She was crying.

Again.

Because of him.

Again.

And he hated it. He stared at her, watching as she defiantly tried to keep the tears back. Tried to keep them from flowing down her pale face. Her bushy brown hair looked bushier than ever, but to him, it just made her look more beautiful.

He had said awful words to her. Called her a Mudblood. Said things that he knew hurt her. But they also saved her. Saved her from being killed. Voldemort wouldn't like it if he found out that his youngest Death Eater had fallen for a muggle-born.

He wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like it at all. He would torture him. And then make him watch as he killed her. And Draco didn't think he could take that.

So he just kept pushing her farther and farther away, just to keep her safe. But every once in a while, he snuck a glimpse of her. Just to take in her defined, stubborn face. Her deep brown eyes, the curve of her mouth when she smiled, the way she went slightly red whenever she was mad at him for one reason or another.

God, if only she knew what she did to him. Even if she was a muggle-born, she was still the most tantalizing thing he had ever known. He wanted her, wanted to kiss her, hold her, touch her in anyway possible. But he restrained himself from telling her his feelings. She would be killed if he didn't, and then he would have to live with the guilt. Instead he just sneered and said, "What's the matter Granger? Can't take my insults?"

She did it again. She slapped him. As hard as she possibly could. But instead of feeling enraged, he felt vaguely relieved. She hated him, which meant she was safe. For the time being at least.

He had no idea how he would protect her when she went to fight alongside Potter and Weasley against the Dark Lord. He couldn't just throw himself in front of her when a spell came her way. He couldn't just turn on his father, and all the rest of the Death Eaters, couldn't swallow his pride and pledge loyalty to Potter's side.

Maybe if Voldemort won, and Potter was killed off, the Dark Lord would allow him to keep her. He could and would take care of her. Like any Malfoy took care of their property. But here he stopped himself. She wasn't his property. She wasn't anyone's property. She was an independent, sometimes rebellious girl who didn't belong to anyone but herself.

And that's what Draco loved about her. It wasn't just about her looks—God no, not just her looks. She wasn't hot, as some boys in school would say, but she wasn't a plain-Jane either. She had a simple, yet elegant look to her, which sometimes contrasted with her fiery personality. She carried herself like a pure-blood, but with none of the smugness that Draco himself had.

"Malfoy—you're just like your father. You're a cold, heartless bastard. You hate muggle-borns just because they aren't purebloods, and you call them harsh names. But let me tell you something. If you pricked my finger, I wouldn't bleed mud. I would bleed red drops, just like you. Though I doubt you would care if I was bleeding." Her voice quivered as she made a fist at her side. Her eyes glittered with the unshed tears he knew she wouldn't cry until after she had gotten to the sanctuary of the library. She turned on her heel and stormed off, but not before she heard this:

"If only you knew Granger. If only you knew how much I would care. "