He rolled over, sheets tangling around his legs in a manner most unsophisticated. Silver-blond hair stuck out at all angles, something it did very rarely, if ever. Draco Malfoy certainly was not going to be recalling the evening with any great pleasure, that was for certain.

Seventh year, and he was Head Boy. He had risen past the pettiness he�d been bred into, risen past the desire to see Potter lick his boots. He had been more or less comfortable with the fate of the Boy Who Lived, pleased with his being doomed to the threats of misinformation and the lies of the media.

He tugged at the sheets in annoyance and shifted slightly.

Draco, of course, knew that they were lies. Potter couldn�t be off his head, he knew, because the Dark Lord was certainly back, despite the whimpering of the Ministry of Magic. Draco sighed in frustration. Yes, the Dark Lord was back and no one believed Potter, which was all fine and glorious as far as he was concerned.

Except that his father had fallen to kissing robes, lately, and Draco was not at all accustomed to seeing the name of Malfoy defiled by such an action. It was pathetic. It was degrading. Draco was, in essence, quite sick of it.

It may have been the heaviest thing weighing on his mind, lately, but it certainly wasn�t the one he�d been paying the most attention to, tonight. Perhaps it should have been, but it wasn�t.

Oh, no.

It had been awful. It had been terrible. He hadn�t even been able to lord his new status over the other students appropriately. And it was all because the Head Girl, the girl with whom he would be ruling the school this year was not a Slytherin; wasn�t even a Ravenclaw. He had dreaded it would be so, but he had held out hope until this morning when he had been abruptly confronted with horrible, disgusting reality.

He yanked at the sheets viciously this time, something he would have liked to do to her hair a few hours ago.

Granger was Head Girl. He could have killed himself.

The damned witch had strolled into the reserved carriage quite coolly that morning, shocking him with her presence and even more with her attitude. He hadn�t quite been able to prevent shock and a vague horror from seeping over his features.

�Malfoy. I thought I�d see you now rather than later. I wanted you to know that I don�t care what you think of me, I�d like to get the job done well this year. There�s nothing in it for either of us if we�re going to be at each others� throats all the time. So I�m proposing a truce. You can think it over; I�ll be sitting with Harry and Ron.�

Strange, how the words seemed to be almost burned into his mind.

Draco rolled over again, hissed in annoyance and finally threw his covers off with a huff. He was about three seconds away from throwing the biggest tantrum the Slytherin seventh year dormitory had ever seen in the entire history of Hogwarts.

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, forcing himself back into calmness.

Then he flipped over and muffled a frustrated scream with his pillow. Damn this stupid, stupid, stupid uncomfortable bed!

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