Disclaimer: Most of these characters, and all things HP do not belong to me. As you know.

She sighed and slumped her shoulders, dropping her bookbag to the cold wooden floor. Shoes off. Bed looks nice, she thought. Diving beneath her soft downy comforter, she was almost completely hidden. Almost hidden, but not quite. Her pale pink socks peeked out at the foot of her bed. Crinkle … crumple … What was that? Beneath her pillow was a note. It was written in sharp, pointed cursive:

Dear You,

We have never met, officially. I have seen you, obviously.

Meet me tonight. I am not worried about whether or not

you show up. If you meet me, you're perfect. If not … I have

other options. I'll have to look pretty hard, as it's taken me

years to find you, but I'll manage. Don't feel guilty.

It could get dangerous.

Please, if you have a taste for adventure, an open mind, and

a quiet way about you, meet me in the third floor girl's

lavatory at midnight. Tonight.

Creepy? Perhaps. But if you're the right person, this won't

creep you out enough to discourage you. I look forward to

our meeting.

Oh yes … I almost forgot …

I can't even tell you who I am. Isn't that fun?

Signed,

Yours.

Her eyebrows were almost touching they were so tensely drawn together. The corners of her lips, though, were slightly upturned. She was intrigued. Who was this strange person? What did they want? More specifically, what did they want with her? Perfect for what? She desperately hoped this person wasn't planning on eating her. She doubted she was tasty anyway. Her tongue brushed the inside of her wrist. No, she thought, too salty. Much too salty.

The girl feigned consideration of the dangers of meeting a stranger in the middle of the night. Feigned, because she had already decided to go before she got a chance to think of any specific pitfalls. She couldn't think of something to immediately reconsider, so she stopped. But what to wear? What could she wear to impress this stranger, if that is indeed what she was meant to do? Her mind turned over some options, pink dress, green dress, jeans, pajamas, uniform? She decided on black pants, plaid shirt. Inconspicuous? Yes. She then paced the common room until other students began throwing her glances that said, If you don't stop, I will hex you. So, she waited …

He shivered beneath the pale bluish light in the bathroom. His hands and feet felt as though they were no longer part of him. He leaned over the sink and inhaled deeply. Will she meet me tonight? he wondered. Hoping desperately that she would, he began to think of everything he had to do. His so-called "mission" and the consequences he would face should he … fail. Fail. He hated that word. It might as well be called "die" at this point. The Dark Lord was counting on him. The fate of everything seemed to be resting on his shoulders, and he hated the Dark Lord for it. Everything his father had done, and this is what he gets? Absurd! But why him? There were plenty of skilled and willing Death Eaters to do the job. Why was he given so much responsibility?

His legs began to quiver, and his faced darkened. He hadn't thought of something. If she does meet me … will she be in danger? He couldn't bare to think about it. He began to doubt what he was doing, and now wished that she wouldn't show. That she would think the letter was odd, and that it would be dangerous – not to mention against the rules – to meet him tonight. He squeezed his eyes tightly, to try and block out images of her being tortured by Bellatrix, or worse, the Dark Lord himself. His stomach lurched. Slamming his palm against the edge of the sink, he hissed a curse. He bit his lip hard and tasted blood. Raising his head, he looked at his blooded, bruised, pathetic, crying reflection in the mirror and saw her standing in the doorway behind him. He closed his eyes slowly and composed whatever pieces of himself he could.

"I th-think I have the wrong place. S-sorry. I'll be going …" she whispered, wide-eyed.

He rushed to the door and grabbed her wrist, silencing her with his other hand.

"Don't leave. Don't scream. You're here, I won't hurt you. I just can't have you leaving now, after you've answered my letter." He gently released her, praying she wouldn't scream or run away. She didn't. She stood and stared at him.

After a moment, she said, "Draco Malfoy? You wrote that letter?"

"Yes," he answered quickly. "And it's very important that you keep this between us. It's … it's absolutely bloody important and I fucking … I …" flustered, he gave up speaking.

"How do you know me? Why did you write me the letter in the first place? And mostly, what is the matter? You look terrible!"

He half-grinned and shook his head in relief. "I've seen you in class. That's it. You looked … well you looked right. I can't explain it. And there's a lot wrong, and there's a lot I'd really love to tell you."

She touched his arm. "Stop biting your lips."

He cried right then, with no warning. He cried long sobs, dripped tears onto his face, shirt, pants, the floor, her blouse, her face – and all the while she was silent. She just let him cry, occasionally wiping his face, or touching his arms or hair. Her touch filled him with a warmth he was unfamiliar with, and he was glad for it. Finally, a feeling that wasn't guilt or pain or sorrow.

After his sobbing fit had subsided, he told her. He told her everything. EVERYTHING. Absolutely fucking everything. And she listened so intently, so … she looked thoroughly concerned when he was finished. She spoke: "Draco … you are not a bad person. I KNOW you think you are, but that's just not the case. You are being forced into something very serious, and there is no other way to deal with it than to obey or die. And were I in your position, I would choose not to die as well. I want to help you in any way I can. Dumbledore knows … he must. He wouldn't let anything happen to any of his students, even those who were plotting to kill him." She smiled crookedly.

"You can't help me with that, but what you're doing now … that's the help I need. This is what I wanted you for. I feel like I can't do this. I can't DO this! Especially alone. But maybe if I have you to raise my spirits, I can at least try. And then … this will all be over. Everything needs to end, Ivy. Everything must end. I am exhausted, and everyone is frightened, and I HATE that I'm on the "bad" side of things. I'm not evil. I'm not. Not. I'm going to protect you. No matter what happens. Do you want to stay? Do you want to do this with me? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Draco. I'm quite sure."

"You're beautiful. And I've always thought so."

She blushed. "Where did that come from?"

"It's always been here. I just said it so you could be aware of it's presence."

"You're beautiful too. Especially all bloodied like you are. There's something so tragic about you, it's stunning."

"I wish I was that sort of fake tragic everyone's trying to replicate now … that'd be fine with me."

"There's nothing like the real thing." She laughed. Her smile was like a sparkling crescent moon, and he was about to eclipse it.

He held her head in his hands very gently, as though if dropped it would shatter into a zillion tiny fragments, and moved his face towards hers. Their lips were millimeters from touching, and with each uttered word they brushed ever so lightly.

"I love you already. Stay."

His lips caught hers on the last syllable and a rush of ecstasy overcame him. His fingers wound into the curls of her hair, her fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and - BANG!

"DRACO! HEY! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO KATIE BELL!" Harry Potter burst into the third floor bathroom screaming, causing Myrtle to scream, and chaos took over. She jumped up and looked at him for a signal. He told her to hide in a stall, so Harry didn't know she was there. He pulled out his wand and shot a curse at Potter.

"POTTER … NOT NOW! OF ALL TIMES, THREE IN THE MORNING IS NOT WONDERFUL. YOU KNOW, YOU ARE FUCKING BRILLIANT!"

"SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP!" Potter yelled, "I KNOW YOU'RE A DEATH EATER! I KNOW YOUR FATHER—"

"SHUT UP ABOUT MY FATHER, POTTER!" He yelled, and shot another hex.

Potter knocked over toilets, walls, stalls, where was she? Harry was hexing and cursing and casting all sorts of weird spells at him, and what if Harry saw her?

And then, she was exposed. Standing against a wall, she held out her wand and began, "Cru—" Harry retorted, "Sectumsempra!"

He jumped in front of her and tried to shield her. A white hot pain shot across his neck and back, to his chest and to hers. Harry had managed to injure both of them with the same spell. They were hurt. He checked quickly, and she looked up at him in disbelief. She was bleeding. Potter immediately regretted his actions. Myrtle yelled for a teacher, and he and she fell together into a bloody heap on the floor. The blood was lost quickly and he tried to hold her weak head out of the pool of blood surrounding them. But … he couldn't hold … on. Potter had killed him. How? was the last thought he had before blacking out.