Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but in many ways my life is linked to the books. Thank you JKR!

1991:

He crashed into her, spilling his half eaten ice cream onto her in the process. He apologized instantly and looked at the little girl with her wild hair staring in shock at him. He got up at the same instant his mother appeared beside him. "Draco, are you alright?" she had asked before turning to look at the other family. "I see my son has spoilt your dress, here." She has cast a cleaning charm and smiled politely as they had looked on in shock. Avoiding anymore interaction, she had held Draco's arm and left Diagon Alley. The mistake he had done was to repeat the incident in front of Father, who hadn't taken it well that a Malfoy had apologized to a muggle. That night, Draco had been tutored on how to treat muggles and muggleborns. He tried since then to follow whatever his father said even though it seemed wrong.

He noticed the bushy haired girl again at the platform. The main reason for his interest in her was the way she and her parents were dressed. They stood out, from the rest of the crowd and they seemed to be interested in a surprised sort of way at everything around them. He dismissed his thoughts, realizing how unhappy Father would be if he even gave the muggles a second glance.

1992:

He had called her a mudblood. YES. All thanks to his father who had started referring to her as one since summer. He had returned from first year, rather happy at standing second in class but to his dismay, his father had been very unhappy to hear that. "Second to a mudblood! How could you Draco? I expected much better from you."

"A what Father?" He had tried in all ways to impress his father, had even tried to impress the professors at school by reporting about the groundkeepers' dragon egg, but instead he had being given detention and a trip to the Forbidden Forest.

And so his father had taught him the word, no less than a blasphemy he had realized when he had seen her cry that first time he said it.

When the petrified cat had been spotted, he had started worrying. Seeing no better way than warning her directly, he had tried once more, in hopes that the continual usage of the M word would drive her out of the school towards safety. She was just a child, and in many ways more naïve than the rest of them. Most children were from wizarding families, they would have protection of family when the need arose. She would have nobody. But she didn't budge and landed petrified herself.

He had been so worried that he had sliced a cut into his arm twice just to be able to see her at the infirmary.

1993:

She had slapped him. First slapped and then tried to scare him with her wand. He could've stood his ground and challenge her to hex him, but he hadn't though he was still confident she would never hex a fellow student.

Damn his luck, he had avoided her the whole year; watched her only from a distance during classes and lunch breaks. Even tried to shove off the feeling he felt every time he saw her with Potter and Weasel. He had gone to the extent of getting himself injured by the bloody hippogriff in a moment of spontaneity to look as good as Potter. But all had been ruined and his embarrassment at his actions had kept him at a good distance from her for the remainder of the year. Why had he even agreed with Crabbe that it would be fun to watch the great animal be slaughtered was out of question now. He had done the mistake and now he had a faint hand print on his face to make him feel more miserable.

By the time he had got off the train at the end of the year, he was set in his decision to never look at the girl again, to never think of those wild curls or her chocolate eyes.

1994:

Summer had been awful. He had been so excited for the World cup, enjoyed every bit of it and had even succeeded in ignoring her though she was so close to him in the stands. He had made sure not to glance at her, except once… okay twice.

The events that followed shortly after were so unexpected that he just threw caution to the winds and went looking for her. He wanted to tell her that unless she changed her choice of company, trouble was bound to fall upon her. Stupid Gryffindor courage had made her stick to Potter, the one guy who would have death eaters swarming behind his back at all times, waiting for an opportunity. Being his friend would put her into the kind of limelight that would only end with her life. He wondered why she got herself into all the mess that Potter was in, would it be really worth dying fighting beside him? He envied, even craved, for such friendship.

He had found them near the forests, her between the boys. Of course there was no way she would listen to him, but he had to warn her. And so he had. He had thought it was a pretty smart thing to do at the time, but realized a few years later that it might have helped his image had he been honest and said what had been on his mind. Instead he had made it sound like he couldn't wait to see her dead.

Life was unfair. He cared, yet he couldn't show it. The inexplicable feelings of protection were starting to divert his attention from everything else. He couldn't concentrate on his classes anymore. The only outlet to his frustration was Potter. From the moment his name had come up as the fourth champion, Draco had made sure no one in the school accepted him as one. As if it wasn't enough of a trouble, she was seen hanging out more than required with him. He hadn't slept well the night before the Yule Ball, wondering who she would be coming with. He dreaded to think it would be Weasley, but somewhere he knew it wouldn't be Potter. When he had waited, at the entrance, and seen Weasley and Potter come with the twin Gryffindors, he had been relieved. He had walked into the hall on Pansy's persuasion but kept waiting for her to come, hoping it would be one of the Hufflepuffs that had asked her. She mustve obliged out of kindness, and it would be just a dance. Nothing could ever come out of it. But what if a Ravenclaw or another Gryffindor had asked her? There definitely would be sparks; she would never be able to resist a sharp mind. That would be something to worry about.

And then he had seen her. When she had walked into the hall, dressed up like that, everything else in the room had gone blurry. All he could see was her. There was a faint increase in his heartbeat, as he watched her smile. She looked beautiful; there was no other way to say it. There was no girl in the room, including the French girls, who could measure up to her. In that moment, he had wished to undo everything since first year and just walk to her and tell her how he felt. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he heard Pansy's shrieking voice, and his arm being tugged at by her. Irritated at being disturbed, he had turned to her but realized her eyes were directed at his object/person of interest too. Laughing that she had the same affect like him, he had turned to finally see who she had come with. It had felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach on seeing Krum hold her hand. Pansy had then pulled him onto the dance floor and to be polite he had stayed for two songs. He had taken a seat in one of the corners and watched her without disturbance for the rest of the evening. He had felt a pang every time Krum touched her or she laughed at something he said. Later, there had been an argument with Weasel and she had walked off. He had stealthily followed her and remained in the shadows while she had cried for a few hours. The dead weight in his heart that night had kept him so uneasy that he had grown a habit of following her every now and then at every chance to see if she was okay. She seemed fine, and stayed in the library most of the time. Researching, he knew, for Potter's sake. He saw that Potter would also come along to the library most times, though Weasley didn't. After observing them for a few weeks, he had discovered that their bond was more like that of siblings than anything else. He had spared Potter a little less hatred after that.

1995:

There was no more need to make excuses to follow her, or to watch her from a distance. They shared four classes together and as they had both been selected as Prefects, they would also meet in Prefect meetings held three times a week. Occasionally, if luck was on his side, he would be paired with her for school patrol. Not that they would talk, except regarding the students. He saw that she wouldn't treat him with hostility, just professionally. He appreciated that. Anything was better than hatred.

Later that year, he was selected by that pink toad of a woman, Umbridge, as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. His father had pushed him into working with Umbridge, so that they would be clued in on Potter's moves. He hadn't enjoyed the revelation that half of the school, were working as what they called Dumbledore's Army. So he had agreed to help with the raiding of the activities and detaining the students involved. He was still unsure of how would he save her when the need arose. Umbridge would not spare her, and he was worried of her getting expelled from the school.

So when the time came, he tried to divert Umbridge's attention from her but the stupid Gryffindor bravery made her fake a story and lead Umbridge to the Forest. He knew there was no weapon and it was all her plan. He read the bluff the minute she said it, experienced in reading her expressions after years of watching her. He stayed silent, and let Umbridge go. He had no sympathy for the woman and still thought she deserved what she got.

Hermione. He repeated that name, over and over in his mind. He hated her friends, hated most of her actions. But he couldn't hate her. His father had been sent to Azkaban due to the happenings at the Ministry, and he knew she was involved. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate her or even dislike her. And so he focused all his hatred towards Potter. Little did he think, at that time, that maybe Potter was right? Maybe she was right. And maybe he was wrong.

1996:

He often regarded the year of 1996 as his life's worst year. Life had taken the most unexpected turn for him. He, who had been a prince in his house, was now a prisoner along with his parents. His father's one mistake had led their family to this. Their manor had been converted to a death eater hideout. He had been forcibly made to take the dark mark, seen as an honor among death eaters and as a curse in his eyes. His life had ended the day his arm had been branded, and since then he was only surviving; surviving the mental and physical torture from Voldemort, surviving the war, surviving the loss of the boy he could've been. To redeem the mistake his father had committed, he had been given the task of murder. Never before that day had he thought he would ever use an unforgivable on anyone, leave aside murder. And now he was to kill his headmaster, the only person who could lead the destruction of this self proclaimed evil lord.

It took him a while to digest that no one would help Voldemort change his mind and if Draco was to survive he would have to do the task given to him. So, killing the little bit of compassion left inside him, he gave in to his fate and set out to finish the headmaster. He directed the hatred he felt at his situation and the hatred that was starting to grow for Voldemort at Potter. He envied both Harry and Ron, for the support they had and for the help he could never gain. Atleast what they were doing was right in comparison to what he was being made to do. He didn't deserve any of this. The constant pressure and his family's imprisonment were unbearable to him and he had withdrawn from all his social activities. It had also started to take a toll on his health, and mentally he was finding himself lost and alone. The only consolation to all this was her. He would look at her, more often now. He wouldn't follow her anymore; she just seemed to be at the same places he would be going to most of the time with her golden boys.

He would look at her during breakfast, lunch and dinner. He didn't care who noticed, he didn't care what he ate. She seemed to shine bright in his dark life and he still couldn't explain why. Twice or thrice he came across her crying to herself in the library, and he sat, invisible to her, in a dark corner, and cried along with her. She was his light, and yet he couldn't hold on to her.

When the vanishing cabinet was repaired after a lot of tortured persuasion on him, he hadn't expected so many death eaters to come. He had been told only his aunt and father would make an appearance, which he should've known had been a lie. The minute he saw the death eaters, especially the werewolf Greyback, he had run. He didn't care anymore about who saw him, he had run to find her. He had wanted her safe above all. Upon entering the Gryffindor tower under the Polyjuice as some 5th year student, Draco had overheard Ron telling her to drink some Felix Felicis as Harry apparently had instructed. Grateful for the quick thinking on Potter's side, he knew the potion would keep her safe so he had rushed back out and gone to the Astronomy tower where the dark mark had been cast. He thought that no one would come looking for him here where the dark mark hovered and he would be safe until Dumbledore caught hold of the Death eaters. Maybe he would find the courage to confess to him then and ask for a second chance. But the minute he climbed the stairs to the Tower, he spotted Dumbledore himself standing there. He had disarmed him out of fear that Dumbledore would hex him first. The old headmaster had remained calmed and offered him a chance, a fresh start to life. But it had been hard to believe and before he could've given it a second thought, things had gone out of his control. Snape had reached the scene.

1997:

He wouldn't have known the impact his act had had on the school; he had fled straight after with Snape. But the fallen headmaster's eyes, his voice, his call to him for redemption would haunt him every night. He would wake up crying most of the time. And sometimes, to his horror, she would be in his place. She would be the one calling him to her side and he would kill her.

The task was over and his father had been spared, but the manor and the respect and command they had held was lost. As the war ensued, life got worse. He wouldn't have even considered going back to school, it would forever remain the place of his crime, but due to the ongoing conditions at home he had returned.

She hadn't come, nor had her friends. The scarce Gryffindor table was a painful reminder at every meal and so he had stopped eating in the Great hall. Tired of watching the Carrows torturing the students, he had taken to skipping classes and no one would question him anymore, as he was one of them now. He was broken, and now, with nowhere to go to, he felt empty, devoid of life and happiness.

He would walk aimlessly along the corridors, sometimes hoping to hear about her at least. He had considered once or twice to head to the Gryffindor common room and ask the Weasley girl outright, but restrained himself when he saw most Gryffindors including her and Longbottom nursing wounds inflicted on them by the death eaters.

He missed her. He missed seeing her. He felt barren, of all emotions and feelings. Like an aimless wanderer, without a cause, a lost soul. He just wanted to begin afresh. He wondered whether she would've helped him; watered his emptiness with her words, her support, and her friendship.