Draco pushed back his hair; his bangs would need to be trimmed. He could get Curly to do it before he went…"Get a grip of yourself," he muttered. He turned and checked the clock again. An hour. Good, he still has time.

Draco's mind unconsciously look back on the last few months: Harry Potter, the so-called Boy Who Lived, had killed the Dark Lord at Hogwarts, and the year ended in a strange way: N.E.W.T.'s and O.W.L.'s were kind of forgotten as the school rejoiced for the death of the most feared wizard, and cried for the ones that had died: the werewolf, an Auror, a Weasley, and many others, including Crabbe.

Shivering even though the thoughts of the fiendfyre flashed through his mind, Draco never wanted to encounter that curse ever again. Then again, he never wanted to hurt anyone…Not that his parents or the Dark Lord knew…

Draco thought of the Potter boy. He had saved his life what, like, two times, and he was in his debt to the other wizard forever; Draco didn't want to be, but he was.

He glanced again at the clock. Still 45 minutes left. Good. He was trying to convince himself that it was just a dream, but it wasn't, it was real. Oh so real.

It all started when Draco went back home with his parents; he decided to visit Hogsmeade for some reason. He had shrugged when his parents told his to be very careful and to bring his wand (the Potter boy had given it back to him at the end of the chaos at Hogwarts). (His parents even thought of sending some one with him).

But the Malfoy family was ruined. His mother, Narcissa, didn't like to speak much, didn't care when Lucius, his father, gave the Ministry, or what was left of it, the rest of the hidden dark objects that he had been gloating over not long ago. Strange, how that worked…

Draco's eyes flashed back to the clock. Thirty-five minutes. Still enough time to call it off. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. He wanted to see her face, hear her laugh, hear her say his name like she did.

Shaking his head, Draco thought back to when he first met her, in Hogsmeade. Leaning back in his chair, his mind whirled away:

Draco stood in front of the Three Broomsticks. The sign was rather battered, and Draco felt a twinge of guilt of remembering the owner who he had put under the Imperious curse in his sixth year. Oh well, all that was past.

But Draco didn't feel that way when he set off down the street to the Hog's Head. He wanted somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, somewhere where he could just put up his hood, drown himself in butterbeer, and pretend his world wasn't falling apart.

He opened the door and walked him to the counter. Finding it hard to look into the owner's eyes, Draco muttered, "One butterbeer, please."

The owner's piecing blue eyes sparkled, making Draco remembered, with a twinge of guilt, of Albus Dumbledore, the man who he was suppose to kill but couldn't. Snape ended up doing the work, and ended up dying at the Dark Lord's hands. Potter even said so, and what Potter says seems to be true all the time…

Draco sat himself down in the corner, pulling his hood lower over his pale face and light blonde hair, and took a sip of butterbeer. His hawthorn wand felt warm, yet strange in his hand. No wonder since the Potter boy had had it for a while. The events at the Malfoy Manor with the mudblood and Potter and Weasley seemed very far away now.

The door opened, and a soft voice said, "Nothing, today, just to lighten some souls."

Draco snorted and wondered what she was going to do. Probably make some really bad jokes and when that failed would probably get up on the table and tap dance half naked.

He almost choked when she sat down across from him. Pulling his hood down further, Draco slumped even more in his seat.

"Hi," the girl said. He looked past his hood and saw a pretty face: pale skin, black hair in a braid, long and silky. She smiled, and he noticed her teeth were very straight and were, well, perfect, you could say. She also had a slight accent that wasn't English. French, maybe?

Draco nodded glumly and took a sip from his drink. The girl stared at him before asking, "What's your name?"

"What does it matter to you?" Draco asked viciously. He got up, not bothering to finish his butterbeer, left the bottle, and went outside. To his disbelief and discomfort, the girl followed him.

"Not much, but it'll help us know each other more," she said, stepping into rhythm with him as he walked away.

"Who says I want to know you?" Draco growled. He tried walking faster, but she kept up with him. She wasn't short, she noticed, and had nice, long legs under that robe… Shaking his head, Draco hurried on.

"My name's Cecile Johnson. May I ask what is your name?" Cecile asked. It was ore of a command now, as if this girl was a princess.

"Draco Malfoy." Draco thought about Disapparating, but that wasn't the best thing to do. He had wanted a new life; this could be the start of it. "Are you French?" he asked. If he could keep asking the questions, they wouldn't have to go into his past.

"On my Mum's side. She is one hundred percent French, but stayed with my Dad to marry him. She spoke only English, thought," Cecile said. "Neither of them are ."

So she's a mudblood? Draco asked himself. Walking towards some unknown destination, he asked, "Why haven't I seen you at Hogwarts, if you're a witch?"

"Taught by my Mum," Cecile explained. She had bright, light blue eyes. She tried to catch his eye, but Draco avoided it.

"How old are you? Taken your final exams yet?" Draco desperately wanted to avoid any questions about his past.

"Sixteen, and yes I have," she said. She seemed angry, and Draco thought that this was a lady he should try to stay on the good side of.

"Sorry," Draco muttered. He leaned on a rail and looked out. He immediately paled.

"What?" Cecile saw him pale and looked out at what he saw: the Shrieking Shack. "I don't like the place, do you?"

Draco shook his head, his throat to dry to speak. Finally he managed a, "Let's get out of here."

Cecile nodded, eyeing him like a healer looking at a patent, but followed him away from the spot.

This was where I saw Potter's head floating in midair, Draco thought. He turned to Cecile and asked, "Why are you talking to me? Do you even know who I am?" He immediately regretted saying that.

"I know all about you. I have talked to Harry Potter, and I have seen into your thoughts," Cecile said quietly.

Coming to a stop abruptly, Draco said, "How have you—never mind that. How—what-when, damn, how can you see into my thoughts?"

"I am pretty good at mind reading," Cecile said. She didn't use the proper term, but knew it all the same.

Draco shifted and sighed at the same time. Auntie Bellatrix had taught him a little of something to allow to shield some of his thoughts from the Dark Lord.

Cecile pushed back his hood, revealing his face to the hot weather of summer around him. She leaned in, getting up on her tiptoes, and kissed Draco lightly on the forehead. "You should not feel so bad; it was not you fault your parents were so obsessed with the Dark Lord. Feel grateful that he has been vanquished," Cecile said, still quiet. They stood like that before Draco escaped from her grip and walked away, not bothering to put up his hood, muttering something about, "Filthy mudblood touching me. What would Mum and Dad think?"

And then he stopped. He just realized it: the only reason he was doing anything like his parents did and thought was all because he had learned from them, not from anyone else, learned their wrong and twisted thinking, and took to that like a fish to water. The only reason he was angry with her was because she had looked into his thoughts, and been Muggle-born.

Looking back, Draco tried to empty his emotions and focus on keeping his mind shut. But it didn't seem to work. Turning away, Draco walked a few feet, trembling. Maybe, maybe it's time to start to rebuild the respect the Malfoys had, long ago. Maybe I can break out that mold. Maybe, maybe I am capable of that feeling towards other than pure blood. Maybe…Draco looked meaningful at Cecile, and suddenly he could look into her eyes. "Cecile," he started, but she shushed him.

She quickly close up the gap and said, "It wasn't your fault at all. You were just guided wrong. Think, Draco, of what you want to have happen right now?"

Draco thought. He really thought. He thought was would be the right thing to do, what his parents (at least his Dad) would do, what a normal person do. "I want," he said slowly, "for one more chance. One chance to make the Malfoys great again, but not through lying and treachery like my father, but a true and noble person. That, is what I wish."

Cecile smiled, and turned away. She wore a black dress with a blue scarf. Draco stared at her; she looked so inviting, so warm. He wanted her, so bad…

"Cecile!" he called after her. He ran after her, and she turned around to face him. "Yes, Draco?" she said, her voice curling the "oh" at the end up his name slightly.

"I just want to say, well, thank you, and um, would you, well, er, see me tomorrow, that is at, er, at 8 o'clock tomorrow, here, um, please?" Draco thought, My parents will never approve of this. Why am I even saying this?

Because you love you, said a little voice in the back. Draco realized he had always had that little voice, but he had pushed it out, away from him, but it was right.

I can I, love, her this quickly? And she's a mudblood for God's sake! Draco snapped at the voice.

Ask yourself, not me is said.

Draco snorted. Aren't you a part of me? he asked. When he got no answer, Draco shook his head.

"What?" Cecile asked. She look into Draco's dark blue eyes and asked, "What's wrong?"

Draco stared into her eyes before answering, quite soft, "Do you, do you mind if I, well, er, kiss you?"

Cecile blushed. He could not believe it when she blushed! Cecile looked up at him and said, "Only if you meet me here tomorrow night, 8 o'clock?"

Draco smiled and leaned down. Their lips met, and a shower of good feeling came through Draco, traveling all the way over his body before stopping at between his legs. "Tomorrow night?" he asked quietly, breaking away from her lips.

"Tomorrow night," Cecile said, and she broke from his grip and walked away.

Draco smiled after he, then step away, Disapparating back into his bedroom. Draco fell onto his bed, a grin stretched from ear to ear. He looked at the clock: three in the morning. Draco pulled off his cloak and boots, before setting his wand next to him. He looked out the window and saw the sliver of the sun appear.

"Tomorrow at 8," Draco whispered to the darkness, before setting into his blankets and in no time, sleep claimed him.