Alright folks, welcome back for chapter two.

Other than the new chapter, I've also added characters and the main pairing. I tried to do that straight away when I posted the first chapter, but for some reason, it did not work... :/

Now, Finding Courage is officially labeled Drarry. It is where I want the story to go, but please note there will be nothing serious of that kind until Year Five or so. I just figured I had better give all of you an early warning so I don't get my head bitten off later.

Warnings for this chapter? Well, possibly some foul languague, some Weasley bashing (I totally blame Draco for that...), hurt feelings, and Draco being an arrogant prat.

And now, it is time for our lovely heroes to get onto the Hogwarts Express...

Finding Courage: Chapter Two – A Friendship Rejected

Those last few weeks with the Dursleys passed agonizingly slowly. Harry was waiting eagerly for the day when he would depart for Hogwarts... not only because he was perfectly happy to finally – finally! - get away from his less than loving relatives, but also because he was about to attend a magic school. How cool was that? He had already read through much of his school books, and they sounded fascinating. Harry could hardly wait to take one step further into this strange new world he had only recently been made aware of, the world that his parents had belonged to. Granted, he was also a little scared, if he was completely honest with himself, but that did not change the fact that he was dying to go. If he had his way, he would never return to Privet Drive again.

The only good thing was that the Dursleys mostly left him alone now. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon happily choose to ignore his existence, which meant they at least did not order him around or made hurtful comments. As for Dudley, well, he was now mortally afraid of Harry and would run out of any room as soon as Harry entered. It was quite a change from before, when Harry had been the one running away to avoid Dudley's beatings. Harry had a feeling that this was due to the fact that the first wizard he had met (and yes, even though Hagrid had admitted to Harry of having been expelled from school and not actually being allowed to use magic, Hagrid still counted as wizard) had left quite the impression. Dudley's fat rear still sported the pig tail Hagrid had hexed him with, after all. By all means, his cousin was probably afraid Harry might do something similar to him.

Not that Harry could have done something like that (yet). In fact, the raven-haired boy did not even know how... but he was not about to let Dudley know that.

All in all, Harry's life had improved drastically. His aunt and uncle had had him move to Dudley's spare bedroom after his Hogwarts letters had started arriving, so he now had a room and an actual bed to himself instead of a cramped, spider-infested cupboard. And sure, being ignored or avoided by everyone in the house was a little depressing at times, but Harry was no longer alone: he now had Hedwig, a beautiful snowy owl Hagrid had bought him as a birthday gift. Already, she was proving to be much better company than the Dursleys had ever been.

Still, he could hardly wait for September to roll around. And then, the big day finally, finally came around, and Harry found himself standing inside King's Cross Station with a large trunk containing his school supplies and an equally large cage holding a disgruntled Hedwig.

That was when he realized he had a problem.

His ticket said „Hogwarts Express, 11 o' clock, plattfrom 9 ¾."

Harry could clearly see signs for both plattforms 9 and 10, but where on Earth was plattform 9 ¾? Unwilling to search around the entire station while dragging his heavy trunk and cage, he resorted to asking the nearest guard. However, the man in question only glared and asked if Harry thought that was funny, then lumbered off while unhelpfully grumbling to himself. It sounded an awful lot like „Plattform 9 ¾, my ass... the third one to ask me that today, honestly, those kids... bet that's some kinda stupid internet meme or somethin'..."

Harry stared after him, unable to help feeling distinctly lost.

That was when he met the Weasleys.

They were a family of six: a plump woman who was obviously the mother, a boy a few years older than Harry, a pair of identical twins, a cute girl probably a bit younger than Harry, and a tall, gangly boy who looked like he might be the same age as Harry. All of them had lots of freckles and flaming red hair. Harry first spotted them because they, like him, had a large cage with them. And inside the cage sat an owl... not a snowy one like Hedwig, but an owl nevertheless.

Harry could not think of a good reason any muggles would be walking around King's Cross with an owl, so he chanced a guess that maybe they were wizards, too. Intrigued, Harry found himself walking closer to them. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard one of them casually comment on how the station was full of muggles.

Unlike Harry, they seemed to knowwhere they were going, so the brunet gathered his courage and adressed them: „Excuse me... could you tell me how to get to plattform 9 ¾?"

The red-haired matron turned and smiled warmly. „Oh, of course! Is this your first year at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She motioned at the youngest boy, who waved at Harry somewhat awkwardly while also scratching his nose.

It seemed that the entire trick about getting to the elusive plattform 9 ¾ was running straight into the barrier between plattforms 9 and 10. Harry was apprehensive, at first; the barrier certainly seemed very sturdy and solid. Surely, running into it was an accident waiting to happen? But after seeing the oldest Weasley - Harry thought his name was Percy – and the twins disappear straight through the barrier without any trace of blood, screams or other signs of impeding disaster, Harry figured he might give it a try. Under the encouraging smiles of both Mrs. Weasley and Ron, and with the young girl cheering him on, the raven-haired boy charged at the barrier.

He closed his eyes at the last second... but there was no impact. When he opened them again, he found himself standing on a rather crowded plattform. A sign hanging overhead clearly read: Plattform 9 ¾. Groups of students and relatives were milling around the plattform, many of them dragging large trunks, like Harry's own. He spotted several more owls and a few cages and pet carriers; the one closest to Harry seemed to hold a very angry cat, if the noises issuing from within were any indication.

„Gran, I lost my toad." Harry heard a boy moan. Other students were shouting to eachother, greeting their friends after being seperated over the holidays, or calling goodbyes to their sometimes tearful relatives. All in all, it could have been just another busy plattform at any random station... if not for the owls, the robes and other strange stuff.

Like the train that was already waiting. Harry could not help but shake his head and smile when he finally tore his gaze from the noisy crowd long enough to really look at it. It was not your usual everyday train... but that was probably to be expected; this was the wizarding world, after all. The carriages looked antiquated, but also as if they had been freshly painted in rich black and scarlet. And at the front of them was an actual steam engine, already puffing out smoke. Harry had never seen one of those except on TV and museum ads. Like the rest of the train, it was painted black and scarlet. It also had Hogwarts Express written across its side, leaving no doubt that Harry had found the right train, at last.

That was one problem down.

But Harry quickly realized he had another when he tried to board. His school trunk seemed to weight a ton. How was he supposed to get that thing on the train? He tried getting in first and drag the trunk up after him and almost ended up falling from the train. Next, he tired lifting it while standing down on the platform, but that only ended with the heavy trunk nearly falling on top of him. Harry was about ready to scream in frustration when , once again, his rescue arrived in the form of red hair and a lot of freckles.

This time, it was the twins who suddenly turned up on either side of him, saying: „Need help?" in unison. Between the three of them, they managed to get the blasted thing safely onboard.

Harry thanked them and had just brushed his sweaty, wayward hair out of his face when he noticed the twins had frozen in place. Their eyes were glued to his face.

„Wait, are you...?" One of them burst out.

„No way!" his brother exclaimed.

„Am I what?" Harry started to feel uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. Why were they staring at him like that? It made him want to touch his face to check if it was still alright and he had not grown another nose or something.

„Harry Potter!" the twins chorused.

„Uh, yes, that's me.". Harry sighed inwardly, wondering if he would ever get used to being recognized everywhere he went, at last in the wizarding world. Wait, how did people recognize him, anyways? „How did you know?"

„Your scar." one of the twins said.

„It´s rather famous in the wizarding world." the other explained. „but brother, I fear we're forgetting our manners."

The first twin now stared at his brother with a look of exagerated onfusion written all over his freckled features. „We have manners?"

His brother gave him a playful shove before turning to Harry. „Hi Harry, nice to meet you. I'm George Weasley, and that's my brother Fred."

„Hi." Fred grinned widely. Harry wondered whether he would ever be able to tell them apart.

After that exchange, the twins went back onto the plattform to say their good-byes. Harry had no one to say good-bye to, himself – the Dursleys, probably motivated by their joy at getting rid of their nephew, had been kind enough to drop him off at the station, but they had driven off the moment Harry, his trunk and cage were out of their car – so he instead decided to find a seat.

He discovered an empty compartment where he stored his trunk and settled down into a seat by the window. Outside, he could see the Weasley family standing together, their voices floating in through the open window. Right now, the twins were busy teasing their oldest brother... who was apparently a prefect and a little too proud of that fact. Harry could not help but smile at watching the friendly banter. Of course, Harry knew that not all families were like the Dursleys, and that most families did not lock kids in a cupboard because they did not like them... but it was somehow different to see it. There was no mistaking the warmth and affection the Weasley family held for eachother. And not just that; they had also shown kindness to Harry, a total stranger.

Hagrid had also been kind to him. In fact, a lot of the magical folk Harry had met so far had seemed like nice people (well, aside from Voldemort, who was probably gone and not coming back). It made the brunet dare to hope that his life in the wizarding world would not be as cold and harsh as life with the Dursleys...

The sound of the compartment door opening startled Harry out of his contemplations. He turned away from his window to find a group of three boys satanding by the door. Two of them were strangers, broad and rather brutish looking, and he immediately thought of Dudley. Both of them were flanking a smaller, much thinner boy. Harry recognized that one instantly. It was the pale, arrogant boy from Madam Malkin's.

Apparently, the other remembered Harry, too, because he narrowed his eyes and said: „Oh, it's you."

„Yeah, me." Harry said without much enthusiasm. Honestly, what kind of greeting was that? Besides, he was not looking forward to having to deal with the rather arrogant boy again. Hopefully, the other would just leave and find somewhere else to sit.

However, it seemed that the pale boy had other ideas. He turned to his two companions, who looked more like his bodyguards, the way they were towering on either side of him. „Crabbe, Goyle – go ahead. I´ll join you later."

His voice was arrogant and haughty, and the words sounded like a command. One of the taller boys seemed about to complain, but the blond silenced him with a sharp glare. After that, both of them obediently trudged off, leaving their pale friend – were they friends? Harry was pretty sure friends did not boss the other around like that, but hey, what did Harry know of friendship?- to casually amble into Harry's compartment. There, he gracefully sunk into the seat opposite Harry, watching him with those piercing grey eyes.

„I do not believe we have been introduced the last time we met." the blond said somewhat formally. „I´m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry's first thought was that Draco Malfoy was a rather unusual name. His own suddenly seemed perfectly ordinary in comparison.. Still, he dutifully answered: „I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

„Oh?" a look of surprise crossed the pale features, and the grey gaze became even more intent. „ It is true, then. People have been going on and on about Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts. So, it's you?"

„Yeah, me." Harry said again, and Malfoy unexpectedly smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, something Harry had not expected to see on that cold, haughty face.

Malfoy seemed about to say something when the compartment door slid open yet again, revealing none other than Ron Weasley.

„'Scuse me, but do you mind? Everywhere else is full." the red-head said.

„No, not at all." Harry answered.

„Neat." Ron flopped down in the seat next to Harry with a lot less grace than Malfoy. From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see said blond glaring daggers at the Weasley. It seemed as though Malfoy, for whatever reason, actually did mind Ron being there.

Completely oblivious to the death glare levelled at him, Ron just stared at Harry. Then, he suddenly burst out; „Are you really Harry Potter?"

„Uh, yes?"

„Oh, okay." Ron scratched his head rather sheepishly. „I mean, Fred and George told us, but I thought they were just shitting me."

He was still staring. Harry had a bad feeling that he would have to get used to being stared at rather quickly... then, Ron spoke up again.

„Do you, uh, really have the... you know..." the red-head trailed off while pointing at his own forehead.

Thanks to his earlier experience with the twins, Harry had a pretty good idea what the other was getting at. Brushing thick strands of jet-black hair from his face, he revealed the lightning-shaped scar.

„Wicked!" the other said, and finally seemed to become aware that he had been staring at Harry all the time. He blushed slightly and averted his gaze. His eyes landed on Malfoy instead. „Uh, hi. Who are you?"

„Draco Malfoy." the blond answered haughtily.

Ron snorted at that.

Instantly, Malfoy's expression turned to pure ice. „Think my name is funny, do you?" the blond snapped. „Well, no need to ask who you are. My father says all the Weasleys have red hair, lots of freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Grey eyes intently met Harry's. „You will soon find that some wizarding families are better that others, and you surely do not want to go making friends with the wrong kind." Malfoy spared a sideway glare at Ron, before meeting Harry's gaze again and holding out one pale hand. „I can help you with that."

Next to Harry, Ron spluttered indignantly while the brunet looked at the outstretched hand before looking up. Malfoy had an expectant expression on his face. Right then, he looked so arrogant and self-assured that Harry felt a wave of dislike sweep through him. He thought the Weasleys were very nice, thank you very much. He did not care that Malfoy clearly thought they were the wrong kind. Harry himself liked them a lot more than Malfoy, who was obviously not a nice person.

Besides, who the hell was Malfoy to think he could decide whom Harry could be friends with?

„I believe I can tell who the wrong kind are for myself, thank you." the Boy-Who-Lived replied coolly.

A pale pink blush spread across Malfoy's high cheekbones, but his expression was unreadable, almost as if he was wearing a mask. He snatched his hand back.

„Pity. Well, your loss if you don't know what's good for you." With that, the pale boy stood and swept from the compartment, not without pausing to throw both of the others one last haughty glare before the door slid shut.

„Arrogant bastard." Ron muttered once the door was closed.

Harry caught himself staring after Malfoy. „What the hell was that about...?" he mused aloud.

Shrugging, Ron moved to sit in the seat Malfoy had recently vacated. „Beats me. I heard about his family, though. Dad says they're a nasty piece of work. Apparently, they were big supporters of You-Know-Who back when he tried to take over."

„They were?"

„Yep. Guess sonny takes after them." Ron said, then scratched his head again. „Uhm, by the way, I'm Ron Weasley."

„Nice to meet you." Harry smiled. Already, he had the feeling that Ron was going to be a much better travelling companion than cold, stuck-up Malfoy.

With a few jolts, the train began moving. Outside, the youngest Weasley kid began to cry as she waved her brothers good-bye.

„Aw, Ginny, don't cry! We'll send you lots of owls!" Harry heard one of the twins shout.

„We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!" his twin brother yelled.

Harry thought he heard their mother shout a reprimand, but they were already to far away to hear it clearly. The train really was picking up speed now.

Finally, they were off to Hogwarts.

Stalking down the corridors of the jolting train, Draco could feel himself burn with shame and humiliation.

To think that everything had started out so perfectly! Draco had been walking through the nearly full train in search of an empty compartment, Crabbe and Goyle at his side, when he suddenly spied a black-haired boy in an otherwise empty compartment.

It was the same boy he had met weeks ago at Madam Malkin's, sitting there all by himself. That unruly mop of jet-black hair and those ugly glasses where unmistakable.

In the last few weeks, he had not been able to shake the mysterious raven-haired boy from his thoughts. It had been a constant nagging at the back of his mind, a puzzle he could not solve, like an itch he could not scratch. He had been eager to talk to the brunet again, to finally get an snswer to the questions that had been bothering him ever since they met, and now he finally had the chance.

If Draco were anyone else, he would probably have said something along the lines of „Hi, nice to meet you again.". But he was Draco Malfoy, and he had an image to uphold. And part of that was to not let his feelings show, not let anyone know he was actually glad to see the other again.

Instead, what Draco said after sliding open the compartment door was: „Oh, it's you."

„Yeah, me." The other did not sound too happy to see Draco again, but the blond choose to ignore that fact. He had to satisfy his curiosity, after all.

It seemed like a stroke of luck, to just come across the other like this. Draco felt no shame in sending Crabbe and Goyle ahead without him. Right then, he wanted to talk to the boy with the messy black hair, and he wanted to do it alone.

Making himself comfortable in the seat across from the other, Draco finally had a chance to find out who the other was. „I do not believe we have been introduced the last time we met. I´m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." he said, drawing himself up proudly. Of course, he was proud of his name, proud of who he was – the heir to an ancient, venerable wizarding family – and he was not afraid to show it for the entire world to see.

But the other boy did not seem impressed by Draco's name, something that made the blond feel a flicker of disappointment. Only to have it replaced by surprise when the mystery boy said his name was Harry Potter. And suddenly, the blond was the one finding himself impressed.

Yes, Draco actually knew who Harry Potter was. Growing up in the wizarding world, he would have to be blind, deaf and brain-dead not to.

After all, Harry Potter was famous. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had not only survived an attack by the most powerful Dark wizard of their time, but also had somehow managed to defeat said wizard, and all that despite having been only a baby at that time. He was the shining hero of the wizarding world, and many people admired and idolized him for breaking the hold the Dark Lord had had on their society.

Of course, Potter's name had always been taken with a grain of salt in the Malfoy household. Though his parents usually were reluctant of discussing their involvement, Draco was well aware that they had once followed the Dark Lord. Naturally, they had not been completely happy to see the powerful wizard fall.

That did not mean Draco was not excited at the prospect of meeting the great wizarding hero. Even the proud Malfoy heir had to admit that destroying the Dark Lord was impressive, and he wondered how the other had done it.

And to think that he had already been talking to him without realizing who he was! The blond had always known there was something special about the green-eyed boy, but he never expected him to be Harry Potter, of all people.

And now, he had Harry Potter all to himself, and he was determined not to let him slip away again.

Draco probably should have known that some things were simply to good to last.

He was just carefully considering what to say to Potter (he wanted to leave a good first impression, after all) when the compartment door was opened. A gangly boy with horrid ginger hair and lots of freckles poked his head in. „'Scuse me, but do you mind? Everywhere else is full."

From that point on, things started to go downhill fast.

Draco very much wanted to snap that yes, he actually did mind. Did the idiot red-head not see that he was interrupting an important conversation? Draco very much wanted to talk to Potter, and he wanted to do it alone, so could ginger just go and impose himself on somebody else?

But Potter obviously had other ideas. „No, not at all." , the other said, leaving Draco to uselessly glare at the read-haired intruder as he sat down next to Potter and made himself right at home.

If looks could kill, the ginger monstrosity would be a smouldering heap at the floor. How dare that oaf just walk in and steal Potter's attention away from Draco?

Unfortunally, the other remained blissfully ignorant at the disdain sent his way, as he was too busy staring at Potter. Then, he suddenly burst out; „Are you really Harry Potter?"

Potter seemed taken aback by that question. „Uh, yes?"

„Oh, okay. I mean, Fred and George told us, but I thought they were just shitting me." the red-head went on. He was still staring at Potter. Really, had no one told him that staring that openly at a person for extended periods of time was considered rude? And besides, he was completely ignoring Draco's presence. If that was not rude, than the blond did not know what was.

Obviously, the freckled boy had no manners, because the next thing he did was to ask Potter about his famous scar, as if the boy was an exhibit at a zoo or something! And obviously, Potter had the patience of a saint, because he humored the other by brushing his unruly hair aside, revealing that lightning-shaped scar.

Of course, Draco had heard about the scar, too. It was distinctive, the clear proof that Potter actually had faced the Dark Lord and lived. And yet, Draco only allowed himself a short look, just to see if it was really there, before politely averting his gaze. He, after all, had been raised in a proper Wizarding household, with proper manners, unlike that uncouth ginger idiot with his blatant staring.

„Wicked!" said idiot burst out, before he finally seemed to realize he had been staring at Potter for a good few minutes now. Blushing slightly, he tore his gaze away, and his eyes landed on Draco.

A look of surprise crossed the freckled face, as if the ginger monstrosity had only now become aware of the blond's presence. „Uh, hi. Who are you?"

Okay, Draco had changed his mind. He would actually have preferred if the ginger had continued to ignore him. Now, he had to fight down the urge to say something scathing, like letting the other know just how unwelcome he and his freckles were. But proper decorum had to be observed – after all, Draco had just established that he actually had manners where the red-head had none – so he forced his voice to remain neutral. „I'm Draco Malfoy."

And the red-head snorted.

Snorted! As if he thought Draco's perfectly fine, noble name was funny. The blond felt his blood beginning to boil. How dare this ugly ginger commoner think the name Draco was so proud of was some sort of joke?!

Even though he was burning with indignation, Draco's reply was pure ice. „Think my name is funny, do you? Well, no need to ask who you are. My father says all the Weasleys have red hair, lots of freckles, and more children than they can afford."

The look of outrage on the red-head's face told him that his guess had been spot on. Draco's eyes narrowed, and he found himself disliking the other even more. He had heard about the Weasleys; his father had complained about them more than once. Like the Malfoys, they were an ancient wizarding family, but theit behaviour was completely unacceptable. They were an awfully common, unciviliziced people, desperately poor, and worse, they readily associated themselves with muggles and mudbloods. A disgrace to the name of wizard and to all the other pure-blood families, his father had called them. In Draco's not-so-humble opinion, they were nothing more than a bunch of losers.

The blond's gaze wandered to Potter, who was sitting next to the Weasley with a frown on his face. A frown that was, strangely enough, meant for Draco, as if the other disagreed with something Draco had said. It made him wonder why Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, tolerated the presence of such filth. Surely, Weasley was beyond him in every way. Did Potter not know that?

Maybe he did not. Draco had heard rumours that Potter was raised by muggles (really, muggles. Draco almost found himself pitiying the boy at the thought), so he probably did not know how things worked in the wizarding world. If so, Draco should probably enlighten him straight away. He would actually be doing Potter a favour by saving him the embarrassment of associating with scum like the Weasleys.

„You will soon find that some wizarding families are better that others, and you surely do not want to go making friends with the wrong kind." Meeting green eyes with his own, Draco held out his hand. Despite his outward calm, the blond could feel his nerves flutter. He was proud that both his hands and his voice did not shake in the slightest. „I can help you with that."

Those green eyes dropped to stare at his waiting hand, and Draco's anxiety ratcheted up a few notches. For one moment, he let himself hope the other would take it...

… then, Potter's eyes met his again, and Draco was shocked to see the thinly veiled disgust written all across the other's face. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and cold.:„I believe I can tell who the wrong kind are for myself, thank you."

Rejected. Draco could feel a hot wave of shame and humiliation rush through his body and quickly dropped his hand. His cheeks were burning, and he cursed his pale skin, knowing that a blush was sure to stain his features. At least, he knew that his face was set firmly in an unreadable mask that betrayed none of is inner turmoil. Or the fact that he had to actively fight down the urge to bolt from the compartment.

„Pity." He drawled, keeping his voice just as cold as Potter's had been. „Well, your loss if you don't know what's good for you." Having said that, Draco rose and made for the door with as much arrogance and confidence as he could muster. He even paused at the door, giving both of them one last glare for show. Anything to hide just how desperately he wanted to run.

Even now, every cell in his body screamed at him to get away from the scene of his humiliation as quickly as possible, and then to probably hide away in shame for the next decade. But he was Draco Malfoy, and he had an image to uphold. Being seen running through the Hogwarts Express just would not do, so he forced himself to take measured steps, clinging to whatever was still left of his dignity.

Harry Potter had rejected him and his... well, Draco was not even really sure what exactly he had been offering – friendship, an alliance? - but he knew that he had offered something, and Potter had turned him down. Worse, he had chosen a Weasley over him, how fucking humiliating could things get? And that expression of disgust that had graced the features of the Boy-Who-Lived... that hurt. It hurt deeply, and in such a way that Draco did not quite know what to make of it. It both scared and angered him.

As the train began to pull out of the station, Draco's anger rose higher, until it drowned out the mess of feelings inside him. And he let it, because it felt good. Anger was better than shame, better than this strange sense of hurt. He let his anger fill him, consume him.

Hero of the wizarding world aside, how dare Potter turn Draco down? Who was he to turn his back on the Malfoy heir and anything that he offered?

Perhaps Draco had been wrong to ever think Potter worthy of his attention. He would not make that mistake again, never offer his... friendship, support, whatever, to the Boy-Who-Lived again. If Potter did not want to associate himself with Draco, then fine. The other would come to regret it, the blond was sure of it.

He would make sure Potter regretted it.

But for now, he would look for Crabbe and Goyle. He would surround himself with people who actually appreciated his presence, get comfortable, and let the train take him to Hogwarts. He could deal with Potter at a later date.

Yes, that sounded like a plan.

Ouch. Looks like poor Draco got his feelings hurt... not that he would admit to having them in the first place. In Harry's defense, Draco was being a prat.

Do not worry, I won't let him be an arrogant, racist bastard forver. He will need time to come around, though.