I edited this chapter, so don't get all discombobulated, it needed to be in third person to make any sense with following chapters…

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Chapter One: Lost Reflections

Hermione was meandering down the various dimly-lit corridors, singing quietly to herself and trailing her fingers along the rough stone walls as she normally did, despite the fact that this action left dark smudges on her fingers. Filch didn't seem to think the walls of the back-hallways needed cleaning, and no one was brave or stupid enough to tell him any differently. She arched her back and let out a sigh, glad to be free of the many pounds of books that typically burdened her back, which were now stacked neatly on top of my trunk.

As Hermione rounded the corner, she was greeted by the smell and feel of the dampness that permeated the air surrounding the seldom-used bathrooms in which Moaning Myrtle had taken up residence. She seemed to be in a particularly fine mood, sniffling and wailing quietly to herself. Perhaps it was because her voice was echoing oddly off the damp walls, but it sounded deeper, sadder, more desperate than usual. Tugging nervously on a lock of hair, Hermione edged around the bathroom door, trying to escape notice. There was Myrtle alright, hovering near a broken sink where-

Her foot stopped in midair and her breath caught in her throat. There, gripping the dilapidated sink with shaking hands, white-blonde hair spilling down to cover his eyes, was Draco Malfoy.

Between ragged breaths, the same pain-stricken voice that she had heard in the hallway echoed about the small, dark room, inaudible words and phrases that jumbled together into a moan of sorrow. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his lament still vibrating throughout the bathroom. His head raised a fraction of an inch, causing the curtain of tousled platinum locks to part. In the mirror their eyes met.

Time seemed to stall, picking daisies or drinking coffee, whatever it was time did when it wasn't running our lives. In that second, steely grey met copper brown, ice met warmth, sorrow met shock. Draco Malfoy, the bad-boy Slytherin, the hard-core seeker, the cool tormentor of first years and muggle-borns alike, was crying.

Not an, "Oh dear, that blast-ended skrewt seems to have burned a hole in my trousers," sort of crying. It was much, much worse. Tears spilled from his eyes, tracing wet paths down his porcelain cheeks, and slid down the bridge of his sharply defined nose and onto the loosened tie that hung around his neck, creating a dark polka-dot pattern on the Slytherin house colors.

That long second ended with Malfoy registering the fact that she was standing in the doorway gawking at him. Time must have had a lousy break, because it came back in an irritable mood. Malfoy stood bolt upright, shoulders tense and heaving slightly with each breath he took. The cracked mirror split his face in two, distorting his already livid expression and making it all the more fearsome.

He spun around, his loose robes swirling about his feet. The face in the mirror vanished and reappeared moving very quickly in Hermione's direction. She couldn't move, so she stood there, paralyzed, while he covered the distance between them in three long strides. She could feel her heart rate speed up with every inch he moved, until it was beating a violent tattoo against her ribcage, vaguely reminisce of a beat to a Weird Sisters' song.

He was less than a foot from her, but he didn't stop. Instead, in a fluid movement, his right hand shot out and closed firmly around her throat, pinning her against the wall. He had drawn his wand with his left hand, and it flared an angry red, reflecting the fury of its master. His face was inches from Hermione's, and the wandlight illuminated it in the dark, making the teardrops that still clung to his lashes sparkle like rubies.

"What are you looking at?" His voice was low and menacing, and his hand was tight enough around her neck to make breathing slightly more difficult.

She should have screamed.

She should have pulled out her wand and hexed him.

She should have kicked him where the sun doesn't shine.

But all she did was stand there, pressed against the cold stone wall, staring into his eyes.

They were darker than normal, accented by the circles that hung under then, and roiling like storm clouds on the brink of a torrential downpour. Somewhere, deep inside them, a small part of the person she had first seen weeping into a broken sink remained, terrified, broken, alone.

But then, the shard was blasted into a thousand pieces as his grip tightened and he shook Hermione, hard enough to lift her feet off the ground.

"What are you looking at, mudblood?" His voice was so sharp she could have cut herself on it, and he accented each word by contracting the hand that was still gripping her throat and moving even closer so that the last word echoed in her ear.

The spell his stormy eyes had cast on Hermione was broken and she pushed him away. His grip relaxed and she felt cold air rush into her lungs again. she slid out from the small gap between the cold wall and the even colder Draco Malfoy; he made no move to stop her. She staggered slightly, lightheaded, and ran the brief distance between the bathroom doorway and adjoining corridor.

However, something made her pause and glance back for a moment. He was still standing in the same position she had left him, leaning against the wall with one arm and shaking, whether from the aftermath of the fury or the onset of more tears, she didn't know. He was staring intensely at the spot where he had pinned her against the wall, eyes glazed over slightly, lost to the world.

Hermione took a deep breath and almost turned back, but the sharp pain in her throat drowned out any compassion she might have been feeling for him.

So, Hermione stole one last glance in his direction and walked around the corner defiantly, rubbing her throat and trying to ignore the fact that his sad grey eyes had pierced her soul, and that with every step she took his lingering scent wafted up from her robes, causing her heart to miss a beat.