She eludes me, evades me, yet I can't stop wanting from her. Her judgments of me are like a thorn, an arrow, a barbed hook.
I writhe. I want to get away and I want her to draw me in, both at the same time.
Susan Sontag

"Let's go, Hermione." Ron called. The bushy haired girl didn't move from the trophy wall. Harry walked over to see what she was looking at.

By Tom Riddle's shield and awards, there was a photograph of a tall, fair-skinned girl. She stood in her Slytherin quidditch uniform and had her Comet 180 broom in one gloved hand and her leather helmet in the other. She was thin with an oval face and high cheekbones along with a straight nose and piercing light hooded eyes. Her dark hair plaited and thrown over her shoulder. Instead of a proud smile, her small mouth was frowning in typical Slytherin fashion. Despite this, Harry found himself entranced by her, more so, her eyes. There was something wolf-like about them. The intensity of them. The black-haired boy ran a finger over the engraving on the frame.

"Her name looks familiar..I can't remember where I've seen it before." Hermione mumbled trying to recall which book it was she read about the girl.

Player of the Year: Bronwyn Atë Drake, 1941

Photo taken by Peter Wallace

"Ya hafta smile, Drake!" Called Peter Wallace, a sixth-year Hufflepuff and aspiring journalist. "You're player of the year!"

The blond had set up his camera on a tripod in front of the quidditch stadium. Bronwyn just stared at him, frowning, wanting to get this over with. The girl wasn't too sure why she was player of the year. The brunette hasn't been doing well this season. She hasn't been scoring many goals as the previous quidditch season. She wasn't as fast as last season so she's been watching her weight. This had to be some kind of a joke. Bronwyn wondered if the professors drew names from the sorting hat.

She side-eyed her teammates. O'Ryan was giving her an encouraging smile, next to the older Irish girl, Malfoy stood nonchalant. By the platinum blond, Avery wasn't even paying attention. Mulciber was glaring at her along with Dolohov. They didn't like her and she didn't like them. Mulciber because of how he treated girls and Dolohov, Bronwyn didn't have a real reason. The bullnose boy didn't like her so she automatically didn't like him. The brunette glanced at them again. A disgusting pig- no, that's insulting to pigs. A disgusting ogre and a wimp. Well, she understood why they gathered around Tom. One wanted to be more of an arse and the other wanted protection. Tom has proved himself to be a remarkable wizard in the four years she's known him. He excelled in everything he did. Except flying. He refused to touch a broom ever again after first year.

All the professors loved him (except for Dumbledore, who watched him with suspicion). Bronwyn would hide her smirk whenever Tom would interact with professors. His demeanor changed. He'd stand with his hands behind his back, and his brown eyes would become innocent and wide, even his voice would become pitched. He caught her amusement one day during second year after he had finished talking to Professor Merrythought.

"Is something funny?"

"Your little act is funny."

Bronwyn caught the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he walked away from her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The students liked him- especially the girls. Tom rarely gave girls the time of day. A few girls tried being Bronwyn's friend to get close to Tom but the brunette caught on to what they were doing when all they did was ask or talk about him. Every now and then a girl would ask her to introduce them to Tom. When the brunette would explain that Tom was more into studying than dating they'd get mad at her and call her a bitch. 'You just want him for yourself!' one Gryffindor girl yelled to her.

Maybe I do want him for myself. Bronwyn thought to herself one late afternoon in the common room. He sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace with a heavy book in his lap ignoring the other students around him. He's handsome, talented, and smart but can be manipulative at times. Overall, he was the typical Tall, Dark, and Handsome that girls always fell for. She stared at his back from her place on one of the couches and left when she realized that she had been staring at him too long not bothering to finish her drawing of a Knarl for Professor Kettleburn. He was her favorite professor so she thought she'd be nice and give him a gift. Now, she wasn't in the mood. In her rush, she didn't notice one of her drawings slip out of her journal.

I want to be the girl with the most cake
He only loves those things
Because he loves to see them break
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache

"They're only tools. Easily intimidated, moldable tools," Tom replied when she gave her concerns about Mulciber and Dolohov. "They're a means to an end."

"And me?"

"You?" He questioned with a guileless smile. "You're hard to bend but you're knowledgeable, so you're useful to me."

"Right." Picking up her books she then stood up and made her way to the library doors. She felt hurt and just wanted to leave. When I'm no longer useful, then what?

"Where are you going?" Tom demanded when she grabbed her books from the table. His smile now gone and his dark eyes narrowed.

Bronwyn licked her lips. "I told Druella I would help her with her astronomy paper." Not a lie. She's learned that Tom has severe trust issues. She's witnessed him endlessly question his new "friends" if he found fault in what they tell him then use whatever they told him against them. "I'll see you in the Great Hall later."

She skipped dinner that evening. Bronwyn laid under her covers and fell asleep. She had been feeling lethargic lately. The brunette was woken up by Druella when the blonde shook her awake.

"Tom asked why you weren't at dinner. I told him you weren't feeling well but I don't think he believed me." The blonde shivered. "His stare, Winnie. He's good looking but, Merlin, it's like he is piercing your soul when he looks at you. Like, he knows what you're thinking."

Bronwyn frowned. Personally, she hasn't felt that. He didn't scare her. Sure Tom is intense most of the time but it never bothered her. Perhaps her own father's erratic behaviour had something to do with it. "Sorry he put you on the spot."

Druella waved a pale hand in front herself. "Tis fine. And you? Are you really sick or are you hiding from him?"

"I'm not hiding. " Bronwyn mumbled. Her body has been achy the past couple of days and her lower back has been bugging her. "I really don't feel well."

The blonde grinned not believing her friend. "Well, Mister Hairy Heart can't get you up here," she said smacking Bronwyns back. The brunette let out a grunt.

She woke up to red on her sheets and her nightgown the next morning. Am I a woman now? The brunette wondered as she stared at the bright crimson on her fingertips in the toilets. The girl didn't feel pride she felt shame. She pulled her legs up on the seat and cried. Druella found her, told her to stop sniveling like a mudblood and gave her a wad of cotton.

In the Great Hall, the black-haired boy didn't pay any attention to her when she tried to strike up a conversation. In Transfigurations with Dumbledore, she felt Tom's stare burning into her back when the auburn-haired professor gave her praise. Druella's hairy heart comment stayed with her.

"Fine, be stubborn!" Peter laughed and snapped the photo. Bronwyn blinked adjusting her eyes after the flash.

The brunette walked by as Peter was packing up his equipment. She thought she heard him say, "Hairy heart."

Bronwyn turned towards the older boy, icy eyes narrowed. "What'd you say?"

Peter stood up from his hunched over position so he was eye level with her. "A lot of people say you got a hairy heart."

"And?" She asked unperturbed.

"You come across as.. cold." He started, studying her reaction. Bronwyn didn't seem to be bothered by the remark. Nothing really seemed to bother her, Peter thought. He wondered what makes her tick. "You're very aloof."

"Only to people I don't like or don't know. If you're always nice to people it lets them know they can walk all over you." She walked past the boy. "I just don't wear my heart on my sleeve. Anyways, I'm not the one with a hairy heart."

A confused look came on Peter's face. "Who has a hairy heart?"

Bronwyn didn't respond only continued on her way to the castle.

Have you heard of Bronwyn Drake? Harry wrote down in the diary.

Tom didn't respond. Harry waited a few seconds before deciding to close the black diary before he could though, ink appeared.

Of course, we were in the same house. Why do you ask?

No particular reason. Her picture is by yours in the Trophy Room.

No reason? There must be a reason if you are asking about her.

Even though Harry couldn't see or hear Tom, he felt like he was being laughed at. He shut the diary when Ron burst into the room.

"I know who she is! She comes from a family of dragonologists!" The ginger panted. "Charlie owns all of their books. Hermione found out Bronwyn was a Head Girl and her father was a follower of Grindelwald and she herself was a follower of You-Know-Who."

"Was?" Harry pushed up his glasses. Ron just shrugged.

"I don't know. She either died or just disappeared. You-Know-Who probably killed her."