A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! It's good to know that I've got a little bit of an audience...this one's for you! Sorry it took so long. Can't seem to find as much time these days...

So here it is, what you've all been waiting for:

Chapter TWO

Morning on a train is one of the busiest times of the day. People begin to rebel from hours of inactivity and seem to want everything at once- breakfast, hot water, the morning paper- and they always seem to want it right away.

The dining car was already buzzing with early diners at six. Tables filled quickly and stayed filled, even when the lanterns gave more light than the barely-risen sun.

Lawrence had been up since four, running and fetching for the kitchens. He'd spent the entire time looking over his shoulders and avoiding the passenger cars, but now that the day was getting started, he had no real choice.

"Is the cart ready yet?" he called from the doorway. He had to step aside to let a stream of waitresses through, holding the door open for them reluctantly. When he had squeezed through after they'd passed, he stood himself in his corner and waited for a minute. Getting an answer in the kitchen often involved asking the same question again and again.

He then tried again. "Cart ready?" he asked loudly. No one was listening today- then again, he reminded himself, no one could possibly hear. Pans clattered on the stovetop, cooking sausages by tens, and there was a smell of bread or scones in the air, and coffee like a constant afterthought below everything. The kitchens worked like an organized calamity, manned by pantry chefs and the three or so cooks that it took to feed the huge train.

"Cart ready?"

"Keep your voice down."

Lawrence stared. The man himself was yelling.

The head chef wiped his wand on the front of his apron and wove his way through. "Delays, these sodding delays- how long can you afford to wait here?"

"Ah-"

"Be exact, if you please," he said briskly. Did everything he did have to brisk? Lawrence couldn't think of seeing the chef sit still or, now that he thought about it, even sleep. "I'm busy," he continued, "And I haven't got time to be inexact. I can't guarantee less than a six minute wait, I'm afraid, perhaps even seven- these sodding delays, I can't understand how we get behind like this!- everyone back-"

He scurried away, muttering. Lawrence went back into the corner and set an upended stool back to rights before settling himself on it. It had one shorter leg that always set it off balance; he leaned back and forth thoughtfully, wondering if it'd be worth the effort to demand for a coffee. In the end, he decided against it.

Every time the door swung open, it the hit the side the stool and blocked out the light. Lawrence amused himself for by trying to ignore the alternating flashes of light and dark. For a while, he thought it reminded him of riding in a train and seeing the countryside flash in and out of focus- that had always happened in the beginning, when he tried to see everything at once and then felt stupid enough about it that he stopped looking out altogether.

But making train analogies while working on a train was also stupid. He gave up on it, closing his eyes and reclining a little, not far enough to fall. He hadn't slept much last night, so now he would have to pay the consequences. He fought sleep hazily but mostly lost and didn't much care about it, either.

Somewhere far off he heard the door open and tap against his stool. This time it stayed dark; he frowned and leaned his head so it just brushed the door, but didn't open his eyes.

"...what are you doing here, this is-" That was Robin. Lawrence only knew the bloke well enough to recognize his voice. 

The reply was what made him open his eyes.

"I know, it's just-"

Lawrence was suddenly awake- in fact, he never wanted to sleep again. His hands had gone numb and he when he shook out his fingers it was as if they were weighted down with sand.

"I'm sorry, Sir, we don't make exceptions for anyone. You'll have to leave the kitchen unless you have something specific you'd like- as you can see, it's very crowded."

'Get him out of here, Robin,' he thought uneasily, repeating it like a mantra in his mind. 'Don't let him find me, don't let him find me here...' He felt sick and cold all over, thinking this, and he felt like such a coward for hiding. He was absolutely helpless.   

"I'm not doing anything against the rules. I only came here-"

'Fuck you, Potter.' All this time...if he was found out now...Thinking about it made him physically ill.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure someone outside can help you."

"Shut the hell up-"

"Sir!-"

"Stop trying to get rid of me and listen for a bit, will you? God. I'm not doing anything illegal coming here. I'm only looking for someone."

'Of course you are, bastard. You've been hunting me down all along.'

"Sir-"

"Just let me finish. I'll get out of your way very quickly, I promise. His name-," Potter interrupted, "-is Draco Malfoy."

The kitchen seemed to go silent, though Lawrence probably only imagined that part. He held his breath and then just wouldn't seem to let go.

"What are you suggesting, Sir?" asked Robin too levelly after what seemed like a very long time. There was a definite chill in his voice. "That we hire criminals?" Someone laughed, then stopped awkwardly when she realized that no one else had.

"No! I-"

"I'm asking you to leave now. We don't want anyone causing trouble on our train."

"I'm not!" Potter protested. "I didn't mean-"

"There are no Malfoys here, I can promise you that."

"Stop it, just wait, I know he's here, will you?- "

"I'm asking you to leave now. Put up a fuss and I'll have to call in someone to show you out."

The passenger inhaled deeply several times. Lawrence peered past the hinges of the door, through the crack, and saw clenched fists held tightly to his sides, Muggle clothing- a pair of ill-fitting grayed jeans- 

"Fine," Lawrence heard him snarl. "I'm leaving. I don't think you realize who I am."

Robin laughed gently. "I beg your pardon, Sir, but I don't think it matters." Lawrence caught the sound of plates clinking. The door opened wider for a moment as Robin pushed past the passenger and disappeared into a maze of tables; Lawrence quickly pulled his head away before it met with disaster.

For awhile nothing happened. The man was silent. The kitchen staff had gone back to carefully ignoring him- the waiters treated him as a simple roadblock and went out of their way to avoid him.

"Customer service my arse," he said, making one last attempt. The under-his-breath complaint was audible throughout the kitchen- Lawrence was sure that it was meant to be exactly that way. Everyone continued to ignore him.

He left in a state of absolute fury.

The door swung shut and Lawrence sat blinking at the light. Though his mind was still reeling, he patiently went through each of his limbs, coaxing them to relax. After he had gone through his entire body, he realized that it was no use. He buried his face in his hands. God.

"Look, if you're not ill then you need to get your arse up now and go around with the cart." Lawrence didn't want to look up. He would rather have jumped in front of the train and yelled 'Come and get me, big boy'. But he looked up anyway, thinking that he would probably regret it by late this afternoon, when the sleep-deprivation kicked in.

The head chef poked him in the foot with the front of the cart. Several times. Lawrence gave him a blank stare, received no response, and then sighed.

"Is the cart ready yet?" he asked wearily.