Lost Dragon

Stupid Harry Potter

Draco had been thinking a lot about the green-eyed boy he met in the robe shop, and he planned to find him on the train. He met up with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, on the platform, and they went to find a compartment. A little ways through the trip, another first year who Draco didn't recognize popped his head into the compartment. "Did you hear? Harry Potter's on the train!" 

Draco's interest was piqued. He wanted a look at the chosen one. Being closer to Harry Potter might ensure him a higher status, and that would make his father proud. "Which compartment?" He asked the boy in the doorway.

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Draco scanned the compartment, taking in the two boys surrounded in goodies form the trolley. One was tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair and a face of freckles. The other, to Draco's shock, was the boy from Madam Malkin's. He was frowning at Draco - did this boy always wear a frown? 

"Is it true?" Draco asked. "They're sating all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." He looked at the dark haired boy. "So it's you, is it?"

Potter's eyes were fixed, slightly fearfully, on Crabbe and Goyle. Draco followed his gaze, and said, "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle." He looked back at Potter. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

The redhead cough-sniggered. Draco supposed that he must be a Weasley. Filthy blood traitors, the whole lot of them, his father's voice sneered in his head. Nobody laughed at a Malfoy. They were supposed to laugh with him, not at him. He floundered, feeling blindsided. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Potter. "You'll soon find out some wizard of families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making freinds with the wrong sort. I can help you there." That was something Draco's father had said to him. Don't go making friends with the wrong sort, Draco. Draco extended his hand to Potter, his face half challenging, half desperate.

Potter stared at his outstretched hand. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Draco went pink. From what? Embarrassment? Anger? 

He tried to collect himself. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter." He hoped the shake in his voice didn't show. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

The two boys stood up. "Say that again," Weasley growled.

Oh, a fight. Draco could do this. He had lots more practice with this than with making friends. "Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?"

Potter glared. "Unless you get out now."

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" Draco sneered. He searched for an excuse to start a fight, to punish these boys for not liking him, for not being scared of him. "We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle's eyes lit up, and he reached towards the chocolate frogs. Weasley lunged at him, but before he could connect, Goyle screamed. As he stepped back, Draco could see that he had a rat dangling from his finger, biting down hard on his knuckle. Draco startled backwards. Goyle swung the rat around the compartment, and it flew off, hitting the window. Crabbe grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him from the compartment. On the way out, they nearly barreled straight into a bushy-haired girl with rather large front teeth. Draco didn't have time to say sorry as Crabbe and Goyle pulled him along.

Once they had reached their compartment again, Goyle collapsed to the seat, whimpering. "I really don't like rats." His face was pale. 

Crabbe guffawed. "You're actually scared of rats?" He slapped Goyle on the shoulder.

Draco kicked the door out of anger. It hurt. He kept kicking. Stupid. Kick. Boy. Kick. To think. Kick. That Harry. Kick. Freaking. Kick. Potter. Kick. Would like. Kick. Stupid. Kick. Little. Kick. You. Crack. "Ow!"

Draco looked up abruptly. Somewhere between his ninth and tenth kicks, someone had slid the compartment door open, and Draco had kicked them in the shin. He looked at the person's face. It was freckled, and surrounded by red hair, and for a moment Draco thought it was Potter's Weasley friend. But no, this boy was taller, if not by a lot, and much scarier. A prefect's badge glinted on his chest. He glared at Draco. "You three should change now, we'll be arriving soon." He sniffed, turned up his nose, and left.

Draco was too stunned to say anything, and Crabbe and Goyle looked at him in surprise. Usually, Draco would have made some rude comment by now. Draco just stared at the door, his body shaking with what he thought was anger. How dare Harry Potter not like him? How dare he sit there with those green eyes and refuse his handshake? How dare he?

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"Malfoy, Draco."

Draco stepped up to the stool, belly roiling with nerves. If he wasn't placed in Slytherin... well, his father had promised, in no uncertain terms, to disown him If he wasn't a Slytherin.

Almost as soon as the hat graced his head, however, it screamed out an answer to his worries. "SLYTHERIN!"

He breathed a sigh of relief, and went to sit at the Slytherin table. When Potter's name was called, Draco looked towards the front of the hall. He looked nervous, almost ill. He sat with the hat over his eyes for a long, suspenseful moment, and then the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!" 

Of course the great Harry Potter would be in Gryffindor. There was no reason for him to be put in Slytherin, no way that he would come sit next to Draco. Of course.

Draco was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the girl who had sat next to him until she tapped his arm. "Hello," she said, slightly simperingly. 

Draco looked at her. She had a flattened-looking face and intelligent eyes. "I'm Pansy." At Draco's blank look she added, "Parkinson. We were in magical preschool together, our parents know each other." Draco vaguely remembered his father talking about the Parkinsons. 

"Hi," he offered, "I'm Draco Malfoy." Then he added, feeling slightly stupid, "But you must know that, you mentioned my parents."

At that exact moment, a large ghost covered in clanking chains and soaked in ghostly silver bloodstains sat down on Draco's other side. Draco shifted uncomfortably and glanced across the hall. His gaze fixed on Potter, who was listening intently to a ghost in a neck ruff hold forth, his black hair falling unruly across his forehead, green eyes twinkling.

Stupid Potter and his stupid beautiful eyes.