A/N: Hullo again. New 'verse for me. A few items of note:
1)I do not, in any way, own these characters. (No matter how much I'd love to.) Nor do I own any of the dialogue used in this chapter.
2) This is my first time writing with these characters. I apologise in advance if it sucks. I'll be trying to stick with the books more, but there are parts where I will inevitably be alluding to the movies. It's the problem for having me get into this so late in the game.
3) (Finally) I'll be looking forward to any readings/reviews/comments, and I would aboslutely enjoy having a beta reader! Please message me if you're interesed. I have one, but I always think that the more you can have, the better.
-1-
You hit me once
"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around.
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an almighty sound."
-Drumming Song ~ Florence and the Machine
Harry felt it as soon as he saw that shock of platinum blonde hair in, what was it again, Madame Malkin's? Something like that. His brain was already on overload, which is why, he presumed, his head began pounding as soon as he saw the other boy. Placed next to him as they tried on robes, he attempted to converse with him over the loud noise in his head. He sounded rather like Dudley, spoilt and arrogant and just plain rude. He was grateful when Madame Malkin finished the other boy's fitting and watched as he left, the pounding of his head lessening with each step farther out of view he got. He enjoyed the rest of his day with Hagrid, learning all about this new world and still pondering that odd boy from earlier.
Draco heard the rumours. Although far, far above them, he heard the whispers that the Harry Potter was on this train. Following the voices, although not alone- never alone, it wasn't right to have to walk all the way down the train by yourself when you were a Malfoy- he waltzed up to the compartment of the train that simply contained two boys. One, he presumed, was Harry, and the other had a shock of red hair which made it fairly obvious that he was a Weasley. He opened the door and entered with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. "Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." He eyed Harry- or at least, he thought it was Harry- once, quickly, trying to ignore the pounding in his own head. "So it's you, is it?"
Harry stared at the boy. It was definitely the rude one from the robe shop, the one whose mouth spewed the most vicious of things. He ignored the throbbing in his head which began when he sighted the boy and answered him firmly. "Yes." Harry assumed the headache was only making its return appearance because of what he remembered from the last time he talked to the arrogant one. He tried to avoid looking at the pale one in the middle by looking at the, for lack of a better term, bodyguards on either side of him.
Draco noted the stares. "Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle." He stated, gesturing to the large thugs on either side of him. "And I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He smirked casually until Weasley 'coughed.' He whipped his head to look at the other occupant of the compartment. "Think my name's funny, do you?" He sneered. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children then they can afford." He smirked at the scoff that erupted from that vile red head's mouth. Turning back to Harry, he began again. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He extended his hand, smirking again.
Harry stared at the hand. Despite his head pounding, he kept his cool, calm, and collected demeanor as his glance roved up and down the pale blonde. His voice caressed his harsh words like silk over an iron bar. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks." He shrugged at the hand.
Malfoy's mind went racing. 'How dare he ignore me. Wait till my father hears about this….' He bit out insults instead, fighting the pounding and rushing noises in his head. What he said next was a blur, fudged by the rage, and the next thing he remembered was being back in his compartment, listening to Goyle simper on about how he was going to kill the damn rat the next time he encountered it.
His head no longer throbbed, but he could feel the heat in his cheeks. He figured it must be from the anger, there couldn't be anything else. He wouldn't be embarrassed, no. That wasn't an emotion a Malfoy should ever have to experience. And it was one he wouldn't. He would not be shamed by this boy, even if he felt he had never been so insulted in his life. Raking a hand through his long, blonde locks, Draco stared out the window, face fixed with a scowl. Somehow, that blow had hurt worse than if Harry had actually hit him. 'Just you wait, Potter. You may have hit me once, but I'll most certainly hit you back. You better be ready, because I won't be the one to bow down to you because you're the 'boy-who-lived.' I'll make that life a hell, as you've just made mine.'