The alarm clock rang at precisely six-thirty. Harry told it repeatedly to shut up, but it wouldn't. Harry compromised by slamming it on the table as hard as he could. He sat up in bed, and scowled. Why was he so pissed off? It wasn't even eight o'clock yet. Well, he hadn't had coffee. Why…?
Oh, God. Draco Malfoy.
Harry laid back down with a groan. "I think I'll go live on a deserted island for the nest three years," he said hopelessly to no one in particular. . How could he get out of this? He could pretend he was sick until he thought of something better.
Or he could tell Hermione the truth. Oh, yeah, that would go over well. Harry could imagine it already. Hermione, he'd say. Look. I can't work with Malfoy! Have you no recollection of the old Hogwarts days? Oh, right. Why wouldn't that work again? Because he'd already tried it. Thank you, Captain Obvious. His scowl deepened.
What a life, he thought sadly as he walked to the bathroom. I'm running away from Malfoy. "Hell no!" he shouted suddenly. Harry Potter commenced his early morning routine, all the time thinking of his partner for the next few years. What a freaking waste of time that was going to be.
Harry dropped his glass cup, and the shards went flying everywhere. He sighed, and looked up to the ceiling, as though it would give him all the answers. "Shit," he said.