The returning students sat at the tables of their respective house, waiting on the appearance of Professor McGonagall and the first years. The other teachers and Dumbledore sat at the long table at the top of the hall. Draco spotted Snape in the line-up, appearing particularly uncomfortable. It seemed that Snape had lost out on the DaDA job yet again, for next to him sat an old wrinkled man with dark eyes and lips pursed so tightly it would seem as if he had bitten into a lemon.

Shifting his gaze from the teachers to the students, Draco swept a semi-concerned eye over them. No one had really changed much over the summer. Then again, it was not like he really cared. Finding nothing interesting to gawk at, he focused on his surroundings, glancing upward. The ceiling twinkled back at him. Draco remembered someone mentioning back before their sorting that the ceiling was bewitched to look like the sky. Funny how he had never really looked at the Great Hall very closely until now.

Professor McGonagall came into the Hall, followed by a line of flighty-looking first years. What did Peeves call them? Ickle Firsties. That was exactly what they were. Every student admitted to Hogwarts was a threat to him. Each one had the potential to be better than him, something he hated to think about. He spotted the first year that had attempted to claim a seat by him. The sandy blond-haired boy fidgeted, his eyes wide with fear. Draco almost felt bad for him, but the feeling soon passed.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat in front of the first years. Draco had always wondered about that dirty and tired old rag. One had to be suspicious of a hat that claimed to know all your thoughts. The hat's song was also questionable. Draco didn't really appreciate how the hat seemed to place Gryffindors on a pedestal, sighting them as "brave at heart." He didn't like how each house had some great distinguishing characteristic, while Slytherins were left with "using any means to achieve their ends." He wouldn't do that...would he? Well, his father had...

Draco stifled a bored yawn. How he wanted to leave and go to his dorm, to fall face first into his bed and sleep. Really, he just wanted to get out of the Great Hall. Anything to get away from this infernal clapping and cheering! He scowled. Was it really necessary to clap and make noise for every single student sorted? How about a nice round of applause at the end? He stared in disgust as the Gryffindors applauded a one Harington, Melissa, for being sorted into their house.

His icy glare traveled from the new girl down the length of the table, resting on Granger and her red-headed weasel friend. He scrutinized her; something was different. Ah, the mudblood had finally figured out how to control her hair. It was no longer frizzy and now looked about as soft as a cotton sheet, which in his opinion, was a great improvement. She almost looked pretty. Almost. Draco snorted at this thought. He saw her glance his way, blinking in surprise when she found him staring at her. Then she deliberately turned her nose up at him, intently watching where the hat would place Klinger, Robert. Ravenclaw. Who did Granger think she was? Draco's scowl deepened, and he looked away.

***

The cold, unforgiving stone walls and floors of the dungeons echoed Draco's feelings of emptiness. The Slytherin common room, sparsely draped in the house colors, provided little warmth or sense of belonging in Draco's heart. He slowly opened the door to the dorms, now labeled "6th Years".

Furnishings made of a wood so dark it was almost black filled the room, while rich green and silver silks hung tastefully from the walls. On two of the four beds lay two prone forms. Draco immediately recognized them as Crabbe and Goyle. They lay snoring loudly, mouths wide open. Those dimwits must have missed the train. They had done the same thing last year. Shaking his head, he turned to his part of the room. The large bed was covered with black and green. Sitting down on the unwrinkled sheets, he turned to look at the trunk which held his personal items.

Just then, Blaise Zabini entered. He moved soundlessly across the room to his side, acknowledging Draco's presence with a slight nod. Draco did the same. Neither one said a word. Draco watched as Blaise prepared for bed. His movements were so routine and measured that Draco could anticipate them. Walk to the bathroom. Five minutes in, then out. Pajamas and robe on, walk to the dresser. Fold clothes. Draco remembered Blaise was a neat freak. Folding complete, walk over to bed, place wand under pillow, get into bed. Draco was amazed that Blaise had managed to fall into this rut; he had not strayed away from his nighttime routine in the six years Draco had known him.

Blaise cleared his throat. "I'm going to put the lights out."

"Whatever."

"Derkos."

Darkness surrounded Draco, but he made no effort to move. After several minutes, Draco heard the light wheezing Blaise always made when he was asleep. Cursed with the three noisiest sleepers, Draco shook his head in resignation and quietly made himself comfortable on the bed, closing his eyes.

This chapter's kind of short and I have mixed feelings about it. I really like individual parts of it, but as a whole I'm not satisfied. Does it seem a little forced? I'd really like feedback on this chapter, and while you can flame me if you feel the *absolute* need to, constructive criticism is preferred. Maybe I'll just delete the chapter and move on.

Indiana jones-- No, I'm not going to have Hermione and Draco get together very quickly. I agree, it is corny. Someone like Draco doesn't just suddenly fall in love. It takes time.

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed.