The first couple weeks at Hogwarts went surprisingly well for Willow. Almost perfect, even. The worst that had happened was when her ink bottle fell out of her bag as she was rushing to make it to Transfiguration on time. It had shattered and spilled all over the floor and her shoes, but Harry had come to her rescue, helping Willow repair the bottle and siphon the ink back in.

The friends she had met on the first day had taken Willow under their wing, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Not that she was complaining. She was entirely grateful for the attention and assistance. All the trepidation she had felt before slowly disappeared, mostly because of the fact that all she had to do was turn to Ginny when she couldn't find her way to one of her classes, or to Hermione when she needed help with homework. They were all just being so friendly; she couldn't quite fathom why, but she decided she would rather not question it and just enjoy the feeling of belonging that was starting to overcome her when she sat in the common room with the group every night, comparing answers to assignments and just talking, something she wasn't quite accustomed to.

And she had forgotten all about that Malfoy boy.

Almost.

She couldn't help sometimes noticing, in classes that the Gryffindors shared with Slytherin, how he always sat alone in the corner of the room. The teachers must have noticed too, because they never called on him to answer questions, almost pretending as if he wasn't there. She glanced over at him from time to time, just to make sure he was still…alive. As dumb as it sounded. He just looked so emotionless, so dead at times, that it frightened her a bit.

She didn't even know why she cared. It might have just been the fact that she was a compassionate person in general. She was always the child that cried when another child got hurt, just out of sympathy. She held the hand of little girls on the playground when they fell and scraped their knee, even if she was in a country in which she couldn't even understand the language. She always just wanted to help. That's why it had always been her dream to become a Healer. At all her schools, she had always gotten particularly close with the nurse, spending her free time in the hospital wing just observing and, after gaining the trust of the nurse, assisting in any way she could. There was just such joy in helping others feel better when they were in pain; to see the smile finally breaking through the tears. Maybe that's why she kept staring at Draco Malfoy. She just wanted to see him smile.


Two weeks into the term and she was still doing it. Draco was starting to become exasperated. Other students had finally gotten tired of whispering about him behind his back and decided he wasn't worth their pity anymore. He didn't exactly blame them. Every person who walked up to him and asked if he was alright, or if he needed help, got a muttered response of "I'm fine" before he walked away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. But she, she was insistent. During class, he could always see her looking at him with that same expression she had worn on the first day of school, and he was starting to get really sick of it. There was a reason he always sat in the back; he didn't think anybody would be so obvious as to actually turn around to stare at him. But she did. She didn't seem to care at all if he noticed, flagrantly turning her head in the middle of class to look at him quickly before turning back around, only to repeat the entire process a couple minutes later. They were only twenty minutes into a Potions lesson just now, and she had already looked eight times.

Her expression was becoming harder and harder to read. The same look of pity was there, of course, but there was more. At times, he thought it might be fear. But why? Was she afraid of him?

Part of him wished she was. Maybe if he frightened her, she would finally leave him alone. He didn't understand what she had to fear, though. He had never spoken to her. The only interaction they had had was the time he had stared back at her on the first day of school. But it wasn't as if he had done anything particularly chilling. He didn't even think he looked angry. Could it be because of the stories Potter and his friends had undoubtedly told her about him? What could they have told her that would cause her to fear for her own well being when she was around him? Besides, he and Potter were on good terms now. They still nodded at each other when they passed in the hallways. Draco didn't think they would warn her against him.

The whole situation made his head hurt when he thought about it, which was much more often than he would've liked. It just boggled his mind that someone he didn't even know could care so much. The only way he could find out would be if he asked her. But the idea of actually walking up to her and asking "why do you keep looking at me?" seemed ludicrous.

He battled within himself for the remainder of the class. Half of him argued that he didn't even know the girl, and if she was already scared of him, marching up to her and demanding to hear an explanation would hardly help at all. He was also nervous, as much as he hated to admit it. It had been months since he had had a real conversation. But the other half thirsted to know the reason why she was so intrigued by him. It interested him that she could look at him so often with something other than pity in her eyes.

He had finally made up his mind when she looked at him three times over the course of two minutes, a record amount. This was becoming too much. He had to do it.

The class had just ended, and he swept up his belongings quickly, mentally preparing himself to walk right up to the front of the room and ask the girl if he could talk to her. He was halfway across the classroom when he froze, scowling. He realized there was a slight problem.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember. There was the Welcoming Feast, where it was certainly mentioned during the Sorting Ceremony. And there had been numerous classes together since the first day. A teacher had to have called on her at least once within that time. He cursed himself for never paying attention and always being absorbed in his own thoughts, before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

It was hard to confront somebody when you didn't even know their name.

A/N: Yay, finally a bit of plot development!

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