Title: Veelas and Beast
Author: Abacus

Chapter Two: Journey to the Lavatory

Right now, Draco Malfoy was feeling a bit constipated. Looking at him, you would that that he was above all those disgusting bodily functions nonsense, but in truth, Draco Malfoy was only human. Fleur Delacour did it, Draco was sure. Voldemort did it, surely. No doubt Pansy did it as well (although she was more discreet than most).

It was not pleasant business but humans, wizards and even evil overlords alike had to do it at least every once in a while or else where would all those bodily waste go?

No, you could not use magic.

Therefore, Draco padded from his seat to the nearest lavatory on the train. It was during the middle of the night. Usually, the lights in the train would be on about now, but at the moment, with only Draco as the occupant, the train did not bother to turn on the lights. After all, it was only one student. It probably realized that Draco had difficulty sleeping with the lights on, so therefore it turned it off.

The moonlight filtered through the windows, providing light where there was none. As he reached the lavatory and opened the door, the light snapped on and his eyes was flooded with painful amount of brightness. Surprised, his took a step back and with uncharacteristic clumsiness, he tripped over his own foot and fell down hitting his head hard on the tiled floor and loss consciousness instantly.

***

Draco held his wand in his hands, poised. Behind a bush, he hid. He had a clear vision of Potter in front of him sitting alone on the quidditch field with his firebolt beside him. Potter was staring at the sky. Draco could make out his strong profile, a slight bump on his nose- a characteristic mark of a roman general. He could make out the trademark clunky glasses that perched on Potter's nose and the familiar dark hair that hung over his eyes. It stuck out haphazardly, like a halo, around his head.

Something about Potter and those particular traits of his aroused a deep feeling of resentment in Draco. To Draco, Potter was nothing but a walking contradiction. Lucius had taught Draco that appearance was everything. Draco never particularly cared about clothes nor his appearance, but he always attempted to look immaculate, if only to gain the respect of others. Others, Lucius says, respects a man who exudes confidence. Draco, at all times attempted to exude this confidence but it was never enough.

Harry was not immaculate. In fact, he was quite the opposite. His clothes and robes always appeared to fit in the wrong way. His hair was endlessly mussed up, filling Draco with an overwhelming urge to ram a comb through Potters hair or get out a butcher knife, and slash the irritating locks off. Others, however, appeared to find him endearing. Others, even those who are unaware that he was the great oh Harry Potter, looked at him with rapt attention.

If Potter simply opened his mouth, everyone would praise him. If Potter killed a frickin' rat, then everyone will hail him a hero. He was on the magazines, the daily prophets, his stupid, ugly, mug was splashed all over the tabloids.

What about Draco? What about the Malfoy heir? Draco was ten times better than Potter, he knew, yet he never received even a tenth of the attention, praise and adoration Potter received.

Not even from Lucius, his own father, had he received much praise. To Lucius, Draco knew, he was a big fat disappointment.

First year, it was Potter, not himself, who got into the school quid ditch team. Second year, it was Potter, not himself who was the savior who saved groveling Virginia Weasley from the clutches of the evil, giant serpant. Third year, it was Potter, not himself who received a brand new firebolt. Forth Year, it was Potter not himself who was able to join the Triwizard Tournament.

What about, Draco? What about him?

Draco looked sullenly at the boy lying on the quidditch field, wondering what it felt like being the luckiest boy in the world. The luckiest boy who had everything handed to him on a silver plate. He wondered what it was like to be Potter- to be loved and adored. Draco wanted to cut off Potters skin and step inside them himself. Although he would never admit it even if you threatened him with the Cruciatus Curse, he wanted to be Potter.

Draco grounded his teeth, angrily. He hated the little bastard, hated him with such a passion, he wanted to cry. Draco stepped out from the bush and starting advancing towards the oblivious boy, he slid his wand into his pockets and replaced it, instead with a deadly knife. "Tonight, you will die, Potter," he whispered to himself, in a quiet, eerie, sing song voice.

In the back of his mind, he wondered could he really kill? Was he capable of killing? He tried to ignore this thought studiously. Potter deserved to die, he thought. Potter needed to die. Draco's urge to kill Potter was only partially due to the fact that one, his mother's life was at stake and two, he genuinely wanted to hurt Potter. At this particular moment, at least, he did not want Potter to be happy, while he, Draco was miserable.

When he reached Potter, his shadow draped over the boys, lying figure. Potter tilted his head, looking at Draco as if he was not surprised. "Hello," he said, smiling. Draco was appalled. Potter did not smile. At least to him, he didn't. Potter continued on, "Funny you're here. I was just thinking about you actually." His smile turned into a amiable grin and slowly, Draco felt his anger abating.

It was difficult to maintain your anger, especially at someone who was smiling at you.

"Stop that." Draco said, almost terrified. His grip on his knife tightened. Kill him now, his mind raged. He knew elsewise, he would not be able to do this.

Draco swung the knife, only to have it stop inches away from Potter's face. His hands were shaking and his breathing was labored. Potter did not appear perturbed at all and cooly, he grinned. He pushed the knife from Draco's hands gently and said, "Are you okay? You're shaking like a leaf." Potter's hand was still on Draco's hand which was holding the knife. His other hand slid to the side of Draco's face and he cupped his cheek. Potter pulled Draco closer and gently placed his lips over Draco's- into a slow, but earth shattering kiss.

Draco's knife dropped.

***

"Enervate!" Draco's eyes snapped open. What the hell was that?

"You alright there Malfoy?" A deep rumbling voice with a familiar thick accent asked. Draco laid there for a moment. Slowly, he registered the fact that he had been dreaming and soon afterward, realized that, that horrid kiss did not happen at all.

Thank, god.

As his vision began to clear, he saw that he was back at the train. It was still night and by the looks of it- the brightly lit room, the cool porcelain tiles, the numerous wads of toilet paper plastered on the ceiling- he was currently lying on the bathroom floor.

Faintly, Draco registered, that he should be feeling disgusted.

Draco's head turned to the side and saw the big bumbling beast, Hagrid crouching with the grace of a hippo beside him. Draco noted, rather wryly, that the man's hair was as shaggy and as untamable as ever. His clothes were in the same patched, beggar stitched fashion. He hasn't changed a bit. Draco plastered on a disdainful smile, "Hello, Hagrid."

"I found you lying in the lavatory there. Thought you were dead for a minute and then I saw you breathing and realized that maybe you weren't quite dead yet. Looks like you got quite a bump on you noggin there- I stopped the cut on your head but I think pretty soon, your headache would kick in, at least if it already hadn't." Hagrid let out a large laugh, "Better check in with Madame Pomfrey when you get back, Malfoy, or else you might get a concussion."

"Yeah," Draco got up and winced as he felt his head pulsating with pain. His stomach gave a lurch.
Suddenly then, he realized just why he was at the lavatory in the first place. "Uh… Hagrid, would you mind?"

Draco walked into the lavatory and closed the door partially until it was just this, the door, that separated the two. He stared pointedly at Hagrid, "I have some business to attend to."

Hagrid stared at him for a moment, evidently not registering what Draco was asking. Then suddenly, it appeared to click in Hagrid's mind and his former mask of confusion was replaced now with an expression of dawning realization, "Oh! Uh, I will just be sitting… there then." Hagrid pointed to nearby seat in the train.

"You do that." Draco shut the door.

***
TBC…

Next chapter will be out before the end of the week.

A special thanks to Immortal Memories, Allexandra Radcliffe, baby chaos, twighlight1

and to everyone who read chapter one. :) Review!