Disclaimer: You know, its always confused me, didn't we write it? I mean, shouldn't we at least own it? (JK Rowling steps in) Um, actually, Charletto, u see, you took my story…

Me: What?? No I didn't! this is MY story!

JK: Um…well…im sure it's a bit too difficult for you to understand…er…

Me: Yes! It is! I don't understand it! Therefore it must not be possible! I own Harry Potter!

Cocabella: Um, Charletto, this is a disclaimer.

Me: for what?

Cocabella: sigh…(turns to reader) we don't own Harry Potter. We'd love to, but that privilege belongs to our extraordinarily fortunate friend JK over here…

Emmy: coca! Shhhhhhhhhh! since when did u become the responsible one?!(pushes JK out of picture, then catches cocas eye) Oh, fine. We don't own this. Whatever. (bursts into spontaneous tears)

CHAPTER ONE: Boy-who-likes-to-scream-in-hormonal-angst

It was dark and stormy and mysterious and mystical and very cliché at the Scottish castle which has mastered it's use of overly used phrases! Ya…Hogwarts. Well, back anywhere from 1-200,000 miles away, it was bright and sunny because it was not near Hogwarts-fa la! Isn't it amazing how King's Cross, the beginning of our lovely heroes' journey to their sixth year at the esteemed school of witchcraft and wizardry, is always a happy-do-dah bright, sunny day! But miles away it is mysterious and foreboding. Oh well!

As always, Herm, Harry , and Ron were sitting on the train, talking avidly of the summer gone, the school year to come, and Harry's imminent and gruesome death. Of course. Well, actually, Ron was talking. Exuberently. The only one talking. And on only one subject.

"He must be waiting for an idea to cause you an excruciatingly painful death, Harry! Like killing you with crucio-you know, slowly and painfully, and then using Legillimus to send you pictures of your dear, old rotting dad and mum at the same time! They really must be rotting now, that is, if they haven't been devoured by flies or something- they never got a burial, did they? Cause you'd have been able to visit their ancient and worthless graves, wouldn't you? Hmmm…or did the house blow up too? Naw…cause you were in it, and you would have died. That would have been smart of Old Vold Mold-just blow up the house! Then you would be dead too. Bloody waste of time killing your mum and dad individually, wouldn't you say, Harry? Harry?"

Harry listened to the rain pounding on the train, as they neared Hogwarts. Of course, the closer they came, the more the rain grew steadily harder and heavier, and Harry grew more tuned out, focusing on each rain drop, trying to drone out his "friend."

"-wonder how much Voldie wants to kill Harry, 'mione?", said Ron, having so far mysteriously failed to engage Harry in such obviously riveting conversation. "What you'd figure he'd do if we-?"

Harry made a heroic attempt to change the subject off his future death. It just wasn't a very happy topic for him, for reasons unknown. "God, listening to these raindrops-it's torture-makes your mind melt….zone out."

"Oh stop whinging, Harry!" said Hermione, after a moment of silence filled with the sound of little cogs working for a moment in order to process the slightly off-putting, and, ultimately, totally irrelevant change of subject. "Wait…he has a point. Do you think we could sell-"

"the idea to U- No- Hoo (musn't let Harry know who we're talking about, thought Ron, no, my precious, we mustn't let him know, he would find out, he would take it from us, yes he would, precious, then we would have to do terrible things, wouldn't we, precious, tricksy fat hobbitses trying to steal it from us, must kill them, mustn't we precious, must kill them must kill MUST KILL GOLLUM GOLLUM GOLLU-ahem.)….Chinese Water Torture…bet he's never thought of that one! How much do you'd think it'd go for?"

"Well…I'd say 'bout 200, 300 galleons. Better if we had an auction though, now….who other people despise Harry and would like to kill him, with a leisurely, agonizing death, of course?"

Ron started counting on his fingers, "Snape, Cho, Colin Creevy, me….."

Harry decided to leave. Anywhere was better then a cabin in a train on the way to a cliché, yet welcoming castle, listening to his two best friends try to sell off his death to all the people who had ever disliked him.

He stood up, and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. He was mad, ohsoverymad, veryveryangryohyeshewas. He wanted to scream. Screamscreamscream. He couldn't keep his hormonal rage inside any longer. He was going to scream. But just when he opened his mouth a pale hand covered it, wrestling Harry to the ground. Harry, being a dunce, had left his wand in his fluffy, sparkly yellow slippers.

Oh, Snaps!, the-boy-who-was-pinned-to-the-floor thought!

A nastywasty voice whispered in his ear, "Now, Harry…shouldn't go wandering off alone on a train that is supposed to be safe when DRACOMALFOY (one word) is walking about. Because I am DRACOMALFOY! And I, being DRACOMALFOY, will do something supremely horrible to you! Because, and only because, I am DRACOMALFOY!"

Harry smirked, assured that someone would come out into the center aisle of the train-the only thing keeping them from hearing the commotion DRACOMALFOY-ahem, Malfoy, had made by yelling his name were doors-sure, they all had mirrors on them, but that wouldn't help much, would it? Besides, some were open. But, DRAMATIC GASP!

And the realization hit Harry like a train running at full speed (rather like this one, except that it wasn't actually traveling at full speed, because if it was the occupants would be nothing more than raspberry jelly on the carpet…remember kids, magic is wonderful, but under no circumstances should one push a magical train up to full speed. And not at home. Especially not at home. Well, not…anywhere, really. It may just be the very last thing you do. Dun. Dun. DUUUUUUUN.)- no help was coming, because that would mess up this sequence of events into which he was pinned to the floor, and there would be no point in Draco pinning him…and the "plot" of this chapter would be ruined!

Oh, woe is me! What perilous and fatal things shall Malfoy do to me? If only I could yell…I'm very good at that, you see! I work out my screaming vocal cords every day for 45 minutes! I hope my natural yelling capabilities will not be destroyed if he beats me to a pulp!, thought Harry urgently.

Malfoy brought at his wand, pointing it directly at Harry's head and mumbled under his breath. Harry held his breath, waiting for his death, or temporary transformation into a ferret or guinea pig…he'd always been fond of those. If he was going to be turned into an animal at least it could be a cute wittle fuwwy boochiboochiboo… He held his breath…..and held it……..and held it……and held it…..and suffocated…..and died.

Just kidding!

He held his breath, and not wanting to suffocate, he let out, reaching for air, filling his lungs with the effing (funny word) stuff. He wondered what had happened. He didn't feel any different.

"Well Potter! If this doesn't ruin your short life, I don't know what will! Don't you feel it Potter?!? It might take awhile to kick in…."

It did, and Harry had a chance to glance around the room, at the doors-hoping someone would come out and save his scrawy little life from DOOM! But no one did, and before he could scoff at Malfoy, telling him he was a stupid little teddy, he passed out. DOOM!

More coming, but only if u review! (swings clock in front of reader's eyes) YOU MUST REVIEW…REVIEW…REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW…oh, whatever, u get the idea. R&R. please. Pretty please. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...