I sighed, looking up from my book, "has she sent anything back yet?"

To say my life has become exceedingly depressing wouldn't be an understatement. It would be the truth. I've been cooped up in this boring school for weeks now, trying to avoid the entirety of the Slytherin house.

Pity the Slytherin Prince is a blood-traitor, they would whisper, I thought he'd know better than that.

I did know better.

I knew from the start that falling for a girl so different from me wasn't a good idea, and that I'd be shamed for it, but...who cares for titles. I'd give up my so-called crown just to see her again.

The only person who has ever earned my respect is her, and she's not here.

"Well?" I sighed, narrowing my eyes at the owl, "did she write?"

Malum was my owl, gifted to me in first year by my mother, but I never liked the ugly creature because it couldn't talk. Useless. Might as well ask a pigeon to deliver my mail.

I'd been keeping the library window left ajar every time I sat in the small corner, just for the sole purpose of checking in with my mail (so far I've received nothing). I've already been told off three times by Pince that 'owls aren't allowed in the library!' but I didn't care.

I never usually do.

"Maybe tomorrow, then," I frowned, glancing at my owl's empty talons.

I've said that phrase every single time, and yet I never lost hope. Until I fall down the stairs and die, I'm not going to stop thinking about whether or not my letters were read, and I'm definitely not going to stop pestering that bloody owl about it.

I need a distraction.

"See this?" I pressed, holding up the book in my hands, "I read this last year."

The owl nipped at my finger, completely ignoring the blue cover in between my fingers. I should have known. Owls never have a taste for good literature.

I continued anyways:

"It's sad, Malum, but I found it in the restricted section again and I couldn't help but read it," I mumbled, flipping through the pages, "do you want to know what it's about?"

The owl nipped again. Of course it didn't want to know Draco, it's a bloody owl. Whatever, it has ears, it can listen.

"It's about two people..." I began, my thumb running along the spine, "two people who love each other so much, but have so much against them, and in the end...they...."

I stopped myself.

"In the end they..."

I paused, looking at the owl with a plain expression. Why was I opening up to such a small thing? He couldn't understand me, and besides, the longer he stayed, the more likely I'd get another earful from that awful Pince.

Hiss hiss.

"Never mind the book, Malum," I snapped, shutting it closed quickly, "come back tomorrow."

Waving my hand, I watched as it flew away, it's wings carrying it through the wind outside. I would have dwelled on how free flying looked (without the help of a broomstick) but I hated the thought of being an animal. It's not as mystical as it seems.

I shut the window with a sigh, the back of my head hitting the stone ledge I was sitting on.

I'd been in this library for two hours. Just sitting in my usual spot, a window to my right, and a bench to my left. If I wasn't so worried about my pride, I would have admitted that the only reason I'd ever go to the library was because I have to abide by the four rules I made for myself, but.... No I won't admit that.

I'll only admit it to her.

I wish I could tell her I've already read 33 books. Most of them are Romance novels (don't ask, I just took the ones with the pretty covers), and I've begun to think that reading isn't all that bad. Minus the parts where I'd stop thinking about the plot entirely, and end up narrowing my eyes at the book and wondering if she's ever read it.

She read a lot.

So much so, that I'd often get jealous of whatever book she had in her possession. Damn it, Draco, you're getting emotional again. Distract yourself from her, she isn't coming back anytime soon.

I should visit the mirror.

No, I shouldn't.

I'm already ripping at the seams, and I don't need to tempt myself to see her face again. It's never the same anyways. The mirror makes her seem so cold...so lifeless..so dead. And I can't afford having another breakdown in the Great Hall.

Pull yourself together—

"Malfoy," a familiar voice said, "missed you at lunch."

I looked up from my hands to see Potter, Granger, and the Weasel beginning to pull up chairs at the table in front of me. They knew why I was here —the spot by the window was the spot I went to when I was feeling the worst.

And I was feeling the worst.

"Wasn't hungry today," I said bluntly, turning to look out the window again.

This is what she wanted.

She wanted us to be friends, to stop hating each other for simple reasons of jealousy and house pride, and to suck it up and come together like years of hatred would disappear. And when she left, we had no choice but to honor that wish.

So here we are, three Gryffindors and a Slytherin, sitting at a table in the library.

But her chair is still empty.

It always is.

"We should go to Hogsmeade," Weasel suggested, tugging the bottom of his tie nervously, "visit the shrieking shack for a couple of old time memories?"

I mumbled, "hm."

"What do ya' say, Malfoy?"

I forced a smile, "god, I hated third year."

"Didn't you call me Weaselbee for three months straight?"

"I'm not a creative person, Weasley," I said, rolling my eyes, "be honored that I dedicated my busy schedule to making fun of you."

Another thing I should mention.

Just because making friends with her old ones was something she wanted, it didn't make me less inclined to want to grab a dementor and shove it down their throats every time I felt hostile. Mostly Potter's throat.

Ugh.

Potter.

He's the worst, honestly. Even though he flashes me that awkward 'I come in peace' smile, I know he still loathes me deep inside, and dreams of hexing me when my back is turned. But damn you, Potter.

You got chosen by the Dark Lord, but I got chosen by the girl you loved.

"Okay, we're going to Hogsmeade," Granger said, her voice barely cutting through the tension, "I've been craving some butterbeer."

I glanced at the scar-head beside me, "what do you say, Potter?"

He gulped, "why are you asking me?"

"Because you're giving me that stare."

"What stare?"

The one I literally just described in my mind. Rolling my eyes, I swept my books up into my hands, exhaling. At least these three were better 'friends' then any of those snakes back in my common room (with the exception of Pansy, Blaise, and Theo—they're the only exceptions. Everyone else can get lost in the forest for all I care).

"Forget it," I said, getting out of my chair, "Hogsmeade it is."

Hm.

I had barely made it to the courtyard, when I found myself about to throw punches with Lorenzo Berkshire in the middle of the corridor. (It wasn't without reason, of course, because we were on our way to the school gates when I heard the git calling me names behind my back. He didn't know I was there.

Surprise, you idiot, I'm always there.

"If you're going to insult me, say it to my face," I spat out, "otherwise your words are just words of a coward."

"Malfoy, he's not worth it," Granger sighed, "we've got somewhere to be as it is."

I ignored her, "say it to my face, Berkshire."

Okay, maybe I should listen to Granger. As soon as I bared my teeth, the brunette Slytherin was already sinking into the floor in fear. Coward.

"That'll teach you to watch your mouth," I hissed, trying to find the words to insult him back, "you....you—"

I glanced at the Gryffindor girl to my left. She cocked a brow, trying to suppress a smirk on her face. That gave me the perfect idea.

"You foul, loathsome, evil, little, cockroach," I finished, "now bugger off."

Lorenzo did, indeed, bugger off, taking his pack of Slytherins with him down the corridor in fright. Adjusting my robes, I continued to walk, ignoring the dumbfounded looks on my new friend's faces.

"Clever line," the Weasel laughed, "where did you get it from?"

I smirked, "someone told it to me in third year."

"It was Hermione," Potter noted, "she said it before she punched you—"

"I am well aware of that, Potter."

"But you said 'someone' instead of 'Hermione', so I thought you forgot!" The boy whined.

I narrowed my eyes, one of my veins close to popping with annoyance. Stupid boy always ruined the fun. I have half a mind to steal a time turner and leave him to die in the forbidden forest.

Hermione noticed the tension, and found a change in subject. She was rather good at that, actually. Maybe I liked her a bit more than her foolish friends.

"Did you plant the petal today?" She asked, narrowly dodging a running first year, "we might not get back to the school until late, and I know you wouldn't want to forget."

I nodded my head, "didn't get a chance to yet."

"We're stopping by the garden anyways," Potter noted, "we'll meet you by the entrance."

"Thanks...Potter."

"Think nothing of it...Malfoy."

"Stop giving me that look!"

"What look?!"

"Forget it, I'm planting my petal," I scowled, stomping off towards the edge of the school.

It wasn't really a garden, yet, at least, and it didn't belong to Hogwarts in the slightest. If Sprout saw it, she'd probably give me detention for illegally harvesting flowers. Or something. I'm not a herbalist, I don't know if flowers are illegal!

But at the start of the school year, I found an abandoned pocket of field over by Hagrid's hut (I've grown to like the oaf, actually, since Granger normally drags me over there for tea), and I decided to plant my rose petals there.

I've already started to sprout a bush! There are three fully grown roses on the edges, a beautiful bright red, but I'm thinking of putting a charm on them to make them green — I've never seen a green rose before.

As soon as I reached the garden spot, I crouched onto my knees, pushing my robes back to avoid getting mud on the bottoms.

"Morning, darlings," I mumbled to the sprouting bush, "good to see you're growing okay."

Stop talking to the rosebush, Draco, it's not like it's symbolic for anything and will speak back.

I bit my lip, digging another hole underneath the branches until it was about three inches into the ground. Exhaling, I reached into the pocket of my robes and pulled out a thin, red rose petal, tucked it into the ridge, covered it back up, and cast a simple aguamenti spell to water it.

Then I just sat there. Staring. Thinking. Praying.

Even though the rosebush was something I promised to grow, it never failed to serve as a reminder that the bigger it got, the longer she was gone. With each rose, another painful week. With each thorn, another thousand thorns in my side. I just...

I just really missed her.

And these flowers have become so precious to me, because they're the closest thing I have to her, and I wouldn't know what I'd do if something were to happen to them—

I was too lost in thought to notice a figure step beside me, their cloaked figure brushing against the sed of my thigh. I was about to ignore them, until I heard the snap of a rose being taken off of it's branch.

"Hey!" I hissed, scrambling onto my feet with anger, "did you just—"

But I was met with a smile.

Snapping my mouth shut, I stopped my sentence harshly, unable to move. That smile...the one that I had begged myself not to forget, the one I only encountered in dreams, the one I considered a reflection was right there.

I thought I'd never see it again, yet here I was, staring right at it.

It was a smile of vivid memory, a smile I had grown to love so dearly, from the faintest outline of dimples, to the crinkle of the eyes at the very top.

And I know this, because it was her smile.

"Hello, love."