Patience

chapter one : in which harry feels irritated

The urge to put his head right through the rattling window of the train sky rocketed when Ron and Hermione returned to bickering. There it was again. The sharp tug in his chest, the urge, his patience fading away.
He didnt want to admit to himself what the tug was toward. It felt like a side effect to those bloody dreams. Creeping round the hallway, Voldemorts voice calling out to his followers over and over and over and over.

"You are supposed to be so smart Hermione! But you are too thick to un-"

"You cant write your own fucking essays Ronald!"

Harry groaned and stood up.

"Where are you going!?" Ron hollered, probably desperate for defence against Hermione's relentless attack.

Harry just shook his head and closed the door behind himself. Maybe he would find the twins, or Ginny. Someone who wouldn't make his blood boil. Maybe the itch was their fault. He could hardly be alone in wanting to murder the wildly irritating.
He sidled down the narrow passage. Glancing into the compartments as he went.

"Well well well. Potty gotty losty?"

Mother fucker.

"Hello Malfoy. I am impressed at how fast your learning to speak, not many babies can"

"Say that again in french and gobbledegook, where is the rest of the Golden trio?"

"I could ask the same about your bodyguards"

"I can defend myself Potter"

"How much does your daddy pay those two to follow you around Malfoy? Or does it come out of your own pocket money?"

"They need my protection more than I need theirs"

"You sure about that daddy's boy?"

"Positive Potter"

Harry smirked and before he really even processed his actions he felt his fist connect with Malfoy's jaw. The blonde slumped into the wall, clutching his face.

Harry could feel it, the scratch to the itch, a thrumming beat under his skin.

He used his foot to press Draco onto the rattling floor of the train. He supposed if Malfoy could ever be useful it was now. He needed to know what Tom was up to, what his dreams were about.

"You heard anything about the dark lord recently?"

"My father is not a Death Eater"

Harry tutted and slammed his foot into Draco's gut. The blonde spluttered and coughed out a small amount of blood, which was likely from his earlier injury.

"Are you going to tell me? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING?!"

"I d-on't know! Please!"

It dawned on him then. What he was doing, Harry felt the itch, the urge to continue to beat Malfoy until he got anything, anything at all. But instead his jands started to shake and he backed away. Some half assed attempt at guilt pooled in his stomach.

"Fuck"

He was barely breathing when he returned to the compartment. Panic, which he was trying to tell himself was guilt washed over him in waves.

Hermione and Ron stared at him, both of their mouths open to demand he mediate their pointless debate. Instead he was met with silence.

"Harry, you have blood. On your hand"

He looked down. The unmistakable red bright against his knuckle.

"Malfoy ambushed me" he told his friends as he wiped the blood off.

They both frowned in support and Ron murmered something about Slytherins.

Luckily it seemed their sympathy stemmed the bickering and the remainder of the train ride was calm and quiet, with a mumbling conversation about the holidays and the school year ahead. Harry could barely hold himself still, adrenaline pumping through him. He thought through the attack over and over, trying to find a moment where something that wasn't him took control. But he couldn't find any way to blame Voldemort. It should have made him feel sick, he wanted it to make him feel sick, but he just felt the itch, coming back, begging for violence.

The great hall was bubbling with activity, as per usual. Harry noticed the empty seat on the teacher's table and assumed their new Defense teacher was going to be shit if the asshole couldn't even make it to the sorting ceremony.

He zoned out the sorting and Dumbledore's speeches, instead watching stupid Malfoy on the other side of the hall.
The idiot turned and made eye contact with him, smirking. What had that sock puppet worked out?

His attention was regained when a colossal man marched into the hall to settle at the teacher's table. His face was scarred and he sported a fake eye strapped to his face with worn leather. He barely looked smaller up there, even seated next to Hagrid. But regardless of his size or battle worn skin, he seemed jittery and alert.

Harry watched the man for a moment, he had a tic, his head would duck slightly and then his tounge would run along his bottom lip. And just as questions about who the hell he was, Dumbledore approached his pedestal.

"If I may have your attention for just a few minutes longer" Dumbledore began "this year, we are fortunate to be joined by arouror Alastor Moody, he will be teaching defense against the dark arts!"

Harry saw the marred man give a slight nod to the hall, only a few students managed applause, Harry doubted he gave a shit.

"And, this year Hogwarts has the great fortune of hosting the first Triwizard Tornument in centuries!"

The great hall errupted.

"HUSH, in a few weeks our nearby school Beaubatonx and Durmstang will arrive and the competition will begin"

The old man continued but Harry felt all eagerness for the year melting away. Beside him Hermione was reciting all the horrible things that had gotten the tornuments cancelled for so long.
He had a bad feeling about the year ahead.
Maybe it was just hunger.