Thank you all for the genuine feedback for the first chapter. It means a lot! :}

"Will you stop looking at him?" Hermione whispered sternly. Professor Dumbledore was giving his usual introductory speech and all Harry had been doing was staring at Malfoy.

"Honestly, Harry, either go over and snog him or listen to Dumbledore," agreed Ginny, siding with her female companion.

Cringing at the visual, Harry reluctantly turned back around. He wanted to come up with a retort. To say that everything that came out of Dumbledore's mouth was just a rerun because he was already informed of this. He knew about Slughorn, his suspicions were confirmed when Snape had been announced as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-much to the pleasure of the Slytherins-and if he's heard it once, he's heard it a thousand times. The First Years were given a specific set of rules and warnings after the Sorting, the upper classmen getting reminders, and then it was time to eat.

Ron stuffed his plate with mountains of food, while Hermione watched him with pure disdain. Harry picked more reasonably, but then again he was a Quidditch player and he had to eat. Come to think of it, if he wasn't active, Harry would most likely be as thin as he was five years ago, Pre-Hogwarts. The Quidditch diet helped with his weight, beforehand he didn't eat as much as the average growing boy, and he was able to gain a healthy amount of muscle.

"Ginny?"

Harry looked up as Neville got the latter's attention.

"The next time the Slug Club has a meeting...I-I'll sit by Slughorn if you want," he offered, and Harry smiled in his pumpkin juice. He had really warmed up to Neville and considered him a true, loyal friend. If fate had been altered, Neville could have bore the burden of the scar on Harry's forehead.

Neville may have it, if not worse, than Harry. Starting off at Hogwarts, he had no friends and was constantly made fun of because of his weight and clumsiness. Throughout the years, however, there were some improvements; he grew taller, which made the fat roll off. He gained a little more confidence over time. When he was teased his roommates, including Harry and Ron, were quick to send looks; but he also stood up for himself.

Now, with his hair down and curly like he had it in their Fourth Year, Neville regarded Ginny with a sheepish look. Both he and Harry knew she was close to snapping, if possibly maiming, earlier.

"Thanks, Neville, but I'm fine," said Ginny. "But if you can keep me away from Zabini as far as possible, I'm all yours."

Neville blushed, smiled, and nodded at his redheaded friend. When he smiled, he never did it all the way because he was self-conscious of his teeth. He was more comfortable around Harry and the rest of his roommates. Girls naturally made him nervous, even if only three genuinely talk to him.

"Harry," said Hermione, and his gaze flickered to her, "Ron and I have Prefect duty after this so..."

"Don't worry about it," said Harry. "You two do your job. I'll wait up."

"Must you be tired?"

"Not really." Hermione just stared at him. "Really. There's no rush. You can even come by our dormitory if you'd like."

Ron did a spit take. "Come by our what?!"

"Well apparently, I'm not wanted around here," Hermione regarded him curtly before turning her attention back on Harry. "Harry, you know the rules."

"The rules say that boys can't go into your dormitories-and we physically cannot go in. It doesn't say anything about the other way around. You can come in."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, quiet for a bit. Then, she said finally, "Alright. Only for a moment."

Harry grinned in triumph.

.

"Can you believe this year's turn-out?" sneered Pansy Parkinson.

"You mean the First Years or the fat arse we're supposed to call our Potions teacher?" commented Blaise from his seat by the fire.

It was a slow night, and the prime Slytherins lounged about themselves. Draco Malfoy sat in silence, staring unblinking into the golden flames that licked the air. His friends were starting to get concerned. They weren't used to this quiet Draco. His behavior unnerved them.

"What do you think, Draco?" Pansy drawled lazily. Did he respond? Of course not. "Draco?"

He finally answered after the umpteenth time. "What?"

"What's wrong with you?" demanded Blaise.

Draco sighed. He knew what was wrong. And Pansy knew too. They were his best friends. Crabbe and Goyle were the dunderheads who followed him around for show; to scare off those who dared. Those who were new.

Pansy Parkinson had been Draco's first girlfriend at Hogwarts, and they were on and off for years; they were the obvious couple, the Slytherin Prince and the Slytherin Princess. They were both naive and cruel in their youth. Feelings matured, and they grew apart on a romantic level. Fifth Year was awkward, but they got passed that patch in their relationship and decided to stay friends because they worked better that way, and despite what everyone believed, Pansy could be sweet if she wanted to. She just had a shell that you had to get through yourself. And Draco valued her as a true friend.

The story behind Blaise Zabini was limited, depending on who you ask. He was a quiet Slytherin, Italian, and had a beautiful shade of dark mocha skin. His most contributing factor would be the cut in his left eye, showing from the right side if you looked at him; just a small space between that eyebrow where hair never grew. (Most likely, it was from a duel or fight of some kind). Like Pansy, even if he was naturally a jerk, he was still a loyal friend. The two, unlike Crabbe and Goyle, Draco thought were the only ones he could talk on a deep level with. Crabbe and Goyle would just stare stupidly.

The youngest Malfoy had a load on his plate this Year, and it was only a matter of time until his deadline approached. Every decision he made until then counted against him.

His hand ghosted over his forearm. The Mark wasn't there yet. Yet. But the empty presence of it still burned through his skin. It will be there regardless, whether he wanted it to or not. Did he even want to? Was darkness really in his heart? Was he born with it? Nurtured by prejudice and lies that he grown into believing?

Draco was a troubled soul, but he was no fool.

"Probably has to do with Potter," teased Pansy. "They were making lovey eyes at each other the entire dinner."

"Are you seriously doing this while I'm still in the room?" Draco interjected.

"HE SPEAKS!" both Pansy and Blaise exclaim.

"Thought we lost you there, mate," said Blaise.

Draco rolled his eyes. "For once I don't talk, and it's all of a sudden a bloody crime. How genuine of you."

"Well, when you're quiet, you're doing either two things," Pansy held up two manicured fingers, ticking them off as she went on, "plotting, or moping. What's going on in that blonde head of yours?" She walked around the arm of the plush green couch, plopping down next to him.

"More so the latter. Though the former might be slightly overdue." Draco's grin turned sinister.

Blaise snorted.

"Amused, Blaise?" Draco addressed him coolly. "Pansy told me about your little spat with the Weaslette. Have a thing for blood traitors now? And to think you could sink no lower..."

"And we all know how hard you are to please!" Pansy added.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk," Blaise grumbled, then said aloud, "Besides, I have no interest in the Weasley peasant. I would never touch a blood traitor, much less a mudblood. What is she to me?"

"This is why I don't have girlfriends," Pansy groaned. "You talk about girls like they're trash. And it drives them away. So thanks."

"You're welcome," said Draco. "Beside the point here, we're talking about the Weaslette. She's no girl, so she doesn't count."

"Neither is that mudblood, Granger," said Blaise, lifting his head. "Potter's girl."

"Potter?" Draco spat.

"Like you two could mingle with Potter's posse."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Boys, boys, boys," Pansy shook her head, sitting up straighter. "You have a lot to learn. No wonder girls won't go out with you." She received dark looks for that one but continued anyway. "Everybody knows who we are-well, duh, I mean look at us. We're the Slytherins. You know, the baddy-baddies, the House that spawns evil-doers and hell-goers. Let's prove these bitches wrong!"

Draco and Blaise exchanged glances.

"I'm listening," said Draco.

.

"Where are you lot going?" asked Harry as he pulled a blue t-shirt over his head.

His roommates paused in the door frame, looking suspicious enough as it is, and slowly turned around. Ron was the head of the group; they, like Harry, were clad in their pajamas.

Harry had a good feeling why they decided to leave all of a sudden. Ron had barely been there for five minutes, because of Prefect duty, and now he was leaving with them. What were they going on about?

"Uuh...out?" said Ron lamely.

"Out where?" said Harry.

"To...er..."

Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Bye, Harry!" The teens exclaimed, running out of their room in a stumbling mess.

Harry just shook his head. He loved his roommates like brothers, but they fail at being subtle. They were just leaving before-

Knock knock knock

"Harry?"

-before Hermione arrived.

Harry ran his fingers a couple times through his hair subconsciously to make it look more tousled than usual, walking around the laundry basket to reach the door. He took a slight breath, a simple in and out movement of his chest, and opened the door.

His best friend stood there with a confused smile on her face, and he knew that she must have ran into them on her way up.

He took notice of her pajamas. One of the many things he loved about Hermione that set her apart from the other girls was that she dressed comfortably. Not trying to impress people, pretending to be someone that she's not. She wore a Gryffindor tee shirt and white pajama pants with polka dots on them; and her hair, mildly wet, was tied back into a French braid.

"Hi there," said Harry for starters.

"Hi," said Hermione. "Um...do you know why...?" She started to point over her shoulder with her thumb, but Harry was already taking said hand and pulling her inside.

"Don't ask, just come in."

Hermione giggled, and cast a look around the Boys' Dormitory. It was different than the Girls' Dormitory, her sense of smell first picking up the lack of perfume and hair products. Not that there was anything wrong with her roommates, but she was more acquainted with the current environment she was in.

Harry watched her face. The pleasant look on her face amused him. "Not what you expected?"

Hermione looked over at him, amusement dancing in her eyes as well. "No. But in a good way."

He went to go sit on his bed, and she followed him as if it was a normal thing for them. Harry climbed in, leaving room for her to slide in next to him and get situated.

"So how was your first patrol?" said Harry, folding his hands together on his lap.

Hermione grimaced. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Next chapter, we find out what happened on Hermione's first night patrol. You wouldn't wanna miss it!