Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter universe, nor do I claim to. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. This story contains some details and dialogue borrowed directly from the text of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I reiterate that I am making no money off of this, and that it's all in good fun.

Chapter 1 – I Know Just What to Do

Draco Malfoy sat in the Great Hall, enjoying the start-of-term feast, and periodically sneaking glances over at the Gryffindor table. Potter still hadn't arrived. He smiled maliciously to himself, remembering the glorious sight of his bloody footprint marring Potter's face. Perhaps he was still curled up on the floor of the Hogwarts Express, already on his way back to London. Draco's smile faltered, however, when he saw the sickened look of worry on the Mudblood's face.

Her head was tilted in quiet conversation with the Weasel. She looked panic-stricken by the absence of Saint Potter. Draco scowled. Suddenly, the room was filled with whispered conversation. Draco focused his eyes on the figure that was rapidly approaching the Gryffindor table. It appeared that the Chosen One had managed to wriggle out of yet another sticky situation. How the fuck did he pull that one off? Draco wondered. He was stunned, and under that Invisibility Cloak! Stupid Gryffindor asshole…

Potter took a seat between the frizzy-haired bitch and the freckled freak. Disgusted, Draco watched as Granger fawned over Potter, using her wand to siphon the blood off of his face. Hate welled up in Draco's gut as he thought about all of the times his own father had made him bleed, and he was left to tend to his wounds on his own.

Draco had learned at a young age not to cross his father. When he did, he typically found himself nursing wounds that the house-elves had to heal with their magic. Not even his own mother would help him, though he didn't blame her. If she had tried to comfort him, Lucius would have punished her as well.

With Lucius safely locked away in Azkaban since the end of last term, Draco had grown closer to his mother. Their relationship was very precarious, but it was a relationship nonetheless. They'd had a lovely summer, at least until Lord Voldemort had decided to punish Lucius by giving Draco an assignment that was ludicrous both because it was damn near impossible, and because Draco didn't have any desire to become a Death Eater.

Sure, he thought he was better than Muggles. He was a wizard. He could use magic. Obviously having magic was better than not having magic. But he could give two shits whether they were all killed off, or if they skipped happily through meadows. Frankly, he thought that the Dark Lord was a power-hungry lunatic. Not that Draco could blame him, after all, power was a desirable thing to wield. But Voldemort was really a bit excessive about the whole thing. Not to mention the fact that he was a fucking half-blood, which really didn't fit in with his doctrine.

Even so, Draco had been coerced into taking the Dark Mark over the summer and accepting the task that the Dark Lord had given him. He wasn't daft. He knew that his mother would be killed if he refused, even if it wasn't expressed in so many words. He knew that he would be killed if he refused Lord Voldemort. But he also knew that he was sure to be killed trying to complete the bloody mission. Either way he was dead, probably along with his mother. And he was fucking mad about it.

His gaze refocused on the Gryffindor table. At that moment, he decided to get revenge. Revenge on his father, for treating him as yet another possession to be used and discarded as he saw fit. Revenge on the Dark Lord, for being a hypocritical bigot, and using him as a pawn in his twisted games. Revenge on the saintly Gryffindor heroes, for being so damn perfect. And lastly, revenge on himself, for being too weak to claim his life as his own.

Zeroing in on the mass of bushy brown hair, he came to a conclusion. The key to everything was the Mudblood. He would fuck Granger. It was perfect; though he could never wave it in front of anybody's face, he knew the anger it would invoke in all of the aforementioned if they did ever find out.

How's that for two birds with one stone? He thought as his face twisted into its usual smirk.

Satisfied, he turned to his housemates and began retelling the story of how he kicked the Boy-Who-Sucked in the face.

XXXXX

The next morning, Draco spent every spare moment of Defense Against the Dark Arts observing Granger and her interactions with the wonder twins. Yes, she was indeed the key to it all.

He began formulating a plan. It was clear that her relationship with her little boyfriends was becoming strained. The look of irritation that she seemed to reserve especially for Weasley did not go unnoticed by Draco. Things between the Mudblood and Potter appeared a bit sturdier, however Draco was sure that it wasn't always as peachy as it looked from the outside. He would simply have to strike at a moment when the Mudblood's relationships were particularly weak.

He didn't realize just how soon he would have the opportunity.