A/N: Okay, so I have a terrible track record of leaving my fics after the first chapter, but I'm going to try really hard with this one to bring it to some kind of conclusion. I'm not sure how much interest this is going to get, being as a main character is an OC, but I have to get my ideas down. And the pleasure is in the writing of the thing.

One thing to bear in mind – this is set in final year, but written as if the events (and the event itself!) surrounding Dumbledore's death had never happened. I'm just using the characters and the world of Harry Potter, not adhering strictly to her storyline. Anyone adverse to such manipulation need read no further :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing – it's all J. K. Rowling's – bar Maia and a few centaurs.

It was not yet six in the morning when Draco Malfoy gave up the fight against his mutinous mind. Despite being unwilling to surrender to such insubordination, it had become obvious that he was not going to be able to sleep. Tired and annoyed, he resigned himself to the idea of getting up early again. Not wishing to wake anyone (these days preferring, as far as possible, to avoid the company of others) he slipped on a shirt and padded softly downstairs to the Slytherin common room.

Dappled light filtered through the trees and lit the room with a soft glow. Draco walked over to the window and sat on the wide sill, leaning back against the cold stone. The sun was struggling to rise over the Forbidden Forest, and the grounds appeared to be totally deserted, the truth only being revealed by the cacophony of birds serenading the dawn. The school grounds looked so beautiful in the early morning light; all warm honey and deep jade.

He had always appreciated the beauty of the grounds. Rather unsurprising perhaps, as to Draco, beauty was something highly esteemed and admired. What he did find surprising, was that in spite of his stunted relationship with Hogwarts, he had grown to love the grounds, and took comfort from them. Whenever he needed solitude he would explore the vast grounds, strolling through the gardens, quidditch pitches and by the lakes, even through the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where he would sit embraced in dark woodland, totally alone. There was a connection there, one which he was not looking forward to losing. He was very aware of the fact that he would leave Hogwarts at the end of the year, and as much as he relished the thought of leaving his professors and his infantile student company behind, he realised it would be a wrench to say goodbye to his beautiful sanctuary.

It had been particularly in the last year that he had found himself craving solely his own company. Things had grown very difficult for him, as despite his youth, it seemed that the dark lord was determined to involve him in his sinister plans. When he was younger, he dreamt of bringing his family honour and gaining the pride of his father; he would've jumped at the chance to serve the dark lord and prove his worth as a Malfoy. Unfortunately, youthful simplicity seemed to have abandoned him. Terrible events unfolding around him with the dark lord's return began to trouble him. He found himself in a permanent state of duality; the power of the dark lord both attracted and repelled him, and his ingrained sense of family duty and pride pulled strongly against his growing moral confusion. In any case, he was aware that what he might think or feel was irrelevant; he was trapped in a circle of fear. To disobey the dark lord was to draw a death sentence over him and his family. The reality of his situation, seemed to him, infinitely complicated, and if he was honest, terrifying.

As he watched the sun rise over the trees and wash the tips in gold, he pondered his situation. He found now that he felt no affinity with the dark lord, not even respect. The only emotion he felt towards him was fear. He felt isolated, desolate. The gravity of his role in the revival of the dark forces weighed heavily upon him. Arrogant, often cruel, and rather selfish he would admit, but was he evil? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

He continued to gaze out of the window, unmoving, hoping that whoever it was would leave him alone. He heard the footsteps pause at the entrance to the common room, and then continue in his direction, increasing in volume with their approach. He closed his eyes in annoyance. He was in no mood for a chat.

"Draco?"

He tensed at the sound of the soft voice, but remained facing the window. Brilliant... Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco?" She persisted, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Why are you up so early?"

He ignored her, continuing to watch the sun weave patterns on the ground. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Pansy acknowledged his rejection and removed her hand. She sighed and changed tact. "This isn't the first time I've seen you here early...I've been having trouble sleeping too."

He continued ignoring her, annoyance building, a knot of tension twisting his insides.

"Maybe there's something you can do about it? Sleeping pills, perhaps? I've heard massage is good for relaxation. I got Millicent to give me a back massage last night..."

She paused, waiting for a response.

"It didn't work," she continued, a look of bemused introspection on her face, "I felt more like I was being beaten than anything else..."

The tension caused him to snap at her. "Oh, give up, Parkinson, I really don't care." Why did she have to be so irritating?

"You don't have to be so rude Draco." Underneath the iciness of her tone she sounded a little hurt. "I had thought we were friends."

He felt immediate regret at having snapped at her; after all, she had been as close to a friend as he'd cared to have. Some 'friend' he was now. Increasingly he found himself unconsciously blocking people out. Still, he had no real desire to hurt Pansy, and sighing, he turned his head to meet her gaze, throwing her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Pansy. I'm just tired."

She returned his smile, and jibed, "yes, well, you wouldn't want it to get back to your parents that you've forgotten your manners."

"Heaven forbid." A brief, if slightly anguished smile flashed across his face.

Silence fell on the common room once again, and he turned to look back out of the window.

Obviously unwilling to abandon her attempts to draw him into conversation, she tried again. "Anything exciting on the cards today?"

"Not as far as I'm aware," he replied, dispassionately.

"Quidditch looking good for this year? A rather fitting denouement if Slytherin took the cup, don't you think?"

"Perhaps..."

This time the silence that followed took Pansy's patience to the limit. She stood beside Draco, staring out the window, and softly shook her head.

"I'm not stupid Draco, I know that you're fencing yourself off. If you want to isolate yourself, that's fine. But you're just making it harder for yourself." She shot him a pointed look, and walked away.

He waited until the sound of her footsteps disappeared before resting his head against the glass. If restraint hadn't been so ingrained into his psyche, he would have smashed it in agitation. He knew she was right, but he just couldn't see any other way. The fewer people close to him the better. In any case, Slytherin company, apart from being the only company he found tolerable, was rather too dangerous to keep in his position. They were too closely linked to the dark lord, friends or not. It was too difficult to trust anyone these days.

The tension that had been building in his stomach became too much, and he sprung to his feet, pacing the room before deciding to take a walk. Walk it out. Frustrated with himself, he hurried upstairs and flung on a pair of jeans and a jumper. He strode briskly through the stony corridors and out into the crisp morning air. Already he felt the tension slipping away, his knotted insides loosening and relaxing. Beats a massage from Millicent Bulstrode. He grinned to himself, amused by the idea of the hulking beast of a girl kneading Pansy's poor, abused back like bread dough.

After jogging round the lake a few times, he headed towards the Forbidden Forest. As he drew near to the boundaries of the forest, he slowed up, and stretched out a little. He began to feel a little foolish that he hadn't warmed up first; his neck would be sore today. Gently rubbing his neck, he walked slowly toward the towering trees at the opening of the forest. Forbidden it may be, but he felt relatively unconcerned about getting into trouble for breaking the school rules; he had always fancied himself above such ridiculous notions. Throwing a cursory glance back in the direction of the castle, he felt satisfied he wasn't being watched and stepped into the dark gloom of the forest.

He knew better than to stray from the path, and he never went in very deep, well aware of the dangers of the place. He recalled with amusement spending a detention here, years ago, with Potter, his mudblood and that pathetic little excuse for a wizard, Longbottom. He had reacted with shameful terror, running screaming from the hooded figure (now known to have been the dark lord) drinking a dead unicorn's blood. He knew that now, having seen far, far worse, and with the fear of death already upon him, he could never shame himself that way again. He couldn't help but laugh at himself though. The memory had become a fond one; a time of innocence.

Soon enough, he found a fallen tree, its soggy bark decaying, but still resting, strong and resolute, alongside the pathway. He sat on top of it, resting back against the broken roots where they stretched out like a gnarly, many-fingered claw. He felt rather sorry for it, roots reaching out to nothing, wrenched from the ground that nurtured it. It was perfect. The kind of place where he could think undisturbed, enveloped in the earthy scents of wood and moss.

After barely a few minutes of time sat on the log, Draco became aware of movement in the surrounding trees. At first, he was unconcerned. It was probably a bird of some kind. But after a while, he realised that this was something altogether larger than a bird. Aware of the potential danger that now faced him he slid from his seat and walked as slowly and quietly as possible to crouch behind the fallen tree. His hand reached for his wand, and held it by his side. He waited, tensed and ready to strike, hoping that whatever it was went back in the direction it came from.

Suddenly, there was a great flurry of movement from the trees overhead. With a magnificent swoooosh a dazzling explosion of gold burst from the green, and swooped down in a graceful landing. Draco shrank down further behind the tree. Not two metres away from him, on the other side of the log, stood a large, beautiful, golden bird. It was the size of an ostrich but had the look of something more exotic, with long, curling feathers that shone gold even in the gloom of the forest. A few swirls of ivory and emerald curled from its brow in an exquisite crest. It opened its beak and cried a soft, swirling melody. To Draco's surprise, an answering call came back from the undergrowth. There must be two of them.

He began to assess the danger. As far as he could tell, the birds presented no obvious threat to him, but he well knew that things are rarely as they seem in the Forbidden Forest. He slowly crawled the length of the log, and rested against the cluster of outstretched roots. Before he could make a decision, the call sounded again from the trees, this time much closer. The leaves rustled and parted directly in front of him, and he shifted hastily to avoid being seen. Now unable to see, he listened to the padding of gentle footfalls and the tender cooing of the birds' greeting. With mounting curiosity, he listened as they preened and fussed over each other. His desire to watch the peculiar creatures got the better of him, and he twisted himself round to gaze out between the roots he was leaning against. His eyes scanned the pathway, and, widening in shock, came to focus on a pair of small, pale, human feet.

Kneeling before the golden bird, with hands resting on its outstretched wing, was a girl.

Still unaware of Draco's presence, the girl leant over to touch the bird's forehead with her own. He watched as she rested there, eyes closed, one hand gently placed on its breast, and the other on its wing. She then brought both hands up to what he realised to be a wounded wing, and moved them lightly over the area. After a moment of hypnotic silence, the girl drew back. The bird unfurled and stretched out its wings, reached round and plucked a curling golden feather from its back, pressing it into her open palm. More sighing coos, and it took off, great wings beating at first, then soaring, high into the trees and out of sight.

Mesmerized, Draco leant further forward onto the exposed roots, peering through the gaps to get a closer look at the mysterious girl. She was small and slender, with pale skin that glowed softly, moon-like, and was decorated here and there with thin, swirly markings. Her long, dark brown hair tumbled down about her waist, enhancing the ethereal luminosity of her skin. She brought the feather up to her cheek, and a smile broke on her heart-shaped face. It drew his gaze to big, liquid blue eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes. Her powerful arms, legs and feet were bare, and her lithe frame encased in a slip made from silky fur. She looked delicate and strong all at once, and utterly compelling. He was struck. He felt, in that moment, that he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

A deafening crack broke his reverie, and the root he rested on gave way beneath him. As it snapped in two he began to fall, and the girl, suddenly alert, whipped round and held him, eye to eye, in a wide-eyed stare. He caught himself on the remaining root cluster, and quick as lightening, she ran off into the undergrowth.

"Wait!" He cried after her. "Please...wait!" And with no thought to his safety, he set off at a sprint after her. Deeper and deeper into the forest he flew, dodging scrub on the forest floor, relentlessly chasing the flash before him. Mindless to the danger he was now in, the only thought in his head to catch up with her, he ploughed through to the heart of the Forbidden Forest, and headlong into a herd of centaurs. He hit the flank of a centaur at considerable speed and was sent skidding into a tree trunk. The last thing he knew before heavy darkness took him was the sickening sound of bone on wood. He slid to the ground, out cold.

A/N: I'm not a fan of grammar and spelling mistakes, so if you see that I have made any, correct me!