At five years old, Draco held his mother's hand tightly as she guided him forcefully through the hustle and bustle that was Diagon Alley. Draco's small eyes darted from shop to shop, taking in the splendor and awe of each display.

"Mum? What is that?" Draco asked, tugging on his mother's arm and pointing to a rather odd display of potions and herbs.

"Stop bothering mummy, Draco dear," his mother answered quickly before dragging him into a shop with big letters on the window that read, Madam Elizabeth's Magical Cosmetics and Perfumes.

Inside the shop, Draco was confronted with such an intense aroma that he immediately started gagging and choking on the incredibly thick air.

"Quit fooling around, Draco," his mother warned with a tinge of red in her cheeks and hidden frustration in her voice.

As Draco waited for his mother to finish with the lady behind the counter, he looked around the shop, taking in all the colors and shiny bottles and tubes that lined every wall.

His eyes continued to roam until he spotted the back of a small girl in a far corner of the shop. She had light, chestnut curls that fell elegantly down her back and she too was clutching her mother's hand.

Draco continued to stare at this girl. There was something about her that made it impossible to look away. When the girl finally turned around, Draco inhaled. She had warm, hazel eyes and a small smile. She was a very pretty girl.

The girl's mother started to walk towards Draco and the counter, dragging her daughter behind her. When they finally reached the counter, the girl smiled at Draco and waved a small hand.

"Hi, I'm Loralie. What's your name?" she asked.

Draco, shocked that she was actually speaking to him, finally responded, "I'm Draco."

Loralie continued to smile. "How old are you? I'm five."

Draco's eyes widened with excitement. "Me too! I'm five too!"

Both children were excited by this, but were suddenly cut off when Draco's mother finished at the counter and turned around to see who her son was speaking with. She let out a gasp and quickly dragged Draco out of the store. Draco watched as he was taken away from Loralie, and waved a goodbye before she disappeared all together.

"Mummy, did you see that girl that I wa–" Draco stared, but was swiftly cut off by his mother.

"Yes, I most certainly did. She's a Jorgenson, and not someone you should be associating with."

"But why?"

"Just come, Draco, and follow mummy," his mother replied with exasperation, indicating that the conversation was over.

Draco followed his mother silently, vaguely hearing her muttering something about Muggles and blood traitors.

Draco Malfoy winced as he put more and more pressure on his injured leg. He was running through the Forbidden Forest, dodging trees and fallen branches, trying to outrun his predators, but he knew it was only a matter of time…

The little pieces of sky that could be seen through the forest's dense canopy were dark and foreboding - not that Draco had expected any less. Ever since that day, it seemed that clouds were sure to follow him. Draco's mind surged with frustration as he thought to himself, This is not how I had envisioned my seventh year to end.

Stumbling over a fallen tree branch, Draco cried out as pain surged through his leg. He fell to the ground, clutching his knee and rolling in the dirt and rotten leaves as he waited for the excruciating pulse to subside. Carefully and slowly, Draco dragged his limp form behind a giant tree.

Draco stood with veiled anxiety as he waited for his turn to be Sorted. Obviously, he knew he would be in Slytherin, but his stomach continued to do flips nonetheless.

"Jorgenson, Loralie."

Something in Draco's head snapped. He hadn't heard that name in such a long time. He watched with rapt attention as a young girl with chestnut curls made her way up the steps to the stool. When she finally turned around to face the hall, Draco's breath caught in his throat. He recognized those warm hazel eyes instantly.

Draco was suddenly brought out of his revere when the Sorting Hat called out, "RAVENCLAW!"

Loralie blushed with happiness as she smiled and jumped off the stool. Draco couldn't help but think that the red tinge in her cheeks suited her well.

As she was making her way down the steps, Loralie's eyes met his and she stopped mid-step. Draco knew that she had recognized him as well.

Draco smiled lightly when Loralie blushed even darker as she realized she was still frozen on the steps. She quickly made her way to the Ravenclaw table, careful not to meet Draco's eyes again.

Soon enough it was Draco's turn and, as expected, he was sorted into Slytherin. Throughout the feast, Draco kept darting his eyes towards the Ravenclaw table, trying to catch Loralie's eyes. She seemed to know that he was watching, but refused to look at him.

He continued to try, systematically switching his gaze from Loralie to his fellow Slytherin peers. He acted as though it was an equation, a carefully executed strategy that allowed him to try and capture what he wanted while at the same time eliminating the reprobation he would surely receive from his fellow peers if caught. Even though she was the most beautiful creature Draco had ever seen, Loralie was not a pureblood.

After a while, Loralie finally lifted her head. When Draco saw the hurt and fear that gleamed in her eyes he immediately regretted meeting her gaze. However, there was something about her, some sick magnetic attraction that kept him from looking away.

After an endless moment of silently staring at each other from across the grand hall, one single tear escaped from Loralie's eye. The other girls around her seemed to be so preoccupied that they never noticed it. But Draco saw it as clearly as he recognized the regret and pain that came in her expression. Loralie's gaze strengthened for a moment, as though making sure that Draco was paying attention, and shook her head.

That one single motion seemed to send a stinging sensation to Draco's heart. The finality in her gesture was unmistakable. That was that.

Loralie quickly ducked her head, once again hiding her eyes from Draco's. As he finally tore his gaze away from Loralie, Draco reluctantly and halfheartedly brought his attention back to his fellow house mates. And even though he tried to push it away with meaningless conversation, one thought lingered in his mind: Loralie Jorgenson wanted nothing to do with him.

Praying that he was hidden from sight, Draco rested his tired head on the trunk of the tree, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He knew that sooner or later he would be found, and the reception he would receive would be anything but pleasant. The cold hard fact lingered in Draco's mind. He'd be lucky if they killed him on sight.

Suddenly, the dark pit in Draco's stomach grew until the sadness and desperation hit him like a brick wall. Every last hope and dream seemed to slowly seep from his body, no matter how tightly he held on to it. His despair became all too overwhelming, and the last rays of sunlight that poked through the canopy faded into darkness. They had found him.

Draco unwillingly opened his eyes. Before him stood seven Dementors - Voldemort's new playthings, each wearing its customary, ragged black cloak that billowed in the wind. Reaching for his wand in his back pocket, Draco cringed as his leg once again shot warning signals that progressed throughout his entire lower body. Brandishing his wand, Draco held his hand steadily in front of the Dementors.

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco cried somewhat softly. His wand sputtered and groaned, but nothing came out. The Dementors were advancing, one with its twisted hand outstretched, beckoning Draco to come closer.

Panic filled Draco's body and mind, and with it came an odd sense of calm; one that he had not felt in a long time. Surrendering himself to this sensation, Draco allowed his body and soul to be overcome and immersed himself in his happiest memory. His one last happy memory.

She was beautiful.

There was no denying it. As Loralie sat at the lake's edge at twilight, her skin seemed to give an un-earthly glow. Draco didn't know what it was, whether it was the intoxicating appeal of forbidden fruit, or the way her hair blew in the breeze, with lovely brown tendrils that lay elegantly down her back. What he did know, was that she was beautiful.

Ever since first year, Draco and Loralie had been what he could only call neutral. They didn't ignore each other, but they weren't friends either. They would say a casual hello in the halls, or speak a few lines about the weather, but Loralie would never stick around for much longer afterwards.

Draco also noticed that Loralie never spoke to him when he was around his fellow house mates. It was only when he was alone that she would give a short, hesitant greeting. To be honest, Draco was relieved that she had taken to this routine. He hated to think how his friends, let alone himself, would act if she had approached him while in their company.

Draco knew that his mother's reaction twelve years ago had really stung her. And now, even though they were both seventeen and much older, he knew that she was still leery that Draco could do the same to her if she let him too close. The question that bothered Draco the most was if her caution was justified. Could he really do that? Would he?

Trying to ignore the voice inside of him, screaming about how disgusted he should be by her presence (a voice that sounded much like his mother's), Draco made his way through the grass to where the girl was sitting. Upon reaching her, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. What made him think that she would want to speak to him now? She had been distancing herself for seven years. Why would she suddenly want to talk to him?

"You can take a seat if you'd like." Draco started when he heard her voice. She was still gazing out at the peaceful lake.

Still startled that she had invited him to sit, Draco silently took a seat next to her. He looked down at the grass by his feet, debating whether or not he should speak first.

His mother's voice inside of him screamed louder, with burning lungs and a dry throat. Stay away from her! She is not like us. She is a blood traitor. A Mudblood. But Draco once again dismissed that burning voice.

"Loralie…"

"Don't speak," she replied serenely, her eyes never once leaving the lake. "Words are not important."

Draco was surprised. She sounded almost…confused. Why has she not walked away yet? He took this opportunity to gaze at her face. When he lifted his eyes he found that hers were already on him. She indeed looked confused. Her hazel eyes glistened in the moonlight, and her thick chestnut hair framed her face in a way that made her look almost unreal, like a china doll in a toy shop; fragile, but beautiful and serene all the same.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly, her eyes narrowing a bit as she waited curiously for an answer.

Her words struck him. What am I doing here? Draco searched for an answer, but stopped as he saw her face; really saw her stunning face. Something was tugging at him. Something was drawing him closer, like a chain to a magnet. He had never in his life felt something so strong, so unknown. It was all so foreign.

"I don't know," Draco whispered as he was leaned in closer to Loralie. "I honestly don't know."

And without warning or thought, Draco's lips pressed against Loralie's. At first he was still, waiting for a reply. Loralie seemed motionless and surprised. Obviously, this was not something she had ever expected. But soon, and almost carefully, Loralie leaned in and moved her lips against his, as if she was afraid he would pull away.

Draco immediately reacted, as though some deep, hidden force within him was suddenly breaking loose and taking over his entire body. He lifted his hands to Loralie's flushed cheeks, gently stroking her smooth skin. Draco felt Loralie's hands snake up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. Moving his hands from her face, Draco clasped his arms around Loralie's waist, pulling her closer.

At that moment, the only thing racing through Draco's mind was how Loralie's lips felt on his. And the heat. The smoldering, growing heat that seemed to warm his entire body. All Draco knew is that he had never felt anything like this.

Draco embraced the racing heat that filled his body as he lay on the ground, holding his wand before him with more purpose and confidence than should be allowed in his situation.

Using the intense heat as a fuel, Draco cried, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Immediately, Draco felt all that heat, that intense fire, engulf his body and snake through his arm. As the heat made contact with his wand, the burst of light that came forth was like nothing Draco had ever seen. The brilliant, shining light swirled above him, slowly taking shape. As more and more light came, the shape began to grow and form wings that seemed to be tucked together. Suddenly, with more force that Draco had thought possible, the wings spread apart and stretched upwards towards the sky.

The stunning eagle soared into the air, stretching its wings as though having woken up from a deep slumber, before sweeping down towards the Dementors. Upon seeing the magnificent eagle, the Dementors tried to escape, but were quickly engulfed by the creatures wings. With one powerful swoop, the eagle seemed to extinguish the Dementors. Though they were not dead, their already limp forms seemed to deteriorate even more as they fled into to the distance, never once looking back.

The eagle followed the Dementors for a ways before turning its head back towards Draco. It was motionless and silent. Its dazzling silver eyes merely locked with Draco's before flying high into the sky and disappearing past the canopy and into the swirling clouds.

Draco's body seemed to flood with relief, even though he knew his sanctuary was only temporary. He dropped his hand that he had been holding up to the ground and felt his wand roll out of his grasp and into the dirt. Draco knew that they would be back.

As Draco once again rested his weary head on the tree, his heart suddenly filled with cold and regret as the rest of his memory, his happy, painful memory, came flooding back.

As the heat began to grow and grow, Draco was startled when Loralie suddenly pulled away. Her eyes and cheeks were stained with tears and her face was red with confusion and hurt.

"I can't do this. We can't do this," she whispered as she shot up from the ground and straightened her shirt.

"Why?" Draco cried indignantly. He couldn't let that feeling go for nothing. He had felt something just then that he had never experienced before, and he couldn't let it die.

"Because we can't," Loralie replied sobbing, shaken and upset. "Don't you get it? It'll never work. Our families are too different. We'll only end up hurting ourselves in the process." Tears were pouring from her eyes as she turned away.

Draco desperately grabbed Loralie's wrist, begging her to stay, but she merely jerked her hand away and ran all the way back to the castle, never once looking back.

Draco's insides seemed to freeze, stilled by the cold feeling of rejection. He futilely raised his fists in the air and shook them while uncontrollable sobs racked his body. Here he was, cold and desolate, stranded in the forest and waiting for his life to be striped away against his will by someone else's hands. Against his will by someone else's hands.

There was no hope for him. His life was dead, even if he survived the next couple of attacks that would no doubt be thrown his way. Draco looked at his injured leg and at the deep gash he knew was hidden on his upper thigh behind the many layers of cloth that held it closed. By someone else's hands.

Draco took the cloth in his hands and ripped it away, revealing his now fatal wound. The deep cut in his thigh immediately tore open, revealing the obscene amount of blood that was being emitted from the torn artery beneath his skin. Draco watched as his leg slowly became stained with scarlet. He knew that with the amount of blood he had already lost before entering the forest, it would not take long.

Consumed with anger and fear, Draco placed his fingers around the pulsing wound, pressing and squeezing until the flow thickened and he could feel his muscles growing weak. The color grew and snaked its way up and down Draco's pant leg until it was soaked with crimson red.

Closing his eyes and keeping his mind away from the blood that slowly seeped through his flesh, Draco thought of her face, her beautiful face. The image in his mind grew fainter as his breaths grew longer until finally, they stopped and the image disappeared along with his final thought.

She was beautiful.