NOTE: Many many thanks to lovestruckbyanelf, Sage and Snape and flutingfrenzy for letting me know I made a really stupid error: Harry's scar is LIGHTNING-SHAPED, not THUNDER-SHAPED. Hehe. I wouldn't have realized it myself. Thanks again guys! And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. The reviews mean a lot to me.
DISCLAIMER: A large part of this story takes some scenes and dialogues from pp. 108-109 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Since I'm so so afraid of being sued, I really stress that Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Crabbe, Goyle, Hogwarts Express and even Scabbers the Rat is never mine. Everything is owned by the Greater Force (read: J.K. Rowling).
This fic tells the story of the second time Harry and Draco meet (and the first time they fight) aboards Hogwarts Express, just like it was in canon, but through Draco's perspective.
Friendships Made at Hogwarts Express
"Harry Potter is in one
of the compartments in this train!"
"Really? He's here?"
"So you mean, he's also going to Hogwarts with us!"
"Wicked! What'cha think he looks like?"
"What do you think his scar looks like?"
"Lightning-shaped, you prat. Everyone knows it's lightning-shaped."
I stopped staring at the houses and trees that flashed past the window and stared
at the half-open door of my compartment. Three boys had just passed by, talking
loudly about the subject of the day: Harry Potter. They weren't the first lot
to gossip about him. I've been hearing murmurs of his name for the past ten
minutes. It must be true that he really is in here.
I remembered the boy I saw at the robe shop last month. After that meeting I
was a little convinced he was Harry Potter. I'll find out a little later.
The compartment door slid fully open and two familiar-looking boys came in.
One was slightly taller than the other, but they were both burly and stupid-looking.
I already saw both of them from some of the dinner parties Father makes me attend.
They do nothing but stay beside the buffet table. What were their names? Father
knows their families. The other wasCrad? No, I think his last name sounds
like some sea creature. And the other was perhaps Boyle? No, something that
rhymes with Boyle.
They both looked at me, then at each other. They scratched the backs of their
thick heads, not daring to be the first to speak to me.
Then I remembered their names.
"Crabbe, Goyle." I nodded at them, not moving an inch from where I
sat.
"Er, you remember us?" the taller one asked.
Yes, I do remember even the pitiful ones like yourselves, I wanted to say out
loud. Whatever comes through my mind stays there, they don't seep out of my
brain like it's made of sponge.
"Um, we can we, erm, sit with you?" the other one stammered.
I furrowed my eyebrows, seriously considering if I'll let them get within three
feet of me. They seem to have enormous respect for me, Father is friends with
their families and they'll do anything I tell them to.
"Okay," I drawled, waving my hand carelessly. Crabbe (or was it Goyle?)
sat on my left side and the other sat on my right.
I may not be able to have intelligent conversations and heated debates with
them, but I can get friends who I can call as my equals. Which reminds me of
Harry Potter.
"What house do you think you'll be in?" the one on my left asked slowly.
""Slytherin, of course," I answered with great assurance.
"I hope I'll also be a Slytherin," the other said expectantly.
I doubt it if these duffers have enough cunning to be sorted to Slytherin house.
Then again, they don't seem to be the hard-working type to get into Hufflepuff.
Never mind expecting they'll be smart Ravenclaws or brave and righteous Gryffindors.
"Have you heard? Harry Potter's in this train!"
"Yeah, they all say he stays near the end of the train."
I stood up. "Let's pay him a visit then," I declared.
"Butwe just sat down here," the shorter one protested. The taller
one nudged the other, and they both stood up to follow me. I slid open the compartment
door, sauntering through the corridor of Hogwarts Express with Crabbe and Goyle
behind me. The other students stood aside when we passed by.
I chose one of the last compartments and opened the door. I entered the compartment
with one burly friend at each side and found the same boy I saw in Madam Malkin's
shop. I wasn't surprised to find out he was really Harry Potter.
Sweets were all over the seats, and he was sitting across another boy with red
hair.
I looked at the boy with dark hair and glasses, not bothering to hide my curiosity.
Emerald green eyes looked back at me behind the glasses. He had an expression
in his face that was hard to read.
"Is it true?" I stepped forward a bit. "They're saying all down
the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
His green eyes left mine and traveled to look at my companions. "Yes,"
he answered, his attention on Crabbe and Goyle.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle." I nodded toward them, wishing
I didn't need to introduce them. "And my name's Malfoy," I placed
great emphasis on my renowned last name. "Draco Malfoy."
The boy across Harry Potter made a sound that was something between a laugh
and a cough. I gave him full attention for the first time. And I can tell who
he was right away.
"Think my name's funny, do you?" I said scathingly, insulted that
he would dare snigger after I introduced myself. He'll have a piece of me. "No
need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles
and more children than they can afford." The Weasley boy glared in anger.
I turned back to Harry Potter. "You'll find out some wizarding families
are much better than others, Potter." I looked at him calculatingly. He
may look average on the exterior, but I can unmistakably tell he has his unusual
aura. The first time I saw him in the robe shop, I knew he had this atmosphere
of power around him. He can make a worthy ally, maybe someone I can even consider
an equal.
"You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you
there." I offered my hand for him to shake. It was the first time I did
it to someone my own age.
But he didn't shake my hand. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are
for myself, thanks," Potter said in a nonchalant voice, something almost
like a smirk forming in his lips.
I felt my face heat up in disgrace. How impudent can he get! Refusing to shake
a Malfoy's hand and turning down my friendship, in front of my friends at that!
I tried to look composed. If Father finds out I stooped this low...
I chose my words, wanting to hurt him back. "I'd be careful if I were you,
Potter."
Insult his family. Insult his friends. That will very much offend him. Just
like he offended me. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way
as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around
with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."
Both Potter and Weasley stood up, glowering at me angrily.
"Say that again," Weasley threatened, his freckled face making his
red hair seem pale in comparison.
The sight of Weasley made me smirk. "Oh, you're going to fight us, are
you?" I asked smugly.
"Unless you get out now," Potter said firmly, but his eyes were considering
the size of Crabbe and Goyle.
The two dimwits weren't so useless after all. Let's see Potter and his little
friend shoo me away with the two giants with me. "But we don't feel like
leaving, do we, boys?"
I wanted to show Potter I had more power than he thinks he has. He's just Harry
Potter. Just Potter. He has no right to think he's better than me.
The one I presume as Goyle headed for the pile of sweets beside Weasley, who
was brave and stupid enough to jump forward. The two weren't even touching each
other when Goyle screamed in pain. Hanging on his knuckles was a slimy old rat,
biting deep into his fist.
I squirmed in disgust as I watched Goyle spin to rid himself of the rat. I stood
back, not wanting to be hit with the filthy thing. A rat? What were they doing
with a rat? Maybe they were staying in a rodent-infested compartment.
Goyle kept on yelling and only stopped when the rat flew and hit the window.
I moved towards the door, and Crabbe and Goyle, of course, followed. I can't
have grisly rats running all over me. We exited the compartment. Walking towards
it was a girl with bushy brown hair. She gave us an annoyed look as she entered
Potter's compartment.
"What has been going on?" I can hear her ask in a bossy
voice.
We walked back to our own compartment, Goyle tending to his wounded knuckles.
I wanted to stay, wanted to tell Potter what a big mistake he just made, wanting
to make sure he'll regret turning me down, turning a Malfoy down. I have seven
years to go. That is, if I don't find a way to get him expelled.
