd be their sort. I'm quite intelligent, mind you, but I don't think I'd fit in much with them."

Draco stared at him, puzzled by the odd phrase (the "berries?" What on earth was that supposed to mean? ) but Nick continued, oblivious to the other's confusion.

"I don't know that much about Hufflepuff, so I can't make a sound conclusion there," Nick went on, "however I have heard quite a bit about Gryffindor. Too much, for my liking. They seem to be a bit full of themselves, don't you think?" He scrunched his nose up in distaste.

Despite himself, Draco found himself grinning. He quickly wiped the expression off of his face, though there was a glint in Nick's eyes that suggested that he wasn't as oblivious as he appeared.

"I suppose that leaves Slytherin." Nick frowned softly. "It has a pretty terrible reputation, doesn't it? Numerous dark wizards were once in Slytherin house, including the infamous Hitler of the Wizarding world himself, Vol―You-Know-Who." It seemed that he was about to refer to You-Know-Who by name, but had caught himself just in time, though he hadn't seemed afraid of the name himself. Draco realized that Nick had probably censored himself as not to garner a negative reaction from Draco. "Of course," Nick continued brightly, "the famous Merlin was also a Slytherin, and just because a good portion of the bananas in the bunch are rotten doesn't mean that all of them are."

What an odd way of looking at things, Draco mused. Was it an American attribute to be so strangely and blindly optimistic, or simply a Nick one?

Anyway, Nick most certainly didn't look like he'd fit in in Slytherin house. He was so radically different that it was almost comical; Draco could scarcely imagine this peculiar, slightly eccentric American mingling with the highly respectable company that made up the majority of Slytherin students.

Nick acted more like a Gryffindor , if Draco was being honest, with his blunt and somewhat bizarre way of speaking and his ever-shifting moods. He even looked like a Gryffindor―the cocky, composed way he held himself that sparked with repressed hyperactivity, the messy, carefreeness of his appearance, the dimpled smile and long lashes that promised that in a few years he'd be a heartthrob of witches all over school, and he knew it. Draco was reminded of the few stories his mother had told him of her cousin Sirius Black from when he was in school, though Sirius had apparently had an adamant hatred for Slytherin house that wasn't present in Nick.

"That's...that's one way of looking at it," Draco said dumbly, unsure of how to respond to Nick's comment.

Nick grinned and nodded. "I get that a lot." With that, he pulled his leg up to rest the ankle on the knee of his other, and flipped open his book to the page he'd left it. Draco, figuring that this signalled that their conversation was hence over, began to wonder intensely what he was supposed to do when the only other person in the cabin wasn't speaking to him. The silence didn't last very long, however, for a few long moments later, Nick glanced back up at him and said, "I don't suppose you like to read, do you Draco?"

Malfoy blinked, surprised, before replying. It was strange hearing his first name said so casually in conversation―even Crabbe and Goyle, the closest thing he had to friends, referred to him by his surname. "Actually, I find it quite enjoyable," he replied once he gathered his wits once more, "depending on the subject matter, that is. Why do you ask?"

The other shrugged. "Curious, that's all. You seemed like the kind to be well-read." And that being said, Nick fell silent for good this time. He returned to his book, and save for the occasional snort or exclaim of disbelief at whatever was written on those pages, he didn't speak again for the entire train ride. He nodded a thank you to Draco when Draco reminded him that they needed to change into their robes, but was otherwise so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn't utter a word.

When the train docked at the station, Nick bid a quick farewell to Draco, shoved his book into the pockets of his robes, and disappeared into the fray of other students leaving the train. Draco wasn't to see the strange boy again until the Sorting.

Author's Note: Nick has a tendency to use old-fashioned slang-as evidenced above.

Big cheese: hotshot; someone important

Berries: (as in "it's the berries") the best

Scram: leave quickly