Dear Diary,

It's so odd writing with regular printer paper instead of the parchment scrolls. Moving on.

I realized something on the train ride home, something that I would rather have not realized. I don't want to name any names because I'm not sure who may read this. But he's beautiful, and talented, and even though a lot of people don't realize it, he's smart. He's so funny and knows exactly how to get to people.~~~

The diary entry cut off as her father opened the door and peeked through. She jumped and threw the journal up with a jolt.

"Dad! Knock!" she said with a slight smile.

"Sorry! Sorry!" his hands were put up in a submissive way as he walked in.

"Did you need something?" sweetly, Hermione put on a smile as she tried to hide the book.

"Just seeing what's happening, you know, what's the 411, what's the bomb diggity?" her father said at an attempt to bond and relate with her.

She chuckled, "Dad, no one says any of that stuff anymore."

He laughed, "I know but it made you laugh right?"

She nodded and followed him out to watch their favorite movie together, Mary Poppins.

Throughout the whole movie, she kept thinking of the boy. Everything seemed to remind her of him, yet she had this sense that this connection was more than just friendship. It was undeniably fate. An unsettling feeling washed over Hermione. Sometimes, she could sense when someone she loved was in danger, or was sad or hurt. She looked towards her father, who was perfectly content watching his movie.

"Dad, where's Mum?" she asked. If it wasn't her father, it had to have been her mother. There was no other family she was close to.

"Erm, I think she's taking a nap in her bedroom. Why?"

"Oh, I was just curious. I know she was tired earlier and I wanted to make sure she was okay."

"Alright, sweetheart," her father replied as he began to zone back into the echoes of song about a spoonful of sugar.

Well, if it's not Dad and it's not Mum, who is it? According to the daily prophet, Ron is having a blast with his family. I know how I feel when Harry is being threatened, and it's not this feeling. This feeling is pain, loss, suffering…not death, no. It's worse than losing someone to death. Who am I connected to? Hermione questioned herself and her loved ones as she attempted to solve the mystery. Crookshanks jumped up into her lap and purred while nuzzling himself into Hermione's hand. Reflexively, she began to pet her cat's fur and remained in deep thought, still unable to figure out who it was she was sensing.

Dear Diary,

Right now, I'm absolutely disgusted with the fact that I still write in this stupid journal. I've had this since I was 11 and I swore to myself I would stop at age 12. Ha, yeah right. Anyways, I met this girl at Hogwarts. Well, I didn't necessarily meet her, per say. I already knew her, I just didn't know her. I found that she is beautiful, inside and out. She has a way with words and spells and charms. She is definitely the smartest witch in our class. But there's an issue with this: she wasn't the only person I've really been able to see this past year at Hogwarts. The other person is someone whom Father absolutely hates. Practically everything seems to revolve around this boy. He's famous, so why wouldn't it. But still, every time his name comes up in casual talk, I instinctively look up, waiting to see if maybe he would see me as well.

Nonetheless, I probably won't have a chance with either of them. Neither the famous boy who lived, nor the mudblood witch who is the smartest of our age.

Whatever.

-Draco

Draco shut his journal in frustration. Never had he felt so alone in his life. He thought about writing an owl to either Harry or Hermione, but realized that both of them lived with muggle families. If his father ever found out that he contacted a mudblood or a muggle raised wizard, he would disown Draco.

"Dobby!" Draco yelled out into the empty bedroom.

"Yes, master Draco," the old house elf squeaked obediently.

"Draw me a bath, I need some time alone."

"Of course, master. Anything for master Draco. Master Draco is the only Malfoy who treats Dobby with any kind of respect-"

"Not now Dobby. Please, just let me be."

The house elf nodded slightly and shined a small smile through his large green eyes towards Draco. He began to draw a bath and snapped his fingers and disapparated.

With a sigh, the young Malfoy began to undress. Whilst upon doing so, images of both Harry and Hermione alternated within his mind. Realizing what was happening, he immediately focused on something else. The sound of the water helped him focus on reality. He stepped into the bath tub and relaxed. His eyes shut and he began to drift to sleep, dreaming of a life where things were different.

Draco's eyes flipped open with the sound of a light knock on the door. He recognized the knock immediately as his father's wand, tapping. The tapping echoed through his ears as he scrambled to get dressed. His heart began to race as he wondered if his father read his journal. No, he wouldn't have been able to open it. I locked it well enough with charms that Hermione showed to the class. He couldn't have done it, Draco thought to himself. With a final sigh, the door swung open. Draco stood before his father, his hair still wet and ruffled. Lucius' hair was slicked back and shiny, even in the fluorescent lighting. Draco's eyes trailed down his father's robes towards a gloved hand that was holding open a book. His book. It was open to the page he had just written.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius said with long pauses between each word. He knew. He knew everything and there was nothing Draco could do to escape it.

"Yes?"

"Is there, something you want to tell me?" Lucius held the open journal, which seemed blank.

"N-no," Draco stuttered.

"Aparecium" Lucius casted the spell and Draco's words appeared. Draco felt defeated. He looked down at his feet in shame.

"I thought you would know better, Draco," Again, Lucius spoke in broken phrases, taking a pause between every few words. He shoved the journal into his son's chest:

"Dispose of this. I don't ever want to hear of this or anything related to this again. No son of mine will partake in these types of activities."

Lucius walked away, his shoes echoing through the bedroom. Tears began to well up in Draco's eyes as he muttered,

"Evanesco."