Desclaimer: ah ah, not mine.
Dedicated to Nikikeya-chan again and Eratosthenese, for giving me the most heart-warming reviews I have ever recieved.
First chapter (finally! The first two were the prologue), in which the boys meet again, bicker, and lots of glares and woe are passed around.
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The morning of September the first dawned cold and gray. From his room in the Manor, looking out the large glass window, all Draco could see were washed-out skies and sad-looking flowerbeds. Winter had come early this year; the rain ruined all of his mother's flowers, the first heavy, surprising drops corrupting the delicate petals before the House Elves could put shielding charms on them.
He dressed quietly, hardly paying attention to his surroundings; He had nothing of interest here anymore, as all of his books and research notes were packed carefully inside his trunk. They were the only things that mattered now, after all.
Draco left his rooms and headed towards the entrance hall, his charmed trunk floating obediently behind him. He found his mother there, waiting for him, looking oddly nervous, too pale in her dark gown, her hair in a tight knot at the back of her head. Draco was used to seeing his mother in pastels, in whites and pinks and silver, sparkling and laughing in his father's arms. Mourning colours did not become her.
"There you are, dear" she said as she saw him, her face brightening. "I was afraid you'd miss your train, what with the way you were taking your time". She fussed with the collar of his heavy robes, smoothed his hair.
"Be careful, alright?" she asked, sounding tired, her fingers stilling on his neck "and write to me at least once a week". Then she smiled at him fondly, although her eyes looked through him "you're so handsome, now. Just like your father".
Draco remained silent.
"Well," she continued "have a good year, darling. Try not to get into to much trouble, please; it's hardly proper". She handed him the rune stone, pressed her lips momentarily to his cheek, a dry, precise sort of peck.
He nodded, gave her a short kiss in return, and clutched the handle of his trunk; and then he felt the pull behind his navel, the dizzy, slightly nauseated feeling he always got while using a portkey, and the hall was gone in a swirl of colour, along with his mother's weary face.
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He arrived at the platform with a few minutes to spare; the Hogwarts express was steaming gently in its place, in all its red, shining glory, the windows lit and inviting. Students bustled around the platform, dragging trunks and trolleys behind them, saying their goodbyes to their families, greeting friends they haven't seen in two months.
Draco squared his shoulders, raised his head high, chin sticking out arrogantly, and boarded the train. He ignored the looks students and adults alike directed his way, some careful and measuring, some downright hostile. He was above their judgment ("Only one of us can judge us, Draco. Only the old families, the real wizards, matter").
He stopped by his usual compartment, opening the door a little to look inside. Sure enough, Blaise Zabini was already sitting there, sprawled in his seat, his dark hair in his eyes. He looked up from his newspaper as the compartment door slid open, and grinned at Draco when he saw him.
"Hi. You're early. Need a hand with that?" he gestured to Draco's trunk. When Draco shook his head and stored it himself, he shrugged and returned to his newspaper.
Draco sat down across from him, feeling alert and on edge. This was it. Soon, and He'd have his revenge. Only a little more to wait. He took out a book and tried occupying himself until the others would arrive.
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Pansy and Crabbe arrived a minute or two after him, followed by an angry looking Millicent. As Pansy sat down, shaking raindrops out of her long, thick hair, Blaise raised an eyebrow at Millicent. "Which kneazle pissed in your porridge this morning?"
She snarled as she dropped heavily next to Draco, who wrinkled his nose disdainfully and moved away. "Ran into bloody Potter and his mudblood". Draco hid the little shiver of excitement that ran through him at hearing that name, while Blaise winced in agreement.
Goyle came in as the train started moving, his face red. "Almost missed the train," he grunted, as Crabbe shifted to make him room. Draco gave him a curt nod, before absorbing himself in his book for the next hour. Around him, conversation carried on.
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The Prefects' meeting was short, and Draco ignored the new Head Girl's speech, as it was mostly just a repeat of what they were told the year before; instead, he studied his nails, peering at Granger and Weasley out of the corner of his eye. The freckled oaf was even more gangly and awkward then before, all too-long limbs and too-big feet and hands, making Granger look petite and delicate in comparison. They both seemed drained and worried, shooting Draco and Pansy dark looks every once in a while.
Draco pretended to ignore them, and when they all left, followed them to their compartment. He'd return there later.
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Around noon, Draco could suppress his restlessness no longer. He tucked his book back in his bag and stood up, satisfied when Crabbe and Goyle stood up immediately, too. Having minions was good.
"You've gotten taller, Draco," Pansy commented, giving him a very suggestive leer. He just smirked at her and strolled out, Crabbe and Goyle blundering behind him.
The corridor was drafty, though well lit; Draco shivered, mentally thanking his mother, who insisted he'd wear extra thick robes today. In front of the right compartment, he hesitated for a minute, then relaxed. Nothing could go wrong; he was more than ready. He schooled his features into a cold sneer, and slid the door open.
Several faces turned to look at him; he saw smiles and grins before they faded as they saw him, turning into scowls. Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, the little girl Weasley, and… ah, there was Potter.
Weasley instantly turned the colour of an overripe tomato, his eyes narrowing. Draco thought it made him look cross-eyed, actually. Granger made a displeased noise, putting her hand on the redhead's arm; Longbottom looked caught between anxiousness and irritation.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, voice mocking "a meeting of Hogwarts' greatest idiots, already planning another stupid adventure?"
He was rewarded with angry hisses, but Potter just looked at him, his expression one of disinterest, before he turned his head away and resumed staring out the window.
Draco felt a pang of surprise, which quickly turned to fury; where was the emotional, easy to manipulate boy he knew? Last year Potter was so stressed, so easy to infuriate, that all Draco had to do was make a nasty comment or two. But now, when he intended to use that to his advantage, he found out that boy was gone. Those unnaturally green eyes looked at him for a moment, deemed him completely and utterly unworthy of attention, and moved on, forgetting about him.
Just like the second time they met. I think I can figure out the wrong sort myself, thanks. Absolute, total rejection. He wasn't even worth a glare.
If there was one thing Draco hated most of all, it was feeling inadequate.
"A stupid adventure that put your bloody father in Azkaban, where he belongs" Weasley finally managed to come up with something to say, breaking Draco out of his angry haze; He controlled his snarl, instead turning it into a smirk. His answer wasn't for the Weasel, though. He kept his eyes on Potter.
"A stupid adventure that got Sirius Black killed".
All eyes snapped to his face, wide and shocked; Granger's mouth actually dropped open. Almost as if they didn't notice they were doing it, all of them sneaked a look at Potter, awaiting his reaction with baited breath.
Come on, Potter. Look at me; say something, come on already! Draco thought. Slowly, Potter turned his head to face Draco, his face devoid of expression. But oh, there was anger there, all right, flickering green and scorching behind those ugly glasses, burning through Draco.
He almost blinked in astonishment when Potter's voice was calm, leveled; Draco expected him to shout, with the strength of the emotion he saw in those eyes.
"You heard from your mother, I expect". Draco gave a stiff nod, suspicious. Sirius Black was his mother's cousin, though banished from the family years before Draco was born. They got a notice from the ministry, informing them of his demise.
His mother threw the letter in the fireplace without bothering to read it, and left the room.
"What's it to you?" Potter asked.
He isn't angry with me, Draco realized suddenly. He isn't controlling his voice, making it calm despite his rage; he really isn't interested with me at all. He's bored. I'm boring him
The thought made him clench his fists, grit his teeth. He forced himself to relax, to open his hands. "Nothing to me, like he was nothing to the rest of the world. Nothing to you, too, I presume, since it was you who got him killed; you might as well have 'Avada Kadabra'd him yourself".
For an instant, he saw Potter's eyes flare, felt a secret thrill of excitement. Any moment Potter would shout at him, hex him, even, and he would be familiar again, the same boy Draco could manipulate so easily-
"Get out".
"What?" the word was surprised out of him before he could think, and Draco felt a wave of self-hatred at his stupidity.
"Get out. Turn around, open the door, walk out, and close it behind you. Just get out".
Draco opened his mouth and closed it a few time, unprepared for the loathing he saw in the Gryffindor's eyes, for the rigid lines of his body, for the tiny curl of his lips he was obviously trying hard to control, baring his teeth just a little. For the intensity of the response.
"Fine," he answered at last, defiantly. Fine? What was I thinking!? He was appalled with himself. By the time he came to his senses, he was already out of the compartment, the door closing behind him.
"What are you two looking at!?" he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle, who were staring at him with amazement. Stupidly. He stalked towards his own compartment, and after a few seconds of silence, heard Crabbe and Goyle's thundering steps behind him.
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Tonks dropped Harry at Platform Nine and Three Quarters with two minutes to spare. She appeared at the Dursley's door in the middle of breakfast, in Jeans, an orange T-shirt sporting the words "Aurors R Us", a wide grin and bright green hair that stuck up at every direction. There was a leather jacket on her arm.
"Wotcher, Harry," she said and winked at him after Aunt Petunia had been revived; "I'm here to give you a lift to the train".
Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave for the Burrow that summer, on account of it being too dangerous to both him and the Weasleys; Harry agreed and accepted the decision, but the Weasleys were still furious with Dumbledore.
"Hi, Tonks," Harry replied, peering outside and nearly swallowing his tongue when he saw the monstrous red motorcycle parked outside. "Err, is that yours?"
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It turned out to be hers indeed, and Harry spent the first five minutes of the ride clutching desperately at her waist, a large helmet jammed on his head. But after a few minutes he relaxed and started enjoying it; it was almost as fun as flying, although in quite a different way. He even dared a whoop at one point.
Tonks stopped the motorcycle next to the platform, and Harry climbed off rather reluctantly. She handed him his shrunken trunk, which she had put in one of her pockets before, and ruffled his hair fondly.
"Take care, Harry," she said, climbing back on the motorcycle "write to me if you need someone to talk to, alright?" When he nodded and promised he would, she smiled and pinched his cheek "You cleaned out quite good looking, did you know that? Doesn't come from your Muggle side of the family, that's for sure".
And then she was gone, jacket flapping in the wind, leaving Harry puzzled and alone.
"Welcome to your sixth year, Harry," he sighed to himself, and holding his shrunken trunk firmly in his hand, took a deep breath and entered the platform.
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He avoided looking at people as he walked towards the train, although he felt their eyes on him, wondering and admiring. Whispers rose as he passed, and he caught snatches of them: "-Fudge said he was right all along, poor thing-" and "-got Lucius Malfoy arrested, he did-". He gritted his teeth and boarded the train.
Hermione was waiting for him near the door. "Saw you coming through the window," she admitted, studying his face worriedly "how are you?"
He gave her a smile "fine. How are you?" She shrugged, smiling back. "Fine".
Someone shoved him from behind then, almost knocking him into Hermione; he braced himself on the wall on his arms just in time.
"Sorry," he told Hermione, who turned a little red and waved it away, ducking out of his arms. They turned around, meeting Millicent Bullstrode's biddy eyes, and Harry felt Hermione stiffen next to him.
"Ugh, Gryffindors in love. How nauseating" she said, pulling her trunk on board after her. "Spare me, will you? I've just eaten".
Hermione turned red again, this time from anger "you're hardly helping my appetite yourself, thank you very much". Millicent's lip curled in a nasty sort of way, which looked familiar. After a few seconds, Harry realized Malfoy used it all the time. Hardly in the mood for insults, he tugged at Hermione's sleeve.
"Let's go, it's not worth getting annoyed at".
They heard Millicent mutter "cowards" behind them, but Harry continued forward, pulling Hermione after him.
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They settled into their compartment, Harry unshrinking his trunk and putting it away. Ron greeted him enthusiastically, clapping him on the shoulder and bombarding him with questions, while Ginny blushed a little as she hugged him before returning to her seat. Neville smiled at him warmly.
"We've got to go to the Prefects' Carriage," Hermione said regretfully "but we'll be back soon. Grab something off the food trolley for me if it stops by, will you?"
After they left (Ron made Harry promise to buy him half the trolley, or so it seemed to him), Harry chose a seat next to the window, staring out. Soon, he was lost in thought.
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Ron and Hermione came back after a while, with Ron's face falling when he saw no food. "The trolley hadn't passed by yet," Ginny told him, rolling her eyes.
"Guess who's Head Girl," Hermione said, looking excited, and Harry tried to look interested "who?" She grinned "Katie Bell. We have a Gryffindor Head Girl this year- the Head Boy's from Ravenclaw".
Harry nodded and turned back to look out the window, at the landscape passing by. It started to rain again.
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Around noon, the inevitable happened.
"Well, what do we have here?" a cold voice came from the doorway "a meeting of Hogwarts' greatest idiots, already planning another stupid adventure?"
Harry heard Ron growl, but couldn't muster the energy to turn around for more then a brief glance. The rain outside was much more interesting, anyway.
"A stupid adventure that put your bloody father in Azkaban, where he belongs" Ron said angrily. He was probably going all splotchy and red again; he always did when he used that tone of voice.
"A stupid adventure that got Sirius Black killed". Malfoy's voice was pleasant, dry; as though he was simply commenting on the weather.
Anger flared inside Harry, abrupt and smoldering, and not all of it was directed towards Malfoy. He turned around slowly.
Malfoy was lounging against the door, graceful and perfectly at ease. His white-blond hair was immaculate, his robes expensive as always. But there was something new about him, something different, that Harry couldn't quite identify; something about his posture that implied a new strength, something about his eyes, which were like ice; his mouth smirked, his body was at ease, but he couldn't quite conceal the hate in gaze. Hate, and… triumph?
"You heard from your mother, I expect" Harry said. Malfoy gave a lazy nod, and Harry felt very tired. He really didn't have the strength for the Slytherin's games now; he had much more important things to think about.
"What's it to you?"
He noticed the tiny clench of Malfoy's fists before they opened again, although his face remained vaguely agreeable, and wondered a little about it. "Nothing to me, like he was nothing to the rest of the world. Nothing to you, too, I presume, since it was you who got him killed; you might as well have 'Avada Kadabra'd him yourself".
Nothing to you, since it was you who killed him. The words struck right on target. Bull's-eye, Malfoy. Do you know me that well, or am I just that obvious?
Disgust and an intense loathing welled inside him, a bitter taste in his mouth; he thought that himself, of course, but until now, everyone told him he was wrong, that it wasn't his fault. All he wanted was honesty, and that's exactly what Malfoy gave him; For once, he was nothing but honest.
And Harry found out he couldn't stand it, not now, not from Malfoy, of all people.
"Get out".
"What?" Malfoy asked, looking surprised.
Harry wasn't in the mood to be impressed with his acting skills. He wanted him out, out of his face, before he would break down and do something he regretted.
"Get out. Turn around, open the door, walk out, and close it behind you. Just get out".
Malfoy blinked at him, and then his face assumed a stubborn expression. "Fine" he said, and did just that.
Hermione stared at the closed door, voicing everyone's thoughts as she asked, "did Malfoy just-leave? Without any argument or nasty parting remark?"
Harry concentrated on breathing evenly, feeling a strange sort of panic "I'll be right back" he said at last, and before anyone could have protested, he was out the door and almost running to the train's loo.
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Draco glared at the pages of his open book, not able to calm down enough to read. Potter just- brushed him off. He couldn't even feel satisfaction because of the fact that he managed to make him angry; it wasn't him Potter was angry at.
What happened to you, Potter? He asked himself. And why does it bother me so much?
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Inside a locked stall at the empty loo, Harry curled up, his head bowed, hugging his knees. How am I supposed to save the world, he wondered miserably, if I can't even handle one irritating, spiteful schoolboy?