Author's Notes: Thank you Franz Ferdinand, for making this possible.

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You See Her

by Silver Miko

He ran, past the third years with their questioning gazes. Past the wide-eyed first years. God, so young...

Past his fellow sixth year Slytherins who were probably wondering about his actions or too self-involved to care. He collided into the wooden door, let himself stumble through, listened as the door shut behind him before he ran across the dulling white tile to the sink. Turning the water on, he splashed his face with the frigid water, scrubbing until his skin turned red.

Why? WHY?

He shouldn't care. Couldn't afford to. But it was all so wrong. He wasn't ready, he didn't want...it was wrong. They were wrong. He couldn't get away from it, he was trapped. It was his life on the line and this was what he'd been trained for all his life and it was all wrong. It made him sick constantly, he tried not to dwell on it. He hated what had developed.

A conscience. He had developed a fucking conscience. How had it happened?

Her. He blamed her.

"You see her, you can't touch her."

The voice whispering in his mind, Blaise's voice. His hands shook as he turned the sink off and fell to his knees, resting his back against the sinks. He could picture the black haired boy next to him, his green eyes full of cynicism.

"You hear her, you can't hold her."

"I know, mate. I know." Draco whispered, burying his face into his updrawn knees.

"You want her, you can't have her."

As if he didn't know. He knew better than anyone the impossiblity. He hated it. Hated the urge he felt to grab her and hold her.

"You want to, but she won't let you."

"I fucking know!" Draco yelled, his voice muffled by his knees.

He never noticed Moaning Myrtle peeking her head out from her stall, squeaking as she inquired what the yelling was about. Draco ignored her.

Potions had almost been too much. Watching her, hearing her voice, seeing her smiles or frowns. Always right. Always willing to help that bloke Longbottom or Saint Potter. It made his hands itch. Itch to grab her hand or see how frizzy her hair felt.

Maybe that's why he had a crisis of conscience. Maybe that's why his sanity was slipping over his mission. What was he thinking! How could he have accepted such a mission? But then it wasn't like he had a choice. You just don't say "no" to Lord Voldemort when a task is assigned to you. Even though he suspected the task was related to his father.

His father, Lucius, who had been grooming Draco all his life to be just like him. A man he had respected, feared, adored, loathed. His father who was in Azkaban. What would his father think now?

"She's not so special so look what you've done boy!"

The angry clipped voice of Lucius now filled his head. Scolding. Harsh. Always snapping at him whenever he did something Lucius did not like. Oh yes, Lucius would have a field day with Draco's current fascination. Disownment would be the lesser punishment he'd receive. Beatings perhaps. Oh Lucius would definitely not like the fact that everything he'd instilled in his son's head was being unraveled by the very person that stood for everything Lucius despised.

His future as a Death Eater by Voldemort's side was decaying. She had opened his eyes. It seemed so sudden, but it had been building. First year he loathed her very existence. Always right. Always so damn proud. Second year, always ready to defend Saint Potter or the Weasel. Deemed cleverest witch of her time. Third year, she punched him in the face. He realized there were moments he feared her. She could hex him easily. And he also had to give her credit...she wasn't as prim and proper as he thought. Fourth year, the Yule Ball. She looked...he couldn't even find fault in her that night. She looked so beautiful. Fifth year, she was a prefect. He saw her all the time. He loved to get under her skin, call her Mudblood. Oh her eyes would flash anger but she never broke or missed a beat. She always stood her ground against him.

He hated it. He missed not caring. And here he was crying, was he crying, yes crying to himself in the bathroom with the ghost of a dead muggle girl floating about trying to figure out what was wrong and console him.

His life was falling apart. He felt as if the ground was opening beneath him and he couldn't get away. Because of her. Because she got to him, Slytherin Prince.

The door creaked open and he never noticed.

Hesitant steps.

"M..Malfoy!"

A surprised whisper. He looked up quickly, scowling. Of course it was her. Her eyes widened as she noticed his tear streaked face.

"Malfoy...what's wrong? Are you all right?"

He couldn't take it. Not her sympathy. Not her caring. Didn't want her looking at him that way. He'd fall even faster. She'd never accept him or look at him like she did Weasel or Potter. Never think of him warmly, he'd made sure of that over the past six years. His hands itched. She was seeing him at his weakest, in his breakdown. No, he didn't want her to see that.

Get away frome me. Go. You've ruined me enough. You've made me change. You've made me doubt everything. Why can't I keep on hating you? Why can't I stop thinking about you? Why have you made me care? Don't you see? Don't you fucking see! I'm running out of time, stop looking at me. Stupid girl, how could you do this me? You don't even know. Go away. Go away. Get away. Go. Go away go away go away..

"Go away! Leave me alone, Granger!"

Her breath hitched, she looked as if she wanted to say something. Move forward. Instead she turned around and left, nodding at Myrtle.

"Now you wish she'd never come back here again."

Blaise's voice again, so smug.

"She won't. I'm not worth her time. She doesn't even know. What she..does to me."

"You're talking about Hermione!" Myrtle realized, and when Draco glared at her, she retreated back to her stall.

He looked at the door Hermione had walked out of seconds before.

Just walk away, Granger. You'd never stay. You'd never let me reach out to you and hold onto you, so leave me alone. Get out of my mind.

"Oh never come here again." he murmured, before slumping his head back against the sinks.