A/N: Hi again friends! I'm so sorry I've been totally out of the loop for zonks bUT I'M BACK, if only temporarily before I submerge once more for exams. These are my final school exams forever, but once I'm finished I'll be back on the road and writing this bad boy! Unfortunately, this isn't very long as it's just the prologue, but I thought I'd give a little taster of what's lined up for this story! Also, I'm planning on having song recommendations at the start of each chapter because I love music and I actually came up with a playlist that I thought was suitable, both musically and lyrically! :D Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please review and/or follow, let me know your thoughts on this new story!

Chongy :)

Disclaimer:The lovely J.K. Rowling owns all of these characters, not me. Damn it.

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Prologue: Remember Me

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The clipping of his shiny leather shoes, hard and cold against the linoleum floor, announced his arrival. Neon brights glinted off smooth, blond hair, and mercurial gray eyes watched her warily from their perch above a straight nose and a small frown that creased his golden brows.

She watched him watch her, intrigued as he opened his mouth to speak haltingly:

"Do you... do you..."

His face was pinched as he ran a hand through his hair, watching her with anxious eyes as he struggled to grasp the right words to say. His breath tickled her cheek as he leaned over her, his fingers tenderly tucking away a loose curl.

"Do you remember us?"

She looked at him. Really saw him. His mussed blond hair, pale skin that was flushed with anxiety, gray-blue eyes filled with concern, the pointed features, the tall skinny frame held with poise and a certain regal elegance: none of them brought back any memories, aside from the name Draco Malfoy and a few words like Mudblood, and filth. She remembered that those were insults, torments directed at her. That he thought she was impure and dirty. She remembered that he hated her, and with that thought she recoiled as she felt a wave of hurt and sadness.

A Them? An Us?

She shook her head: no.

Something inside him snapped; she could see it from the instant slump of his shoulders, the knitting of his eyebrows, the sharp intake of breath. Hermione met his eyes: they were so full of anguish and agony that she was taken aback. The eye contact lasted a half a heartbeat before the young man bolted from the room, leaving Hermione lonely in the hospital bed, touching the ghost of warmth left by his trailing fingertips.

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She has to remember me. She has to.

He paced agitatedly, running his hands through his hair and glaring at the sun peeking over the horizon. The night had the power to shroud harsh truths in shadows and darkness, and Draco could pretend, for at least a while, that reality wasn't really happening. But with the obnoxious sun came the daunting light, and the pain of what was happening hit him.

She doesn't know who I am, who we were.

The pain of the realisation hit him with all the force of a charging Hippogriff, and the mug on the kitchenette shattered. Draco regarded it with half a second of shock before returning to his preoccupied and anger-fuelled pacing: uncontrolled bursts of magic like that hadn't happened since he was a young boy. Finally, as the sun reached the top of the horizon, he sat, shaking. A lump was in his throat and his eyes were burning as he struggled to contain his emotions, bottling them up to deal with later. Actually, if he were honest with himself, he never dealt with his emotions; he let them fester and infect his mind. She was the one who helped him express himself, she was the only one who could: she was his saviour. And now...

He stared at the photograph atop the coffee table in front of him. Though the plain wooden frame was nothing expensive or ornate, it added to the charm of the beautiful scene the photo captured, made more sentimental because Granger had taken it with something called a 'vintage polaroid camera'; she had a penchant for photography and capturing the essence of what was beautiful in her world. The photo had been taken by one of Granger's parents, and it showed the two of them basking in the sun outside Florian Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour, with ice-creams in hand and a dab of chocolate on Draco's nose, so dark in comparison to his skin. But the main object in the photo that took his breath away was her. She was laughing, her face frozen forever in an expression of utter joy and contentment, her gaze slightly shy from beneath her lashes as she gazed at him. Her honey coloured eyes were filled with love, and she seemed to glow with happiness from every pore of her body, from her sun-kissed cheeks to her sandalled feet. His expression showed nothing but tender adoration, which was a rare moment, even in Granger's presence. He never let that kind of emotion show; not because he thought it a weakness, but because he'd never known how. No-one had shown him how: he'd never seen his father cry, or his mother happy. He only knew anger and hatred. Granger had shown him the way. He was lost in a world without her, trapped inside a sea of memories she didn't remember partaking in.

But there she was, and here was he. So close, yet never so far apart.