It started out as a perfectly ordinary day for Draco Malfoy. He woke to the sound of Crabbe and Goyle's alarm clocks, as obnoxiously loud as usual. As usual, he proceeded to wake up the still sleeping Crabbe and Goyle by chucking their respective clocks at them. Grumbling, he slouched out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom. He took his comb and a jar of hair gel off of his shelf, then turned to the mirror to practice nasty facial expressions for the benefit of Harry Potter and his annoying do-gooder sidekicks. It was then that he noticed that something was wrong.

His smirk would not work. Nor his scowl. Nor his snarl. Nor his sneer. He couldn't look sullen or sour or sinister. After a brief experiment, he discovered he couldn't skulk, and suddenly even slouching about was now out of the question. And who is Draco Malfoy, he wondered in terror, without the smirking, snarling, scowling, sneering, skulking, slouching, sour, sullen sinisterness suited to Slytherins? He faced the mirror again, trying desperately to make the muscles in his face work properly. Finally, something happened, but it wasn't much better than the blank expression that came before.

Draco Malfoy was smiling. And not just any smile. It was a bright, cheerful, winning smile. It looked...sincere. He heard footsteps in the hall behind him, and he hid in one of the stalls. He didn't want anyone to see him smiling like this, especially not this early in the morning. It wasn't human.

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered into the bathroom, breathing heavily through their mouths, which hung open in vacant expressions. (At least they still seem to be acting normally, thought Draco, peering out at them.)

"Where's Draco?" asked Crabbe.

"Dunno. Thought he'd have been in here," replied Goyle.

They stared dully at each other for a moment.

"Better get down to breakfast, then," said Crabbe.

"Right," said Goyle. They turned and exited, leaving Draco to the panicked realization that he was not going to be able to avoid everyone all day. Madame Pomfrey would surely not sign a leave of absence slip for a smiling problem. He was going to have to figure out some excuse for—Potter. This must be his fault. Everyone knew Potter and his gang were out to get the Slytherins, and Draco in particular. There was a lot of bad blood between—Granger. She would know what to do. The little showoff had practically memorized the entire library. And since she had probably done this to him in the first place, she should know how to reverse it. Better not to go to a professor. He would keep a low profile, try not to get Potter's group into trouble...officially. Save the revenge for himself. He tried to rub his hands together menacingly, but for some reason it didn't work. Blast.

Breakfast was quite awkward. Everyone was staring at him. He tried to keep his head down as he ate so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with anyone. Keeping his head down caused his hair to fall into his eyes. That was odd. Why would it... He suddenly remembered the comb and the jar of hair gel, sitting unopened on the edge of the sink where he had left it in his amazement at discovering his face was no longer his to control. Wonderful. Rushing out of the Great Hall after bolting his eggs and toast, he almost ran into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who were just arriving.

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Weasley snapped. Draco envied him. He couldn't snap anymore even if he wanted to. And he did want to.

"Morning, Potter. Weasley." He nodded and continued on his way, finding himself pleasantly surprised at the expression of shock on their faces. This might be more fun than I expected, he said to himself. Perhaps it's time for a slight change of plan.

He arrived at Potions class early on purpose, sure he would find Hermione Granger there already. There she was, straightening her books so that they sat at right angles to the edges of the desk. "Must be nice to have a life," he almost said, biting his tongue to prevent the comment from escaping. Instead, he said, "This seat taken, Hermione?"

"I'm afraid it's reserved," she said, not looking up. She didn't seem to recognize his voice.

He sat down anyway. "Got a question for you," he continued, in a (depressingly enough) pleasant tone.

She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes widened and her arm jerked suddenly, knocking her books off the desk. She bent to retrieve them, but he stopped her with a gesture.

"No, no," he said. "Allow me." With his head under the desk, he could still hear other students filing into the room. A familiar voice said, "Hermione! You didn't save our seats!"

Draco straightened up, and handed the books to Hermione. "It's all right," he said over his shoulder. "I won't bite, you know." He turned and flashed his winning smile at an astonished Weasley and Potter.

"Great jumping Caesar's ghost," said Weasley in a shaky voice.

"What are you up to, Malfoy?" asked Potter coldly.

"Nothing, nothing!" said Draco. "What's wrong with me sitting by the mu-"—the sound dragged on as he scrambled for a word to replace "mudblood"—"mmmmmuhhhh-AHvelous Hermione Granger?" He thought of patting Granger on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way, but decided that he was pushing it as it was.

Weasley's ears were getting very red, and his eyes were narrowing to little slits. Potter was looking at Draco dubiously.

"Whatever you're up to," said Potter, "you won't get away with it."

Draco had never realized just how prejudiced Potter's gang was against him. Here he was, not insulting them, not throwing things at them, not framing them for anything. He was only trying to be ingratiating, and they were being impossible. His only hope was to appeal to Hermione's feminine sense of fairness. If she could put up with these two, she wouldn't stand a chance against the persuasive charm of the new Draco Malfoy. She would have to let her guard down. She would have to be his friend. And then...he'd make her pay for turning him into a spineless toady.

"If you want to switch seats, Ron," he said innocently—it felt wrong to call them by their first names, but it was all part of his plan—"you're more than welcome to. I didn't mean"—to split up the Three Musketeers—"to inconvenience anyone."

Weasley eyed him cautiously, as if weighing the odds that he had booby-trapped the chair. "That's okay," he finally said, in a voice that declared it was anything but okay. He sat down, looking as though he were making a supreme sacrifice, but unwilling to abandon Hermione to the horrible fate of sitting alone with Draco Malfoy. Potter sat next to Weasley, looking pleased that Weasley had not made him sit next to Draco.

Snape slunk into the room. Draco winced with the pain of nostalgia as he remembered the days when he could slink. Maybe it was just because of the special bond all Slytherins shared that Draco thought Snape seemed to be in a bad mood.

"What is the last word of the fourth paragraph of the sixteenth chapter of your textbook? Potter?" he almost yelled, swiveling around suddenly.

Potter looked at him blankly. Weasley choked on an Every Flavor Bean. Draco gasped at the narrow escape he had just had...Granger had almost knocked off his nose as she threw her hand into the air.

"Don't know, eh, Potter?" snarled Snape. "Of course not. Why would you? Nobody in this bloody class is worth anything! And then there's Longbottom, of course, living proof that it's possible to be less than nothing."

Neville squirmed and turned quite pale.

"Anyone know the answer?"

Granger waved her hand furiously.

"Anyone at all?"

Granger climbed onto her chair and began jumping up and down.

"NOBODY?"

Draco raised his hand calmly.

"What is it?" Snape growled.

"It appears to me that Miss Granger knows the answer," said Draco.

"Oh it does, does it?" said Snape. He looked from Draco's winning smile to his slightly tousled, gel-free hair. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" he said.

"What? But he's in Slytherin!" said Weasley without thinking.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape leaned over the desk and peered darkly into Weasley's angry face. "Go ahead, Weasley," he hissed. "Make my day."

Weasley blinked furiously. Draco was amused to see a tear escape.

Snape wheeled on Granger. "Sit down immediately and stop disturbing my class, or I'll take thirty more points!"

Granger slid into her seat quietly, but Draco noticed a very interesting emotion in her eyes. It was hatred. He looked at Weasley and Potter. Their eyes held the same emotion. Weasley was sketching a small picture of Snape being run through by a unicorn. Draco felt a surge of excitement inside. He could relate to these people, after all. It would have been a perfect time for a sinister smirk, if he had only been able to manage it.

"I never got to ask you," began Draco as he approached Granger, but he was cut off.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Weasley, who was sitting across from Granger and next to Potter. "We're in the library."

I can see that for myself, Mr. Obvious. "Not to change the subject," Draco said with his friendly smile, "but have you ever noticed how segregated this school is?"

"Not segregated enough," muttered Weasley at the same time as Granger said, "That's not true!"

"Isn't it?" said Draco. He pointed at each of the library tables in turn. "Hufflepuffs...Ravenclaws...Slytherins...more Hufflepuffs...and here we have Gryffindors."

"Which brings us to the all-important question of why you don't just scuttle off and leave us be," said Weasley, pretending to be very absorbed in a copy of Hogwarts: A History that Draco suspected he had swiped from Granger's pile of books.

Draco tried and succeeded to put on his best wounded expression. "Can't we all just get along?"

"Most of the houses do get along," said Granger. "It's just the Slytherins that hate everyone else."

"Is it?" asked Draco. "Or is it everyone else that hates the Slytherins?"

Granger was stumped by that one. Instead of answering, she changed the subject. "The houses interact. Harry has a crush on that Hufflepuff girl."

"She's from Ravenclaw," said Weasley.

"Hufflepuff!" said Granger before Potter could butt in.

"Whatever, I just know she's not a Gryffindor," said Weasley, then froze. His eyes met Granger's with a hunted expression.

"Goodness," said Granger in a small voice. "Maybe he's right."

Potter broke in hurriedly. "Are you crazy? This is Malfoy we're talking about. Malfoy! From Slytherin! Remember, the house all the Dark Lords come from?"

"When you think about it," said Draco in a pensive voice, "is it any wonder that a group of people who have been socially persecuted and cut off from normal interaction with others turn inward, become blighted and bitter, and seek to gain respect by whatever means necessary?"

Weasley and Granger shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Potter rolled his eyes. "This from the head of the 'Pureblood's Only Club.'"

Draco pretended not to understand. "I don't understand," he said, only pretending. "I've never heard of this 'Pureblood's Only Club.'"

"It's...a...metaphor," growled Potter. "Everyone knows your father was in league with Voldemort, and you were looking pretty happy last year when the Death Eaters came out of hiding."

Draco shook his head mournfully. "Sadly, Harry, you can never understand. Your parents were—again, sadly—killed before you knew them." So there, Potter. Don't need sneering to drive it home, do I? "And had they lived, they may never—I won't say would never, because these things are so hard to predict—they may never have become the domineering types. You can have no idea what it's like having a father who expects you to follow in his footsteps exactly. Who trains you to hate people just because of their family heritage. Who is so demanding that..." He choked out what he hoped sounded like a sob. "I'm sorry. I can't go on."

Weasley and Granger sat in silence, but Potter said, "I can't believe you two are actually considering believing him!"

"Well, you know," said Granger timidly, "people are allowed to change, you know."

"Some never do," said Potter. "Some always stay the same."

"How one-dimensional," said Draco. "How boring for people to stay static. Surely you don't believe that, Harry?"

But Potter had gathered his books and was stalking out of the library.

"Oh, dear," said Draco. Easily offended, as usual. Weak. "I hope it wasn't something I said?"

"Now look here, Malfoy," said Weasley. "You've got to admit that this sudden transformation is a little hard to swallow."

"I'm going to be frank with you, Ron," said Draco. "It was a shock to me, too. But it appears that I've developed a conscience. Either that or it's a spell." He laughed (a jolly laugh, not a sinister laugh—how he hated himself), but he darted a glance at Granger, who looked as puzzled as he felt.

A clatter of books falling to the floor made them all look toward the bookshelves. Neville Longbottom was crouching over his fallen pile of books, picking them up and balancing them awkwardly in the crook of his left arm.

"Let me help with that, Neville," said Draco politely. Clumsy fool. "That's really too much for you to carry." He picked up a hefty volume called Creative Curses: Harmless Curses to Amuse Your Friends and Infuriate Your Enemies. "Isn't 'harmless curse' a bit of an oxymoron?" he asked.

Longbottom practically lunged for the book, dropping all the others again as he did so. Draco handed the book over and picked up another. "Pavlov's Bell: A Beginner's Guide to Behavior Modification." His eyes gleamed. "Doing some extracurricular research, Neville?"

"Y-y-y...no," stammered Longbottom.

"I'm impressed," said Draco. "I truly am. Never would have expected it of you."

"Nobody expects much of me," said Neville apologetically.

"Well, we've obviously been deceived," said Draco. "You are not someone to be underestimated." He smiled his winning smile once again and twitched his hair out of his eyes. The smile Neville gave him in return was rather shaky.

"However," continued Draco, "neither am I."

Neville's smile disappeared.

"I could be persuaded to forget this whole thing," said Draco, "if you happen to have a counter-charm in those books somewhere."

"What's going on over here?" asked Weasley. He and Granger were hovering over them. Nosy brats.

Granger, who was always quicker on the uptake than Weasley, had already taken in the situation. "Isn't it obvious, Ron?"

"Oh, yeah, now that you mention it," said Weasley. "Glaringly obvious."

By an amazing act of self-control, Granger stopped herself from launching another of the petty little fights she and Weasley got into at least twice a book—that is, a week. Instead, she launched into her explanation.

"Creative Curses (chapter 18, page 298) is the only place I've ever seen the Sonrieus Curse." As usual, her explanation was designed to highlight her intellectual superiority to everyone around her by making them ask...

"The what?" asked Weasley.

"More commonly known as the Happiness Curse."

"The Happiness...Curse? I don't follow."

"No matter how awful you feel, or how nasty you want to be, you are forced to smile and speak pleasantly."

Weasley grinned. "That explains a lot." He whirled on Draco. "HA! You're evil, after all! It's all a sham! And one pulled by Neville, no less! Way to go, Neville! Who would have guessed!" Granger jabbed him with her quill.

"Not even your friends appreciate your talent," said Draco. "Horrible."

"That's not what I meant!" Weasley said quickly. "I just thought Neville was too nice to curse anyone." Neville smiled again.

Brilliant recovery, Weasley. Good thing Longbottom's so gullible, eh?

It had been a sleepless night, despite Longbottom's quaking assurance that he would perform the counter-charm as soon as he could be sure he wouldn't be caught by any of the other Gryffindors. Draco Malfoy was awake before Crabbe and Goyle's alarms went off. Tentatively, he tightened the muscles around his mouth. He picked up a small mirror next to his bed and peered into it. His reflection smirked back at him. He smiled, a refreshingly sinister smile. He snuck out of bed and skulked down the hall to the bathroom.

He found his comb and hair gel waiting for him.