So I should probably fill you all in on what the deal is with my absence. So here goes.

One of my friends was in a car accident, he's paralysed down his left hand side, broke both his femurs and can't breathe on his own. He's stable, but he'll never be the same.

One of my sister's friends was in a car accident, too. She wasn't so lucky. The funeral was last Friday.

Anyway, enough of my whining, here's Chapter Ten. Be kind.

Chapter 10 - Express

The weeks leading up to September first are spent in solitude, and even though he wasn't locked away in his cupboard under the stairs anymore, he still felt overly depressed about the whole situation.

The Dursleys are ignoring his existence now, Dudley cowers when he enters a room, but his Aunt and Uncle don't even bristle about how terrible his hair has been looking anymore.

He spends his time gazing out of his very own window in his new bedroom, watching the neighbours go about their business from day to day and allowing his mind to drift to Dragons, and Hogwarts, and the beautiful snowy owl sleeping in her cage on his desk.

She reminded him so much of Draco that sometimes it hurt to look at her.

When he wasn't watching Mrs Figg crutching after one of her many cats, or Mr Malogne meticulously pruning his hedges for hours at a time, he would lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and sighing much more than necessary. He just couldn't shake the glimpse of Draco in Diagon Alley, the lurching in his stomach, and the headache that seemed to have taken up residence just behind his eyes.

He had looked so different from how Harry remembered him, and it was strange.

It was like all the light had left his grey eyes, and the carefree aura that floated around him had dissolved, his haired pulled back neatly away from his pale forehead and his eyebrows drawn down into the smallest frown. He didn't look like himself at all.

Harry had considered chasing after him, of course, but it was almost like his feet were betraying him, holding him in place until the spark in his eyes faded back into a flat, dark shade of green.

He had wandered the Alley on autopilot, had chosen out Hedwig, with the image of white hair and pale skin gnawing away at him. This was silly. Draco didn't even want him anymore, that's why he left, and that's why he didn't even look at him in Diagon Alley.

Days turned into nights and back into days in no time at all, and before Harry knew what was happening, August was drawing to a close. He spent hours packing and unpacking his trunk, flicked through his textbooks in an effort to procrastinate, and finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep on the thirty first.

Platform nine and three quarters is definitely one of the most chaotic train platforms Harry has ever seen.

The shining red steam engine fills the platform with a warm, heavy mist, animals squawk and hiss and there are people everywhere, dressed in sweeping velvet cloaks and strangely patterned hats. Mothers fuss over their children, fathers thump each other on the back in greeting and everywhere, students are squealing excitedly at the sight of their friends.

Harry doesn't have a mother to fuss, or a friend to squeal over. Instead, he bundles himself into one of the carriages with the help of a pair of redheaded twins, who gaped at his scar excitedly before disappearing into the crowd. Strange. He finds himself a nice quiet compartment to sit in while families outside say their goodbyes.

The Dursleys had dumped him at the entrance, cackling gleefully at his confusion, 'Platform Nine and Three Quarters, eh? Good luck finding that!'

He made a mental note to figure out who the family was that had helped him through the wall in the end, though he doubted it would be hard, with hair like that.

While he waited for the final whistle, he turned absently to a curious looking Hedwig, her head tilted slightly to the side as she watched him bite at his fingernails, rummage about in his pockets for a while, and then finally produce a bag of owl treats.

He ignored the collective thudding as students clambered onto the train and the station outside his window being engulfed by a cloud of thick white steam, choosing instead to wedge the treats into the wire of Hedwig's cage and watch her eye them suspiciously.

Only when the door to his compartment clattered open did he look away from her, hearing the cling as she snapped the treat away and rolling his eyes to himself. In the doorway, a rather uncomfortable looking redheaded boy shifted from one foot to the other, the tips of his ears glowing slightly pink and his eyes trained on the floor.

"Anyone sitting there?" He pointed to the seat opposite Harry and raised his eyes carefully. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head, watching as the boy pushed his trunk into the overhead rack and plopped himself down onto the chair opposite and staring pointedly out of the window. The train was moving now.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" the boy asked suddenly, glancing at Harry before turning an impressive shade of scarlet. He's awful nervous about this whole thing, but then again, so is Harry. He's never had a conversation with anybody his age that hadn't wanted to beat him up, with the exception of Draco, and it's strange. Nice, though.

"Yeah, I am," he manages a half smile at the boy opposite him,whose eyes widen in shock.

"Oh - well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," He scrubs at his hair, before looking back at his feet, as though gathering all of his courage, "Have you really got - you know..."

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his fringe carefully, he wasn't used to all of this fuss over his scar, and it was odd having people constantly asking about it.

"What's your name, anyway?" he asked, dropping his hair back into his eyes and attempting to flatten it with his palms. Useless, of course.

"Oh, I'm Ron," he smiled, his shoulders relaxing instantly, "Ron Weasley."

Ron Weasley, as it turns out, is one of the friendliest people Harry has ever met, and they talk for so long that Harry doesn't even notice the countryside rolling past the train until the lunch trolley clatters up to their door and the pair of them buy two of everything.

Ron comes from a very old wizarding family, and while Harry found everything even remotely magical fascinating, Ron seemed to take great interest in all 'the muggle things' that Harry had grown up with.

Harry didn't mind much, after all, this was the most conversation he'd had in years.

He didn't tell Ron that.

It wasn't until a very huffy Hermione Granger had stalked from the compartment with her nose in the air a few hours later that the conversation steered away from how many Chocolate Frog Cards Ron had collected.

"She's mad, that one, I'm telling you," Ron glanced between the now vacant doorway and a confused looking Harry, who was trying to decide whether he wanted to laugh, or sit there in shocked silence for a few more minutes.

Hermione Granger certainly was intense.

She seemed to know more about Harry than he did, and for somebody who had been raised just the same as he had... well, maybe without the whole getting-beaten-up-every-other-day thing, she certainly knew a lot about Hogwarts, and the houses that Harry hadn't even thought about.

He didn't feel so good anymore.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron, throwing his wand down next to him and picking up the pumpkin pastie he had been eyeing.

"What house are your brothers in?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose as Ron tore a great hunk of pastie off, chewing once or twice before he answered in a spray of crumbs.

"Gryffindor," he said, staring hard at his pastie, "Mum and dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin!"

Harry grimaced slightly at that, having already had Hagrid explain Slytherin's rather poor reputation after a numb day of shopping, he'd rather not consider it an option. He didn't want to be like Voldemort. Just, no.

Ron flopped back onto his seat looking depressed, stuffing the last of the pastie into his mouth and gazing blankly at the ceiling.

"So what do your other brothers do then? Now they're out of school." Harry quirks an eyebrow and almost smiles when Ron actually finishes chewing his food before talking.

"Charlie's in Romania studying Dragons," Ron flicked crumbs from his chin and completely missed Harry's sharp gasp, "And Bill's in Egypt, doing something for Gringotts."

"Wow... what kind of Dragons?" Harry leaned forward in his chair, resting elbows on knees and watching Ron carefully. He hadn't talked to anybody about Dragon's in so long. Especially not when he had figured out they were real.

"Oh, he works with all the breeds, he's got a fair few Welsh Green's to take care of, but they're no fun."

"What do you mean, no fun? They're Dragons." Harry stared at him incredulously.

Ron blinked at him, his mouth curling into a lopsided grin, "you really did grow up in the muggle world didn't you?" his eyes sparkle and Harry feels the gentle heat of embarrassment in his cheeks.

"I did, yes, but I still know a bit about some stuff," Harry stared at his feet, scuffing at the odd crimson carpet.

"How did you know stuff though? Who told you?"

The question seemed perfectly innocent, but it made Harry's heart constrict in his chest and tears burn inside his eyes. "A boy I met at the park one day, he told me heaps of things, I just didn't realise they were true at the time."

"What's his name, then?" Ron scratched at the dirt on his nose as he spoke, "Maybe he's on the train."

Harry doesn't get a chance to answer.

The door to the compartment clatters open again just as the little overhead lamps flickered to life.

Harry closed his eyes and waited for Hermione Granger to start nagging them again, "Is it true that Harry Potter's in this carriage?"

His blood ran cold as the voice curled around his insides, it was different, colder, but still very much Draco.

His eyes flicked open as he turned to look at the boy, his white hair still swept away from his face and his pretty silver eyes seemed to be more of a steely grey colour. Harry watched the small wrinkling of his nose as Draco's eyes raked over Ron, who looked extremely uncomfortable, before he finally turned to look Harry straight in the eye.

It looked as though somebody had dropped a bucket of extremely cold water of the other boys head, his eyes widening in shock and his hands gripping tighter to the compartment door as though he might just fall over if he let go.

"Yeah, it's true," Harry mumbled, staring for a second more before turning to look out the window. His heart was doing stupid things in his chest and it was really beginning to hurt.

It was silent for a long time, before Ron finally gave in to the tension.

"Do you know him, Harry?"

"You could say that," Harry glanced over at Ron before turning his attention back to the paddocks whizzing past outside. He really didn't want Draco to be here right now, it felt strange, and he really had no idea what to even say.

"We're friends," Draco says, and it feels like all the coldness has drained out of his voice.

His snaps up his head to stare at the boy, still fighting down the tears and trying desperately to keep his lip from trembling, "were friends," he corrects softly.

"Oh!" Ron cries abruptly, "I get it! He's the one who told you about the dragons."

"Something like that," Harry cleared his throat, smiling briefly at Ron before turning back to Draco, "What can we do for you, Draco?"

Ron snorts. Harry watches Draco's eyes narrow and the cold tone return to his words, "Think my names funny, do you?" he spits, glaring hard at Ron, "no need to ask you yours, red hair, and a hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasley."

Ron flushed the most violent shade of crimson Harry has ever seen.

"Don't talk to him like that," Harry muttered, feeling his stomach twist itself in knots inside him.

"Why not, then?" Draco asked coldly, his voice sharp and pointy, jabbing into Harry painfully, "It's not as though he'd treat me any better, laughing at my name, how rude."

Harry didn't say anything, choosing instead to stare mutely between an offended looking Draco and a glowing red Ron. Students laughed in the background and the train continued to rattle around them.

"That's what I thought," Draco huffs after a strained minutes silence, "Anyway, I was going to ask whether you wanted to come sit in my compartment," suddenly Draco sounded just like the five year old in the park, and all the blood ran out of Harry's face, "But since I'm not your friend anymore, I guess... I'll just... Go."

The hurt in Draco's eyes is the last thing Harry sees before the compartment door slams shut.

"There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin," Ron whispers into Harry's ear, watching as Vincent Crabbe waddles over to the green clad table looking smug.

The sorting ceremony was well under way now, and Harry's legs were feeling more nd more boneless as each name was called.

"Granger, Hermione," Professor McGonagall called, and the small, bushy haired girl from the train steps up to the stool, looking particularly pale.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron groaned darkly beside him, the crimson table erupting in applause as Hermione trotted over to join them. Harry barely even noticed, his eyes still staring directly at the white blonde hair three people in front of him, and frowning slightly to himself. Dracp had said they were still friends. He still wanted to be Harry's friend.

But he was different, and that scared Harry even more than the idea of being sorted.

He followed the blonde head as it climbed the stairs and sat on the little three legged stool, watched unblinkingly as the hat was dropped onto his hair, one, two, three, four, five seconds.

"SLYTHERIN!"

His hands smoothed the fabric of his robes compulsively, watched as Draco walked over to the Slytherin table, a smile on his face as he sat himself down next to Gregory Goyle.

Harry doesn't see Draco's eyes on him when the hat blocks out his vision, he misses the way Draco's knuckles glow white on the tabletop as he cranes his neck to see him, and he completely misses the anguish in his expression when the hat sorts him into Gryffindor.

They lock eyes for barely a moment across the hall when the puddings vanish, and the familiar flare of silver seems the spark in Draco's eyes.

Harry misses him, even if he's too stubborn to tell him so.

I'll probably make some changes to this later, but it's been too long.

Thanks for the patience guys. x