Draco cast a glance at Hermione, and whispered something to Harry that made him laugh. Hermione reddened in anger:

"You better get dressed," she barked, as she stalked out, "we're almost there!"

"Where was she raised, the swamp? I'm Draco Malfoy by the way."

"Neville Longbottom."

The green eyes boy smiled merrily from the other side of his blond best friend:

"Harry Potter," he said.

Neville's jaw fell.

Harry laughed, he had a sweet, agreeable laugh, almost timid, and Neville wondered why it was so, become he seemed so easy going and oozed something amazingly like serenity. If it had been just slightly more hysterical, it would have sounded like his own.

Harry didn't seem to notice the question in his countenance –or maybe he just ignored it, but Malfoy did, and his eyes imprinted on him for a brief second in a clear DON'T ASK! Neville nodded ever so slightly –not that he would have. He knew he would feel wretched if someone mentioned his parents.

Harry was still talking:

"I know, everyone seems to think I should be taller, and bigger muscles and all that," he grinned casually, standing up and slipping off the robe he was wearing before with no shame whatsoever and throwing it at a slightly bemused Draco while he shuffled around in his trunks for his Hogwarts' robes. There was something odd about his skin, Neville couldn't help but notice. People always had marks, tiny scars, signs or wears, or the odd trace of tan, or the squalor of one who stays in too much, but there was nothing of that on Harry, his skin was opalescent and glistening, like a snake who'd just shed his old skin.

It was mother of pearl like, and for some reason he found it disturbing.

He decided he would pretend not to notice it either. He wasn't sure why it seemed so odd and out of place, but given the hush Malfoy –no, Draco –had given him earlier, he figured it couldn't be good and left it at that.

It was only later that he figured it out, and it gave him the feeling that icy fingers were tugging at the tip of his spine.

It was after the cart had passed and Harry let out an exclamation at the moving tattoo of a mirthful mermaid in the inside of a wrapper like the hundreds Neville had taken with him, safe in a bottomless bag tucked between his clothes.

Harry reminded him of his parents.

There was no apparent reason for it, because Harry wasn't fragile, or insane, and his eyes weren't empty but he did, somehow.

"Oh," he scoffed at another wrapper –the mermaid was showing of her glistening fangs and looking disturbingly pretty, and she hummed a jaunty little love song from the back of his hand, "it's a dragon again," He had one on his palm, curled up in a tight ball and happily snoring little bursts of flames. "Do you want it Neville?"

Neville had about a thousand wrappers with dragons on them. He grinned, a tight little ball in his throat:

"Sure."

Harry grinned wider and applied the little thing on his hand, and the little ball seemed to go away –he had a hundred dragon tattoos, but he'd never worn any of them. The little guy was kind of awesome.