Acknowledgments: Harry Potter & Co. belong to JK Rowling, that lucky bitch. I want to be a super-rich author! I am, however, hoping that this is a relatively original story line.

Ch. 2: The Encounter at Platform 9 and ¾

Harry didn't say anything about what he had seen when he returned to Ron's room, though he could tell that his friends suspected something – he had been gone for quite a bit longer than usual. Mrs. Weasley had asked him if he was okay, concern as more obvious though no less real than that which was emanating from Hermione. Even Ron, who seemed naturally unconcerned with anything was giving him a slightly worried look.

Harry just blushed, and mumbled something about peeking in on Neville's parents. Molly expressed her understanding, Hermione looked at him strangely, and Ron quickly changed the subject. "So, you guys going to come visit tomorrow?"

Molly laughed and hugged her son. "I'm taking them to pick up school supplies tomorrow – yours too in fact. You'll just have to wait until the day after."

*

Harry and Hermione continued to visit Ron for the next couple of weeks. Each time, Harry returned to Narcissa Malfoy's room, but never caught a glimpse of the strange youth again. When he had inquired at the main desk about any visitors, the witch there had said that Mrs. Malfoy had not had any visitors at all – not since the reporters had tried to get pictures when she was initially brought in. Harry supposed it possible that he had imagined the whole thing, though he was not the type to indulge in that kind of self-doubt, depressed and apathetic or not.

Harry, actually, was feeling a little better. Ever since the Malfoy incident, he felt his curiosity returning, if nothing else. Just having something to puzzle out was enough to inspire more interest in life that he had had for most of the summer. Furthermore, without Ron to side with him in favor of laziness, Harry frequently found himself following Hermione's lead – they spent countless hours studying, practicing, learning. It was fun, as magical learning tended to be very hands on, and Hermione even agreed to engage in mock duels (which she called 'practice') with him. Harry was proud to have it proven to him again what he already knew – Hermione was one of the smartest witches in Hogwarts, if not all of England.

Eventually, though, summer came to an end. The combination of Weasley likeability and Weasley obnoxiousness had convinced Ron's mediwitch to release him in time to take the Hogwarts Express with his friends. Ron's face had split into a wide grin when he told his friends. "I never thought I'd be so thrilled to be going back to school!"

Harry, on the other hand, was unsurprised at the absence of excitement he felt as he stood around on platform 9 and ¾; he just seemed to take most things in stride these days. School ends, school begins, someone dies, life goes on. Still, he was a little relieved too – he had come to the conclusion that all the solitude and relative absence of activity had been contributing to his depression. He had the usual foreboding with regards to returning to Hogwarts: something was going to happen. He both dreaded and anticipated it, but anything to escape the brain-rotting monotony of the summer. Harry was a man of action, and it was the only way for him to thrive.

Ron, of course, made a total spectacle of himself from almost the moment he arrived. As soon as his mother had departed he yelled, "I'M OUT!!! I'M FREE! NO MORE ST. MUNGO'S FOR ME!!!"

He paused for only a moment, apparently amazed by the fact that his words rhymed, after which he began jumping around and chanting. "I'm out! I'm free! No more hospital for me!"

Harry watched with a mixture of indifference and mild distaste. Hermione was only able to take it for a few rounds before her annoyance became too much, and she grabbed Ginny by her collar and stalked off to talk to Luna and a couple of other Ravenclaw girls that were milling around. Seamus and Dean easily spotted their roommates.

Without evening greeting him, Dean placed his hand firmly on Ron's shoulder. "Stop mate, you're not doing it right. Let me show you how it's supposed to be done..."

Ron actually stopped, curiosity pushing him to be an audience for once. Dean adjusted his stance, gave a cool look around, then belted out something that mostly unheard of in the wizarding world... rap; freestyle rap at that.

"Guess who's back? No longer outta wack, Finally outta the sack. It's the Ron-man, No longer the gone-man. Free from the Man, Freed from the Can!"

Okay, so the lyrics were nothing special, but relatively impressive (and excellently delivered) for having been made up on the spot. Even Harry let himself smile a bit, and both Seamus and Ron let out loud whoops. A few scattered students clapped, before their attention was swallowed by the void. It took Seamus, Dean, and Ron a little longer to realize that the normal sounds and movements of the platform had stilled. Even Harry had been sufficiently distracted to require a moment to spin around and see on what so many other eyes were looking at.

Draco Malfoy had just stepped through the wall in time to witness the end of Dean's performance. For someone who was supposed to be dead, he looked surprisingly alive – he was standing at least, very straight at that, and presumably breathing; the slow blinking of his eyes also revealed life. But he didn't look too far from someone who might have had to claw his way out of a grave. Most obviously, his pallid skin was smeared with dirt and grime, none of it looking very fresh; shoulder-length hair hung unwashed and unbrushed in thick mats on either side of his face; his shirt was that streaked-tan color that can only be achieved by the constant wear of something that was once white; his pants still looked their natural gray, but sported a number of stains and tears, and were being held up by what appeared to be a rope. And he looked incredibly, unhealthily thin.

His brow was twisted into a deep scowl, and his lips were just moments away from a snarl. His eyes were narrowed, warily sizing up his audience, none of who know how to react – except Ron's big mouth of course. "Hey Malfoy. Everyone knows you want to be your father, but don't you think this corpse look is taking it a little far? "

The spectators shifted from gape-at-the-freak mode to watch-the-show mode: The Ron and Malfoy Show was usually as entertaining as a wrestling match, if equally horrifying. Sure enough, the dirty Malfoy stalked up to Ron, his eyes burning dangerously. Harry moved a bit closer to his friend, anticipating trouble, while Hermione and Ginny quickly pushed their way through students for the same reason. But Malfoy stopped inches from Ron's face, completely ignoring the rest of the Gryffindors.

"Ug," Ron gagged with genuine disgust. "You stink Malfoy."

Finally, Malfoy's face showed some reaction – he bared his red teeth causing Ron's eyes to widen and finally begin to show some fear. Malfoy's mouth transformed itself into a malicious smirk, as he hocked up some spit, then spat out a large blob of saliva and blood onto the ground. His eyes returned to Ron's. "Don't fuck with me, Weasley. Don't talk to me, don't talk about me, don't even look at me. Let me be as dead to you as you are to me."

Ron punched him.

In retrospect, he was a little ashamed his behavior, as he was almost entirely at fault for the fight – throwing the first insult and the first punch at someone who was so clearly down. Still, Malfoy's appearance, his behavior, his words, they had all freaked him out. Ron hated the thrill of fear that Malfoy had been able to rise out of him in this state, something the prick had never been able to do before. Besides, the little shit proved more than capable of defending himself. Despite his emaciated and unhealthy appearance, Ron's punch had not phased him in the slightest; he immediately jumped on the taller redhead and had begun throwing blind punches and kicks, biting and scratching wildly, and screaming nonsense.

It only took Harry and Seamus a few seconds to overcome their shock and come to their friend's rescue. They each grabbed a thin arm and hauled the blonde off Ron. Malfoy struggled frantically for a moment before wrenching himself away, while Ron lay on the ground in shock and disorientation, face already swelling from the beating.

"Trouble?"

The Gryffindors plus Malfoy turned: it was Blaise Zambini, flanked by Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Pansy Parkinson, all of whom were looking understandably militant. The Gryffindor's all looked back to Malfoy, thinking that his next words would determine whether or not there was about to be an all out brawl on Platform 9 and ¾.

Malfoy looked back and forth between the two gangs warily, eyes calculating and unamused. An expression of determination hardened on his features. "No trouble!," he shouted, so that most of the students on the platform could hear him. "I don't want any trouble for any of you! I don't want anything from anyone..." His eyes turned towards his housemates, "And that does for you too! I don't need your protection, your friendship, anything! Get away from me! And YOU lot!" His swiveled back towards the Gryffindor crowd. "FUCK OFF! I don't want anything to do with you!"

Most of the spectators, along with all of the Gryffindors, sported shocked expressions; the Slytherins, on the other hand, displayed mixed reactions. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, and a little angry, Parkinson looked horrified and hurt, and Zambini looked exceedingly pissed off.

"Is that the way it's going to be then, Malfoy?," Zambini sneered with emphasis, knowing just what buttons to push. "You might as well be dead then. Guess you really are nothing without your father."

Malfoy howled with rage, like some unthinking creature, and flung himself on Zambini. Now it was the Gryffindor's turn to watch as the dirty skinny little beast tear at the cocky Slytherin. There was a flurry of limbs and incoherent cries of anger before Crabbe and Goyle managed to grab Malfoy's shoulders and throw him off Zambini. Zambini lay stunned, bleeding, and beaten, much like Ron had been just minutes before, but Malfoy quickly scrambled to his feet. He stood tensed and ready, fresh blood decorating his filthy skin and clothes. He eyed first the Slytherin pack, who bunched together in a defensive formation, then he eyed the Gryffindor pack, who also shifted closer together.

Slowly, Malfoy backed towards the train. Hardly anyone moved, as if afraid to startle a dangerous animal. When he reached the train, he scurried up and disappeared. The Slytherins and Gryffidors were now left eyeing each other warily. Something very strange was going on, and it was obvious that neither side knew what.

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