Thank you for the reviews! :) I truly appreciate it - they give me an idea of what you guys think of the story. And I just want you to get the best out of this FF, so if you have something you would like to happen, please write a review and tell me about it! I will take all ideas up for consideration.
And also, I need to check another thing: Do you guys like the more soft, cute and loving Draco (as I've portraited this far) or the sexy, selfish, mysterious Draco? Please let me know with a review!
So basically that's it, the two things I would like you to answer: What would you like to happen in the story, and which Draco do you like the most. :) Thank you!

I had just gone and taken the parchment behind the gargoyle, where on the back the answer of my letter had been written. I now sat in the library, where I figured I could be alone, all by myself. No Harry or Ron to interrupt me – like they would care anyway.

I now sat there, between two rackings and stared at the parchment. I could not believe what I had just been reading. "Woah, you're parents are Muggles … Disrespect them in every aspect … Trying to stay as neutral as I can ..." What did he mean – trying to stay as neutral as he could? It was hard to grasp that he was a Muggle-hater, that kind of persons who typically would be pureblooded, arrogant and selfcentered. But it couldn't be true, it just couldn't be. I had written with him. He told me that I was the only one who perhaps had a clue of how he really was.
Then how could he be writing something like this?
"I've been writing with a Mud... stranger." Had he just been about to call me a … a Mudblood?
I began to blink a lot faster, holding back the tears that almost had made their way. I could not be crying. I could not be upset. I just thought he was different – original, elegant, loveable... Maybe I was wrong? Maybe all I knew about him was a lie?
Though, I couldn't help but grin a bit at myself since I began smiling when I read the other sentences.
"I really like you … You make me want to tell you the truth … You make me feel appreciated … Thinking of you …"
I felt confused – I had no idea what to belive. He obviously was a pained soul, hard on the outside, but soft and hurt on the inside. At least what I knew of.
I was still curious about finding out more about him, but I didn't know what to write. I didn't know how to begin, I felt stunned and hopeless.
Frowning, I took my quill and began writing though. I wrote very slowly, but at least words appeared on the parchment.

Dear D.M.
I have no idea where to begin. Your letter has left me breathless and confused.
First of all, I'd like to say that I like you too … There's something special about you, something that leaves me longing for you, something different …

Yet I can't ignore the fact that you're obviously a Muggle-hater. Or so you appear to be, though you wrote that I made you want to respect Muggles. I am very disappointed, and to be honest, I didn't see that coming … at all.

And what was going on with the "Mud... stranger" - if you are to call me a Mudblood, I am going to stop writing you. I can handle a lot, but not that. It's exceeds my boundaries.

I would love to keep writing with you, as long as you focus on the good side that's inside of you. Because I have learned enough about you to know that you're both good and bad. Of course everyone is like that at some point, but you … you're very hard to understand.

As much as I'd like to hex you for what you've been writing, I am also sad and upset. I can't tolerate things like that.
Though, your letter hasn't only left me mad and offended. I am also very grateful and flattered of the things you've written.
I can see your point in keeping this a secret, though you might want to think about the words you're using, thank you. Just because I'm a girl, doesn't mean you can play around with me.
Who are you? I am not asking for your name or your house. I am asking about the truth. You reject the things you're parents have taught you, yet you're still affected by those things.
You have a thing or two to learn, but I'm no expert myself. I, too, have said things I didn't mean and done things I shouldn't have done. I've made mistakes.
My thoughts of you has changed a bit, or expanded, if you will. I find you both arrogant, xenophobic and awful – yet I can't close my eyes to the other part of me saying that you're interesting, hurt and just misunderstood.
I like you. I really do. And I bet you only think about me half as much as I think about you.
With the hope of your quick response,
H.G.

Was I too hard on him? Was I more judging than him, after all?
I couldn't make it up with myself. I decided that the letter couldn't get any better, and went to leave it behind the gargoyle with a lot of different feelings.

The seconds were like years. The minutes moved slowly. Hours became only time of waiting. Waiting for her response, her reaction to my letter.
I had been thinking a lot about it. I was stupid to have put that letter behind the gargoyle. I should've written a new one. Behaved better.
I finally realized this when I read her answer later that day. I understood her feelings about me – her thoughts of me being arrogant and awful. I had heard that many times, yet none of those times had hit me like this. It hurt. Hurt because she was the only one I actually cared for now – and she was just like everybody else.
On the other hand she seemed to give me a chance – even though I'd almost call her a Mudblood. I felt relieved and decided that I would think a lot about my next answer, and behave as well as I could.

Dear H.G.
For a start I'd like to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have written that, but you know what they say: Old habits die hard.
Of course this is no excuse of what I've done. I truly regret it – and understand what you've written. And your thougts of me? They couldn't be more true. Many people has called me arrogant, but with you, I'll do everything I can to avoid that. Because if I have to be honest – which you'd probably prefer – it … hurts.

You ask me who I am. I don't know what to answer. The truth is, I don't really know myself. I guess I'm most of the things you claim I am. Probably them all.
I grew up, spoiled as always. My parents don't have much respect for other people, yet they seem to have some sort of contacts, which leaves them very wealthy. I'm not going to boast, yet I can't complain.

My family has always, somehow, been connected to Dark Magic. I hope this doesn't scare you off or something, because I wouldn't know what to do if it did. If you stopped writing me. It has become the peak of the day when I read your letters. They give me hope. You give me hope.
Anyway, I have always lived in the shadows of my father, I suppose. He wants me to grow up to become just like him, though my mum is more distanced and worried at that point. I do understand her – I wouldn't like ending up in Azkaban, like my father did.
Now mum and I are on our own. It's not like it's a problem, since I mentioned we're quite wealthy, but she is devastated. I don't know why – it's like she doesn't know about the risks of living this life, including all this Dark Magic. Sometimes she is rather ignorant, yet she just tries to protect me … I guess.
Though, there is no need to protect me. I am slowly distancing myself from Dark Magic all by myself. I don't like it, and I never did.
And now... well, now I feel more alone than ever – except the fact that you still like me. Hopefully. And do you really think that you're thinking more about me than I think about you?
I thought you were clever.
Waiting patiently,
D.M.

That was the best I could twist out of myself. It had been hard writing all this, yet there was no lies – only the truth. She had asked for it, so she got it.
I only hoped she would be able to tolerate it.