once upon a december

I don't know you; and you don't know me.

You are the son of the Dark Lord's right hand; I am like a sister to the Savior of the Wizarding world. It's an interesting pairing. It's incredibly unlikely. I should just follow the script and go out with Ron. After all, I'm probably the only chance he'll ever get; after all, 97.5 of the time he's a thickheaded jerk. It faintly amazes me that he found anyone to go to the Yule Ball with.

You don't know anything about me. I don't know anything about you.

But we're in the same house together, and I don't know if we'll ever be able to contact the Order of the Phoenix enough to get you out of here. I don't even know how you found the place. But Harry gave you amnesty and you took it like the cowardly Slytherin jerk you are, and as a result, that's the reason I'm about to knock on your door and tell you it's time for breakfast and then I'll have to watch Ron glare at you (he's terribly unoriginal, though) throughout the meal and then I'll probably spend the rest of the morning attempting to convince Ron that it's a bad idea to hex you halfway to hell.

Right. Just gather up that famous Gryffindor courage, Hermione, and knock on the freaking door.

So I knock.

"It's locked." says your expressionless voice from the inside.

So (stupidly) I reply. "Unlock it then, you idiot. Breakfast's ready." (Why me? Why couldn't freaking Harry who offered the jerk freaking amnesty go up and get him?)

"It's locked from the outside," you repeat; toneless, expressionless; for all intents and purposes you might as well be a talking corpse. Ewww...that just makes me think of Inferi.

Then the comment hits me with all the force of a raging hippogriff. "Oh." I say, rather loudly.

I think I hear you say something along the lines of 'and the penny drops' but I could be wrong. So I say "Alohomora," and unlock the door and you step out and quite frankly you look terrible. "Did you get any sleep at all?" I inquire politley.

"No," you reply and brush past me on your way down the hall, down the stairs, as though all you want is just to get away from me, and I hate you for that and at the same time I want to laugh. Ah, Merlin, life is so complicated.

Aaaand...now you've gone down to breakfast. Yippee. I get to spend this pleasant meal watching Ron attempt to strangle you by sheer force of will. Sparks will fly. Forks will explode. Toast will spontaneously combust for no apparent reason. And for some odd reason, Crookshanks will develop a sudden taste for Slytherin ties.

A/N: Dun dun DUN! All this and more...in the next chapter. KABLOOEY! And remember, reviews are good for my ever-budding ego. It's important, you know.