Summary: The greatest love story of all time is happening right now.

Disclaimer: All belongs to the lovely and talented J.K Rowling, except for the general idea.

Author's Note: I was trying to set up the characters or whatever here. It'll get a lot more love-y and tragedy-ish later. R&R!

XX XXX XX

I don't believe in love at first sight.

I don't believe in love at all, really. At least at my age. I believe that you need something to base that kind of feeling off of.

I may be impulsive, but I don't go head first into things.

"So are you in love?" she asks.

No. She's just a good fuck.

Not that I'd tell my therapist that.

She looks down at her notes. "Draco, I think your problem is that you don't let yourself feel emotions. That you can't tell others what your really feeling. I believe that's why all your girlfreinds expect so much out of you: the quiet, brooding little boy, and it upsets them when they find out you just want them for, er, a good time. Open your heart to others. And that will help you in life." She waits for an answer, something, but I give her nothing.

It's not as if I want to be here. My father respects anyone who can open up their heart to others. And, well, let's just say that the therapist had some added benefits.

Cough cough. Her beautiful daughter.

"Alright. Well, that's your last session. You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Yes," I say, standing up from the couch. As I walk over to the door I notice a picture of Adele lying on the desk.

"Is that your daughter?" I ask, knowing full well it is.

"Yes," the woman says, smiling placidly. "My beautiful Adele."

I cough.

"G' bye, Ms. Williams," I call as I head out the door. I hear the phone ring as I head down the stairs.

"Hello?" she answers, "Adele? Darling, what's the matter?"

I start running before she realizes I was talking about her daughter. And her daughter's talking about me.

XX XXX XX

I sit on my bed, crying. How could he do this to me? How could he use me like that? Make me feel so bad?

"He wasn't using you, you know," Hermione says. She's sitting on the end of my bed, filing her nails and thinking she's making me feel better. "Older guys want sex. That's all."

"Harry doesn't!" I cry. "He wants the same things I do! We were going to get married, have kids, live in Venezuela and help the poor!"

"Did you really beleive that?" Hermione asked.

"Yes!" I say, but halfheartedly. We were joking around when we said those things, I knew that. But still, that doesn't give him the right to almost rape me.

"Okay, Gin. Let me take you through the five steps of a breakup." She throws her nail file down, acting like the supreme Queen of Dating. "First, sadness. That's what you have now. All I can say is cry your heart out-- even if he's not worth it."

I'd been in love with Harry Potter since I first saw him. Since that first day at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. And it didn't make matters any better that he'd become a permenant fixture at my family's dinner table. I tried to ignore my feelings, crush them, by going out with other guys. But that didn't help at all. So, when I finally got the chance to go out with Harry, I jumped on it. And at first it was good. Really good. But then, he started touching me more, talking to me, kissing me. And that was fine. Until last night. Until he tried to go all the way.

I hate him.

"Next step-- anger," Hermione continued. "Your going to hate him for a while. Just try to refrain from anything, er, violent."

Now, that was an idea.

"Listen. I know your upset. And you have every right to be. He may be my best freind, but he's a bastard when it comes to girls. The smartest thing to do is forget. And I know that's hard, but you can't show him that you care. He's not cruel hearted, and he will come and apoligize, but you have to remember what he did to you, because he will do it again. Funny, he deafeated the most powerful wizard in the world, but he can't learn from his mistakes."

I gulp back some more tears.

Right. Forget about him.

I can do that.