Draco nodded slightly to his mother and father as he left them on the platform, climbing into the train without a backward glance. He was glad that this year, he could handle his trunk (it was easy to cast a weightless charm, but harder to actually maneuver the damned things.)
He sat in a compartment, alone. His fellow Slytherins had momentarily popped their heads in, but had left at his glare. His feet tapped the floor in a naked display of anticipation and almost anxiety which he wouldn't have shown if he hadn't known that nobody could see. Draco wanted to know what was coming, and he wanted to know it yesterday.
Because this was it - either Potter would be there, at the sorting feast, today - or he'd be coming next year. And, to Draco's young mind, that was entirely too far away. He'd have to... do something in the meantime, and he wasn't quite sure what he could do, let alone what would be effective. Every mile that passed was a reminder of how much further they had to go. And Draco Malfoy badly wanted to be there, Right Now.
Complaining would be no use. Talking would be no use - there wasn't gossip juicy enough in the entire world to draw his focus away from what would meet him at Hogwarts this semester.
[a/n: jittery Draco is fun. He's allowed to be jittery, just so long as no one's there to take advantage of his openness. Leave a review? Up Next: The Sorting Feast.]