White Rain

The train trundled past vast green fields, as the rain started to fall, the sky a dismal grey. He leant his head back against the cool glass of the window, a small sigh escaping. His eyes closed, and he appeared to drift off into sleep, but as the door to the compartment opened, his eyebrows rose, and without opening his eyes, he spoke.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" His voice was slow, a lazy drawl, but laced with ice. The other boy took a step toward the opposite window, and stared out at the wet drumming against the panes.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, his tone light. He pushed dark hair out of his eyes as he turned to look at the sprawling occupant of the carriage. Cold blue eyes regarded him calmly.

"I always know it's you," Draco said steadily. "What do you want? I'm generally left alone, Potter. Head Boy shouldn't mix with the likes of me." He sneered, his lips curling.

"What do I want?" Harry repeated, an ironic little half smile on his own lips. "It's never what I want, Malfoy." He strolled across the carriage, and dropped down beside the other boy, a defeated look coming into his eyes.

"What's wrong with you now?" Draco asked, disinterestedly, looking away. Harry sighed, tension visible.

"He's still not gone, Draco. However much we fight, he's not gone yet. And I can never forget it. He's inside my head."

"So find the Mudblood, and Weasley," Malfoy snapped, rising, and turning away. "It's not my problem, Potter."

Harry rose too, bewilderment, and a little bit of hurt crossing his face as he did so.

"Malfoy-" he began. Draco ignored him. Angrily, he strode across to the other boy, turned, and kissed him, questions, and tension in his kiss. For a moment, Draco responded, with all the angry passion, and rage that normally joined them, the only reason for them joining, then he pulled away, out of reach, and turned again, gazing out at the wet day.

"I don't think this little- This- *thing* should continue," he spoke, his voice even, and calm.

"I didn't intend for it to last as long as it has," Harry shot back, stinging from the strange rejection.

Draco turned, a strange smile on his face. "Nor I. So it goes no further. Lunging at me, Potter, you will recall, has never 'put me in the mood' as yet."

"Don't worry. I don't want to jump your bones, Malfoy," Harry said angrily. 'It was just- last year was-" He broke off. "You don't care. You never cared." His mind jumped back to empty classrooms, screaming release, biting insults, and- It was strange, they'd seen something in the other that fought bitterly, but when together it - exploded. He wasn't sure what he felt. Just that no-one else seemed to realise the emptiness he had inside. But Malfoy was far colder, emptier- deader inside, than he.

"No," Draco agreed. "I never did."

The Boy who Lived flung himself out of the carriage, not looking back, and Draco sat back down, a closed look coming down over his face, his blue eyes carefully blank. Inside, he might be laughing, relaxed, or - screaming, but no one could tell by looking at him.

Almost carelessly, he drew up one robe sleeve, above his elbow, and looked down at the soft flesh of his arm, and the mark burnt into it, angry red, and fresh. He touched it, lightly, with the tip of his finger, and it seared, hot pain surging up his arm.

His face still blank, and disinterested, the boy settled back into his relaxed sprawl, and once more closed his eyes, to all intents and purposes, asleep.