He limped the deserted hallways of his school, former school, he feared. It was of utter ruin, with once-majestic columns reduced to chunks covered by a shower of dust. He ran his finger on the surface of the rubble that had become of the school, his long pale finger leaving a prominent and undusted line on it.

He could now hear the faint murmurs of the surviving witches and wizards in the great hall.

Every time he entered the Great Hall, his head unintentionally cocked up as he marveled at the splendour of the ceiling, festooned with the glittering array of stars, and he always spot himself. There, tucked away in the corner, the constellation he was named after. The sky was a huge canvas and each and every star was a stroke of paint, one less and the painting would be incomplete, then he smiled at his constellation, it always reminded him that he wasn't the useless no-good aristocratic ferret brat the golden trio had dubbed him as.

There were couples seated on the threadbare blankets, their hands clasped around each others while they wiped each other's tears and embraced like they were the only ones present. Oh, how he wished he would be like them, showering her with kisses of lavish amounts. How he would want to give those to Hermione.

Yes, that was her name, he wouldn't dream of forgetting it, the name he cried and howled like a wolf calling out to the moon like it was his long lost love; he was the wolf too, and her name was his howl.

She was just a girl who thought that not even someone cared a bit for her.

The rubble engulfed his face, it tore down painfully slowly, and she watched as his screams seemed to be amplified in her ears, as he flailed helplessly, as she stood helplessly. Somehow, the rubble slammed down like lightning, and his iridescent blue eyes lost their shine. At the same time, her other best friend was carried in by the sobbing groundskeeper, she kept waiting for him to awaken, but those eyelids remained sealed.

Maybe this has always been so, but she didn't have any more faith. Perhaps an eternity ago for that person, but a person did care for her, and she wondered, though not every day.

Did he remember?

She liked to imagine, and she imagined that he was thinking of her, but she had no faith, and too little in the world.

But maybe, the person was thinking of her. January, December. If she had been born 2 days earlier, things would have been different, but she didn't dare to think, things would have been too different, he would have been different. And, what was life without a small crevice of hope that one day she would see him once more, and the prince in her dreams might have a face, Draco's face.