It was a morning like every other, that Harry Potter happened to be sitting nonchalantly at the Gryffindor table. His best friends, Ron and Hermione, were busy flirting (endless bickering), a feat The Golden Boy was growing tired of quite easily. For the past six years, he was the third wheel of the group, immune to any form of 'love'. Still, who was he to deny them their joy? And he'd made quite certainly the point the he was not jealous. Who needs all that drama? He could depend on himself, quite content with being in the shadows, having nobody to ultimately confide in. Nope, not a bit envious. His thoughts were broken off by a familiar, shrill voice. He mentally braced himself for the short fight, then the extensively longer makeup/makeout session that would innevitably follow.

"Ron, you know how important my studies are to me!"

"I know 'Mione, lighten up a little! All I asked was if you could come to the Quidditch match on Friday. Don't get your panties in a bunch!"

While Harry of course admired Ron, the two being best friends and all, he had to admit-he really screwed himself over when it came to girls. Especially fragile, sensitive ones like his brown-haired friend, now feverishly wiping her tears away while seeking the solitude and confinement of the Gryffindor common room. Well, at least his best mate was having more luck than himself. A shudder ran through his core as he remembered the brief affair that was Cho Chang. At least that was all over. Where would he be now if he still had her to worry about? Probably the same situation, he reasoned. Ridiculous.

Mere moments later, he saw a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, when he looked up, he was met by the grey eyes of none other than Draco Malfoy. Perfect. Merlin, this is just what I need...well, best to get this over with.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes roamed the other boy's pale, pointed face, prying for a reason as to why he'd be over here. At least he was alone. Thank God for simple favours.

"Believe me Potter, I take no pride in sharing your putrid air, but if you must know, Headmaster Snape sent me down to fetch you, said it was important." He began studying his nails with great interest, taking the time to roll his eyes at Potter's dumbfounded expression.

A momentary flash of anger made way through the latter as he remembered how Snape had murdered the greatest wizard who ever lived, then took his place as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Slimy git. Who did he think he was, barging in here? Nearly everyone knew where his alliegences lie, yet he had the nerve to show his face around here. Like hell Harry was going to be around that traitor anymore than he already had to, seeing as the greasy menace still taught Potions. Unfortunately, his least favorite teacher's opinions regarding The Boy Who Lived ceased to be swayed by a powerful position.

"Actually, I'm not feeling all that well, think I'll just stay down here, thanks."

"Course, Saint Potter. Wouldn't want to inconvenience widdel Hawwy,

would we?" A sneer crept its way on the Slytherin's delicately pointed face. "Speaking of inconveniences, where're your little groupies? Off having a ball without you, I reckon. Don't need you moping around, complaining about your 'horrible, tragic life.' See you on the pitch, Chosen One." With his trademark smirk, the taller boy turned on his heel and disappeared nearly as fast as he'd come.

Back in the Slytherin common room, none other than Blaise Zabini was giving his full and undivided attention to the lips of Theadore Nott. Both were previously in an argument regarding who was the better kisser, and by the looks of it, the situation remained a tie. Zabini had the upper hand, being the taller and more experienced one, but Nott had a tendency to make even the strongest of boys swoon. As far as Draco was concerned, however, this matter was bloody pointless. Just last night, they had a 'contest' to see who was better at shagging. Although rather gifted at silencing charms, Nott seemed to refrain from using his talents at 3 thirty in the morning when everyone was meant to be asleep. Well, spell-related talents.

Maybe he was just in one of 'those' moods again. Draco, normally not the jolliest of fellows in the first place, knew from the start of the day that it wasn't going to be altogether pleasant. Even insulting Potter held little if not zero entertainment. Well, he would leave that job to his former Head of House. Come to think of it, what did Snape want with the bastard? He rarely summoned anyone to his office unless it truly was a matter of life or death. Hermph, maybe Potter was finally getting what he deserved for being a bleeding moral prick. Whatever the reason be, it was no business to Draco, so he decided to take a light nap, hoping that he would awake in a better mood. After all, Malfoys always have to be on their best behaviour, he reasoned.

It was nearly two in the morning when Draco heard a light -tap- -tap- -tap- in his window. Dammit...looks like I slept longer than I'd anticipated...Grumpily throwing back the covers with an audible sigh, he felt around in the dark for his wand, always kept underneath the mattress (honestly, did they think he would just leave the precious thing lying around?) He muttered a quick Lumos, casting a light glow around the room, noticing with great satisfaction that Blaise and Nott were sleeping in their own respectable beds for once. Must be in a fight or something. Hm. He nearly forgot about why he'd awoke in the first place, till he heard it again: the loud -tap- -tap- -tap- coming from just outside the window above his messy four-poster bed. An owl? They didn't usually travel this late around here. Curiously opening the window, Draco instantly recognised his father's ebony colored owl as it gracefully swooped in and landed silently on the perch on the corner of the room. Once the letter attatched to its leg was free, opened, and read, the blonde felt a sinking feeling in his chest. The letter from his father had said:

Dearest Son,

Narcissa and I have made the decision to go to Finland this Christmas. We trust you would be comfortable staying at Hogwarts.

-Lucius

Bastard! They went to Rome last Christmas and I had to stay at this hellhole! Why don't they ever take me with them? Am I not a grateful son? Now feeling inordinate amounts of rage, the Slytherin jammed his feet into a pair of slippers and began his journey to the lake, where he would be able to collect his thoughts (hopefully) without murdering someone.