The Forgotten Ones

Chapter 2: On the Train

Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts Express with a sigh of relief. He was here, again. His father had not managed to have him transferred to Durmstrang, mostly because of the protest his mother had put up. He hadn't said anything, whether it be for Hogwarts or Durmstrang, but his mother knew. His aunt knew as well.

He loved Hogwarts, impossible though it may seem; the history of the place, but especially the feeling that he was truly protected there. Even with the attacks in his second year, it remained a safe haven for him. Now that he was in his fifth year, he was growing up, and the fact that he would have to leave it soon was very real to him. Nearly every second was cherished in the place, and he detested the petty squabbles that would break out between him and the other students.

Oh, he supposed he hadn't minded them during his first three years, and if he were honest with himself, his fourth year as well.

But during his visit with his aunt that summer, he had made a derogatory remark about Muggleborns. To be more specific, he had used the term 'Mudbloods.' She had given him this look... A look that had said loads. It had, in essence, been a pitying look. Had she not been his aunt--and therefore a Malfoy--he would have never let her hear the end of it. Malfoys were not pitied.

But this was a Malfoy pitying a Malfoy.

He'd had no idea what to do. Then she had said, quietly, "I hope that you learn better, Draco; there are better things to do than belittle those whom you believe to be weaker than yourself." Those words were still haunting him. His aunt had always had a smile for him, and they would always do fun things, either visiting her office at the Ministry, or going to Quidditch games, or even just going to the park.

Surprisingly enough, it had been the first time he had said the word in her presence. It had also been the last time, not only in her presence, but without it as well. He was grateful that his father had been unable to take him to Diagon Alley this year, as he had run across Colin and Dennis Creevey, two Muggleborns who attended Hogwarts. He'd made no remarks about their heritage, and, still shocked by what his aunt had said, had said nothing derogatory at all.

Draco shook his head, stepping into a compartment. Maybe he should get his head checked or some such thing. Not that he was sure where that could be done. But he was certain it could be done somewhere.

He actually hadn't seen his father very much that summer at all. Just a couple of weeks after he'd gotten back from Hogwarts, his father had gone on an extended business trip with Narcissa. He'd spent almost the whole of the summer after that with Aunt Alicia, only returning to his home for the last week and a half.

The door of the compartment burst open and the figure--whose only feature he could identify was the flaming red hair--slammed the door shut and leaned against it, gasping for breath. Draco's eyes widened as he realized it was the youngest Weasley, Ginger or something. However, he was rather anxious to get back to his thoughts, so instead of making a crack about her family, he turned to the window.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone was--" the girl stopped suddenly, as she realized who she was speaking to. Or at least that was what he assumed. "Malfoy," she said vehemently.

Draco sighed, knowing his thoughts would have to be left while he got rid of her. He turned to the girl and quirked a brow. "Yes, Weasley?"

She frowned, as though trying to discern why he hadn't made a remark about her clothes or her family or, the Gods forbid, her hair.

He scowled. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She seemed to be wondering whether perhaps he had become brain-damaged during the summer--an option he himself had not completely ruled out. Instead of leaving, she sat down carefully on the seat opposite him and crossed her ankles primly. It was then that he noticed she was already in her uniform, and wondered at that. The train hadn't even started--

There it was. How had he missed the 'all aboard'? And where were Pansy and Crabbe and Goyle? Not that he cared about the latter two, but it worried him that they hadn't found him yet. They usually followed him around like two dogs followed their master, and yet they hadn't arrived.

The girl cleared her throat. "Perhaps we haven't met," she said slowly, as though speaking to one who was mentally disturbed, "I'm Ginny Weasley."

Ah. So it was Ginny. He scowled at her. "I know who you are."

She ignored his comment and continued slowly, "What is your name?"

He scowled again and said, pompously, "You know very well who I am; Draco Malfoy."

Ginny--it would be too confusing if he thought of her as Weasley--tilted her head. "Yes, well I'm not completely sure of that."

He scowled at her, again, and said, "Why aren't you leaving?"

Ginny leaned back in her seat. "There aren't any other open compartments; lots of new first years."

Instead of arguing with her, as he would have otherwise been eager to do, he just leaned back and ignored her. His aunt had said once that if someone was trying to annoy you, the best thing to do would be not to respond to them; responding only meant that they were succeeding. So, he decided to take his aunt's advice, and he turned back to the window.

Half an hour later, he was ready to throw his aunt's advice out the window he'd been staring out of. The youngest Weasley still hadn't left. In fact, she was staring at him--had been, for at least the last twenty minutes. It was making him very uncomfortable, not that he would ever admit to it.

Finally, after another five minutes, during which he could feel her eyes on him, and he himself wondering where in the names of the Gods Pansy and Co. was, he turned to her and scowled. Again. "Why are you still here?"

A smile appeared on her face. "I don't know."

The scowl seemed permanently fixed to his face, and it deepened with her answer. What in the names of the Gods was he supposed to say? After everything, he somehow didn't think that a simple order would do it. He honestly had no idea how to get rid of the chit.

Once again, the compartment door opened. However, the person who opened it didn't open it all the way, or they would have seen Ginny as well. "Malfoy," the girl said with loathing in her voice.

"Why Granger," Draco said, a smirk making its way to his face, "how lovely to see you again."

A frown appeared on the Muggleborn's face, and Draco grinned inwardly. Finally. Someone who actually respected him...in a strange sort of way. Well, respected him enough not to find his actions amusing. She gave a small, "Hmph," of annoyance and left, not bothering to close the door.

Draco scowled and stood up to close it. Just as he was about to, he caught the tail end of someone's statement.

"--not in any of the compartments over there." It was Potter. Draco stopped and stood still, trying to catch the rest.

"Malfoy was in that one," Granger said.

"Guys, where is she?" Weasley.

"Ron," Potter said, sounding exasperated, "Just what did you say to her?"

"Nothing!" The Weasley sounded offended. "Well, not really."

Granger sighed. "Ron..."

"Hermione--"

"Ron," she interrupted. "If she doesn't want to be found, she doesn't want to be found. You'll see her at the feast, you know. It's not as though she's not on the train."

"How do you know that?" Weasley said angrily.

"Because she loves Hogwarts just as much as I do, and she would never leave it just because of a petty argument with her brother," Granger said softly, her voice hard.

They started walking away--or at least that was what he assumed, as he didn't catch any more of the conversation after that.

"Stupid Ron," a voice whispered near his ear.

To his extreme dismay, he let out a small scream and jumped away from the door. He looked at the girl there. Ginny.He let out a small growl of annoyance. She smirked.

"Well, well, well... So the big, bad Malfoy can be scared..."

He scowled at her. "Get out."

"No," she said primly. Sitting back down on her seat, she tucked her legs under her and leaned back. "Well?" she asked, glancing at him. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

His scowl deepened, but he walked stiffly over to his seat and did so, albeit a bit reluctantly.

After five minutes--during which the female Weasley was still staring at him, much to his dismay--Draco scowled at her. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

She quirked a brow, a small smile making its way onto her face, as though he amused her. As he undoubtedly did."Am I making you uncomfortable, Malfoy?"

"Of course not."

She sighed, and glanced at his trunk. "Well, may I borrow one of your books then?"

"Why would I let you borrow one of my books?"

"Would you rather I stare at you for the remainder of the trip?"

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Maybe I don't want to."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," she said, her face coloring slightly. "Now, will you lend me a book, or will I continue to stare at you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't you have your own books?"

"They're in my brother's compartment in my trunk."

"Well why don't you go get them?" he said impatiently.

"I'd rather not speak with him," she said primly.

He scowled, but, realizing that unless Pansy and Co. came along--and he wouldn't bet money they would, if they hadn't already--he would be stuck with her the whole of the trip, he opened his trunk and tossed her a book, not seeing whether she caught it or not, and grabbed one for himself. It was a book his aunt had given him, Witch Hunts of the 17^th Century. It was actually very interesting, despite its being written by a Muggleborn. He hadn't discovered that particular tidbit about the author until that summer, after the small row he'd had with his aunt about Muggleborns and Mugglelovers. He remembered it very clearly...

"Draco," she said, sounding exasperated. "I honestly don't know what you dislike so much about them."

"They're inferior!" he stated. "You're just as much a Malfoy as I am; you should know that."

"Draco," she said, warningly, "being a Malfoy doesn't mean anything other than knowing how far back your bloodline stretches. It doesn't mean you're rich, it doesn't mean you're superior to everyone else; it doesn't even mean that you're smart. I hope that when you fall in love--and I know you will--that it will be someone who doesn't believe in the same things you do. Maybe then you'll finally understand."

Her speech had haunted him almost as much as the quiet declaration she'd voiced just a few days after that, the day he left. She'd sounded so tired when she'd said it... "I hope that you learn better, Draco; there are better things to do than belittle those whom you believe to be weaker than yourself."

Draco sighed, leaning back against the seat. Maybe he'd figure out what his aunt was talking about. Maybe he wouldn't. Right now he just wanted to sleep.