Malfoy. The name strikes a certain fear in the hearts of those who hear it. Little did I think that I would one day be one of them.

            Since the night Hermione and I kissed, one month ago to the day, my mind has been on two topics and these two only: her, and my father.

            Normally, I wouldn't worry about such petty things. Have some fun with the girl, leave her, and Daddy never has to know. But this was different, and I knew it.

            I saw her, walking down the hallway towards me. Our eyes met briefly, but the expressions on our faces remained motionless. Neither one of us was about to give away information about who we were seeing. Hermione would become an outcast, shunned by her two best friends and the rest of her house. I – I would lose much as well. More than Hermione thinks.

            The day after we kissed, we met in the library after dark. To my surprise, she broached the subject of keeping our relationship secret. I was only too happy to agree. I gave her the excuse of saving my reputation – which is partly true, but in terms of the real reason, it's only the tip of the iceberg.

            Yes, I do have a reputation to uphold. Malfoys are proud and pureblooded, and many years of reinforcing this would make my downfall all the worse if Hermione and I were revealed. More importantly, however, I would be shunned by my father, my family, and most likely hunted down and killed. It sounds savage. It is. But that's the way we operate. My parents would claim insanity – "she used the Imperius Curse on him, we had to do it" – anything to save the precious Malfoy name.

            I lay in my bedroom that night, thinking of her. One month. One month we'd been together, and our only time alone was during the night, when we could walk about unseen under cover of darkness. But I lived for those nights. We talked together, mostly about each other. I found out more about her every day. I remained more selective about the information I gave her about my past. I wanted her to know everything about me, but if she knew what kind of environment I'd been raised in, she might fully understand the peril she put herself in by being with me – and I don't want her to fear being with me. I love her.

            I love her?


I'm going to be updating this story a lot more from now on, until it's finished. Thanks to all of you who reviewed – you're the ones who kept the story going!