So that only left one person in the compartment to reflect on, other than himself (he'd exhausted those sources all morning), whom he hadn't dared to look on for fear of being recognized and then trampled, cursed, or mocked to death. He snuck a quick lance up at the person across from him. Ah, yes, it was the little Weasley girl. He seemed to have caught her staring back at him, and her curious brown eyes locked with his shielding gray ones. They remained in a deadlock for several seconds, furtively looking at one another, until Weasley finally gave up and returned to reading a rather large book that was sitting heavily in her lap. Now she was an interesting specimen indeed. He'd never really thought of her as more that a silly little girl with a fame-based infatuation with "the boy who lived" and made herself invisible by shyness otherwise. But no longer was she a little girl. Weasley was sixteen and had certainly grown into herself, Draco decided. Fiery red hair ended just past her shoulders and hung in her face continually, but didn't seem to annoy her at all. Her skin was a fair ivory hue with delicate touches of freckles across its surface. Her eyes were slightly rounded and questioning and she bit her lip in concentration as she looked down at the book. Draco followed her gaze to her hand. She was writing something…no, not writing, she was drawing. There must have been a notebook tucked inside the thick volume, Draco surmised with a raised brow. Looking quite out of place on her worn, hand-me-down, formless black robes was pinned a bright silver prefect badge. Draco noticed with pleasure that she was not following in the footsteps of her older, overtly zealous (and to put it bluntly, pompous) brother Percy. It was tarnished a bit already from fingerprints, the blatant smudges on it suggested that she didn't care or worry about it much.

            What fascinated him, though, was in addition to all of these features. There was a hint of darkness about her, present in her eyes; her posture; her movements. A darkness she seemed to be hiding with great force and moderate success. Good.

            Draco would be in need of some entertainment that year, considering the absence of his friends, and she seemed to have a perfectly complimentary balance to him. All she needed was a few good fights, some well-placed (and forbidden) affection, and he might have her as a girlfriend. Now that would be amusing, he thought, mulling over the Weasel's anger, mudblood Granger's attempts to ignore them, and Potter's shock. Yes, he decided, giving a silent laugh at the speculation of such a situation. He wanted to screw with their minds…and hers especially. 

            Along with the dangers it produced, the thought of having the Weasley girl gave him adrenaline; she was uncharted territory, and that pulled at him. He'd been out with many girls before, but never one quite so…well, he had no words better than "mysterious" that came to mind, and surely the shy, modest, chaste Ginny Weasley could never be described that way. He thought indulgently for a moment before pulling back with self-control about what might be behind those enigmatic brown eyes. He smirked, knowing he would really have to challenge himself to do this. To make Weasley fall in love with him truly would be incomparably difficult to anything he'd ever done before. But he wouldn't cheat and whip up a love potion; that would be pointless. And anyway, he would probably be caught by McGonagall in the process, who would then (with greatest pleasure, he was certain, after what happened two years ago) send a letter to his father, who would, in turn, torture Draco more relentlessly than ever before. No, it was more entertaining to do it the hard way and really deceive her.

            Once he thought about it, she and Draco were complete opposites. He was still staring at her furtively. They, as pureblood wizards, come from separate ends of the spectrum, both radical in their views and opinions. The most obvious difference, of course, was the fact that his family, the Malfoys, supported the Dark Lord (his left arm tingled as he thought of the night when Dolohov burned the mark into his arm- the youngest Death Eater) but Weasley and her whole family was intensely loyal to her headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. She glided along with Potter and the rest of his "noble" group, her brother and Granger. Draco moved alone, even if others like Crabbe and Goyle assisted by making him look more powerful that he was. Weasley had half a dozen siblings and two parents who loved her dearly; Draco had no siblings, a father who cared only for power, and until lately, a mother who (when she was not in the rare mood of liking him) cared only for riches. Beside family and political differences, perhaps some books could be read by their covers: Draco and Weasley looked as different as they were inside. She had long red hair, flowing freely, sanguine brown eyes and a beautiful, healthy complexion. He had slicked-back platinum blonde hair, like his father's, cold slate eyes, and pale, peaky skin with no apparent color in it at all. She was life, he was lifeless. Fire and ice were how close they could be…fire and ice.   

            What would he want to do by accomplishing this anyway? Perhaps he would lure her into a relationship with him and then kill her for the pleasure of the Dark Lord, or (if he was feeling merciful) leave her without any explanation whatsoever. However, it didn't matter at the moment, he had to start in order to finish, which meant he had to gain her love. Suddenly he was aware that his staring had brought the girl's eyes back to his. An odd flash passed his eyes.

            It was the night before, and Draco was lying on the floor of his father's study, his lip bleeding and his mind spinning with such force and pain that he couldn't move. Lucius had just been there; he had been taunting and cursing him, telling him he was rebellious, unworthy of his privileges, and only a near-worthless tool for the Dark Lord. Draco could feel the ancient, stiff wooden floor under him. He couldn't stop thinking of what his father had said, before he left, peering down at his son in disgust and daring him to get to his room alone. He didn't care if he got pneumonia, it wasn't worth the pain Lucius wanted him to feel to crawl, full of shame, across the vast hallways of the manor, climb up the stairs like a sick hound, and pull himself into bed right as he would have to get up. It didn't matter. Either way, it wouldn't depend on what he did, but how his father felt that determined the way he was treated. Draco contemplated his life as such, whether it would be better to live in a freezing, agonizing world or to die in a bright flame that danced merrily across the room from him, gleaming at him ironically, as it provided no heat in the frigid chamber.

            Draco tore his gaze from Weasley with a feeling of horror, of exposure, and tried to catch his breath without being noticed by the others in his compartment. She immediately turned away also, an expression of deep embarrassment, shock, and utter folly evident on her face. Had she just watched his memory? Had she seen into his mind and read the emotions he had felt? Of course not, Draco reasoned with himself. Even the wisest and most powerful wizards had to learn Legilimency for many years before being allowed to register and use it only during emergencies. And even then, there was a spell necessary to initialize the process. He gathered his cloak around him to disguise the fact that a faint flush had come subtly to his unhealthy cheeks. "Let no one see your weaknesses," Lucius told him once, "and you, with so many! Hiding them will be a necessary skill.

            I have no weaknesses, Draco told himself. Weasley wasn't reading his mind. She wasn't, and even if she said that she was, he could easily deny it…and who wouldn't believe him? No one saw the memory apart from him and Weasley. No! Weasley hadn't seen a thing. It was just his imagination. With all that had passed, Draco's mind was working overtime, it seemed; he was too paranoid. Trying to push away the thoughts of memories he had not wanted, he desperately tried to contemplate the first step he would need to take in order to get Weasley. His mind told him that if he became friends with her friends, they'd end up closer by default, but his heart not only told him it would be like committing suicide to try to snag the trio as friends but that it probably would not be enough to catch her romantic interest. The dream team would immediately blow him off, thinking he was planning to pull a dirty trick on them. And let's face it, he thought, they would be absolutely right. He had to find a way to cover his tracks in the whole matter so that no one would be able to accuse him of malicious sentiments but himself. What was Potter notoriously famous for, among his teachers and friends?

Honesty.

Well, that might work well. False honesty, anyway. Lies of integrity, whatever one wanted to call it. He wouldn't try to make friends. He would simply make them by opening himself up to the group with objective viewpoints and conversations, and (if his temper allowed him to refrain) without any malevolent glares. Neither would he act sickeningly sweet. Then they'd send him to St. Mungo's and with good reason. Draco would have to be insane to give up his dignity in that manner.

The food trolley appeared in front of their compartment and the witch pushing it said in her usual manner, "Anything off the trolley, dears?" She smiled toothily and gestured to the piles of delicious snacks just waiting to be purchased.

Now was his chance. He had plenty of sweets already, of course, but Draco figured he might as well start being "honest" as soon as possible. Both Weasleys mumbled their polite rejections of the witch's offer, displaying some rather crushed-looking homemade sandwiches to eat, while Potter sullenly bought a few chocolate frogs and Granger got some fizzing whizbees to share with the rest of them, knowing they were Ron's favorite. Draco lifted his head and let his cloak fall back. The only person not completely stunned by this action was the trolley witch, still counting out Granger's change. When she'd finished and handed Granger her change, she looked up at Draco with a slight frown. He hadn't always been the nicest to her.

"Er, yes, could I have two Cauldron Cakes? Please," he added hastily, taking a galleon from his pocket and holding it out for her. She, too, now appeared greatly surprised, not by his identity, but by his disposition.

"Of, of-of course, Mr.Malfoy, s-sir, here you are, and your change."

"Keep it," he said shortly. She made a strange noise in her throat, gave him the cakes, closed the compartment door, and scuttled off in a nervous panic. Draco fought hard not to smile. Perhaps he'd been a bit more rough that he ought to have been in the previous six years…oh, well. With a look around, Draco finally noticed everyone's individual reactions. Granger's eyes were wide and she was looking around as if trying not to stare, following her usual technique: ignore it and it will go away. Potter was blatantly glaring at him, daring him to make a move. Ron had suddenly become quite interested in his wizard chess set and was opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to focus. It seemed he had taken on a bit of Granger's philosophy. Little Weasley was sitting and reading, trying to look inconspicuous to everyone in the compartment. Draco quietly started to eat his Cauldron Cakes, glad to have something for his temperamental stomach.

"Ron," Granger began about five minutes later, "I just remembered, we need to check on the hallway to make sure everyone is behaving…and there's something in the prefect car, too. Erm, it's for seventh years Ginny, you can stay here if you like." She was speaking in a strangely more high pitched voice than she'd been using before. With a heave, she hoisted the Weasel up from his seat and dragged him out of the compartment, though he did not look unwilling. He was rather enjoying her apparent abuse.

Potter looked almost too grim to be bothered if it wasn't for the shock Draco had presented by revealing himself after he'd been in the compartment for quite some time. However, he was now wearing an expression of wariness and hastily told Weasley that he had promised Loony Lovegood a conversation before reaching the castle. Draco could see how easily she verified both the reasons they gave her as contrived excuses but how patiently she remained in her seat across from him. She'd taken up her drawing again.    

"Weasley," he said finally, after a few moments of silence.

"Yes?" she responded, trying to look calm, cool, and collected. Draco could tell she was alarmed by him.

"What is that you're working on?"

"A homework assignment," she said rather defensively, holding up her book so that he could see it.

"Oh, I see," Draco fought his smirk, "is it a drawing for Care of Magical Creatures or for Astronomy?" Weasley remained silent but closed her book with a look of regret and placed it inside her bag. Draco was still repressing his smirk.

"You know," he said, changing the subject, "it really is amazing how quickly your friends bolted out of this compartment once they knew I was sitting here. Do I really have a reputation that abysmal?" She gave him an indifferent shrug, but Draco wouldn't let her get away with that. He stared at her intensely as if to break down her defenses. She was staring determinedly down into her lap.

"Yes, you do," she finally responded, compulsively biting her lip. Moving her gaze upward cautiously, she looked at Draco wonderingly, and their eyes caught once again. But nothing happened this time. The chestnut orbs were veiled, though, it seemed, even if her statement about him had been completely…honest.

Draco set his face in his hands; a headache slowly forming. He knew she was right, but didn't want to admit it. Wait! That was the first step: honesty. He would tell her so that she could trust him.

"Yeah, I know," he gave a muffled, sardonic laugh and shook his head. "Perhaps I'll make better of that this year."

As though signaled by the words leaving his lips, the train came to a rough stop in Hogsmeade station. They both stood up immediately, Draco to get his eagle owl, Weasley to get her cat. It was a sleek black one, with dark green eyes and a haunting purr.

"Come here, Sirius," she called to him melodiously. The cat gave an ethereal mew of happiness and leaped into Weasley's arms.

"Oh no, my brother's gone and left Pig in here again," she sighed, trying to manage her cat (who was quite unhappy and being violent considering the circumstances) and a hyperactive, tiny owl in a cage both at one time. Sirius was scratching at her arm and Pig was running into the door of the cage, trying to get it to open. Though Draco was greatly amused by her courageous efforts, he knew that plans called for his aid in her burden.

"Here, let me take that owl for you-"

"Oh no, I can handle-"

"Really, I must insist-"

"No! Thank you! Oww!"

"See? Here-" and he grabbed the birdcage from her before she could say anything. She was still yelping in pain from a bite the cat gave her. She glared at Draco as if it was his fault and departed from the train, leaving him there with a violently twittering Pig.

As he left the train and followed Weasley briskly across the platform to the horseless carriages, there was a light drizzle falling, along with a cold fog passing through, and Draco couldn't wait any longer to get in a carriage where the elves had warmed the seats. But as the carriages came into view, Draco sped up, passing Weasley and forcing her to hurry after him. Yes, he was right they were…he stopped in his tracks, mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of them. Weasley stopped right next to him, doing the same thing.

"Do you, d-do you s-see?"

"Yes," she answered him promptly. "The thestrals, I can see them too. They're not the most beautiful creatures, are they?" She regained herself quickly and Draco soon found that he was following her, wondering where he'd heard of "thestrals" before. They both climbed into one of the carriages pulling clumps of students off to the castle. The thestrals immediately took off, away from the train station with a swift trot. Pig's cage sat next to Draco in the carriage and to his great disturbance, the tiny owl kept on ruffling up his feathers, giving a pathetic "hoot!" and hurling himself against the bars of the cage towards Draco.

            "Excuse me," he asked Weasley in an accidentally rude voice, "but may I ask what this mentally unstable owl is doing?"

            "Attacking you," Weasley responded matter-of-factly. "I think Ron trained him to hate all arrogant, self-righteous purebloods who just can't descend to anyone else's level. I'd watch my eyeballs if I were you," she added evenly.

            Draco had a sudden urge to kill her right therefore saying such a thing about him, but without a word, he forced himself to give a humiliating bow of his head in sarcastic acknowledgement of her advice. This plan was going to be thornier than he thought.

            "I will keep that in mind."

*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~*

When the carriage stopped in front of the castle doors, Draco got out as gracefully as he could while carrying two owls' cages, and held the door open for Weasley. She stepped out looking suspicious of him and holding her cat Sirius very tightly. She stood in front of him wearing a slight frown and looking as if she was about to say something, but Draco cut her off hastily, worried about the memory he'd seen on the train.

"I will let you take your brother's owl from here, and…" he cleared his throat nervously, trying to think of something to say. "And I suppose I will see you around Hogwarts, Weasley."

He knew it sounded incredibly stupid, but that was no reason for her to suddenly appear terrified. A finger poked him on the shoulder rather hard, and he turned around with a superior unhappy look on his face to look up to the infamous Weasel himself. Unfortunately, the "Weasel" was at least a foot taller than him.

"I'll take the owl, Malfoy." He said Draco's surname with the utmost loathing in his voice. Feeling threatened, Draco immediately gave him the bird and stormed off, raising an eyebrow at little Weasley as passed her.

The Great Hall was decorated for the beginning-of-term feast as usual, but Draco did not feel at all excited about the occasion. In fact, the thought quite depressed him. Taking his seat at the empty end of the green and silver Slytherin table, away from the ruckus, he surveyed the staff in curiosity. There were two new teachers this year, it appeared. Oh no, one of them was a return teacher. Draco sank down into his seat a little, recognizing Mad-Eye Moody's electric blue eye swiveling crazily around the room, as though "constant vigilance" had a strictly literal meaning to him. He took a generous swig from his hip flask with a grinding movement in his primitive jaw. Draco sat up again, fairly certain the man wouldn't attack him before the feast started. The other new teacher sat right next to him; she had short, spiky, pink and silver hair and appeared absolutely spiffed to be there. She wore a huge grin and kept knocking things over on the table in her excitement, a fact that Professor Dumbledore seemed slightly amused at. Moody caught a pitcher that was just about to spill as she accidentally elbowed it in order to shake hands with Professor Snape, who gave her an annoyed look but remained polite and then moved down the table to his own seat.

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall flew open and a line of nervous first-years with wide eyes filed in, led by Professor McGonagall, who was looking as stern and uptight as usual. She ceremoniously took out the list of students and started calling out each name alphabetically. Draco couldn't help noticing that no Slytherins had yet been sorted and they were already into the Qs. Bentley Quenton became a Hufflepuff, Sarah Ritsch became a Gryffindor, and Amelia Sampson became a Ravenclaw. And so it went, until finally, to Draco's relief, a rather short and stocky boy went up and placed the Sorting Hat on his head. A full ten minutes passed, and people started whispering to each other about what it could mean, when, to everyone's astonishment, Samuel Thorne became a Slytherin. More muttering broke out everywhere. What was so important about this boy? He walked shakily over to the table clad in green and silver and sat next to Draco, smiling slightly. After the rest of the first years had been sorted (without any more Slytherins), Dumbledore stood up to say a short "Tuck In!" and the plates filled with delectable food that Draco had no appetite for. Instead, he turned to the boy next to him, who was starting to help himself to some mashed potatoes with butter and roast beef. He looked back at Draco and grinned. That kind of grin did not belong in Slytherin. It was genuine, joyful, energetic, and honest. He held out a rather large hand for Draco to shake and introduced himself.

"I'm Samuel Thorne, but you can call me Goose, Everyone calls me Goose. What's your name?"

Draco couldn't find words to say. He merely opened and closed his mouth and finally shook Goose's hand, thoroughly startled. Perhaps this boy could be in Hufflepuff, Gryffindor even, but…Slytherin?

"Erm, Malfoy. My name is Draco Malfoy. Why are you in Slytherin?" he blurted out, all thoughts and connections tumbling out in one breath, one odd question. Goose didn't seem phased at all by this, and laughed good-naturedly, taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"I have no idea! I must be right, though, huh? He was talking to me for a while, asked me if I wanted to do something worthwhile in my life…told me I was intelligent. I'm pretty much a scaredy cat, though, when it comes to weird creatures and changing things around too much. So he just talked to himself for a while, seemed pretty happy about something, and shouted out Slytherin. That's all," he said, taking a big bite of beef loaded with gravy.

That answer was much too strange for Draco's taste. Dumbledore must have somehow rigged the Sorting Hat to take all students away from Slytherin except one who could potentially corrupt the pure and ambitious mentality of Salazar's dear house. He thought on this for quite a while, giving shallow responses to Goose's rambling and accepting the glares of people further down the table with a passive annoyance. Goose continued to tell Draco about his life, his fierce goals for a career, and other bits of nonsense completely unrelated to any topics they were discussing. He was a gregarious and clever-witted chap, which was a staggering change for Draco to make in friendships. The difference in age made hardly any barriers to their acquaintance; Draco could influence all of his own views on Goose, passing them on through the school for a future seven years. He was even permissible through blood laws in the Malfoy family. The boy was a pureblood from Oxfordshire. Perhaps he would be a bit more of a help than a hindrance, if Draco could get to him before he got to Draco. Feeling hungry suddenly, Draco helped himself to some potatoes and other dishes, and took a sip of his pumpkin juice, keeping up the stable, civil, and frankly refreshing conversation between him and Goose.

After the feast ended and all the plates were taken away, Dumbledore stood up to give the usual warnings, additions to Filch's rules, introductions of the new teachers, and Dark Lord bravery and help propaganda. Then, with a splendid sweep of his old but strong arms, the headmaster gestured towards the doors and released them from the Great Hall to go to their dorms and get some rest for the next day. Draco remembered he had prefect duties to tend to, and, seeing that no other Slytherin was going to do it, he'd have to take the first years to the common room. But there weren't any first years except for Goose…well, that would be easy.

"Follow me," he told him, as they reached the stone steps that led down to the dungeon. Glancing over his shoulder, Draco was caught once again in the powerful dark eyes of Weasley. He didn't know she was so close behind him or he wouldn't have looked. It was too late, though, and another memory was breaking through the wall Draco had built in his mind to keep it out. He could feel the pain in his arm as reality was torn away from him for the second time.

He was sitting on a raised slab of cold marble, somewhat like a table, but meant for much darker intentions. A steady flow of deep, burgundy blood was flowing down from his left forearm and onto his clenched fist. The drops fell to the floor with a grim rhythm. Dolohov stood hunched over Draco with a wicked sneer on his rough, sweaty face. The knife that had been used to etch his mark was lying on the table next to him, and the Death Eater in front of him was now filling the sharp wounds with a charmed black ink. Some of it left the fresh cuts and mingled with his blood, following it to the end of his hand and falling to the rank, moist floor. Dolohov took a dirty rag and wiped the blood off of the jagged gashes in Draco's arm. It smeared across his white skin and made him feel nauceous. He looked away and tried to keep breathing. When he finally turned to see it, the Dark Mark glared up at him maliciously, confirming the cold fear that had always haunted him; this was his fate.

"One more step," laughed Dolohov with a hint of sinister sarcasm. He muttered a spell, pointing his wand at the new tattoo, but Draco couldn't make out the words, he spoke them too lowly. A searing, burning sensation was traveling through his body from the skull and snake on his forearm. He felt the Dark Lord's pain, anger, bitter rage, revenge, and horrifying endeavors spreading like a poison. It was as though a hand was grabbing, digging into him; he felt the venom reacting in his brain. His mind was being caged into the Dark Lord's desires. He was becoming a slave to the same man his father and grandfather served. So it runs it the family, I guess, he thought miserably, closing his eyes and struggling to fight back tears. Life was unfair, Draco knew that, but to deserve this was beyond the shallow scope of fairness. His life from now on would be a true living hell. But it was his only choice with the exception of death. He'd chosen a life of meager slavery to a slow, gruesome, but righteous death at the hands of his father. Draco opened his eyes once again in resignation, looking to Dolohov for closure in the ritual. Dolohov gave him a savage grin and with pride in his voice, said, "Now you are one of the most loyal of the master's followers. You should consider yourself blessed to have such an opportunity."

Blessed. Cursed was much closer to the truth; the raw truth that no one would allow him to face. What was it after all? They had hid it from him for so long now that even if he did see it, Draco was unsure if he'd be able to recognize how it looked, what it meant, if it was any better than the life he was bound to serve with his pureblood family and a black mask to hide his own face. The face he'd been given was free of guilt and darkness and troubles, but after all the years Lucius had told him what was right and wrong, those instincts he'd been given were wiped away, and his face was nothing but a disguise of snobby rich pride to keep away the questions of an unstable identity. What was right and wrong? Who was he? What was the truth that was taken from him? It felt like a part of his soul was ripped away. Rapidly, a headache started to form, and Draco somehow knew why. The Dark Lord didn't want any of his servants to think like that…so he wouldn't…

Goose was shaking Draco's arm with a worried look upon his face. "Hey! Hey Draco! What's wrong?"

Draco found himself staring into Ginny Weasley's eyes, still staring with an unfathomable bond. She looked terribly frightened, and immediately turned and dashed off in the opposite direction. Draco turned back and walked with Goose down to the common room, not knowing what else to do. Maybe tomorrow would be a good day to "get a hold" of Weasley and see what she was doing and why. He felt another of his usual migraines coming on, so after a short introduction to being in Slytherin and warning him about how to act in front of the rest of them (as he was quite unusual for someone in the house) he removed himself from the room and went downstairs to go to bed.

~Evyfleur