As the hazy rays of golden sun filtered through his curtains and lit upon his dark, messy hair, he looked like an angel with a halo. He shifted and rolled over; ducking further under the covers. He yawned. Light snowflakes fell outside his window.

At the same time, he was starting to awaken also. None of the sunlight that shone into the other boy's room shone here. All that surrounded him was the cold stone dungeon. He tossed and turned in his bed. Finally, eyelids opened to reveal striking grey eyes. Fine strands of silvery blonde hair fell in his eyes; he shook his head to brush them away. Then, he got out of bed and started to prepare for the day.

The ebony-haired boy finished dressing and stopped to look around his empty dorm. They all have homes to go back to for the holidays, he thought with an inner grimace. Then he sighed. It wasn't like he wasn't happy here. He had found a substantial amount of presents at the foot of his bed on Christmas Day. And both his friends had invited him to their homes, although he did not accept. It would be too awkward. Christmas was a time for family and friends, and while he loved Hermione and Ron dearly, he just didn't fit in quite as well as they did. It must be the hero complex, he thought with a twisted smile. He sighed again and went down to the Great Hall to eat. It was just one more week until everyone came back. He could last seven more days.

The other boy buttoned his shirt and let his tie hang loosely around his neck. Then, after looking in the mirror, he scowled and tied it. He couldn't stand not looking perfect. Even if Father had sent him back after Christmas (which was quite a cold and morbid affair at their mansion anyways), that didn't mean he couldn't look his best. With a smirk at his reflection, he sauntered off for breakfast.

Hardly anyone was there. He was there, and he was there; they were the only ones from their respective houses. The only other people were two giggly girls wearing blue, and a miserable looking and slightly pudgy boy in yellow.

Since there were so few people, there was only one table in the hall; the rest of the marble floor lay uncovered, as if waiting there for something. He sat down and started to reach for the pitcher of pumpkin juice when someone else swiped it first. He looked up to see him staring at him, holding the pitcher in his pale hands. He complacently poured himself a glass, and then set the pitcher down as far away as possible. He smirked at him.

Emerald eyes sparkled with annoyance at the boy's manner. It's nothing new, he reflected. But still!

Grey met emerald, as if issuing a challenge. Just try it, why don't you? The green eyed boy shook his head and finished his breakfast, then turned to leave.

"Have a nice day," said a sardonic tone behind him.

He sat in the library reading about arithmancy, brushing up for his next class. Couldn't let Mudblood get ahead of him. His father was mad enough as was. Suddenly there was a crash to be heard from the next shelf over. Out of curiosity, he stood up and walked around to see what had happened. He found the dark haired boy on the ground, surrounded by fallen books.

"What are you doing here?" he asked snobbily.

"What are you doing here?" he spat back at him.

"Reading," he said loftily. "Not something I'd expect you to do, of course."

Green eyes glared as the lips beneath them scowled. Without another word, he started to pick up the fallen books.

The other boy stood there and watched him for a while, then gave a disgruntled sigh.

"Here."

He looked up in surprise to see a book being thrusted at him from the other boy.

"Thanks," he said warily.

The other boy just tossed his pale blonde head and left without another word.

After he finished picking the books up, he found an empty table to work on his homework. Three feet of parchment on wolfsbane, he thought with a sigh. Too bad Hermione wasn't here to help. He sat there for at least half an hour trying to understand what his textbook had written, but it just didn't click for him. He sighed and pushed his chair away from the oak table. "Bloody potions," he muttered.

"If you're worrying about your essay for Snape, quiet down. It's not hard, and you're distracting me."

His dark head snapped up at the familiar, yet unwelcome voice. The other boy was still there.

"Bugger off."

"Unfortunately, I can't. Your atrocious grunts and sighs are disturbing me. How am I supposed to study with you making so much noise?"

The eyebrows behind his glasses snapped together in anger. He grumbled something under his breath.

A sigh came from the other side of the bookcase that separated them. "Honestly, I thought a hero would be smarter than this. But of course, it's you we're talking about here." With a sneer, the grey eyes glared coldly at the other side of the bookshelf, even though the emerald eyes could not see him.

There was a long silence, then the other boy said flatly, "You know, if you weren't such a bloody prat, people might actually like you."

"Leave me alone."

With a sigh, the other boy shook his head and turned back to his parchment.

"Fine then."

With discontented feelings on both sides, both boys went back to their respective tasks.

Later, he lay in his bed in the darkness of his own room. The lights were off. Outside, the fading sunlight cast a pink tint on the castle. His blonde strands lay splayed out on his green and silver pillow. It was nice to be Head Boy, he thought. If only so that Father would be pleased. He grimaced. Life is depressing if I'm only in it to please my father, he thought. He sighed and rolled over. He was pathetic, really. As he looked at his clock, he realized that it was time for dinner. He got up and walked down to the Great Hall, in the same routine he had followed for the past seven years.

As the six students and odd handful of teachers sat down to dinner, thoughts drifted behind grey and green eyes. They each sat there and ate their food placidly. The two Ravenclaws sat there giggling over some boy they were talking about between bites of mince pie. The Hufflepuff ate. And the Gryfinndor and Slytherin just sat there eating quietly.

He sat there and fiddled with his fork and idly wondered why the pale faced boy wasn't shooting insults at him, or at least sharp glares and sneers that clearly said, "I'm so much richer and better than you, you lowly inferior." The normally piercingly cold grey eyes were now quiet and softer. In fact, they almost looked…

Sad.

He didn't care about it, but he did look sad. Considering who this was, you could certainly say it was strange. Uncertain, he wondered whether he should inquire whether something was wrong. His conscience told him to do it. But his mind told him not. The person who had mocked him for so long, who had looked down his nose at his friends did not deserve it. Feeling slightly more confident about it, he turned away from the person whom he had disliked, maybe even hated, since he had first stepped foot into this castle.

It was nearing midnight. He wandered around aimlessly though the halls. Hopefully, he wouldn't get caught, and even if he did, he could always say it was house duties. Suddenly, he heard a crash behind him.

He whirled around, but there was no one there. Yet, he distinctly heard muffled cursing.

"Who's there?"

The noise stopped. He had the eerie feeling that something was staring at him, but he didn't know why. He shrugged and meandered on.

But still, he heard quiet footsteps. As they approached him, he realized what this probably was. When the soft noises were right next to him, the reached out in their general direction and caught a handful of cloth.

"You," he snarled as he pulled the cloak away to reveal a startled boy with rumpled hair.

"Give that back," he said warily, looking at the shimmering cloak that was being held captive by slender fingers.

"No, I don't think I will," he said nastily.

"Give it back," he repeated with more vehemence.

"No," he said tauntingly. He held it up away from his reach.

"Give it back!" he shouted angrily.

"Shan't." With another cold sneer, he sauntered off, hips swaying ever so slightly in a swaggering walk.

With a feral growl, the hot-blooded boy pounced on the other with fire alight in his bright green eyes.

The other boy gasped in shock at the new weight on his back and fell over, dropping the cloak and scraping his chin. The breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground with a loud thump. He rolled out from underneath the other boy, ducking punches and wild grabs. They tussled wildly, pulling each other's hair and giving as good as they each got. They each landed some, and they each missed some as they rolled around and around on the cold stone floor. Sometimes one was on top, sometimes the other. Then, as the blonde boy gained advantage for a second, clutching the cloak tightly again in his left hand, his stronger one, he deftly wrapped his arm in it and threw a punch at the other boy's nose, right where the bridge of his glasses were.

The other boy stopped struggling and touched his nose in shock. Blood poured on his face as he felt the mush that was his newly broken nose. Grey eyes watched him as he lay there with his bloody nose and expression of surprise. It had come out of nowhere, and now his glasses were broken too. Looking up to meet grey eyes, they stared at each other for a long while.

If a passerby or a professor had come upon them at that moment, they would've found a very strange scene indeed. One boy, with tousled black hair and startlingly green eyes, lying flat on his back on the stone floor with broken glasses. He was breathing slightly heavily. Another boy, lying on top of the first. His arms were placed on each side of the first boy's head, stretched straight out to hold him up. His pale face and grey eyes revealed nothing. And neither of them were moving or speaking. They were close enough to kiss.

They didn't seem to notice the extreme proximity to each other, so close, it was almost suggestive. They just lay there, panting and staring.

Finally, pale lips moved to speak. "I've always wanted to do that to you, you know. Hurt the hero. You, you've always been favored and liked. You fancy yourself as weak and pathetic and unlucky, but you're not. You always play the martyr. But now, I've got you under my spell. Your nose is broken. How do you feel about that?" With a bitter smile, he got off of the other boy and started to walk away. He tossed the forgotten cloak over his shoulder at the dumbfounded boy.

"And take your stupid cloak."

-To be continued...if I get enough reviews...-