Chapter One: Third Year

Harry groaned as he made his way towards his room; a dull headache already beginning to form over his temple. He was tired already and he did not even feel like having dinner. They were supposed to unpack their bags and make their way down the main hall for the feast, but all he wanted was a good night's rest. Ron was fuming, as they stopped or a moment as the hallway split into two. The path on the right split perpendicularly, leading to a different building where the girl's dorms were.

Hermione waved at the two, muttering about Malfoy's rude comment as Ginny shyly looked up to him, her crimson blooming over her cheeks as she did. Harry wished that she didn't do that, feel grateful for what had happened the earlier year. Saving her, destroying Riddle's diary were not things which he had done by himself. He would not have even managed to come far if it were not for his friends, who had helped him put the pieces together.

Harry tried to smile back but it ended up more like a grimace rather than an actual look of reassurance. He looked away, feeling embarrassed, and strangely angry. Maybe it was because of who he would meet the moment he would enter his room...

"Try not to let Malfoy get to you." Hermione advised. "You know what happened last year."
"Yeah, I will." Harry replied sourly as he waved goodbye.

He would certainly try. Things were not going well for him (not that many things did, anyway.); first with his bloody aunt Marge, who he had almost blown off at (literally and figuratively) before running away from the Dursleys, boarding the Knight Bus, frantically wondering whether he would be expelled for doing magic outside of school, or worse, sent to Azkaban for it. Luckily, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had helped him out, and he had even met Ron and Hermione (cue the latter's disapproval of his actions back at the Dursley's; cue the approval of the Weasley twins).

He tried to ignore the rising curiosity of the criminal who had escaped from Azkaban. According to Mrs Weasley, his cell had happened to be the most guarded one and the guards were terrifying. He had been 'lucky', running into those dementors on the train to Hogwarts and managed to launch himself into a full-on panic attack in front of his new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. Malfoy was sure to muse over it at the Great Hall (Great sense of humor, that guy.).

Hermione was, not too long ago, scolding him on how he could sulk about not being able to go to Hogsmeade. Couldn't at least one good thing happen to him now? Harry swore to himself that he would punch Malfoy the moment he tried to say anything funny, screw whatever had happened last year.

He wished they had kept that rule of keeping students in separate dorms according to their Houses, like it used to be around a decade ago. Now he had to deal with an awful roommate...

He hoped that he would be fast enough to just drop his stuff and run down to the mess hall without a word of conversation. Back in second year Draco really had been the one to launch the first punch, and he had still lost around 80 points from the brawls with him in the hallway, two trips to McGonagall (who sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose), and atleast an hour of detention every other week from Professor Snape, the Potions master who he just knew was trying to find a reason to kick him out of Hogwarts. So if he somehow started the fight, he would certainly be stuck in The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey for the rest of his life.

His best friend patted his shoulder, looking somewhat sympathetic. Lucky Ron, he was sharing his room with a boy from the Ravenclaw House, Damien Carter. As grown-up as the name sounded, the guy was a first-year student. Harry sighed, wishing that he could have somehow snatched places and had ended up as Ron's roommate.

"I can already imagine his smug little face the moment I walk in." Harry murmured aloud to himself as he made his way to his room. Maybe he would be lucky, maybe he would be late or busy...

He opened the door, softly murmuring the password. Thank god they were meant to change it after the first night at Hogwarts, otherwise he would have been locked out of his own room. He just knew it...

'Oh god, please let him be late or something...'`

Harry opened the door and immediately fought the urge to grimace.

His roommate was there all right. Lucky him.

An annoying smirk crossed his features as Malfoy watched Harry (who became rather glum) messily throw his bags in a corner. His bags, on the other hand, seemed to be unpacked. In fact, all of his books were neatly arranged on his side of the room.

That bastard, he had been waiting for him!

"Had a nice summer, Potter?" He sneered. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course he hated Muggles (although perhaps he had to agree in the case of the Dursleys)

"A jolly good one, thank you very much." He replied, with as much sarcasm as he could muster, which wasn't a lot, but Malfoy seemed to get the idea.

"Shut it, specs." Came the drawling voice from the other side of the room. The Slytherin looked irritated as he lazily adjusted himself to a half-sitting position, putting his book down.

"Oho, starting to think of new insults now, Malfoy?" Harry retorted. His arch nemesis scoffed in reply, at least that was what Harry considered him. He was too tired to come up with a scathing reply, but he had to settle for something. Just looking at the snobbish guy made him angry. Recalling the withering look he had given him as he was unpacking his bags, Harry could tell that the feelings were mutual.

"Enough, I'm trying to read." Draco said cooly. It was, more or less how he would describe him. In the hallways he would prefer being the bully he was, but back in the dorms, he would appear disinterested, a sense of cold, clinical detachment which made Harry even wonder why Draco loved picking on him in the first place.

For now he did not seem to be in the mood. He gave Harry one of his quiet, shark-like stares, which irked him more than the usual haughty sneer. Was he even reading the damn book? He looked more like he was posing for those magazines which Harry occasionally saw his aunt leaf through, and from Draco's blank look Harry wondered whether he could not think of a better excuse to start an argument.

"I was not even saying anything." Harry protested. "Who am I supposed to talk to, myself?"

Draco scowled. "I supposed you were using the Absconditum enchantment because you did not end up rooming with the Weasel." It grew from seeing Harry's puzzled look. "Forget it, Potter. You probably don't have enough brain cells to even know what kind of a spell it is. Clearly my expectations of you are raised a little higher than-"

"I was humming." Harry hissed. "I'm not even bothering you. How can you even hear me-"

"I don't want to go into details. Your obnoxious breathing is enough to distract me." Came the curt reply. Harry wondered whether punching his face would be worth last year's punishment. They had had a full blown brawl in second year, and he had been lucky enough to be caught by Snape, who took one glance at the simpering, blubbering blonde, sent him to the hospital wing, taken 50 points off the Gryffindor house, and sent Harry to a two hours' worth of detention.

He could take his chances, they were in the dorm rooms after all, and Snape rarely walked across the halls. That, along with the rumors of the 'heir of Slytherin', had caused Draco to run into a seething rage. Their second year was a dangerous one, and also a particularly violent one, considering that either of the two would end up with a black eye, busted lip, or in a particularly sticky mess (the latter was thought of by Draco during Potions), busy fighting, in fact too busy to even acknowledge much of the horrors caused by the movements of the basilisk in and out of the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry remembered seeing Draco almost lunge at him a final time, his face flushing red, bristling as he was led away by his father (by the ear, to his sheer delight). As a confused Dobby looked on, the Malfoys had identical glares aimed at the boy, Lucius letting go of Draco for a brief moment before sharply dragging him out, his grip vice-like on his son's wrist.

Ever since then, Draco had been rather quiet. Harry liked to think that his father had told him off for what had happened that year, but judging on how he had freed the poorly treated house elf, Lucius Malfoy regarded him with disapproval and annoyance. Considering how conservative the Malfoys were said to be, Lucius Malfoy had most likely admonished Draco for even talking to the half-blood, rather than the actual fights.

Harry ignored Draco's comment, collapsing on the sheets. Might as well humour him, considering that he was going to have to spend the rest of his years in Hogwarts with him. Since Malfoy had no intention of letting him off, he might as well try to give him a little opportunity as possible to bother him.

"I bet you're not even reading that." He muttered, as he buried his face into the pillows. It did not take him long to fall asleep. The day had been beyond exhausting.