The newly arrived first-years were lined up down the middle of the Great Hall, nervousness wafting off them.

"SLYTHERIN!" the sorting hat announced from atop the head of a small, dirty-blond haired kid. He shuffled towards the Slytherin table in a state of shock, his new housemates welcoming him with sound of fists pounding on tables.

Draco glanced at the boy in disinterest. Great, he thought. Another annoying little rodent. He let out an irritated growl and waited impatiently for the sorting to finish. The school year had only just started and he was ready for it to be done.

"Draco," Pansy teased. "Knock it off – you're beginning to sound like my dog."

"At least I don't look like your dog," he snarled looking pointedly in Crabbe and Goyle's direction. They both shifted nervously in their seats, eyes fixed on the tabletop.

"What's put you in such a bad mood?" she asked in a bemused tone, despite already knowing the answer.

His eyes flitted towards a certain smiling, emerald-eyed boy. He couldn't help it, he growled again.

Pansy rolled her eyes in exasperation. Draco ignored her in preference of more brooding.

From the looks he was getting, it was obvious that the whole school had heard what had happened on the train.

(The Train, earlier that day)

Crabbe was focused, completely absorbed in the act of unwrapping another chocolate frog and adding the wrapper to his ever-growing pile of trash. He had done little else the entire ride. Something was up, but Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Let's go see what Potter and his fan club are up to," Draco suggested after some thought, desperately wishing that things would return to business as usual.

Crabbe and Goyle shared a pained expression. Draco's brow crinkled in confusion in response.

"What's wrong with you guys?" he grumbled. "You've been acting strange all summer."

Goyle let out a resigned sigh, nodding in Crabbe's direction and then straightened in his seat, his expression determined. Draco eyed him suspiciously.

"Look Draco," Goyle explained. "Crabbe and I decided we want nothing to do with Potter this year. Every time we try something, it backfires. It isn't fun anymore."

Crabbe smiled apologetically and added, "With the war and all, we have better things to be doing than getting humiliated all the time."

Draco eyes widened in disbelief, taking in their solemn expressions. Crabbe and Goyle had always been there for him. Tormenting Harry was the glue that held their friendship together. What had changed here? He couldn't wrap his head around it. It felt like betrayal, but more than anything, it felt like he was being left behind, like they might be growing up and growing apart and he never even noticed it happening.

"Fine," he hissed, storming out of the compartment. "I'll just go by myself." He slammed the door closed behind him.

The train was crowded as usual as he shoved through his fellow students making his way to Harry Potter and Company's usual compartment. He paused momentarily, glaring at the door, wondering if this was a good idea. Even with Crabbe and Goyle's assistance, things rarely worked out in his favor. Since they were suddenly too good for him... He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, stopping that train of thought before it could fully form.

The door was thin enough that he could just barely make out what they were saying. Ears straining, he took a step closer.

The fat kid that was always tagging along with them with them was speaking, his voice unnaturally high and tight.

"How was your summer?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled back.

He didn't have to see their faces to pick up on the awkwardness between them. The compartment fell silent. Draco shifted uncomfortably, having doubts about his purpose in being there.

Just when Draco had decided to leave, he was slammed into from behind by a passing student, crashing into the door with a loud, "Ooof."

He groaned, pushing himself up and shooting a glare at the retreating form. "How about you watch where you're going?" he snarled incredulously. The boy never even turned around.

Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention back, the door to the compartment was opening. Harry Potter stood framed in the now open doorway with an exasperated expression on his worn face.

"What do you want Malfoy?" he sighed.

Eyes wide, Draco froze for a moment, considering his options. He wasn't sure why he was there. It seemed like such a stupid idea in retrospect. To save face, he began grasping at straws to explain his presence there.

"Just wanted to let you be the first to hear about the new brooms the Slytherin Team is getting," he informed smugly. "We're going to humiliate you on the field this year. It's going to be so bad that even your own mothers will want to disown you."

"Those of you that still have mothers that is," he added, smirking maliciously in Potter's face.

Potter rolled his eyes, not taking the bait. "You've been saying that for how many years? It's time to face reality, Malfoy – there isn't a broom in the world that will compensate for your lack of skill." He shrugged indifferently. "Guess there are some problems that money can't solve."

Weasley let out a loud guffaw, gripping his sides as he laughed obnoxiously. It was a bit much. The joke hadn't even been funny.

Annoyed, Draco grit his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. He wasn't making idle threats. His father had hired a former pro player to help him train over summer break. They had set up a series of complicated aerial obstacle courses on the grounds and put together a rigorous training schedule. He did little else but train and it showed. His skill level had improved substantially.

Wiping tears out of his eyes, Weasley composed himself and stepped protectively in front of Potter, expression smug.

"Are you sure it won't be your own mother who will want to disown you?" he taunted.

Draco's blood was boiling. How dare this filthy blood traitor imply such a thing? Without even considering the consequences of his actions, he found his fist connecting with the red-head's face. Weasley stumbled back in surprise, crashing into Potter as his hand covered his injured nose.

Two curses whizzed by the boys, simultaneously hitting Draco in the chest. He fell backwards with a look of astonishment. Everything had happened so fast.

With minimal effort, Potter shoved Draco's legs out of the compartment with the toe of his shoe – a look of disgust on his face. Before the door closed, Draco caught a glimpse of Granger taking Weasley's face gently in her hands and checking for damage. Draco was now alone in the aisle, unable to move, his skin maroon with gold stripes. The embarrassment was intolerable.

"Shit," he heard Weasley's panicked voice through the door. "I think I'm bleeding. Hermione, am I bleeding? It feels like I should be bleeding."

"No, Ron," Granger soothed. "You're not bleeding."

Now Draco was really pissed. Not only had he failed to embarrass Perfect Little Potter and his groupies, but he had also failed to give weasel-boy a proper bloody nose. At least if he had done some real damage then being in such an awkward predicament would have been slightly less humiliating.

Crabbe and Goyle found him some time later, but not until after half the school had shown up to laugh at him. If not for the maroon coloring, his face would have been beet red.

(The present)

Draco tensed at the memory, his jaw tight. As of yet his housemates had been unable to get rid of the maroon skin coloring or the gold stripes. He just wanted to eat dinner quickly and then die quietly in his room. The rabble kept casting amused glances in his direction, which were typically followed by a round of giggling and finger pointing.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted in glee, assigning another boy to that accursed house.

He glanced up, trying to fix the boy's face in his mind. He had to keep track of all the incoming Gryffindors this year. How else would he know who needed to get extra detention? Those lousy Gryffindors were always up to something, flaunting the rules, bullying other students, and disrespecting the Professors.

"Is it just me," he asked idly, taking in the boy's small stature. "Or are the first years getting shrimpier as the years progress?"

Pansy shrugged indifferently, and the idiotic duo just stared at him with dumb expressions on their faces. It really bothered him that no one had responded, so he made another attempt.

"We weren't that small, were we?"

Another shrug from Pansy. His friends squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. They had been casting guilty glances in his direction all night.

"It's just no fun roughing them up when they're so pathetic." He complained loudly, struggling to illicit a response. "Feels like I'm squashing ants."

A few people further down the table snickered. Some of first years that had just joined them were eyeing Draco apprehensively. He was amused by the fact that they were not yet aware that Draco rarely dirtied his hands in such a manner.

The mood was ruined when one of the older kids began laughing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry Draco," he gasped. "I just can't take you very seriously when you look like that."

Draco gave the boy a withering look before turning to glare at Potter - the person responsible for his current situation.

Harry, noticing Malfoy's cold eyes on him, leaned close to Ron and whispered, "He's still glaring at me."

Ron followed Harry's gaze, a wicked smile appearing on his face.

"Maybe he likes you or something," Ron teased.

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, shuddering at the thought. "Now that's a mental picture I could live without," he replied sourly.

Ron's eyes twinkled mischievously. "What, afraid of getting another secret admirer?"

Harry squirmed as several eyes turned his way. There would never come a day when he wouldn't be bothered by the attention he constantly received. Hermione smiled sympathetically.

"Just ignore him," she advised. Neville nodded in agreement.

"But it's making me nervous," he complained.

Malfoy's pride had been severely wounded. Harry was certain that it would not go unpunished. He could practically see the wheels turning – things were not going to end well.

"Stupid ferret," Ron grumbled, trying to lighten the mood. "I know, let's all smile and wave at him."

Both Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes as the red-head followed through with his suggestion. Malfoy quickly looked away in embarrassment.

The sorting continued. Harry was only half-listening as Ron happily chattered away about Quidditch.

It was a disconcerting thought, but something about the confrontation with Malfoy on the train wasn't adding up. Malfoy's actions were usually better planned out than that.

Harry glanced back at the Slytherin table. It didn't take a psychic to see that there was a lot of emotional distance between Malfoy and his entourage. When Malfoy wasn't glaring at him, he was shooting Crabbe and Goyle irritated looks. Harry had his suspicions.

His thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt appearance of food on the table. Somehow, he had missed the entirety of Headmaster Dumbledore's welcoming speech.

There was a flurry of activity as the older students dug in. The first years were temporarily frozen in surprise. Harry smiled, remembering how it felt to be in their shoes not that long ago. It was a lot to take in on the first day.

"Come on, eat up," Ron coaxed in an overly cheerful voice, piling food onto Harry's plate.

Harry smiled wanly as he picked up his fork. With very deliberate movements, he shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ron always insisted on "fattening him up" whenever he came back from the Dursleys. While he appreciated his friend's concern, it was becoming quite exasperating. Harry's appetite just wasn't there most days.

Ron smiled at him before attacking his own food in a frenzy. Mouth full, he made a garbled comment about the quality of the food. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. His eyes went wide at her expression, hurriedly swallowing so that he could apologize to her. It was a routine occurrence since Ron's passion for food often overrode his common sense.

"Sorry, Mione."

As everyone settled back into the swing of things, the cacophony in the Great Hall swelled. Harry gave up on the idea of following any sort of conversation. He let his thoughts drift.

A quick glance at the Slytherin table was enough to confirm that Malfoy had resumed glaring at him. He got the distinct impression that sooner or later, he was going to feel the boy's wrath.

He tried to push that thought from his mind as he shoveled another obligatory bite into his mouth. His appetite might be non-existent, but that wouldn't discourage Ron's mother-hen act. He had to make a good show of eating his meal.

Thoughts darkening, Harry wondered if this would be his last Welcoming Feast. Trelawney's prophecy had made it quite clear that Harry's days were numbered. It was only a matter of when. What little appetite remained, quickly evaporated.

"Uh," Ron groaned, pulling Harry out of his melancholic thoughts, and patting his stomach appreciatively. "I'm stuffed."

Harry put his fork down and nodded. "Me too."

Hermione eyed his plate skeptically but said nothing. Harry always appreciated her tact. If only it would rub off on Ron.

Some of the first-years had started yawning loudly – they were valiantly fighting off a food-induced coma. Ron and Hermione took that as their cue that it was time to herd them all off to bed.

"We'll meet you back in the dorms," Hermione informed him, latching on to Ron so that she could drag him away before he noticed Harry's mostly full plate. "Come on Ron, we have Prefects duties to attend to."

Ron gave Harry an apologetic look as they turned to leave.

"It's fine," he assured them. "I don't need an escort."

Neville offered to stay with Harry anyway.

With a lot of wild gesticulating and copious amounts of assistance from Hermione, Ron managed to round up the first-years.

Harry watched the two of them for a moment, smiling at the red-head's antics. He was glad they had each other, even though it made him slightly jealous. With a sigh, he headed to the dorms, Neville following quietly behind him. This was going to be a long year, especially with everybody fussing over him.