Chapter Two
The train ride back to Hogwarts was started out uneventful. As much as he had grown to like Neville and Luna, he didn't feel he could discuss anything of real importance with them. They talked about the usual topics: classes, Quidditch, etc. They could all tell no one was really interested in what the others, or even themselves, were saying. Soon Luna pulled out a copy of The Quibbler and Hermione one of her new textbooks, and they all fell silent.
Harry tried to tell himself he had made the right choice by returning, but he couldn't. He didn't even feel the desire to go back. Without Dumbledore, it wasn't the place he had considered home for the past six years. Now, it was just school.
Harry couldn't stand sitting there in silence, regret building up inside him. He stood up and said, "I need to stretch my legs." He walked out of the compartment before anyone could even respond. He walked down the aisle, not really sure where he was planning to walk to. He looked in the compartments as he past. He watched all the people he had been going to school with, but felt as if he didn't know who they were anymore.
Then he saw Ginny, sitting with a group of girls from her year. Harry felt strange as he watched her talk and laugh with her friends. He knew he still had some feelings for her now, but they were distant just like those friends he no longer felt he knew. He kept walking.
He finally came to Malfoy's compartment. He looked in and the rush of pity came again. This feeling wasn't detached or distant. It was strong. It was the strongest feeling he had had in a long time. He acted on that feeling and knocked on the door. Draco didn't look up. Harry softly opened the door and slipped inside. It wasn't until Harry had taken the seat across from Draco that he showed any sign of life.
When he did look up, there was no trace of a smirk on his face. "I really don't need this now, Potter," he said it slowly as if each word caused him pain.
"I haven't come to argue," Harry responded, "You were right. I am no better than you." Draco didn't speak for a long time. Harry felt he should say something more, but instead moved so he was sitting next to him and took Draco's hand in his own. Draco looked at him strangely. Harry could not make out what emotion was on his face.
When he finally spoke it wasn't what Harry had expected to hear, "What are you playing at, Potter?" Now his face had changed, Harry was sure it was disgust on his face. Harry didn't know what to do so he got up and left.
As he walked back to his compartment, he felt sickened by what he had done. It had felt like the right thing to do at the time but was obviously not. Why was he feeling these things for Draco, of all people? Then Harry remembered the strange look on Draco's face before it had turned to disgust. Draco hadn't been immediately revolted by what Harry had done.