It was a nice morning outside, which just made Draco blink as he entered the Great Hall. He still hadn't come to any good conclusions. No, and the ones he had come to were not pleasant ones, not at all.
For one, Draco's position in House Slytherin had cracked, and was busy deciding whether it was going to fall into the gutter, or merely land on the floor. Draco knew he could help, one way or the other, with that. Either push, and get his friends in good with Nott, who was living the life, having been branded by the Dark Lord this summer, and thus feeling powerful enough to boss everyone else around. Or pull, and bring them all in line with him to suffer at Nott's whim. It was a difficult choice, and Draco felt like he might just decide to split the difference. Nobody expected Greg to actually pay attention, even though his eyes were keen, after all.
About the only thing that Draco could honestly say had improved over last year was the seating arrangements. He was, as usual, seated near the middle of the Slytherin table. Which meant, as usual, that he was watching the Gryffindors (he still wasn't at all sure that the Gryffindors had noticed that the Slytherins sat two to one facing them, and the one not facing often got reports). Harry Potter, that genial, affable, teeth-destroyingly sweet boy, was no more. Instead, the kid ... kinda just looked normal. Which is to say, a bit sad, a bit mopey. You know, like a teenager. Not chirpy McHappy the Big Yellow Bird. It was... almost calming, to know that something could get under the bloody idiot's skin.
And Draco wouldn't be Draco Malfoy if he wasn't curious about what it was.
[a/n: No, Draco's not concentrating on Hermione. Why Would He? He's trying to save everyone (for certain relatively Slytherin values of everyone).
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