I sat down heavily at the pretty, well-polished vanity in my new bedroom, sighing at my very tired-looking reflection. Now that I'd finally had something to eat, I was feeling quite ready for bed.

I looked over the personal effects that were laid across the gleaming surface before me. A comb, a brush, and a hand mirror, all of very fine quality, and all having antique gold handles. Whoever had decorated my room had gone so far as to give the hairbrush a touch of Gryffindor. Merlin.

I gingerly picked up the well preserved, but nonetheless old hairbrush, and dragged it with great difficulty through my hair. Oh, my hair. I would've found it perfectly acceptable, had it not been so dreadfully bushy. The color suited me just fine, but the frizzy quality that I had inherited from my mother nearly sent me into fits sometimes. As it was, the hairbrush hit a snarl almost immediately. I growled under my breath and attempted to get it out with the conveniently wide-toothed comb with which I had been gifted. Unfortunately, I was not entirely successful. The hair in that spot ended up looking rather poofier than before.

I gave it one more try on a different section of tangles, but I was rewarded only with an aching scalp and a significantly hairier brush.

"Hmph," I grunted in irritation, slapping the implement back on top of the vanity and standing from the accompanying bench in one fluid motion. I gave a last, disgusted glance in the large mirror reflecting my own hideousness back at me, and walked huffily over to my bed. I wrapped myself in my fluffy white robe, which was a slight comfort, and strode across the room, peering warily out of the doorway.

The common room looked very inviting, indeed. The fire had been going since we had first arrived, so by now it was as large as the hearth would permit, casting a dim glow over the rug, and warmly silhouetting the furniture. I decided that it seemed like a perfect opportunity to try out the new common room and see how it stacked up to the one I was sort of missing, up in Gryffindor Tower.

There was definitely one difference I could think of. Ugh.

I took one step off of the hardwood floor of my bedroom, and gasped at the sudden coldness meeting the soles of my bare feet. I'd forgotten how chilly the stone floors could get. I tiptoed very quickly over to the warmth of the deep red-brown rug, attempting to minimize the contact of frigid stone to my skin, and made myself comfortable right in front of the fire. I stretched out luxuriously on the surprisingly plush carpeting and enjoyed the feeling of the heat washing over me.

I was just beginning to feel very sleepy and entertain thoughts of perhaps just dozing off right where I lay, but a derisive, irritated sort of sound issued from just behind me. I rolled over so I could see, knowing, of course, that Malfoy would be standing there looking sullen and glaring at me as though I'd somehow offended him.

I simply smiled up at him in a way that I fervently hoped was very irksome. I was too warm, comfortable and drowsy to muster up the energy to do much else.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, looking for all the world as though he'd caught me doing something unreasonable.

I allowed myself a little laugh. "I don't believe I have to report to you before using our common room." I arched my back as I stretched a bit more, letting out a little sigh of contentment. Nothing like rubbing it in his face, I suppose.

He glared at me, and I was dimly aware of him making another irritated noise, but he didn't reply. Which was absolutely fine with me. I was quite fond of having the last word, and when it concerned Draco Malfoy, it was even more satisfying than usual.

Which is why I felt a sputter of indignation when he sat down right next to me, glaring so coldly that I felt the lethargic, pleasant warmth I'd so been enjoying flee entirely from my body. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling at all sleepy anymore.

"Granger." His voice was biting, harsh, and altogether very unpleasant. I really didn't like the way he was looking at me. I felt suddenly and truly threatened, as I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd suddenly whipped out a knife and sent it lunging through my heart.

"Yes?" I returned, using all of my self-control to prevent my voice from betraying my fear. What on earth did I have to be afraid of in Draco Malfoy? Good Lord, was I ever feeling like an idiot. And still, I was afraid of him.

I think I actually cried out a little bit when his hand darted towards me very abruptly, because he moved in exactly the way I had imagined he would, in order to drive a length of metal into my flesh.

Which is why I went momentarily numb when I realized he hadn't stabbed me; instead, he had very roughly tugged on the knot that held my robe tied shut. The numbness, however, was quickly washed out by a resurgence of fear. He couldn't be doing what I thought he might…

"W—what are you doing?" I managed to stammer out. That small bit of rebellion helped fortify me, so I repeated it with much less of a tremor in my voice. "Malfoy, what are you doing?"

I snatched the sash of my robe from his grasp, but just as quickly he closed a hand very forcefully onto my wrist.

Bugger. I started up with the trembling bit again.

"You really think you're special, don't you?" he snarled, giving me a look of utmost contempt. I shivered slightly, and couldn't even begin to formulate a reply. He jerked on my arm, pulling me closer to him and further unnerving me.

"Don't you?"

"What the hell are you on about?" I whispered fiercely, feeling a little surge of panic when I realized that my voice had very nearly given out.

His face was so incredibly close to mine that I almost stopped breathing.

But then he released me, staring at me as though he could bore twin holes in my skull with those ice-bright eyes. And, I had to admit, I believed he probably could.

"Someone of your kind should not be given the same honor as a Malfoy," he said icily, a sneer writhing onto his face. His voice was low and full of breathtaking malice. "Mudblood."

Somehow, it was so much worse than any time he'd said it before. Now, there was no hotheaded, lovable Ron springing instantly to my defense, ready and willing to bruise his knuckles on Malfoy's jaw. There was no Harry at his elbow, steering him away with teeth clenched. I was all alone, in what might as well have been the serpent's lair.

It wasn't even the same as when he had uttered the barb earlier that day. On the train, I had brushed it off and responded with a physical retort. Even on the way to the dormitory, it had seemed harmless, with Dumbledore only a few paces behind us.

Not now...with me lying vulnerable on a rug, him staring down at me with frost in his eyes, it hurt. It was no longer the "playground insult" I'd so laughingly dubbed it in my mind. It stung me. His voice was so much more poisonous than it had ever been in the company of others. He truly seemed to hate me, and I could only imagine the pleasure he would feel if he knew how deep his insult had cut me.

"You're not better than me." I gasped the words out, pushing past the proverbial knife in my ribs. I met his eyes, though; I met them squarely and defiantly. And no sooner had I spoken than my voice disappeared completely, evaporating painfully from my throat.

Because as soon as I had uttered that quiet retort, Malfoy had grabbed a handful of my nightshirt and yanked me powerfully forward. I felt a shudder of real fear, quickening through my every vein. But there was also something else, something lurking…

His face was quickly approaching from my own, and I was helpless to do anything about it. I pulled feebly at the hand that held me so fast to him, but even as I struggled, I knew it was no good. A sudden realization hit me like a blast of freezing air; I felt my stomach drop out into emptiness, and my pulse accelerated so quickly that I felt breathless.

He was going to kiss me.

I knew I would never forgive myself if I let him, not like this…not like a seal of ownership…but my body had taken on a mind of its own and was doing absolutely nothing to prevent Malfoy from bringing his lips so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my skin. For Merlin's sake, I needed to get away from him, and fast, before I did something that would make the next year a living hell for us both.

I still couldn't really move, so it was probably a very good thing that, at that very instant, he inexplicably pulled away. It registered only enough to prompt me to tear his hand from my clothing and stagger to my feet. Dizziness flooded my skull so thoroughly that, for a moment, my vision was only a swirling mix of colors. All the same, I stumbled away from him, back into my bedroom, and slammed the door so heavily behind me that I felt the vibration in my ribcage.

It was perhaps the oddest confrontation of my life, and it left me feeling prickly all over, as though I'd fallen asleep in the sun and had begun to crisp. I climbed beneath the covers on the bed, robe and all, unable to stop myself from shivering feverishly. I yanked on the cords that held open the curtains surrounding my four-poster, and sighed shakily into my pillow as they encased me in darkness.

I had no clue how I was going to survive a whole year of this.