Chapter Two

As the Hogwarts Express rattled its way to school, I sat by the window, glaring at the flashing scenery. The sun was hiding behind the angry clouds; rain was smacking the windows, running down them like tears. The skies reflected my mood perfectly.

I stood up abruptly. My company was aggravatingly quiet. Crabbe was reading another one of his retched comics (it's comprised mostly of pictures; I'm not sure he can even read). Goyle was snoring loudly, his bulky mass leaning onto his thin girlfriend, who looked as if she were suffocating. Pansy, too, was snoozing, her dark head resting on my shoulder. When I rose, she fell onto my seat and looked at me, affronted.

Without answering her quizzical looks, I left. Stalking down the corridors of the train, pushing puny first years out of my way, I made my way to his carriage. I turned and threw the door open when I found it. He looked up at me, alarmed by the noise I had made. When his eyes locked on mine (my heart melted in his green gaze), he leaned back as if he were bored.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Where's your cronies? Finally big enough to walk around without bodyguards now, are you?" Harry sneered. The blood traitor, Weasley, laughed loudly. I glared at him until he quieted. The bushy-haired Mudblood was sitting under her usual pile of textbooks, looking on with a worried expression.

"I need a word," I announced, stepping forward into the compartment and looking at him down my nose. I kept my mouth set straight, refusing to smile at his beauty. It was a hard struggle. All three of them were silent, exchanging looks of curiosity and warning.

I expected him to laugh, to push me out, to snarl back an insult, so I was surprised (as well as absurdly nervous and happy) when he stood. His muscles rippled in his arms as he pushed himself up. Oh, Merlin! My heart raced and I'm sure he could hear it. I took a breath and urged myself to calm down.

With a quick look back at his friends, he followed me out of the compartment. I led the way down the cramped hall, glancing in each compartment in search of an empty one. Inside, my heart was frantically beating; Harry was right behind me, so close. I heard his feet hit the ground with each step, reassuring me that he was still there…he was still there…

Finally, I found an empty compartment. I slid the door open and walked inside. He stepped in after me and I closed the door. With a deep breath I turned to look at him. Only in my wonderful fantasies have I been here before. He stared at me with blunt curiosity. His beautiful green eyes kept glancing at the door every few seconds, probably wondering if he could escape…but he followed me…he was still there.

"Potter," I started, my usual sneering drawl spitting the name out like poison, defiling him. "I—" I couldn't continue; the words were stuck in my throat. I stared at him with my mouth half-open.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his curious face morphing into one of amusement. "Yes, Malfoy?" His tone suggested he found my frozen state quite humorous. I scowled.

"Watch your back," I hissed. I slammed the door open and started to march back to my compartment when a hand firmly gripped my shoulder. I spun around and was face-to-face with Harry Potter. His breath was on my face…he blinked, his long lashes brushing his cheek…his lips were mere centimeters from mine…no! I violently yanked my arm out of his grasp, brows furrowed and mouth glowering. "What, Potter?"

For a few seconds, he didn't even say anything. He stared at me, looking like a bloody idiot (as I must have back in the compartment…). When he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. "Tell me what you know."

I blinked, confusion biting back one of my always-ready insults. "About what?" my voice was soft, inquiring. Instantly, I glared at him, hoping to cover up my slip. I can't show any weaknesses; I am a Malfoy—a wretched Malfoy—and we are not weak.

Yeah, right.

"Who's going to die?" Harry whispered, emotion coloring his words, his eyes intense. He said this as if he expected death, knew this would happen. I felt like I melted into a puddle. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him that he was going to die, that I would be the one to deliver him to his death.

Instead, I fell back onto what I know best. I sneered. "Why, Potter, would I ever tell you what I know? You think that just because you're the famous, bloody Harry Potter, you are entitled to whatever you want? Well, think again." I stormed away. He didn't try to stop me, but the look on his face made me want to run back, to hold him, to apologize over and over, and take back everything I said…to kiss him and wipe away the tears that are always hiding behind his green eyes.

But I didn't. I sat back down next to Pansy Parkinson and resigned myself to glaring at clouds once more.

"Back at Hogwarts for yet another year of boring lessons and annoying first-years," I lazily announced over breakfast the morning after we arrived. I stabbed my sausage with my fork. Pansy laughed and playfully smacked my arm. Her childish attempts are worthless; she is as attractive to me as Weasley's mother. "What do we have first period?"

"Potions," she said, smiling, glad that I was showing her attention. She batted her eyelashes at me, which were not nearly as long or graceful as Potter's were…I stood up quickly, knocking the bench back and Pansy held onto the table for support. "Draco! Where are you going?" Pansy squealed as I strode away.

With a huge sigh of relief (Pansy is quite irksome and parasitic; I can never seem to be free of her), I reached the Entrance Hall. It was too early to head to class so I decided to go to the library. Just because I'm not a filthy Ravenclaw doesn't mean I'm stupid or anything.

I took a few shortcuts and made my way into the library. As I walked, my thoughts wandered aimlessly, eventually, and quite quickly, ending with Potter as usual. How was I supposed to kill him? He's the sweetest person; all he did was survive a curse to the head. Did he really deserve to be murdered?

Madam Pince's beady eyes followed me from the moment I stepped into the library. I looked at her scornfully, hoping to make her stop…it didn't work. I walked to the back of the large hall and sat at the corner table, hidden from the librarian's view behind the rows of books.

I pulled a piece of parchment out of my bag. The paper was folded many times and looked abused. I've read it so many times before that it left its mark. I unfolded it and stared sadly at my aunt's ironically neat script.

Draco,

You have been personally chosen by the Dark Lord to do the greatest task any devoted follower could dream of. You are a Malfoy, a Black. You have the purest blood running through your veins. You have the power and ability to fulfill the Dark Lord's request. I know you can and I know you will. Do it and don't get caught. Don't let me, your parents, or the Dark Lord down. Terrible things will happen to you if you do…

Aunt Bellatrix

I read the note and reread it, letting the inspiring words to flood me with confidence. I closed my eyes and imagined me killing Potter, finally succeeding the greatest accomplishment of the Cause.

"Malfoy," a voice suddenly but quietly called, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked up into the greenest eyes I've ever seen, the same ones that have plagued my dreams for months.

"Potter," I retorted cooly, concealing my thoughts with expertise. My heart twinged painfully at the slight frown that formed on his beautiful lips.

He stared me directly in my eyes; I felt violated, like he was digging into my soul with his eyes. "You never answered my question." He stood in front of me, waiting for me to talk. I could feel his body tense and his anxiety building. I smirked.

"I believe I did, Potter. I recall mentioning something about shrinking that head of yours." I stood up, my face inches from his yet again. My eyes narrowed as I breathed my next words in his face, "It's none of your bloody business, and you'd be wise to nose out."

Harry didn't flinch; he whispered back, his breath tickling my face, "If someone dies, you'll be next." He walked away, leaving me rooted to the spot. His scent still lingered: sweat, rain, and grass, mixed addictively together.