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Hogwarts Express	By : Closet Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 27084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Hogwarts Express - Now Boarding

Track Beta

            Harry Potter woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and clenching his fists in his blankets,
breathing heavily.

            “You okay, Harry?”

            Harry forced himself to look up, to find Neville Longbottom standing between their beds,
looking concerned. He was half dressed, his white dress shirt and Gryffindor tie hanging in his
hand, and he was biting his lip nervously.

            “Yeah...” Harry said slowly, drawing a shaky breath. “Just a nightmare.”

            “Oh...” Neville’s face softened in sympathy. He knew all to well about nightmares. The
boys in the Gryffindor tower had been woken many times by Neville screaming in his sleep. He
was the only one Harry really talked to about his nightmares, since he was the only one who
really understood. “The usual sort?”

            Harry sighed, and flopped back on his pillow. “Yes.”

            “Sorry to hear that mate,” Neville sighed, then started tugging on his dress shirt. “But
really, you ought to be getting up anyway - breakfast is in about five minutes.”

            “Is it?” Harry asked in surprise, rising on an elbow to check the clock beside his bed. Sure
enough. “Great. And it’s double potions today.”

            “Yeah,” Neville wrinkled his nose. “At least you can brew the potions half ways decent.”

            “But Snape hates me,” Harry muttered, eyes rolling skyward to the scarlet canopy over
his bed.

            “He hates all Gryffindors,” Neville pointed out, working on his tie.

            “True enough,” Harry laughed with a note of defeat in his voice as Ron raced like a bat
out of hell into the room, overturning everything, searching everywhere.

            “Nev,” Ron said frantically, “Have you seen my charms essay?”

            “I think you put it in your textbook,” Neville frowned, straightening his collar. “In your
book bag. Didn’t you?”

            “Yeah, I did,” Ron sighed with relief, brandishing the slightly flattened parchment roll.
“Good. I mean, I worked forever on this thing last night, so if I lost it, Hermione would have my
hide.”

            “Yeah, forever, if you mean an hour between chess matches,” Neville rolled his eyes,
then turned to look at Harry, who was still laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. “Hey, Harry!
Better get up, unless you want to go to Potions without even a full stomach to handle you.”

            “I’m coming,” Harry groaned, and rolled off the bed, grabbing for his clothes.

            Five minutes later, Harry was still tucking his tie into his sweater as he clattered down the
steps with Ron and Neville. Hermione was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, left
toe tapping at the stone floor impatiently. “Do you boys want to be late?” She demanded,
frowning. “Hey, Harry.”

            “Hey, Hermione,” Harry gave her a slight smile, then hiked his book bag strap a little
higher on his shoulder as he followed the others through the portrait hole.

            As they were walking down the hall, Ginny joined them, and playfully started ribbing
Neville. They all knew that she was really flirting ((And not very well, either.)) but everyone just
thought it was a little funny, and went with it. After all, Neville never really minded. Course, that
might just be because he didn’t seem to realize that she was flirting, but that was hardly the
point, was it? Others passing in the hall still whispered as they passed, murmuring to their friends
about The Boy Who Lived. Harry sighed. They were in their seventh year, you’d think people
would get used to a celebrity’s presence by now?

            When they arrived at the Great Hall, they arrived at the exact same moment as Draco
Malfoy and his band of cronies, Grabbe, Goyle, Nott, Zabini, Parkingson, and Bulstrode. The
Gryffindors were perfectly content to ignore the little ferret and go in without a word, when
Malfoy said, “Hey there, scar head.”

            “Shut it Malfoy,” Neville said tiredly.

            “No, don’t think I will,” Draco smirked.

            Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up, Malfoy. Calling him ‘scar head’ got old back in
first year. You know, when we were all eleven. We’re seventeen Malfoy, don’t you think you
could come up with something better than that?”

            An almost maniacal gleam flashed in Malfoy’s eyes. “What, you mean... like your
mudblood, Weasel’s poverty.... or Potter’s habit of stalking celebrities?”

            Harry’s ears burned red. “I do not stalk celebrities, Malfoy.”

            Malfoy sneered. “Then why are you following them around, Potty? It’s certainly not
because they’re your friends. What, are you hoping some of Longbottom’s fame will rub off on
you? You better go catch Creevey, Potty, I think I saw him with the latest Longbottom pictures -
I bet you Neville’ll even sign them for you. Make it a real collectible, you can sell it someday,
and say that you, little Harry Potter, knew the Boy That Lived.”

            “Shut it, Malfoy!” Neville snapped, fists clenched, the lightening bolt on his forehead
standing out in stark relief to his pale skin. “Bugger off.”

            “Whatever, Longbottom,” Draco smirked, and breezed past the Gryffindors.

            “Calm down, Nev, he’s not worth it,” Hermione said practically, then turned to Harry.
“Don’t let him get to you, Harry, he’s just being a jerk. You know he does that.”

            “Yeah,” Harry muttered, glowering after the blond prat.

            Him, a celebrity stalker, indeed!

            Brushing past his friends, Harry stormed into the Great Hall, thunking himself down with
some force at the Gryffindor table, then proceeded to torture his porridge, digging his spoon into
it almost vindictively.

            “Hey,” a soft voice at his shoulder said. “You alright, Harry?”

            Still glowering, Harry turned, to see the worn but always pleasant face of the Defense
Against the Dark Arts professor. He tried to smooth his expression for the other man’s sake, but
failed miserably. “I hate him, Peter. Please, can I kill him?”

            Peter Pettigrew, one of Harry’s father’s best friends from when they had gone to
Hogwart’s themselves, smiled. “Afraid not, Harry. I’d have to arrest you myself, and you know
that I really don’t want to have to do that.”

            “What fun is it with an auror for a friend when you can’t even get away with the
occasional murder?” Harry muttered under his breath, but the man’s very sharp ears caught the
comment.

            “Come on, Harry, you know it’s not that simple.” Reaching down, Peter ruffled Harry’s
already messy black hair. “Coming by my office after dinner tonight? Sirius said he thought he
might stop by.”

            “Is he?” Harry’s eyes lit up at the mention of his godfather. “I haven’t seen him in almost
a month! Of course I’ll be there!”

            “Just try not to get detention between now and then,” Peter laughed, then waved, and
made his way back up to the Head Table.

            Harry felt better already.

            Half an hour later, that happy feeling he’d gotten at the idea of seeing Sirius again was
swiftly withering as Professor Severus Snape did his very best to make Harry’s life miserable. He
was working with Hermione, who kept hissing him instructions under her breath, and Harry was
doing his darndest to keep up, but it was more than a little difficult.

            He was only too glad when he got away with nothing more than two or three scathing
comments, and was able to get through the rest of his day fairly easily.

            After dinner that night, Harry was hurrying to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office,
through the dark castle hallways. He wasn’t that worried about it - he did it all the time - but as
he rounded the corner on the darkened third floor, he swore he heard footsteps behind him.

            Whirling around, Harry found himself staring down a dark hallway.

            Frowning, he turned back around and started walking again.

            The footsteps continued following him.

            Harry froze, spun, but there was no one there, still. Swallowing, he looked around the
enclosed space, then called softly, “Hello?”

            Silence.

            Taking a deep breath, Harry called again. “Hello?’

            This time, his question was met with the unmistakable sound of laughter. It was a male’s
laughter, youngish, but not too young, pleasant... and at the same time disturbing. It was the
sound you’d expect if your best friend was to suddenly tell you that they were going to kill you.
You would recognize that happy laugh, but you wouldn’t believe it this time, would think they
were playing some sick joke on you. That was the feeling Harry had right now.

            Without pausing to see who was there, or even to wait for the person to expose
themselves, Harry spun, and raced down the hallway as fast as he could, nearly slamming down
the door to the office in his haste.

            Sirius and Peter leapt to their feet at his sudden entrance. “Harry!” Peter gasped.
“Whatever’s the matter, my boy?!”

            Panting, Harry slammed the door shut behind him, sagging against the wood. “I heard
laughter. Creepy laughter. And footsteps. And there wasn’t anyone there.”

            “Maybe it was one of the ghosts?” Sirius suggested, crossing the floor to support Harry
by his shoulders. “Harry?”

            “Maybe,” Harry admitted, though he wasn’t really inclined to believe it.

            That laugh had been too real to be from someone dead.
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Hogwarts Express