Disclaimer: Original Characters written by J.K. Rowling. Character Ideas from the Harry Potter Novels. All creations/alterations of this fic, come from JK Rowling's Harry Potter Series. Don't sue us... we don't have money anyways.

Chapter Two: Someone Else

Dinner in the great hall was over. All students were packed full of food and each house retreated to their house corridors. Harry snagged a candied apple from the table as the food began to sink down and disappear.

"Come on Harry." Ron said, his hand capturing Hermione's. They shared a small smile and Harry shook his head. Running a hand through his unruly hair he fell into step beside them.

"You two make me sick." Harry joked, laughing as he took a bite of his apple.

"All three of you make me sick." Muttered Draco, as he slammed his shoulder into Harry's. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed behind them as they pushed their way into the emptying dining hall.

"Wonder what they want." Dom remarked as he watched the trio approach Snape at the high table.

"Who cares." Harry snapped, turning away. Hermione glanced at Ron then back at the trio who were storming away from the table. Malfoy's anger clearly displayed across his face.

"Let's go." Rom muttered taking her hand and puling her with him after Harry's retreating form.

"Bloody idiot…. Spoiled… stupid…" Harry cursed under his breath. "Why, out of all the people, was I paired up with Malfoy?" Harry hissed spinning on his heels to face Ron and Hermione.

"Harry…"

"No Ron! He…" Harry cried out in frustration unable to say what was on his mind, and spun around again. He stormed up the steps and stopped behind Neville who was standing, slouched, in front of the Fat Lady.

"I.. I forgot the pas… password!" Neville stammered looking at Harry apologetically.

"Hippogriff." Harry spat. The portrait swung open cutting off the shrill singing of the woman in it. "Hippogriff is not that hard!" He yelled storming in through the circular doorway and into the Griffindor Common room leaving Neville, hurt and shocked outside.

"Ignore him mate." Ron said patting his shoulder comfortingly.

"He's just upset." Hermione offered pushing Neville into the room. They stepped inside and watched Harry move quickly up the steps to the boy's dormitory. Rounding the corner, Harry found the room vacant which meant Neville, Seamus, and Dean would be hearing from Ron and Hermione to watch out for him.

He flopped down on his four poster bed and tried to relax, and in all, calm down. So much had happened in the past two years, never mind the last 6, and now this was his last year at Hogwarts. What was he going to do after? Sirius was gone now and he was defiantly not going back to live with the Dursley's. He would go back once, get the things he left behind, and then he knew, he was gone. He used to think it would be so simple… he would pass his N.E.W.T.S become an auror, and reside with Sirius at the Grimmauld place or really, anywhere else. The whole scenario wasn't possible now…

Sometimes all he wished was he had Sirius. He had lost his parents, he never really had the Dursley's and for once in his life, he had someone that really cared about him. Someone he loved almost as a father. Sirius was the older brother, the father figure, Harry never had. And like everyone else, Voldemort made sure he was ripped away from him. Who knew who would be next? Ron? Hermione? Neville? In the end, he wouldn't be able to save everyone surrounding him… and if he couldn't defeat Voldemort himself, what would that mean? He would live alone fort the rest of his life?

Turning over on the bed he looked over to Ron's. Normally Ron's pet rat –who turned out to be a person, Peter Pettigrew or Wormtail—would be occupying the middle of the bed. His trunk was located at the end of his bed, waiting to be unpacked and pushed to one of the corners. He regretted snapping at Ron, Hermione as well, but this year it appeared everything was going to be different. Ron and Hermione were together now, and in a way, that left him out of the loop. He wasn't really used to that at all. He was the one that was usually in the center of all the attention, though; he had to admit he would rather be on the outskirts of it all and not have it surrounding him. He could only handle so much of, 'Oh he's the boy who lived.'

He sighed and shut his eyes. Things had always been different. He supposed what got him most, was that there was a small part of him that wished it were he and Ron together and not Hermione and Ron. He didn't exactly know where the attraction lay within his best friend, and he always told himself it was just a he's-the-only-real-friend-I-have-ever-had that got him confused. But some days… it was just different.

"Bloody hell." He whispered hearing foot steps coming up into the dormitory. There were times, especially like this when he wished he was anyone else.

---

Draco stormed down the dungeon passages until he came to the Slytherin common room. Crabbe and Goyle rounded the corner, huffing and puffing.

"Salazar," Draco spat, stomping in through the hole in the wall, his large friends following.

"This is ridiculous! I paired with Potter. The Golden Boy. The Boy Who Lived. The enemy of our master. You'd think I could go to Severus and get reassigned but the old bastard has his wand shoved so far up his arse that he has the nerve to tell me no. Tell me, Draco Malfoy, no. This is preposterous," he snarled, pacing back and forth in front of the couch that Crabbe and Goyle had thrown themselves on.

"Maybe he wants you to spy on him," suggested Goyle. Draco stopped mid step and glared at him.

"Shut up Goyle, I didn't ask for your worthless opinion," he hissed. Turning on his heel he strode towards the stairs to his bed chamber, he stopped at the doorway.

"If either of you know what's good for you," he said coldly. "You'll stay out of my room." With that he disappeared around the bend.

Draco sat down moodily on his four poster bed. He climbed in on top of the duvet and closed the green and silver hangings around him. Laying back he listened to the steady thump of his heart until he calmed down. The year was off to a rough start.

He had always been aware that his father was Voldemort's right hand man, but he had never dreamed that in his father's absence he himself would have to take his father's place. He had just turned 17 in August. He had become "a man" as his mother had said. She had given him a beautiful charm; a silver snake with emerald eyes, coiled around a sword, hanging from a pure silver chain as a gift. He absentmindedly stroked it with his long, pale fingers as he reminisced. His father, on the other hand, had sent him a one way ticket to hell.

On the eve of his birthday, there was to be a party. He knew that. The death eaters were hosting it, and the Dark Lord was to attend. A true honor, he remarked sarcastically in his head. At the time he had simply thought that it was something that was to happen because he was the son of a prominent family that had strong Death Eater ties. But he had been wrong. When Voldemort arrived, the Death Eaters had formed a circle around the two and Draco was forced into His servitude. As they branded his arm with the Dark Mark, all Draco could remember was looking up into his mother's face, glistening with tears. To this day he couldn't determine whether her tears were those of pride or those of mourning.

He was supposed to be honored. Filled with pride. But he wasn't. He hated it. That night he could hardly stop himself from crying, and once he was alone in his room and everyone had left he did cry. He cried so hard he though he would be sick. He knew what this meant. He was no longer his own person. He was a possession of the Dark Lord's. On the outside he maintained his cocky demeanor, but on the inside. On the inside he was a broken man.

There were times, especially like this, when he wished he was anyone else.