Any comments, suggestions, praise, offers of money (English pounds please, no Euros, groats, buttons or plastic washers) and death threats all willingly accepted.

And, yes, I did say slash. If the thought of two men together offends you, please hit the back button now. If you can't stand the heat, I'll set fire to you. Shoo!

Standard disclaimers apply.

*

Harry heaved his trunk onto the train, found an empty compartment, and sat down. He wished he had been able to see Ron and Hermione on the platform, but he reckoned they'd be in the prefects' carriage for a while yet, and just looked out of the window as the train started to pull out of the station, looking at the blurred faces waving off their loved ones on the platform.

The door opened, and Neville walked in, stumbling slightly as he tripped over his shoelaces.

"Hey, Harry, can I sit here?" he asked.

"Sure. Had a good summer?"

"Oh, it wasn't too bad, you know. How about you?" Harry shrugged; he wasn't about to discuss how much he missed Sirius with Neville, and he didn't really feel like explaining in lengthy detail how boring life with the Dursleys actually was. Although there had been one amusing incident when the police had called around late one night with a very drunken Dudley in tow; Vernon had claimed that the police were hassling his son because he was so 'gifted'. Neville laughed as Harry told this story, and Harry grinned, too.

They chatted a bit about Neville's holiday, Harry grateful for the distraction and another line of thought from those that had cluttered his mind throughout the summer. As they chatted, his gaze left Neville's face and took in the line of his body. He'd lost a bit of weight over the summer, his belly was losing the roundness of youth and his skin was tanned from a holiday in the south of France. All in all, he was growing into a rather handsome young man . . .

Wait a minute. Was he actually checking out Neville? Harry flushed red and stared out of the window, only half-listening to Neville's account of his holiday.

" . . . And I met this really pretty witch and, well, she asked me to write to her but I don't know if I should . . ." Neville apparently hadn't noticed Harry's moment of slight crisis, as he had turned roughly the same shade as a beetroot and was staring out of the window, too. So, he's straight then. Shame . . .

"Well, do you like her?"

"Well, yes, but . . . you know what I'm like, Harry, I couldn't speak in front of her without looking like a complete prat and all . . ."

"Look, she asked you to write, right? Then she must at least like you a little bit or she wouldn't have asked. Go on, write to her. You can borrow Hedwig, if you like."

"Thanks, Harry," muttered Neville, grinning.

The sound of raised voices could be heard in the corridor, and the compartment door swung open to reveal Harry and Hermione indulging in their usual constant bickering.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, you can't do that! You're a prefect!"

"Hermione, look, he's only going to get worse! I'm telling you, one more word and I'll show him that hex that Fred and George showed us over the summer . . ."

"Ron, you're not allowed! You're supposed to be setting an example to the younger students, not teaching them any bad habits!"

"Ahem!" Harry coughed loudly, and his friends stopped bickering and stared at him, having just noticed him for the first time.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, and threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, I missed you! It was really strange being at the Burrow without you! How was your summer?" she asked nervously. Harry shrugged. He wished people would stop pussy-footing around him; far from easing his pain, it made him tetchy.

"Dire. Although my cousin Dudley got arrested for being drunk and disorderly, which was amusing. I wish Dumbledore had let me go to the Burrow, though."

"I wish you were there too, mate. You should have seen some of the stuff Fred and George have developed, it was amazing! I wanted to bring some of it to school to show you, but . . ." Ron grimaced at Hermione and mimicked her voice "I'm a prefect, I should know better!"

"Oh, shut up!" muttered Hermione, whacking his shoulder lightly.

Harry settled back in his seat and let his friends' chattering wash over him as they talked about his summer, feeling slightly jealous that he'd had to spend all his time with the Dursleys. Molly Weasley had got him his school things, as he hadn't even been allowed to go to Diagon Alley, and he was grateful; but all the same, he would have liked to have escaped the Muggle world even for a day over the holidays.

But Dumbledore reckoned he was in danger, and as such it would be safer for him to stay with his relatives. Harry knew he was being watched, too; Mrs Figg had popped over for a chat more times than was strictly necessary and he'd glimpsed people from the Order tailing him around, too, when he'd gone down to the local shops to get some groceries. He just wished that these people would tell him the details, instead of treating him like a bloody child. So what if Voldemort was after him? He'd been lucky so far, hadn't he?

Then again, a voice whispered in his mind, maybe there was a limit even to his seemingly large reserve of luck. Might be wise not to push it, really, be a good boy and do as Dumbledore says, not get into trouble . . . However, a larger part of his mind was screaming loudly Sod it! I've proved I'm more than capable, I'm not going to do what they say and I'm not going to sit around and do bugger all while they lead my life for me!

He suspected that he had inherited that inner rebel from his father.

The compartment door opened for the third time, and Harry's least favourite person at Hogwarts – with the possible exception of Snape – leaned casually on the doorframe, surveying the group with grey eyes that glinted maliciously. Harry stared. Somewhere along the line, Malfoy had got hot! He was slim and toned from his Quidditch training, and his silver-blond hair was now chin-length, and was being blown across his face by the breeze coming from the open window. Harry shook his head to free himself from these treacherous thoughts. This is Malfoy. I hate him, he's a scumbag just like his daddy. Stop thinking like that!

"So, Potter," drawled Malfoy, a smirk playing on his lips. "I hear you stayed with the Muggles all summer. I expect that was almost as bad as staying at the Weasel's hovel."

"Watch it, Malfoy!" snarled Ron, already on his feet, his hand straying towards his wand. "Bugger off!"

"I don't feel like buggering off at this moment, thanks," smirked Malfoy, stepping forwards into the compartment. "And you can't use that thing on me. What would McGonagall say if she knew you were abusing your prefect duties? And what would your mother say? Dear me, we wouldn't want Mummy's darling to go upsetting her now, would we?"

"Ron might be a prefect but I'm not and I have no qualms about hexing you from now 'til Kingdom Come," said Harry, who was also on his feet by now, Malfoy's words having cut through his reverie and shaken him into action. Okay, so he may be good looking, but ugh! What a twat!

"Now, now, Potter, that's not a friendly attitude. I only wanted a word with you."

"Yeah, and here's two words for you. Fuck and off!"

"Watch your language, Potter, I don't want to have to land you in detention for something as petty as that."

"We're not at school yet, Malfoy, you can't do anything." Hermione drew her wand and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. He was clenching and unclenching his fists and growling softly. "But we can, and unless you want your arse blasted to Io and back, I suggest you leave." Harry smiled softly, reflecting that this was the first time he had ever heard Hermione swear, and the word sounded odd spoken in her well-mannered accent.

"Well, if that's going to be your reaction to a friendly visit, I think I will leave." Malfoy turned to go, and glanced back at Harry. "Oh, just one more thing, Potter. Stay out of my head, all right?"

"I'll remember that if I ever get the urge to look around in there," muttered Harry, as Malfoy left. He sat back down, feeling slightly resentful yet oddly exhilarated from his encounter with Malfoy. What did he mean, Stay out of my head? He was a weird one, that Malfoy. Weird, twisted and the most annoying and arrogant little prick in the world . . .

. . . And so damn sexy with it!