A/N: If it isn't painfully obvious, the title comes from Pink Floyd's "The
Final Cut."
Chapter Two:
Harry stared down the empty corridor for a moment before going into the next train car. What the hell had just happened there? Surely Draco had a flair for the dramatic; his sneering attitude was always so over-the-top. But the guy had looked, well, horrible. Don't be such a softie, Ron's voice in his head replied. Have you forgotten the last four years already? The problems with Draco hadn't ended after his fourth year.
Every time something happened to put Harry in the spotlight, Draco had always been there to remind him that his fame was a borrowed cloak. All due to the scar. He had to laugh at that irony. More than once he'd wished he was an invisible face among the others. It wasn't his fault that he was famous before he even knew what it meant for his future.
Draco always seemed to happen to be there the moment a group of giddy first-years were clamoring for his autograph. Last year, he had offered to tutor a group of Hufflepuff second years that were really struggling in Defense of the Dark Arts. Malfoy and his cohorts always managed to know where they were studying, even though he had purposely tried to meet in as many different places to avoid his jeers. When he had complained to Ron and Hermione about this, Hermione had given him a sideways grin and said, "I think Draco's your number one fan, Harry."
He'd laughed. But then he wondered… was it uncanny that Draco was always there to kick him when he was down? Out of all the Gryffindors who would have been perfect for taunting, why Harry?
"Can I help you dear?"
He looked up suddenly, realizing that he'd been standing by the lunch cart in his flashback daze. He blushed and reached in his pockets for his money, ordering a handful of cauldron cakes. She smiled and handed him the food. He walked back down the aisle to the next train car, still thinking.
Seven years. Seemed like just yesterday Harry had walked up to Professor McGonagall with shaky legs as she held the Sorting Hat to him. He watched as a similarly gawky boy sat upon the stool.
"Gryffindor!" the hat hollered. Harry cheered and shouted with the rest of his table as the boy nearly ran over with relief.
"Harry, do you ever wonder what your seven years of school would have been like if you had been sorted into Slytherin?" Hermione said, nudging him. He startled as if she had poked him with her fork.
"What do you mean?" he said. He had told her of the hat's thoughts in his head, but it was the thought behind her question that startled him more.
"Yeah, I know, perish the thought," added Hermione with a smile, thinking his startled features to be a reaction of horror of being placed in Slytherin. "But do you think the three of us would have been able to be friends, or would you end up a sneering, teasing git like Draco Malfoy?"
"Really Hermione, that's awfully stereotypical of you," Harry said to her now-surprised face. "I mean, not all Slytherin are like Malfoy…"
He was thinking of one Slytherin second-year that had joined the Hufflepuff study group. Harry couldn't remember her name, but he remembered she was painfully quiet and rarely spoke.
"Nah, you're wrong Harry," Ron said, butting on the conversation as usual. "All Slytherin are the same. They may start out differently, but they're all power-mad and hungry to get their way. My Dad says…"
"Your Dad has the hatred of Lucius Malfoy on his shoulders," Harry interrupted. "No wonder he hates all Slytherin."
Ron frowned, spearing a piece of meat with his fork and gesturing with it.
"You, of all people, ought to know why Slytherins are bad, Harry," he said, glowering as he snapped up the piece of meat into his mouth.
Harry was about to retort, but the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" once more and they all joined in the cheers and clapping, like a Pavlovian response, Harry thought bitterly. When the cheering stopped, Ron had turned to the new Gryffindor, already taking out his pictures of posing with various Chudley Cannon players. Hermione glanced over to Harry curiously, but then suddenly seemed very interested in her dinner.
Harry looked over to the Slytherin table, just long enough to see Draco Malfoy turn away. As if he had been watching.
Chapter Two:
Harry stared down the empty corridor for a moment before going into the next train car. What the hell had just happened there? Surely Draco had a flair for the dramatic; his sneering attitude was always so over-the-top. But the guy had looked, well, horrible. Don't be such a softie, Ron's voice in his head replied. Have you forgotten the last four years already? The problems with Draco hadn't ended after his fourth year.
Every time something happened to put Harry in the spotlight, Draco had always been there to remind him that his fame was a borrowed cloak. All due to the scar. He had to laugh at that irony. More than once he'd wished he was an invisible face among the others. It wasn't his fault that he was famous before he even knew what it meant for his future.
Draco always seemed to happen to be there the moment a group of giddy first-years were clamoring for his autograph. Last year, he had offered to tutor a group of Hufflepuff second years that were really struggling in Defense of the Dark Arts. Malfoy and his cohorts always managed to know where they were studying, even though he had purposely tried to meet in as many different places to avoid his jeers. When he had complained to Ron and Hermione about this, Hermione had given him a sideways grin and said, "I think Draco's your number one fan, Harry."
He'd laughed. But then he wondered… was it uncanny that Draco was always there to kick him when he was down? Out of all the Gryffindors who would have been perfect for taunting, why Harry?
"Can I help you dear?"
He looked up suddenly, realizing that he'd been standing by the lunch cart in his flashback daze. He blushed and reached in his pockets for his money, ordering a handful of cauldron cakes. She smiled and handed him the food. He walked back down the aisle to the next train car, still thinking.
Seven years. Seemed like just yesterday Harry had walked up to Professor McGonagall with shaky legs as she held the Sorting Hat to him. He watched as a similarly gawky boy sat upon the stool.
"Gryffindor!" the hat hollered. Harry cheered and shouted with the rest of his table as the boy nearly ran over with relief.
"Harry, do you ever wonder what your seven years of school would have been like if you had been sorted into Slytherin?" Hermione said, nudging him. He startled as if she had poked him with her fork.
"What do you mean?" he said. He had told her of the hat's thoughts in his head, but it was the thought behind her question that startled him more.
"Yeah, I know, perish the thought," added Hermione with a smile, thinking his startled features to be a reaction of horror of being placed in Slytherin. "But do you think the three of us would have been able to be friends, or would you end up a sneering, teasing git like Draco Malfoy?"
"Really Hermione, that's awfully stereotypical of you," Harry said to her now-surprised face. "I mean, not all Slytherin are like Malfoy…"
He was thinking of one Slytherin second-year that had joined the Hufflepuff study group. Harry couldn't remember her name, but he remembered she was painfully quiet and rarely spoke.
"Nah, you're wrong Harry," Ron said, butting on the conversation as usual. "All Slytherin are the same. They may start out differently, but they're all power-mad and hungry to get their way. My Dad says…"
"Your Dad has the hatred of Lucius Malfoy on his shoulders," Harry interrupted. "No wonder he hates all Slytherin."
Ron frowned, spearing a piece of meat with his fork and gesturing with it.
"You, of all people, ought to know why Slytherins are bad, Harry," he said, glowering as he snapped up the piece of meat into his mouth.
Harry was about to retort, but the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" once more and they all joined in the cheers and clapping, like a Pavlovian response, Harry thought bitterly. When the cheering stopped, Ron had turned to the new Gryffindor, already taking out his pictures of posing with various Chudley Cannon players. Hermione glanced over to Harry curiously, but then suddenly seemed very interested in her dinner.
Harry looked over to the Slytherin table, just long enough to see Draco Malfoy turn away. As if he had been watching.