Author's Notes: Guess what? I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the charactors that go along with him. I'd appreciate your reviews should you read this, and any constructive critism you might have.

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I've hated that Potter boy since . . . well, for as long as I can remember. Long before we met my father taught me to hate him, because obviously he was not only of mixed blood - but he brought down He-who-must-not-be-named … our lord.

Him and his irritating little gang of do-gooders - The disgraceful Weasley, Ron, and Potter's mudblood I'm-so-much-smarter-than-thou girl friend Granger. How I loathe them all. They always are plotting ways to do good, and they're that old fool Dumbledore's pet students.

I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Of course, you probably know, or at least have heard of my father, Lucius Malfoy. He's very well respected at the ministry, why, even the minister Cornelius Fudge is in his pocket. I'm a sixth year at hogwarts now, the star of the Slytherin quiddich team, and prefect of Slytherin house, which is obviously the best house, otherwise I wouldn't be in it.

My hatred of Potter increased by tenfold one evening in September. He and his friends where chatting together at the Gryffindor table, while Crabbe, Goyle and myself where discussing various hexes that might make short work of our dear enemies above mentioned, when Potter leaned in to Granger and kissed her fully on the lips. She looked surprised a second, glancing around to make sure a minimal amount of people where watching, then brushed his hair from his face with a giggle, and kissed him back.

Well, I can tell you, I was struck speechless for a time. I stared at the monstrosity that was the pair of them with such a hate boiling inside of me that I wanted to march over there, wrench his foul head away from her and scream, "YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY!" . . . why this sudden revelation? I have no idea.

As I stared, transfixed, I saw her look at me, straight in the eyes past Potter. Her beautiful, deep, soul consuming eyes, set in that lovely face . . . not that I liked it of course. I was startled none the less by the meaning in the look. It wasn't hate, for some un fathomable reason. It wasn't even dislike, or distain, or any of our usual exchanges. It seemed contented, friendly . . . which shocked me even more, as you can probably imagine.

Potter noticed her sudden distraction, then followed her line of sight. He murmured something in her ear, then glanced meaningfully at me. They both laughed. I gave Potter the finger and my mad face, then tore my gaze away and resume conversation; and try to forget Granger, and the look.

This merely proved more and more difficult, however.

It had been well over two months, as I glared at Potter in potions. There could be nothing I would like better than to put on a daring display of muggle fighting and mash him to a pulp. It'd been worse than ever, now that he's with Granger. I crushed my mandrake root in my hand. Professor Snape doled me out a look only to be interpreted as appraising. I glared at him. Even when he gave Potter a zero on his de-Petrification Potion didn't cure my anger - I knew what he did with that filthy Mudblood.

"There's nothing for it," I seethed later, to Crabbe and Goyle. "We're going to have to teach Potter and his girlfriend a lesson." My minions guffawed stupidly. I doubted they could fathom my plan.

It was quite simple really. It involved sneaking up on Potter, torturing him violently, then taking Hermione (Hermione? When had I started calling her Hermione?) and making her pay for the humiliation she was to all wizard kind. Pain, suffering, and humiliation all rolled into one. It was genius.

But how to pull together my malicious scheme? Well, in the end it took some help from dear old dumpy Longbottom. He was walking along in an unsuspecting manner when we happened to cross paths. I just happened to jinx him left right and center, and in return for his freedom demand the passwords to his common room. Painfully simple. The dark lord would be proud of my tact.

So I found myself some nights later discreetly lounging in the empty common room. It was Christmas, and the only students around to hear where long since to bed. It was an empty school this holiday.

Laughter and voices came from outside the portrait of the pink clad fatty. I tensed, my knuckles white on my wand. The portrait swung open and thus entered Potter and Hermione, with all my might did I shout -

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

In their shock at finding me there, their wands flew from their hands and soared into my grasping fingers. I couldn't help a cocky grin.

"Caught off guard on the home ground, Potter? Tut, tut . . ."

"Malfoy!" He glared at me with almost as much hatred as I in turn felt for him. "What in hell are you trying-" he crumpled to the floor with a swift and angry unconsciousness curse. Potter crumpled to the floor without a sound.

"Shut your foul mouth!" I snarled viciously, kicking at his limp body, surprising myself at how deep my anger was. Potter always gets away with everything, Potter's always the favorite, Potter gets all the attention, Potter has Hermione . . . I shook my head violently, trying to clear my thoughts. "I can't take your idiocy anymore! I - just - can't - take - it!" I choked on my voice. What in hell was happening to me? I was not going to cry. Malfoy's do not cry.

"I don't hate you, Draco."

My eyes widened in shock. Wild thoughts ran through my head, uncontrollable rages and desires that I didn't fully understand. She doesn't hate me . . . she's a foul mud blood . . . Potter must die, Potter must be punished . . . I found myself rocking back and forth on my heels, furious shudders running through me.

Quite without warning, I found arms around me, holding me, stroking my white blonde hair, a voice echoing through my head, saying it cared about me, it didn't hate me, it didn't want me to be sad, that it loved me . . .

Hermione clung to me, her arms around my waist by far the most wonderful thing that had ever come to pass for me. Nobody loves you Draco, she's trying to trick you, no one loves you, has your mother ever even held you like this? Your own parent despise you, you're despicable, you'll never be loved… With a shuddering gasp, all the voices in my head where banished. My trembling lips found hers in the sweetest thing imaginable.

"You're wrong," I thought, fiercely. "Someone out there must care, even if my family doesn't. Just because your father beats you doesn't mean everyone hates you …" I held Hermione tightly against me, and for the first time I could remember, cried my heart out on the shoulder of someone who cared.