Author's Notes: So here's the second chapter up rewritten. I hope you like this one, I do. Well, I like it better than the other second chapter I had. I think I'm going to post those chapters up at the end of my story, just for the fun of it. You know, just in case you kids wanted to see what the original chapters were like. So that's that I think. Not really much else to say.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form.

******Harry's POV******

I was sitting, legs propped up on the train seat opposite me, gazing out the window at the rolling countryside. I smiled slightly as the sun gently kissed my face and I thought to myself: There really ought to be more days like this. This was one of those days where pain and trouble just couldn't reach you. I closed my eyes, dozing slightly. I hadn't slept well that night and was tired and this seemed as good a time as any to have a bit of a nap. I wasn't asleep very long when I was woken by a paper ball hitting my forehead.

            I didn't even bother to turn to face the culprit; I already knew who it was.

            "Go away Malfoy," I said, avoiding looking at him. This was too perfect a day to ruin with his face.

            "No," Malfoy said, plopping himself down on the train seat beside me. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I turned to face him.

            "What do you wa-" I stopped, mouth open. I couldn't believe it; my eyes had to be playing tricks on me. Malfoy was...was hot. Wait, did I just think that Malfoy was hot? I shook my head, causing Malfoy to look at me strangely.

            "What's with you, Potter?" He said.

            I ignored him, well his words anyhow. I couldn't take my eyes away from him, no matter how hard I tried. He was wearing a tight black shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination, and equally tight leather pants that like the shirt didn't leave anything to the imagination. He wore a black belt with a silver clasp on his waist and crisscrossing copper coloured belts. And he was buff! I wondered if Malfoy had always been this buff, or had my hatred for him blinded me from his beauty? Beauty? Dear God, I was losing it. Malfoy is not hot! I told myself, but I've never been one to listen to sense. Malfoy was still staring at me oddly, but the corner of his mouth was twitching; I could tell he was trying to hold back a smirk. I grew angry suddenly, annoyed by his smirk.

            "Oh fuck off," I said, back to my usual self. I wished I had said something better than that, or maybe not. He seemed more surprised by me swearing than any insult or comeback I had ever said before. I guess he wasn't expecting me to swear, not even I did. He was actually at a loss for words. It was my turn to smirk. "Oh what's -"

            I stopped when I saw two new faces at the door: Ron and Hermione. Malfoy saw them too. He turned to me, muttered, "This isn't over", and left, glaring at my friends as he did so. They watched him leave, hatred etched in their faces. When Malfoy was no longer in sight, they entered the cabin and sat down in the seat opposite me. I stared at them.

            "Where were you?" I asked, annoyed.

            "I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said. "We were held back at the Prefect's meeting."

            "Malfoy wasn't," I said, not entirely satisfied with her response.

            "He left after getting his badge and instructions," she said. Then apologetically, "We stayed a little longer to talk with the other prefects. I'm sorry."

            I nodded, though I was still annoyed and somewhat hurt. I was beginning to feel left out. Ron and Hermione were both prefects, and I wasn't. It was like they were part of a super special club that only super special people were allowed into. Talk about an inferiority complex.

            Hermione realized this, she realized everything. And sometimes that really annoyed me; she understood everything so well, and I was so confused. But I was sometimes grateful because she was aware of things and thus knew how to deal with it. However, not all people had the same awareness as Hermione. Like Ron, for example. He didn't notice anything.

            "I think he's got a 'Harry Radar' or something," he said loudly. Hermione gave a quick glance to me, as if asking me if I was alright. I appreciated her concern, and it made me feel slightly better. But only slightly.

            "Ron, what are you talking about?" She asked.

            "Think about it," he began, striding up and down the cabin as if he was someone who had just thought up something brilliant, "Malfoy always manages to find our cabin, every year."

            "What's your point?" I asked, not really caring what he was getting at. I hated him at that moment. Sometimes his lightheartedness really...really pissed me off.

            "How does he manage to do it?" He replied.

            "He listens at every door for the sound of our voices?" I said, getting steadily more annoyed. I was wishing him to shut up, for once in his life.

            "I don't think so," Ron stopped his pacing, gazing at the two of us. I was biting my lip now. Who the hell was he to come up with theories about Malfoy's behavior? He was my fucking enemy! Ron didn't notice my irritation, as usual, and continued, "If that were true, then how'd he have been able to find you, just now, if he couldn't follow your voice?"

            "I was talking to myself," I growled, turning to the window. I didn't want to look at him anymore.

            "Hey Harry, what's wrong?" I heard him say.

            "Be quiet, Ron. You wouldn't understand." I was once more grateful to Hermione. She would ensure that I be left alone.

            I spent the rest of the train ride in silence, feeling sorry for myself. I found my weakness disgusting, but I just couldn't help it. I felt inferior, left-out. Both of these notions were insane, I knew this, but I still couldn't stop myself from thinking it. And I thought of Malfoy again; he was an asshole, my enemy. But strangely, I didn't hate him at that moment. It suddenly dawned on me that as much as I hated Malfoy, I needed him. He was the only person who didn't make me feel inferior. I felt significant around him, as if I mattered. I smiled slightly.

            Thanks, Malfoy.

******Draco's POV******

"Well that went well," I growled, keeping a good pace ahead of Crabbe and Goyle; my faithful, dim-witted cronies. Needless to say I was pissed about how things went with Potter. I had totally blown it. But how? It must've been my smirk. Fuck! He knew I was smirking; he saw through me. Bloody hell. It won't be like this the next time we meet, I promised.

            I stormed into my cabin, where Damon lay on the train cushion reading. I slumped into the seat opposite her, spreading my legs out. Damon had calmed immensely after the incident with my father, and was somewhat pleasant to be around.

            "It didn't go well?" She asked without taking her eyes away from her book.

            "No," I replied, staring out the window.

            "I meant to ask you before," she said, taking her eyes away from her book and looking at me with her cool grey eyes, "what did my father say when you asked him?"

            I said nothing. I wasn't ready to tell her what my uncle told me. I was still trying to make sense of it. I thought back to our encounter.

~*Flashback*~

I strode into the study, where my Uncle Luther sat reading a paper, occasionally writing something down. I hated the study, like I hated the rest of my house. It was filled with every wizarding luxury imaginable and I liked that. It proved my superiority over other wizarding families. But everything was so dark and gloomy. It was really depressing. It's no wonder I'm so fucked up, growing up in an environment like this. All my childhood memories are dark; there isn't any joy or light in them. I seriously wondered if I had ever had a genuinely happy moment in my life. But I suppose such is the life of a Malfoy, a loyal Voldemort follower. I snorted. I didn't support Voldemort; I didn't support anyone but myself. It was funny that my father followed him when I know that he hated Voldemort almost as much as he hated muggles. He hated people superior to him, and he hated being afraid. He denies this, naturally, but I know that he hates and fears Voldemort. My father was such a fool.

            I, however, had the intelligence and cunning in the family, though my father thought he did. He still thought of me as an ignorant little boy who would hang on his every word, and do exactly as told without question. He didn't know that I knew what he wanted to do with me. Since birth he had been training me to become the perfect servant to Voldemort. Or maybe he had been a bit smarter and had planned for me to become stronger than Voldemort and overthrow him. And then he, being my father, would assume tyrannical position over the world while I, his loyal son who 'owed him everything', would let him do so and then take over when he should die. It was a foolish dream, from a foolish man.

            I had thought briefly that maybe this was the reason he was afraid. Since he no longer had absolute control over me, he couldn't be completely sure that I would let him reign supreme over the world. But I hardly believed that to be a reason for fear, and I was interested in what Uncle Luther had to say. There may be something a lot deeper than world domination. If I was the base of some crazy conspiracy, I wanted to know.

            "Hello Uncle," I said, scraping an antique chair across the hard wooden floor and plopping myself down. I laid my hands on my lap, letting my legs stretch out in front of me.

            "Yes, young Draco? What is it you want?" He said, removing his glasses. I knew he didn't need them, but he thought wearing them would make him look smarter. I looked at what he had been writing and almost laughed. As usual, it wasn't actually work. Luther was the only, how do you say, cool one in the family. The only one with a spec of decency towards his fellow wizards. I didn't approve of his love for all wizards, but he redeemed himself with his hatred for the muggle kind. I enjoyed Luther's company; he was fun, straight-forward and he wasn't deceitful. I didn't quite understand how he and my father could be brothers.

            "Have you been hard at work all morning?" I asked, smiling sarcastically. He laughed.

            "Don't tell your father," he said, collecting his papers and piling them neatly on the corner of the desk. "I've grown rather fond of this place; I don't want to be kicked out."

            It was my turn to laugh. "You can't seriously be fond of this place. It's so dark!"

            "Yes, that's true. I hate it here, but I have no where else to go. But I think Damon likes this place."

            "She doesn't," I said. I wondered if anyone actually liked this dismal house. "My father wouldn't kick you out though."

            "You don't know Lucius," he said sadly.

            There was a moment of awkward silence, then he spoke again, "So you had something you wanted to ask me?"

            "Yes," I answered. I stopped for a moment, trying to word my question. I hadn't really thought about how I'd ask him. "Uncle Luther, is there any reason my father would fear me?"

            I saw him falter, and he paled visibly. He spoke seriously for a change, "What would make you think that?"

            I was taken aback by his reaction. I had expected him to tell me that I needed more sleep or something. I felt a jolt in my stomach. I stared at Luther, who stared right back. He was looking at me gravely. I knew I could trust him, and decided to tell him about this morning. When I was done my tale, Luther was staring at his fingers with a faraway look. I suddenly lost my nerve.

            "I'm sure it was nothing. I'm sorry I wasted your time, I must be going!"

            I made to leave but was stopped by Luther's commanding voice.

            "Sit down, boy. There's something you should know."

            I sat down, hands grasping tightly the arms on the chair. I was tense. Luther was looking at me with a strange sad look. He sighed.

            "You should have been told a long time ago, when you first went to Hogwarts," he shook his head. "There's something different about you; about you and Damon. I wanted to tell both of you but Lucius wouldn't have it. He -"

            He hesitated. I leaned forward in my chair. I had to know more. "Yes! What is it? He what? What did he -"

            I stopped, noticing that Luther wasn't looking at me, but at something behind me. I turned around and saw my father. He was standing in the doorway, his ominous shadow cast feet in front of him. Fury was written across his face. He was the maddest I had ever seen him before!

            "Luther, can I have a word with you?" He said. His voice was level, but brimming with anger. Luther paled, but stood up from his seat and slowly crossed the room. I watched in silence as my uncle reached my father. The latter turned to me. "Go to your room, Draco. Don't come out until I say so."

            I did as told, too stunned to disobey him. In my room, I could hear the sound of their raised voices. I couldn't quite make out their words, but I caught the gist of it. Lucius was absolutely furious that Luther was going to tell me some great and terrible secret, while Luther was fighting for my right to know said secret. After all, I was at the base of it. I didn't get it; what was with me? What was so special about me that I wasn't allowed to know it? It would be a long while later that my father would come to my room. He opened the door and came in slowly, sitting beside me on my bed.

            "Son," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I pulled away; I didn't want him touching me. He paid no heed to it.

            "Son, I've asked Luther to leave."

            I glared at him. I couldn't keep the anger from my voice. "Asked him to leave? Kicked him out is more like it!"

            He stood up angrily. "Listen boy!" He yelled, but stopped. I saw the same fear in his eyes again, and I knew that it was true; he was afraid of me. I smirked. I had power over my father, and he knew it.

            "Damon will stay here, as a favour to her father," he said, turning from me. "I would appreciate it if you never mention this again."

            I watched him leave, hating him intensely.

~*End Flashback*~

I was staring out the window again, completely lost in my thoughts. Damon had gone back to reading her book, coming to the conclusion that I would not tell her about my encounter with her father, not now anyway. I wasn't ready. I would tell her in good time though. The secret did involve her, after all.

******

End Notes: So that's the new chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and now you are free to read the rest of the story.

BTW: Please review!