"Get your arse out of bed, you lump!"
Draco's eyes flew open, and, startled, he jumped out of bed. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and pointed it in the direction of the shouter, a frenzied look in his eyes.
"Someone's jumpy lately, aren't you, Malfoy?" Blaise Zabini said easily, smirking. Seeing who it was, Draco's fervor vanished instantly. He dropped his wand arm to his side, and collapsed back onto the bed, still utterly exhausted. He hadn't the energy even to be annoyed. From the bed, and in a monotone, he said:
"And who are you to determine my sleeping and waking, Zabini? I am not much in need of a nanny, thank you, but I do sympathize with your apparent need to monitor me constantly, since it is undoubtedly due to my impossible charm and ravishing good looks." Zabini stared incredulously at him for a moment. Then, he scoffed.
"Hardly, Malfoy," he said, "Just thought you ought to know breakfast ends in 10 minutes. It is the first day of school after all, and I just know how excited you are about that." He smirked, and Draco scowled, and then Zabini strolled out of the boy's dormitory and down the steps. Draco laid there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, bare feet dangling off the bed.
They had arrived at Hogwarts last night in the midst of a rainstorm. Draco was quite fond of rain, actually. He liked listening to it patter against windows when he was inside, curled up with a book, a cup of tea at his elbow.
Nowadays, however, he had more important things on his mind. Draco recalled how cocky he had felt last night, in front of his fellow Slytherins. He had hesitated before hinting about it, not sure if he should, but he figured they were the best possible audience for his news, and he longed to tell somebody. As he'd suspected, they'd "oo-ed" and "ah-ed" and Draco felt like he was the King of the Universe. Well, Prince, rather, he thought. They all knew who was king. The thought of the Dark Lord always sent a shot of adrenaline through Draco's system. His hair stood on end and his heart beat faster. He was afraid of Him, of course, but more overpowering than that fear was the feeling of excitement that hit him when he was informed of his task. This was his opportunity, his chance. This would make him somebody. And so he bragged. So what? He knew he was on the right path to make his father proud.
His father. Anger had surged through him at the thought of his father, trapped in Azkaban by the meddling Order of the Pheonix and leaded by the old fool Dumbledore. And who was the cause of that? Who was the cause behind every shitty thing in Draco's life?
Potter. None other than Harry Potter. Who else? Draco was actually a bit thrilled when he caught sight of Potter eavesdropping in their compartment, underneath his godforsaken invisibility cloak. Draco was feeling confident, and at the same time angry, wanting revenge for his father. Nothing could've been more perfect, he thought. He felt a surge of triumph as he bashed in Potter's nose, but as that faded, he locked eyes with Potter. He had such startlingly green eyes. Draco shook away that thought, and then shook away the almost... pity he felt seeing Potter lying there, helpless. Finally, Draco shook off the guilt he felt, leaving him lying there. Draco covered up his possibly revealing expression with a scowl as exited the train.
In the Great Hall, later that evening, Draco was surprised, to say the least, when Potter strode in. He was a bit irritated too. Why was it that nothing and nobody could get rid of him? The Dark Lord hadn't been able to, and Draco had been trying for practically his entire school career to do so. But no matter what he did, and no matter how hard he tried to beat Potter at everything, or anything, and no matter how hard he tried to faze him, it never seemed to work. Draco went as far as to smash his bloody face, and leave him there on the abandoned train, invisible, immobile, and defenseless. So how in the name of Merlin is he here now? Draco thought. He found himself so frustrated that he sincerely wanted to punch something.
On top of that, Potter's face was completely covered with blood. How fantastic, Draco thought, him being an utter spectacle as usual. Draco had in fact not told anyone about the incident on the train. He would have, normally, but for some reason, he just wanted to forget the whole thing had ever happened. Potter wins again, Draco thought bitterly. He would, of course, tell Granger and Weasley, and it would spread from there until they all knew. All of them. Draco didn't know why that bothered him so much all of a sudden.
Rubbing his temples with his fingertips, Draco watched as Harry Potter continued on to his seat at the Gryffindor table. As if sensing Draco's eyes upon him, Harry looked up, and Draco found his gaze met with a look of such loathing that he had to turn away.
After that, Draco felt suddenly drained, and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed immediately. All the excitement and overconfidence he had felt just a few hours before were zapped. He just felt… tired, and by the following morning, he got the idea that the feeling wasn't going away anytime soon.
Finally, sighing, Draco hauled himself out of bed. Glancing at his watch on the nightstand, he realized that class started in less than five minutes, and he cursed himself inwardly. It was true that Draco hadn't had any desire to return to Hogwarts that year, with all his other… commitments, but his mother and his father especially, before he'd been carted off to Azkaban the past summer, had urged Draco to come back in the fall and finish his education. Draco found it a bit ironic that, in light of his father's… other interests, he valued education so highly. Draco would've been a fantastic disappointment to his father if he dropped out sixth year, despite the circumstances, and Draco couldn't have that.
Finally giving himself up to another year at Hogwarts, though reluctantly, Draco rushed around the bed to his trunk, still unpacked, all but tearing it open in the hurry to get dressed. He threw on his trousers and the first set of robes he could find. He shoved school books and supplies into his knapsack and pushed his arm through one of the straps and onto his shoulder. He barely had time to run a comb through his hair, and soon enough he was running out the door of the dormitory while simultaneously trying to fasten his watch and tie his shoe.
He ran down the stairs into the Slytherin common room, which was completely deserted, and out into the halls of the dungeons. He found himself grateful that his first class was Potions. It was just around the corner. Draco would be late, but not too late.
Skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door, Draco paused to catch his breath. Before entering, he reached into the pocket of his robes, and was very relieved to discover the familiar touch of his wand. He hadn't been entirely sure he'd grabbed it at all, in his rush. Thinking of something suddenly, Draco pointed the wand at his mouth and recited: Freshiciuos Dentius. He felt the instant mint-y tang spread throughout his mouth. Draco had always found the spell one useful, especially on days like today, when he didn't have time to brush his teeth.
Satisfied, Draco stored his wand back in his pocket, readjusted his knapsack, and walked into Potions class.