Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own bright yellow headphones that match the bright yellow detailing on my laptop!

Chapter 2

Rule #1: Do not let any one make your decisions for you.

Draco scowled as he looked at his schedule for sixth year classes. NEWT Potions, NEWT Transfigurations, Advanced Arithmancy, Advanced Ancient Runes, NEWT Herbology, NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts, yes it was all in order. He was scowling because of the tiny class added on after supper Wednesday evenings. The script read Debate Class.

Yes, he had heard Dumbledore announce the debate class for sixth and seventh years over the welcoming feast last night, but that didn't mean he was open to the idea. Really, a debate class where the students could, and here he quoted Dumbledore in his mind, 'discuss the differences of opinion expressed in the modern day wizarding world in a safe and productive environment where each student can come to his or her own conclusions without the interference of friendly or familial prejudices'. He swore Dumbledore had looked his way when he had mentioned the family prejudice part.

"What are you thinking?" asked Blaise Zabini next to him.

Without paying conscious attention to what he was saying, Draco reeled off the little snippet of speech he had been replaying in his head. It was only when he took a swig of pumpkin juice that he realized Blaise was staring at him impressed.

"You remembered Dumbledore's speech?"

Draco mentally kicked himself. He was losing it; he had nearly given away the fact that a certain Draco Malfoy was a whole lot smarter that he let on.

"Paraphrasing," he said, shrugging. "Though it's close I think. He definitely used the 'familial prejudices'. I remember because he looked straight at me when he said it. I swear, the old man thinks I'm already like my old man."

Ah, the joys of redirection. Blaise immediately looked sympathetic; he was, after all, from a neutral family, and so his parents didn't care which side he chose. Draco wished he could say the same about his father. But, the crisis had been adverted, and Blaise did not find out the fact that the arrogant Slytherin next to him could probably rattle off the entire welcoming speech that Dumbledore gave, and could probably reiterate the rather lengthy speech the new DADA professor gave as well.

Draco studied his schedule, not because he needed to learn it (he'd had it memorized within the first ten seconds of receiving it) but because he was mentally planning out his grading schedule. It wasn't easy trying to figure out how to get straight E's and make it look natural. He plotted out which days he would get A's on his reports and tests (usually those around Quidditch days because it was expected that he wouldn't be studying much) and then pair each A with an O so that his grade would even out to an E. But as much work as it was, it was also challenging, and he liked challenging.

Draco brought himself out of his musings and pushed his barely touched breakfast plate away from him. He didn't eat much as meals at home were always strained and tense. Muggle psychologists would call that negative reinforcement, repeatedly pairing an event with something bad (in this case the stifling atmosphere) until the subject (him) learns to never do that event again (eating).

Alright, it wasn't all his parents' fault. He just wasn't a big eater to begin with, and felt that unless it was paired with reading a book or doing research, it was a waste of time. Too bad that it was necessary for survival.

"What do you have?" asked Blaise next to him. Draco put the parchment down on the table so that Blaise could see it as well.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays had Potions, Herbology and then lunch followed by DADA in the afternoon. Tuesdays and Thursdays had longer class segments of Arithmancy with Transfigurations and Ancient Runes after lunch. He grimaced. With the debate club on Wednesdays, he would have a hard time getting homework done for weekday assignments. Luckily, Arithmancy didn't start until ten, so he could stay up later Wednesday nights to do homework then sleep in and skip breakfast Thursdays.

His eyes strayed to the Ancient Runes block. Of all of the classes he was taking he was looking forward to this class the most. He had taken Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in a summer class in Paris because he had nothing to do and was incredibly bored, and he discovered that deciphering runes was a lot of fun. There were so many dialects out there, so many different codes, but once you found the main equation, it was like the light had turned on and all of a sudden things became that much clearer. Of course, there were hundreds of codes no one had gotten around to breaking, some were just too difficult, but he knew he could crack them. His professor over the summer had been a kind, scattered brained, middle aged man who had seen right through his façade of mediocrity and had challenged him to excel. So he did; he'd even helped him decipher a new code.

As he bent over his schedule his hair fell from where he had shoved it behind his ears and obscured his vision. He batted it away, but the pale gold curtain just returned at gravity's call. He sighed and after rummaging through his bag, pulled out a black elastic hair tie and threw his hair back into a small ponytail. He was going through what his father called his 'rebellious stage'. He had gone to France and come back sullen, surely, sarcastic, and cynical and he had let his hair grow out. It was only to his chin, which meant that several strands of hair came loose from the tie and framed his face and that the hairs at the back of his neck also escaped but he didn't pay them any attention.

The reason for his rebellion had confused his father; hadn't he always given Draco what he wanted? Didn't Draco have money and power? Well, yes, but Draco had a few good reasons.

One: Draco had been taken to a few Death Eater meetings over the summer, and although Draco could be called cold-hearted and prejudiced, he did not agree with murder. He also did not agree with harming women (well, most women) and children. They were innocent and were not to be touched, not even the Muggle children. That did not mean he believed that Muggles were equal with wizards, or even that Mudbloods were equal to purebloods, he hadn't thought that far on the issue, and every time he did, he got hopelessly confused and a migraine to go along with it. For now, Draco concluded that Voldemort was a maniacal, torture loving madman and anyone who followed him was the same

Two: Draco had been told all his life that Voldemort was akin to a god, yet Voldemort had nearly been defeated by a baby. Plus, Voldemort had met Draco, shaken his hand, and looked into his eyes, and he had not realized that Draco was disgusted with him, and he had not realized that Draco was a genius.

Three: Voldemort was a half blood. Rather funny that, he privately thought. To think that the pure blood revolution was led by a man born of a Muggle father. It was even worse than being born to a Muggle-sympathizer. That right there nullified any argument anyone might make for pureblood domination and completely destroyed the cause for the purification of the blood lines.

No, Draco did not want to be a Death Eater, however his options were still limited. Right now he was in a neutral zone, but he didn't know if that neutral zone would last for long. He would have to choose by the end of the school year, but there was one thing Draco was not going to do. He was not going to let anyone choose for him. He made a mental note to mark that down in his journal under to 'Dissenter's Code'. Rule number one: Do not let anyone make your decisions for you. Yes, that was a good first rule.

His eyes drifted over the name beneath the Ancient Runes heading. Professor Weasley.

He looked up at the thin, red-haired man who was sitting next to Dumbledore. The two were in a serious discussion, but the eldest Weasley's appearance detracted from his grim expression. His hair was long and pulled back into a braid and he had a dangling skull earring in his left lobe. His bright indigo robes were open over a gold button up shirt and black pants. His shoes were dragon scaled boots. Draco frowned. What sort of professor was he?

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Bill listened to Dumbledore's warnings, then nodded.

"I think I've got it, Headmaster. After all, I've cracked the Ramses Curse in three seconds flat, how hard can a bunch of kids be?" His light teasing was for his own benefit, because the fact was, he was nervous, as nervous as he had been entering a pyramid on his own for the first time. Dumbledore must have caught on to what he was feeling.

"I'm sure you'll do fine Bill," he said. "You were Head Boy after all."

Bill smiled and cast a look down the table at the new teachers. There was Bryant Stevick, the Defense professor, an average looking man with brown hair and brown eyes. There was Claire Jameson, a student teacher in her early twenties. She was pretty with long blond hair and light blue eyes, but she was modest too, and soft spoken. Bill wondered how long she was going to last. There were new students as well, a surprise since nearly a quarter of the school was gone because the parents had deemed it not safe. These students were from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons and they had been sorted along with the first years. There was even a sixth girl who had been home-schooled and she made it into Ravenclaw. Most of their parents had thought Hogwarts would be safest because Dumbledore was there, the exact opposite of all of those who had pulled their children. Bill wondered who was right.

He started to turn his attention back to his coffee when a pair of grey eyes caught his gaze. He looked up and found Draco Malfoy studying him, not at all abashed in being caught staring.

Bill remembered all of the stories Harry and Ron had told him, trying to convince Bill he was entirely evil. Even Snape had approached Bill last night after the feast with a few tips on how to handle some of the more unruly students. When Bill asked about Draco Malfoy, Snape's gaze narrowed and he said only 'watch yourself around him' and had then stalked off. Well Bill could not watch himself in the physical sense, so he settled for staring right back at the Slytherin.

As soon as the teenager caught his own hazel gaze, his eyes had become much more wary. The grey froze into solid ice, and when Bill still held his gaze, the ice became silver steel. Now that was a glare worthy of Snape, but Bill didn't blink. The impromptu staring match ended when the boy next to Draco nudged him and asked a question. The grey eyes held for a moment, then an eyebrow raised and the pale lips twitched into a sneer, and the icy gaze slid off of him and to his friend.

Bill worked in a field, or did work in a field as of two months ago, where attention to detail could mean saving his life. So when the Malfoy heir turned around to his friend, Bill did his own studying. He took in the hair, and then the all-black robes with a black shirt and pants underneath. His eyes passed over the black bag and the black wand laying on the table close to the boy's left hand for an intimidation factor. He squinted slightly and examined the teenager's face. With all of the stories told about him, Bill expected someone who looked older, not someone who actually looked like a sixteen year old. The Malfoy boy's face was pale, his features sharp but good looking in such a way that Bill would have said beautiful, but that was a girl's term. Right now he looked a little too thin, no doubt because his eating habits didn't seem to be the best. Bill took note of the full plate that was pushed away from the boy, untouched, and then noticed the boy's fingers drumming on the table, not in a bored, languid fashion, but in an energetic, almost frantic manner. He suppressed a smile, either the Malfoy kid had to use the little wizard's room, or he was extremely restless.

He then realized Dumbledore was calling his name and he turned to the Headmaster in apology.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said. "My mind is drifting. You were saying?"

His mind wandered again as Dumbledore was speaking, watching as Stevick left the table. Stevick had been called in by the Ministry to take over DADA for Umbridge, and as the Ministry wasn't exactly Death Eater free, Bill would be sure to keep an eye on him.

Claire Jameson had also been Ministry-appointed, but that was mainly because the Ministry appointed all student teachers. Bill, thankful, did not have to go through student teachings. Only those who were interested in becoming private tutors had to do the student teaching, and he heard that it was brutal. The first year was just simply being a teacher's assistant, and the second year was observing different teachers and maybe instructing a few classes themselves. From what little Bill had gathered from Claire, she was in her second year in the program and would be teaching some DADA classes. He doubted she would be as dangerous as Stevick, but he would watch her all the same.

He looked back down at his breakfast, mentally planning out ways to keep track of the new teachers at Hogwarts. He did not notice as the grey eyes fastened on him once more, nor did he notice the look of bemusement on a certain Slytherin's face.

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Next chapter: Bill and Draco meet for the first time. Please review or the monkeys will get you...that doesn't really sound threatening, does it? I'll work on it. Review anyways.