Draco Malfoy was seated on a bench outside when he first saw her. The sound of hoof beats made him glance up from the Dark Arts book he was reading, and when his eyes fell upon the gray carriage it was with interest and not the normal expression of scorn or contempt.

Heather paused, imagining what it would have been like to sit in the carriage, as it lurched forward towards the looming castle of Hogwarts. Closing her eyes, she could almost see the interior of the carriage, richly decorated. She could almost feel the rich texture of the dark gray velvet seats, the smoothness of the silk curtains tasseled with soft, shiny tassels. If she pulled back the window, she could glance out at the Hogwarts grounds passing by, and if she chanced to raise her head at the right moment, there was a chance she could lock eyes with the most attractive boy in the entire school.

At that very moment he was glancing towards the carriage, a pair of soft green eyes were peering out at him. For a moment he was caught in the glance, staring at her as the two chestnut horses pulled her towards the castle gate.

After a moment of staring after her, Draco closed the book, as if in a trance, and laid it upon the bench. Within a moment, he was standing at the castle doors, watching her get out of the carriage.

The first thing he noticed was that her hair was a pale golden color, which she wore straight and down so that it fanned out on her back and seemed to glimmer against the dark blue of her cloak. Next, he noticed her clothing. His eyes traced the green silk of her dress. Finally, he met her face, one that was staring at him with slight apprehension, pale lips slightly parted, frozen without breathing.

Suddenly, she had turned; Filch had arrived, and was taking her bags. Even as the caretaker led the girl within, Draco remained motionless in the evening shadows, watching the girl walk into the castle.

In Heather's mind, the scene was beautiful and perfect, like that in a Disney movie. The prince was now watching his new princess, as she felt a growing feeling of embarrassment and excitement. She would be perfect for him. Together, they would walk through Hogwarts together, laughing, enjoying every moment. Voldemort would be forgotten. Nothing could go wrong as long as they were together.

Her name, Draco soon learned, was Amber. He watched her all during dinner, as she sat at the staff table, politely leaned in to the conversation. Every time she smiled, Draco felt his heart jump. The torchlight made her eyes twinkle, and in the warmth of the room, she had thrown off her cloak so that her emerald robes drew all eyes. Draco was oblivious to the loud chatter in the room. He did not notice when his fellow Slytherins stared. Pansy Parkinson followed his gaze, and her eyes narrowed when she found the girl he was staring at.

"What are you looking at?" she pouted.

"Nothing." Draco actually turned to her, and found that the rest of his table-mates were also staring. At his comment, Pansy pushed out her lower lip and returned to her dinner. Draco stared at the rest of the people at his table until they, too, returned to their own affairs.

When he glanced back, she was gone. He was so distraught he didn't hear the soft footsteps.

"Hi," came a soft voice. He turned, and was caught off guard. "I'm Amber. Is this seat taken?"

---

Draco could have gagged. The second Heather turned off her screen, the torches in the hall went out. The students who had been chattering and laughing froze and faded, leaving the hall cold, dark, and fairly empty.

"Well, it is now," he murmured disgustedly. The girl, Amber, sat down next to him. She was perfect, Draco had to admit. Watching her, however, was disconcerting, like watching a robot. As she sat, it was apparent that she wasn't truly there; her posture was perfect, her eyes stared forward without connecting to anything; her hands were folded perfectly in her lap.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come over to sit at the Slytherin table. The food, too, had faded; all the baked chicken and mashed potatoes and steaming tureens of soup, and even the golden silverware was no longer there.

"Hello, I'm Hermione." She sat down across from Draco, smiling warmly at the Barbie-doll-girl sitting next to him.

"Hi, I'm Amber," she replied, a fake smile displaying all of her plastic-looking teeth.

"Nice to meet you," Hermione replied genuinely. Ron and Harry were staring at the girl, both equally disgusted and intrigued. Amber was silent, staring at Hermione with an angelic smile on her face.

"I'm Ron." He sat down next to Hermione.

"Harry."

"Hi, I'm Amber," she repeated for a third time.

"Where are you from, Amber?" asked Hermione kindly, perhaps wishing to start a conversation.

"I came in a carriage," the blonde girl replied.

"From. . .?" prompted Draco, turning to look at her, waiting patiently for an answer.

"I came in a carriage," she repeated, her eyebrows furrowing, causing her perfect, porcelain skin to wrinkle in her confusion.

"How was that carriage?" Hermione continued, trying fruitlessly to hold a conversation for the first time in ten years with someone other than the professors plus her other friends.

"It was gray," Amber said, turning to Draco, as though he had been the one to ask the question.

"Ah," he replied, and when he spoke her face lightened as though galvanized by him.

"You have such a beautiful voice," she told him, her voice idolizing. She leaned in towards him. He tried very hard to stay still, but it was difficult, especially when she placed her head on his chest. He fought the urge to shove her away.

"I can hear your heart beating," she murmured. Draco rolled his eyes. How fluffy was this going to get? One of her perfectly-manicured hands grabbed his shoulder.

"I have to go the bathroom," he blurted out, and stood. She stared at him, her green eyes wide in her smooth, pale face, but didn't say anything.

"I'll go with you," Hermione volunteered. Just as the two of them left the room, Draco heard Harry say, "So, Amber, what was your carriage like, again?"

---

In Heather's English class, the Mrs. Flett had just assigned a group essay. The chaos that resulted had most of the class seated with their desks turned into circles, as the chatter in the room increased. Heather had been staring at the clock for the past ten minutes, watching the red second hand slowly circle the black-and-white face. In front of her, three boys were laughing and joking. The noise in the room was oppressive, as people argued over wording the who would contribute what. Heather was completely silent, waiting with measured deep breaths, trying not to stare the boy infront of her.

Finally, the bell rang. She quickly scooped up her bag and books, and started walking as quickly as she could for the door, mentally cursing herself for the sloppiness of her hair or the redness of her face or the way her clothing fit.

"Hey, Heather!" she heard a voice call, one that almost made her heart stop. Turning she saw the three boys in her group approaching her. No question was in her mind as to which one had spoken.

He was standing in the middle, flanked by his friends, Brad and Mark, who had identical grins on their faces..

"Heather," Louis said, his voice casual and brown eyes staring into Heather's gray ones. "I was wondering, could you do me a favor?" She nodded mutely. She didn't even notice as the two other boys brushed past her, after they quickly knocked fists with Louis. She did notice that his eyes drifted momentarily as he acknowledged their exit. After a moment, he turned back to her.

"Well, the essay's due on Friday, but we've got basketball. So, I was wondering, could you get a head start on it." It didn't sound like a question, but Heather nodded anyway.

"Hey, B!" he called, striding past her and towards the door where his friends were waiting. "It's covered. So, about that party Thursday night. . ."

Heather stood for a moment, staring blankly at the blackboard, trying to remember the exact tone of honey that was streaked in his hair from the hours spent out in the sun. At her desk arranging papers, Mrs. Flett stared at one of her favorite students, wishing she hadn't heard what she had.

---

Hermione didn't speak for a while.

"You don't like her," she said. It wasn't a question.

"No, I don't." Draco was staring resolutely at the gray walls, the empty white canvases that were waiting for an imaginative author to fill them with life. Occasionally, they'd pass paintings that weren't subject to change with different authors, like the Fat Lady who stood, frozen in a blank canvas.

"It's not her fault," Hermione continued.

"I understand that," Draco replied, frustrated.

"You should take it as a compliment."

"Why?" Draco's voice was harsh, and he glared at Hermione, who wasn't fazed at all by the angry glinting in his sometimes-blue-sometimes-gray eyes.

"Obviously, this author really likes you. This character, Amber, is just a personification of her feelings for you."

"'Personification'?" Draco repeated. "Trust me, Hermione, there is nothing human about that girl. Nothing personal. She's just. . .there."

"So are all of us," Hermione replied flatly.

"Why?" he asked, turning so that he was facing her and blocking her path.

"You know I don't have the answers for everything, Draco."

"But aren't you supposed to?"

"Perhaps." Her answer made him angrier.

"Who are you, Hermione? Who are we? Does anyone here know who they are?"

"Draco, don't make a big deal out of this," Hermione replied calmly, bland of any emotion.

"Isn't it a big deal?" he replied hotly, feeling a strange surge of heat through him. He was so unaccustomed to true anger that it took him a moment to realize he was actually furious.

"Calm down," Hermione murmured, reaching up to stroke his blond hair.

"Stop it," he growled, flinching away.

"You usually like it when I do that," Hermione replied, sounding as though it made no difference to her. After a moment of staring at the wall, her head tilted, she continued walking. Draco decided not to follow. He didn't want to. And that surprised him.