SNAKE CHARMING – FANFIC by lolgurl
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, bear with me, this WILL become a Hr/D fanfic, just let me get there. : )

PS: I DO NOT OWN DAZ HARRY POTTERZ. D; Sadly.

CHAPTER ONE: King's Cross

End of summer vacation, and the sky was a faded denim-blue, the grass crisp with frost. Black birds hopped across the pavement outside King's Cross, and an alley cat prowled watchfully near some rusty old trash bins, its gold-green eyes flickering restlessly towards the birds.

A long, glossy black limousine pulled up to the curb, the hustle and bustle of the train station reflected in its tinted windows. The alley cat paused, stomach low to the ground as it watched the car, its tail swinging like a pendulum. A man leapt out from the driver's seat, and rushed to the passenger back door. Before he could get there in time to open it, however, it flew open on its own, nearly smacking the chauffer in the legs. As the black birds swept into the air with a chorus of loud twittering, the man scrambled away just in time, and saved himself bruised kneecaps. He bowed politely, one hand touching the brim of his chauffer's hat, and held out an arm towards the station.

From out of the back of the limo slid a young man, his white-blonde hair short and slicked back. He ducked out of the vehicle, into the wan sunlight, and squinted at the nearly empty square. His pale grey eyes hesitated on the alley cat, then moved on, taking in the cobblestone square. He watched the black birds flutter as one farther into the sky, and his hands slipped down, his thumbs hooking onto his pockets. Behind him, a tall, pale man, with long hair the same colour as the boy's, stepped from the limo, his expression one of distaste. He stared at the few people bustling past, his eyebrows arched and angry.

"Filthy Muggles," he muttered, and, reaching back into the limo, pulled out a black walking stick. Topped with a piece of metal fashioned into the shape of a snake's head, it gleamed. He tucked it under the black robes he wore, and looked down at the boy, who could only be his son. "Well, Draco—shall we?" he gestured towards the platform, and the boy—Draco—nodded. They set off towards the entrance to the station. Their nearly white hair was conspicuous in the sparse crowd as they made their way past the people hurrying to and fro. Behind them, their driver rushed to load a trolley with a dourly staring owl and a large trunk. He locked the limo and wheeled after them.

As they walked into the station, Draco pulled slightly at the collar of his black, uniform-like suit. It was warmer inside, and he was beginning to sweat. He wiped at his brow, casting a shifty glance towards his father, hoping he had not noticed. The man—still wearing that vague look of disdain on his long, pointed face—wasn't even looking at him. Draco sighed, somewhat relieved, and glanced around the station as the chauffer pulled up behind them with the trolley.

Mixed amid the milling people—ordinary, everyday Muggle-types—were a few odd-looking individuals or groups. Many pushed trolleys like the one Draco's driver gripped; some dragged enormous trunks; other held toads, rats, cats, or walked with owls swaying on their shoulders. They received some stares, but most chose to just ignore them. There were weirdoes everywhere; why pay attention to any certain bunch?

Still scanning the station, Draco paused, his eyes locking on a large group entering the building. Several redheads walked into the station, four of them pushing trolleys loaded with trunks and cages and bags. Draco squinted, making out a head of unruly black hair among all the orange. A tall boy with glasses and the look of the underfed walked slowly with one of the taller redheads, a boy with freckles splattered like paint across his cheeks and nose. They were bent slightly, and he saw their lips moving rapidly as they spoke. The others around them seemed oblivious; two identical redheads were laughing and pulling at the hair of the girl in front of them, obviously a younger sister. The portly woman with them looked over her shoulder at them, and snapped something that Draco couldn't hear. This erupted into a loud, heated argument between the twins and their mother, the girl adding her voice halfway through. They were so loud, he could hear them from where he stood.

"FRED AND GEORGE! IF YOU TWO DON'T START ACTING YOUR AGES, GOD HELP ME, I'M GOING TO TELL DUMBLEDORE TO BREAK YOUR WANDS AND EXPELL YOU! IF YOU THINK FOR EVEN A SECOND," she paused in mid-rant to heave a sharp breath, then steamed on, blatantly ignoring the twins' attempts at interruption. "—THAT I AM GOING TO PUT UP WITH WHAT I DID LAST YEAR, ALL THE LETTERS AND COMPLAINTS AND HOWLERS, THEN YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN! NOW USE THOSE BRAINS I KNOW YOU HAVE, AND BEHAVE YOURSELVES FOR ONCE!!"

Throughout the explosion, the freckled boy and the black-haired boy did not look up from their conversation. They continued to speak rapidly and quietly, looking almost furtive. However, all around the station, people were turning and staring, eyes wide and mouths open. Everyone liked a little drama, but some of the things the woman had said sat with them rather oddly. 'Wands'? 'Howlers'? And who was 'Dumbledore'?

A tall, slightly balding redheaded man laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Molly," he said. "Molly, calm down. People are staring." She cast a look around the station, reddened slightly, then nodded. She shot the twins a look of death, and straightened her fly away hair.

Behind him, Draco heard someone whisper: "What a terrible thing to do, embarrass your children like that in public." He turned to look over his shoulder at a middle-aged Muggle couple just as the man replied to the woman's statement with: "They're obviously weirdoes—just ignore them."

"Yes, but…" the woman was talking to herself now; her male companion had wandered over to a wall of maps. "…who the hell is Dumbledore? What sort of name is that?"

Turning back towards the redheaded family, Draco smirked. Weirdoes was right. Damn Weasleys; blood traitors, the whole lot of them. He scowled, and glanced up to this father. He was glancing at a gold pocket watch. Seeing Draco looking at him, he tucked it back into his robes. After catching his son's eye, he looked towards the commotion. His gaze settling on the Weasleys, his upper lip curled.

"Oh, how wonderful," he said drily, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "The riff-raff has arrived." He caught his son's eye again. "Well, Draco? Shall we go over and say hello?" his voice was cutting and derisive as he swept his robes closer around him. "It would be the polite thing to do." And he sneered.

Draco smirked. "Yes, of course Father." Smiling coldly, his father led the way towards the pack of redheads, Draco at his side. The boy tugged his suit into neatness, ran a hand quickly over his slicked hair, and fixed an arrogant sneer onto his face.

"Ah, Arthur Weasley," his father began, addressing the balding redheaded man. "How very… nice to see you." He sneered emphasis on the word 'nice', making it harsh and sarcastic. The man looked up. He resembled a rather scruffy scarecrow in a patched grey-green corduroy jacket. Upon seeing Draco's father, Mr. Weasley's expression darkened with dour dislike.

"Oh, Lucius. Yes—hello." He said stiffly, and his eyes rested briefly on Draco, who mimicked the sneer twisting his father's face, and looked back at Lucius. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, gold grey eyes meeting green, then Arthur turned away, to his wife. "Molly—we should get them moving now." He glanced at the man and boy in front of him, his eyes wondering. Lucius' mouth twisted.

"Oh, by all means, Arthur—please, do go ahead." He gestured with the same derisive curl of his lips. "For once in your sorry life—do go first."

Mr. Weasley's face burned red. He took a deep breath, looked like he would speak, then thought better and clamped it shut. Turning abruptly, he waved at the twins. "Fred, George—you first. Go on."

The redheaded twins—Draco could never tell them apart, and, frankly, who cared?—stepped forward, each pushing a trolley. Their identical eyes settled on Draco, narrowed, then they moved past him, the nearest almost bumping Lucius with his cart. Draco's father stepped back with a sneer, and he and his son watched them run towards the pillar separating platform's nine and ten. In a blink, a crowd of Muggles walked past, and the twin boys were gone. Draco, raising an eyebrow, looked back at the remaining Weasleys. Still in the middle, heads bent together, the two boys from earlier were still talking rapidly. He strained his ears, trying to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low for him to make out. Scowling, he watched Mrs. Weasley gesture to the redheaded girl at her side.

"Go on, Ginny." She said. "Your turn next." The girl nodded, and, pushing her cart ahead of her, she ran towards the barrier. She disappeared through it, and now Mrs. Weasley was turning towards the two boys.

"Harry, Ron; you now." They continued to talk, not hearing her. She frowned. Taking hold of the redhead's trunk, she shook it until he jumped and looked at her.

"Whatever you two are talking about, it can wait until you're on the train. Now—go! Quickly, now, before it leaves!" They nodded, and, side-by-side, entered the barrier together. Draco watched them vanish through brick wall, then nodded over his shoulder at their driver. The man sighed, then wheeled the trolley across the station, and through the barrier after the two boys.

Lucius cast Mr. and Mrs. Weasley one last sneer, then waved Draco on. His son straightened his clothes and walked towards the barrier. He passed through easily, and walked over to where the driver was loading his trunk and belongings onto the train. He nodded at the man, then jumped up into the train. Wheeling the trolley down the walkway, he glanced out the windows. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, waving at their children, and at the black-haired boy, who was cleaning a pair of round glasses on his shirt. Draco sneered, ignoring the desire to search the crowd for his own father, who he know would not be there.

Dragging his trolley down the hall a bit farther, he paused, hearing voices.

"Yeah, my dad said that they thought the reason she was targeted wasn't just because her parents, but because they think she might be—" a girl squeezed past Draco, the owl she carried hooting loudly, drowning out the rest of the sentence. He glared at her, and she gave him a dirty look before moving into one of the compartments and closing the door behind her. Scowling, Draco listened again.

"…well, mum was all for sending us to bed after that, but then dad convinced her to calm down. Thank God for that, at least." There was a pause, then a slightly deeper voice spoke.

"Wow, that's strange. I wonder why she wouldn't let you hear the reasons. I mean, she's our friend." There was the sound of scuffling, like trunks being stored in luggage racks, then the same voice spoke again. "That sounds way more exciting than my summer."

"Oh, yeah?" said the first voice. "What'd you do before you came to the Burrow?" there was the sound of ripping plastic, and when the boy next spoke, it seemed through a mouthful of cake. "Imeen, canphm behto fufwif pighboih, canpheeif?"

"What? Swallow, Ron. I can't understand you like that."

"Oh, phworry," there was another pause. "I mean, sorry. I meant to say, it can't be that fun with pig boy, can it?" There was a laugh.

"Dudley? No, no—there's not." Draco heard a sigh. "I spent the summer lying in flowerbeds and hiding from Dudley's—or Big D's—" there was a snort. "—gang of beef heads." Another sigh. "Not much fun—but I did get a lot of exercise, I'll admit."

"Blimey," said the voice that belonged to Ron. "Little git."

"'Little' has got noting to do with Dudley." Replied the second voice. They broke off in laughter.

Draco's lip curled. He'd heard enough to realize that these two dunderheads were the same as they had been before summer ended. Giving his trunk a jerk, he dragged it forwards, stopping this time in front of a compartment holding two boys. Sprawled out on either side of the bench, they were bartering Chocolate Frog Cards and daring each other to eat certain Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. The black haired boy thrust a green-grey one at the redhead, who popped it into his mouth, then pulled a horrible face and cringed.

"Ugh—tastes like gum from the sidewalk!" he groaned. The black-haired boy grinned.

"And you'd know what that would taste like, huh?"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Harry." He threw a handful of Every Flavour Beans at the boy, and they began yelling and tossing junk food at one another.

Rolling his eyes as well, Draco decided to announce his presence then.

"Well, Weasley—I don't know why you're complaining. Must be better than the usual slop your family probably eats. Or can you even afford that?" he smirked when Ron spun around, his face in mid-chew. Behind him, the black-haired boy sat up and straightened his glasses. He pushed a Pumpkin Pasty off his chest, brushed crumbs out of his lap, and glared at Draco.

"Shut up, Malfoy." He said, and his green eyes narrowed. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, going to tell me what to do, are you, Potter?" he spat the last word at them. "Think you're better than me, huh? Think you're better than everyone, don't you?" he screwed up his face in a pitiful expression, and his voice rose slightly. "Ooooooh, lookit me, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm so much more important than everyone else, because I'm the 'Chosen One', I'm the best at everything, oh, lookit me, lookit me, I love attention." He sneered, his voice returning to normal. "'Perfect little Potter'." He made a scoffing noise. "Can't believe everyone's so blind about you. 'Chosen One' indeed."

"Malfoy, you—" Ron was standing, his wand in hand. Jelly beans fell from his pockets, and there was chocolate smeared across his nose. Draco looked at him with a disgusted expression.

"Sure you want to do that, Weasley?" he said offhandedly, gesturing at the wand the boy held in his hand. "Sure you can afford it?" Ron's ears burned a dark red. Smirking, Draco waved a hand. "I'll see you later—Potter." And, turning, he dragged his trunk down the hallway. Behind him, he heard Ron yell:

"Not bloody likely, Malfoy! Sod off, you great git!" The door to the compartment slid shut with a bang as Ron slammed it closed. Draco smirked, and wheeled his trunk into the section where most of the Slytherins sat. He stowed his belongings in the baggage holder overhead, and sank into a seat. Propping his elbow up on the compartment table, he rested his chin on his hand and stared out the window.

What had they been talking about when he had been listening in? It sounded like someone had been hurt or attacked or kidnapped or something. They'd said 'targeted'; and it was a girl or a woman, this person. But who?

Draco snorted, closing his eyes for a brief second and screwing up his face. He was too curious. It was probably one of their stupid blood-traitor friends. Opening his eyes again, he turned and looked around the compartment.

Larger than the one in which Potter and Weasley sat, it was filled with several of his Slytherin housemates, and more were arriving. He watched them storing pets and trunks, and dropping into seats. A few were already in their school robes, silver and green badges winking on their chests. All around, the S emblem of his house gleamed at him, and he felt reassured. Here was something that he understood. Something he didn't have to think about. Here, he was Prince.

The door closest to him slid open, and a tall black boy entered. He saw Draco, and made a beeline straight for him. Dropping into the seat across the table from the grey-eyed boy with the slicked-back hair, he rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, Draco." He said. Draco nodded.

"Blaise." He replied, and looked back out the window again. The compartment door slid open again, and a pug-faced girl and a tall, bulky boy entered together. They walked over to Blaise and Draco, and the black boy scooted over. The girl plopped down beside him, while the stocky-built boy leaned against the bench Draco sat in, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Hiiiii, Draco," the girl said in a giggly voice, drawing out the word 'hi' in a long, dragging sound. Draco twitched, then nodded.

"Pansy." He acknowledged, and she giggled annoyingly. Draco glanced at the boy leaning against the seats. "Montague." The boy—captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, for which Draco played Seeker—grunted.

After a moment of silence, while Montague and Pansy settled their things, Blaise turned to Draco.

"Hey—I just saw Potter and Weasley." He began, keeping his voice pitched low as he watched Pansy jump up and down in an effort to hoist her trunk into the baggage rack. Draco turned his chin in his hand until he was looking at Blaise, his expression bored and distant.

"Yeah?" he said, uninterestedly. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Well, hey, just wonderin'—aren't there usually three of them?"

Draco frowned, and looked out the window. "How the bloody hell would I know, Zabini? Those two—or three, or whatever—can fall off the train for all I care." Blaise let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, well, I just thought, you know, where's the Mudblood? You know, that chick with the crazy hair and the buck teeth. Bitchy; thinks she knows everything?"

Draco leaned back, holding his arms out in front of him as he stretched. "Oh, yeah—Granger." His face twisted. "Filthy Mudblood." Relaxing, he shrugged. "I don't know where she is. I don't care, really. Maybe she went and got herself killed. Walked right off a cliff with her nose in a book, or something. Wouldn't be surprised if… if that…" he paused, a look of realization dawning upon his face. "…was it." He finished, then frowned at the table. Blaise was looking out the window now, and didn't notice.

"Yeah, probably." He laughed, then stood up. "Pansy, give me your friggin' trunk—you're gonna drop it on our heads and kill us all." He helped her slide the heavy suitcase into the rack, making a face. "Jesus, what'd you pack—bloody rocks? You bring the whole house in here?"

Pansy shrieked with laughter. "You're so funny, Blaise!" she exclaimed. "Draco, isn't Blaise funny?" she asked, looking at him.

"Yeah," Draco mumbled absently. "Yeah, he's hilarious. Sure. Whatever—yeah…" But he wasn't paying attention. His face screwed up, and his eye vacant, he stared into space, thinking.

They'd said someone had been targeted… a girl. Could it have been Granger, that filthy Mudblood with hair like a bird's nest? Targeted by whom, though? If it was Death Eaters, it would be easy to understand; she was a Mudblood, after all. But they were supposed to be hanging low, that's what his father had said, he'd heard him talking to his mother about it…

"Draaaccooo?" Pansy was waving her hand in front of his face. "Helloooo, anyone in there?"

Draco blinked, and sat back, away from the waving hand. He glared. "Yeah, I'm bloody well here. Leave me alone, Pansy." She almost looked hurt, then she scowled.

"Well, sorrryyyy for giving a shit!" and she promptly turned away. "I'm going to go buy treats from the trolley, and you can buy your own, Draco!" she exclaimed, and flounced away. Draco rolled his eyes.

"What an idiot." He mumbled. Blaise nodded, relaxing back into his seat.

"Drama Queen." He added. Montague seemed to come to life for a second; he turned and slid into the seat beside Draco, then folded his arms across his chest again and fell still. He grunted at Blaise in agreement. The black boy rubbed his eyes again.

"Tired, Zabini?" Draco asked. He was already feeling bored, and frustrated that he didn't know what was going on with Potter and Weasley and all this 'targeting' business. He didn't like not knowing things. He tried to distract himself with meaningless conversation.

Across from him, Blaise nodded. "Yeah. My dad scored tickets to a Quidditch game. Chudley Cannons versus Bulgaria. Chudley got creamed." He yawned suddenly. "Yeah—long trip, you know, all that." Draco shrugged.

"Not surprising Chudley lost. They do suck. And Bulgaria, they're one of the best." Beside him, Montague nodded. He opened his mouth and spoke at last.

"They got that Krum for their Seeker, too." His voice was low and rumbling. "Damn good player, that bloke." He looked sideways at Draco, but didn't say what the blonde-haired boy knew he was thinking; thanks to Potter, Draco had never managed to catch the Snitch since joining the team, costing Slytherin game after game. He glared at Montague, but the enormously built captain was staring at the table with his usual dull expression. Draco knew that there were brains inside that thick skull, but looks certainly were deceiving.

Suddenly, Draco stood up. "I'm going for a walk." He said. Blaise waved a hand, and slid over to let Pansy sit down as she returned. She dumped an armful of junk food on the table, and looked at Draco with something like confusion when she saw that he was standing.

"I got you something anyways, Drakie." She cooed. "You should thank me." She added, and pushed a handful of Cauldron Cakes towards him. Draco looked at them, and his stomach suddenly turned.

"I'm not hungry." He mumbled, and clambered over Montague to get out of the seats. Pansy stood up, barring his way, and pouted.

"But, Drakkieee," she whined, holding out a cake. "I bought them just for you!" Draco snatched it out of her hand, then pushed her aside, stumbling past. "Drakie!" she exclaimed.

"Don't call me that." He muttered, and bolted from the compartment. Throwing the door shut behind him, he muffled Pansy's voice. Ripping open the package in his hand, he crammed the cake into his mouth, chewing through a lump. He paused, tasting something definitely wrong with the food. Suddenly, his head swam, and he dropped the cake, staggering down the hall. His hand pressed to his stomach, and he could feel cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Eyes closing, he stumbled against the wall, gagged, then threw up in the corridor. He groaned, then retched again, vomiting on the wall and the floor. The gagging finally stopped, and he propped himself against the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. He stood there for what seemed hours, until he heard a voice.

"Malfoy?"

He jerked, and looked up, his eyes wide. Standing in front of him was Ron Weasley. Over his shoulder, Draco could see the open door of the compartment, and Harry looking around the corner at him, along with Neville Longbottom and the redheaded Weasley girl, Ron's sister. They stared.

"Um," began Ron. "Are you—you look like—well, you kinda…" he paused, and ran a hand through his red hair. "You threw up all over the corridor."

Draco stared at him. What a stupid and obvious thing to say; like he hadn't noticed, having been the one to puke everywhere in the first place.

"Aren't you observant, Weasley." Draco choked, his face going pale with embarrassment, then green as another wave of nausea hit him. He winced, waiting for it to pass, then said; "Planning on becoming a detective, are you?"

Ron's ears turned red.

"Come off it, Malfoy!" he suddenly yelled. "You're such a—" but he never did say exactly what Malfoy was, because, at that moment, Draco bent over and threw up again, this time right at Ron's feet. He leapt backwards, looking disgusted.

Draco clutched at his stomach; what was happening to him? He'd been feeling fine earlier…

"Oh, that's just—" Ron was mumbling, wiping his feet on the carpeted floor. "Disgusting," he looked at Draco. "You did that on purpose, you bloody bastard!" he said angrily. "All over my shoes, and my robes…"

"It's… an improvement." Draco gasped out, holding a hand over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. In front of him, Ron's eyes flashed, and he whipped out his wand for the second time that morning.

"You're gonna regret—" he began, but a voice cut him off.

"Ron! What are you doing!"

Everyone froze as a girl with bushy brown hair entered the hall, a book tucked under her arm. She paused, taking in the scene. Draco peered at her from around Ron's legs, his face tinted a definite green. She looked at the sick on the floor, and covering Ron's shoes and the bottom of his robes. Her eyes came to rest on Draco, and they widened.

"Hermione!" Ron said, whipping around. "Malfoy threw up everywhere—and on me!" he glared at Draco again. "Bloody git, he did it on purpose!" Half of Draco's mouth twisted up into a sneer.

"Don't flatter—yourself, Weasley." He shot back, then groaned and sagged against the wall. His eyes closed, his body jerked, and he vomited again. Ron jumped back this time, well out of way of the throw-up. There was silence, with only the sound of Draco being sick, then someone let out an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, you boys…" there were footsteps, then someone was standing beside him, their hands pushing back his sweaty hair, now hanging in his face. Draco finally stopped retching, and his legs began to buckle, but someone hooked their arms under his and hoisted him up.

"Help?" they said. "He's kind of heavy—for God sakes, Ron, get over here!"

But the redhead was hanging back, eyeing the blonde-haired boy warily. It was a clean pair of shoes that approached as Draco cracked open his eyes. A second pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him up.

"Oh, this mess, I'd better get rid of it," a voice muttered near his ear, and, with a swish of her wand, the sick disappeared, leaving the floor (and Ron's shoes and robes) clean and spotless as before.

"Uh, Hermione?" said another voice behind him. Draco shut his eyes again, groaning as he recognized Harry Potter as the speaker.

"Potter," he seethed, but the boy ignored him.

"What do we do with him?" Harry asked the other person trying to hold Draco up, who he now realized to be Hermione.

"Here—let's just… ok, bring him into the compartment, for now." She replied, and he felt one of his arms being pulled over her shoulders, the other over Harry's. He wanted to die. A Mudblood, and the 'Chosen One'; the Golden Boy; Harry fucking Potter.

"Uh-uh! No way!"

Draco opened his eyes to see Weasley standing in front of them, barring their way into the compartment. "No—he is not coming in here. No way."

"Oh, Ron, just move!" Hermione said, exasperated, and she and Harry shoved past the redhead, dragging Draco into the room. They dumped him on the bench, where he rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball of misery. Arms tight around his middle, he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut against another wave of nausea.

"Oh, God," he moaned, and clenched his jaw against the bile rising in his throat.

"If he throws up in here," Ron began, a warning note in his voice. There was a sharp sound; Draco opened an eye to see Hermione smack Ron hard in the arm. The redhead winced and grabbed the area, staring at her with shock.

"What was that for?!" he exclaimed, looking offended. Hermione glared.

"Honestly, Ron, you're such an insensitive little wart!" she gestured violently at Draco. "He's throwing up, don't you see—"

"Bloody disgusting." Ron muttered, shooting Draco a look of distaste. Draco sneered slightly, then froze as his stomach twisted. He curled up tighter, groaning.

"Yeah, well, Ron, if it were you, you'd probably feel like—"

"Um, guys?" Neville interrupted nervously. Draco had forgotten he was there. He opened his eyes and saw him sitting against the wall with the Weasley girl. He was pointing at Draco. "He doesn't look too—I think he's gonna be sick again."

Hermione and Ron stopped arguing and looked at the blonde-haired boy curled up on the bench across from them. Feeling their stares, he tried to keep it in, but some vomit dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he struggled not to throw up all over the compartment.

"Here, Draco," Hermione stood up, waved her wand in the air, and placed a bucket by his head. Ron stared at her as she sat down, and Draco picked up the bucket and stuck his face in it.

"Draco?" Ron repeated. "Did you just call him Draco?" he sounded incredulous. "Whatever happened to 'Malfoy'?" he looked horrified all of a sudden. "Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?"

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Ron, seriously, you can be such a… he's sick, Ron."

"Oh, he's sick all right," Ron muttered, folding his arms and glaring daggers at Draco from across the compartment.

Near Draco's feet, someone sighed. He jumped, turning to see Harry sitting at the other end of the bench he was curled up on. He hadn't even noticed him there until now. He stared.

"Ron, Hermione's right." Harry said. "We might not like Malfoy," he looked down at Draco, frowned, then turned back to his friends. "But he is sick. And, well…" he shrugged. "Won't kill us to help him."

Draco frowned.

"G—Goody-two-shoes Potter." He said in a rough voice, fighting back more vomit. Harry just looked at him in silence.

"Ungrateful git…" Ron muttered, and stared out the window.

Draco bent his face back into the bucket.

Ok, there's chapter one. I hope I got everyone's personalities (especially Draco's!) pretty close to perfect? Please give me feedback and review so I can improve on anything! Chapter 2 is already done, and I'm working on Chapter 3 at the moment. :)