Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters, locations etc. That honor belongs to JK Rowling alone.

In the following weeks I tortured myself constantly with my imaginings. But the dreams were drug- like. Every hit was utter bliss, but the entrance back into cold, empty reality was the lowest of lows. When I spent time with my family, which occurred seldom at most, I tried desperately to force Harry out of my mind- but only under my father's forceful and disapproving gave was I able to do so. When I was alone in the privacy of my room however, I let my imagination roam free. Despite my expectations, these were not the lovestruck imaginings of a tortured adolescent- in fact I scarcely thought of anything physical at all. Perhaps it was that I had come to find so little meaning in physicality, what with my previous relationships, but I often found myself playing imaginary games: imagining that Harry followed me around my home. I invented perspectives for him on the way our household was run. My Harry naturally disliked my father's stern approach to parenting- in fact he regularly made remarks at the dinner table as my father discussed my studies or career prospects, which obviously he couldn't hear, although I had to struggle to keep a straight face. Towards my mother he was indifferent, and my attitude toward her changed correspondingly. I knew that my increase in independence hurt her- but as Harry constantly reminded me- I was never to become my own person with her constant babying. After all, she had adored Pansy.

Harry became my closest friend- although it may sound bizarre to admit it. He was the one person that treated me as an equal. He was never frightened to taunt an aspect of my life if he saw fit, in fact he attacked it with such brutal honesty that a large proportion of the time his ideas were difficult to rebut. By the time my seventh year of Hogwarts rolled around I had almost convinced myself that Harry and I had actually reached some form of mutual understanding- that we actually had some sort of friendship. But even my imaginary Harry had never glimpsed the scope of my true feelings.

Of course, the moment I stepped onto platform 9 and ¾, eager for my first glimpse of the real Harry after the long summer break, but my romantic idealism of the summer was quickly shattered by a reminder of reality. Immediately I was surrounded by the usual crowd: Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Pansy, all of whom, as usual, greeted me in the same friendly, yet submissive manner. I acknowledged their presence in my usual cool fashion, yet inside my heart was bursting with the opportunity of seeing Potter again- the boy that was my equal. The boy I was convinced I loved.

Yet, as usual, Potter was nowhere to be found. My fruitless scanning for a glimpse of a familiar red head or the usual fan club of first or second years that accompanied Potter yielded no results. I boarded the train with a slight feeling of heaviness, although my hopes were not quelled entirely. Perhaps I would not get the chance to see Potter before we arrived at Hogwarts, or at least have the chance to catch him alone. However there was still the possibility of catching a quick glimpse of him in his compartment. It would be virtually nothing in the great scheme of things, but even a quick glimpse would provide me with the sustenance I needed.

I still remember sitting in that compartment, surrounded once again by Slytherin sixth and seventh years, all of whom were watching me intently- waiting to hear whatever orders I had to give them, updates on the Dark Lord or my own personal plans for the year and being totally oblivious to all of them. The knowledge that Harry was so close nearby was enough to tempt me into complete distraction, and my thoughts consisted of little else for the first part of the train ride.

Eventually my silence wore thin on the group. Blaise and Pansy disappeared further down the train (no doubt to find a more private compartment of their own) and the room slowly drained of the remaining Slytherins, who presumably left to find more stimulating company. Soon only Crabbe and Goyle remained, but I dismissed them with a flick of my hand, claiming need of rest or privacy. They obliged unquestioningly. It was a relief to be left alone with my thoughts of Harry.

I'd been alone for only half an hour perhaps before there was a disturbance outside and I noticed the plump old witch who pushed the food trolley every year tapping on the window to my compartment, her heavily lipsticked mouth forming the words: 'Anything from the trolley?"

I stood up abruptly and opened the door, pulling a handful of coins from my pocket whilst scanning the array of snacks before me. My high mood of the afternoon still hadn't faded, and I found myself buying far more than I needed, in fact, almost more than I could carry. But happiness and sugar go well together, and I was in the mood to fritter away things as worthless as money.

A sarcastic voice behind me changed the agreeable pattern of my thoughts however:

"Take your time Malfoy. Don't worry, everyone can work their day around you."

I whirled around quickly to find myself staring at the freckled face and red headed head of Ron Weasley- the hair I'd been so eager to glimpse before though was without its benefits, however, he was alone. I scowled and he matched it with a similarly unpleasant expression.

"What are you doing here Weasley? Surely you don't think you can actually afford any of this food? The total contents of your pocket wouldn't buy half a liquorice wand."

Ron's ears went pink. Historically Ron had always been the easiest of the trio to tease- he had a tendency to lose it after the first insult and even when he attempted to keep himself calm in a confrontational situation his skin often gave him away. He could go to the same colour of his hair and back again in well under ten seconds.

I snorted: "I thought as much- you've come to gaze longingly. Let me step aside Weasley. I wouldn't dream of denying you the pleasure."

Ron looked too angry to reply, but before I could turn back into my compartment there was another voice behind him:

"Only you, Draco Malfoy, could act like a gentleman and still manage to insult somebody."

Of course: Granger, Ron's girlfriend. The total opposite of Ron, surely. I often wondered, despite my dislike for the pair in general, what she saw in him. After her involvement with an international quidditch player it had seemed only logical that she would have continued on her high flying dating streak. Somehow, however, she had managed to secure for herself one of the more idiotic members of our year.

Perhaps I was too harsh, but my dislike of Ron had been founded ever since Harry declined my hand of friendship in our first year. He later went on to become best friends with Ron, in whom I never saw any features which so spectacularly outweighed my own. Even that day in the train however, I could perhaps have readily admitted that my dislike of him had intensified completely out of jealousy that it was he who was in reality Harry's best friend, and not myself.

I allowed myself a smirk as I turned to Hermione:

"And only you, Miss Granger, would have to jump to her boyfriend's defense. He is certainly perhaps the only boy in the school that needs the protection of his girlfriend. But, of course, I forget that your sister Ron has to protect Harry as well? In case he collapses again from having a scar spasm?"

To badmouth Harry was something I found excessively difficult, but keeping a clear head, and perhaps overanalyzing the situation, I knew that there is no way the old Draco Malfoy would ever have let such an easy insult slide. For now I would have to assume that these two could see any irregularities in my behavior that I could, and adjust it accordingly.

But Ron's words slipped out before he could stop himself: "But they broke up!"

Hermione shot him a patronizing look. I myself had to concentrate on preventing the feeling of my heart swelling in my chest from showing on my face- though I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, aching to smile at the mere mention of Harry, let alone the fact that he was single.

Ron clearly mistook my expression as a smirk, however. He rounded right back on me:

"What's it to you Malfoy? Just jealous you can't get a girlfriend of your own?"

The next one was a real smirk- Ron really did make it too easy. Luckily for me, one of last year's conquests was making her way up the train corridor. As she passed I casually slid my arm round her waist and pulled her close to me. She giggled and glowed like the setting sun- I could scarcely believe that any girl could be so stupid. Keeping my eyes on Ron's reddening face however I leaned over and kissed her delicately on the cheek.

"As if I'd want anything to do with that buck toothed Mudblood, Weasley. You can have her. That is, of course, if she can stomach it."

My new addition laughed heartily and I deliberately wrinkled my nose as Hermione forcibly restrained Ron from pouncing on me.

"Thanks Granger. I don't want that sort of filth on my robes- even if it deems to call itself 'pure blood'."

"Shut your face Malfoy!"

Ron's face had become redder than his hair. I suppressed laughter as I watched him struggle fruitlessly against Hermione's grip of iron.

"Who's going to make me Weasel? You and what army?"

"I will."

There was a strong blow to the side of my head and I was on the floor. The trolley lady had disappeared, in fact I had a strong suspicion she'd gone to alert the driver of the trouble several minutes ago. The girl, who had been partially pulled down with me shrieked shrilly and ran, but not before she had grabbed several handfuls of my sweets. I suppose she struck a blow for Slytherin girls everywhere- it would be their only victory against me.

Above me was the face I had dreamed about constantly throughout the summer: those beautiful green eyes, that firm, decided jawbone, that same precious scar… But upon it was the not the expression I had pictured. Harry Potter was looking at me with as much hatred as ever before- every ounce of contempt he could muster was shooting at me through those eyes. Harry was there, but my Harry wasn't.

Then he'd thrown himself on top of me, his fists coming at me from all angles. I managed to block most of the attacks, refusing to throw any punches of my own, but one of his blows collided viciously with my nose, and another found its way to my right eye. The pain was horrendous, and I certainly cried out as Potter's fists collided with my face- but it was not the physical pain that I felt most deeply. All at once, all of my high hopes of the summer were crushed with one blow of Harry's fist and the warmth inside of me dissolved. I felt empty and worthless. I let him hit me.

He only took a few moments to realize I had stopped fighting. Always the gentleman he refused to hurt me once defenseless, though I could see it in his eyes- he still wanted to. He didn't know that he'd already hurt me in the worst way possible. Still kneeling over me he looked interestedly at my expressionless face, but I screwed my eyelids shut and pressed my cheek against the ground. There was no way I would let him see the hurt in my eyes.

Then Ron and Hermione were beside him, pulling him up from underneath his arms and dragging him back along the corridor. I heard flashes of conversation:

"There's gonna be hell to pay…Madam Pomfrey will need a look at him… and Harry too… Why would she need to look at Harry… didn't even get a hit in…Ronald!… just saying…" and so on. I didn't hear Harry say anything. Clearly he was as stunned as I was.

With great difficulty I pushed myself off the rumbling floor of the train and stumbled towards my open compartment. For a few moments I had the bliss of privacy to groan slightly as I touched my broken nose before I saw a worried face appear at the window. It wasn't a Slytherin as I had expected, but Hermione Granger. I crossed the small space, clutching my bleeding nose and wrenched open the sliding door:

"What do you want now, Mudblood?"

She kept her face entirely expressionless. I had to give her that.

"Professor Snape is to meet you and Harry once you arrive at Hogwarts. He needs to give you the details of your punishment."

She turned to leave:

"You loved that, didn't you Granger? Watching your dear Harry beating the stuffing out of a guy who wouldn't even fight back. I see what all the brave and noble crap is about now- he's such a hero."

She turned back to me, anger etched into every line on her face:

"You deserved what you got Malfoy, plus more, and everyone knows it. You're pathetic if you think playing the victim will earn you any points. Everybody hates you and it's entirely…"

I didn't listen to the rest of her high and mighty ranting, slamming the sliding door shut in her face. Shooting her one last smirk I wrenched the small canvas sheet that hung above the window downwards, at last gaining some privacy.

It was only then, when I was sure I was alone that I let myself breathe. My throat muscles clenched, and I allowed the tears to fall, although I made sure my head was deliberately facing the window, still clutching my poor shattered nose.

AN: Heart wrenching isn't it? I don't intend to update particularly speedily with these story- I need time to mull over it afterwards etc. Flames (yes, I'm letting you!) and reviews much appreciated. Also, if you're a grammar person- feel free to correct. I see grammatical mistakes everywhere, except in my own writing. They must all have little invisibility cloaks or something.

Thanks to my first two reviewers Akira- Sama and CrystalRaven01. I'm glad you liked it and I hope the story continues to meet your expectations. Snaps for both of you.

Char