Do You See Me?

~Do You See Me?~

by Keelie

And when I close my eyes, it's you I see

And when I take a breath, it's you I breath

Draco Malfoy was watching her.

He'd told himself a thousand times it was stupid. A Gryffindor was bad enough-- but a Mudblood one, with bushy hair and buck teeth and a know-it-all attitude?

Well, he reflected. She got normal teeth in fourth year. And over this summer, her hair's gotten a lot less bushy. In fact, it's kind of pretty. And now she's a lot less know-it-all, even when we're at Prefect meetings.

WAIT! What I am I doing? Am I actually complimenting the Mudblood?

And that was the stupid part. He could overlook bushy hair and bad teeth and smarts. . . . and she was no less than beautiful now, in their fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. . . .

He hated that word. Hated it. It had been drilled into him from an early age, the biggest damn insult you could give to someone. Foul, common, foolish Mudbloods!

She was smarter than all them, though. Highest marks in the school, and Draco Malfoy knew it. Despite the fact he had the second highest, every summer after they received their marks, Lucius Malfoy would normally beat his only child in a furious rage because a Mudblood had done better than he had.

Dammit, he loathed that word.

He rolled it over and over on his tongue, silently cursing it, afraid to say it out loud. Not that it would be an uncommon pronouncement at the Slytherin breakfast table, usually it was mentioned several times a meal, casual and dismissive, yet utterly and starkly horrible.

Alexandra laPlante, who was fond of philosophy, had once remarked with a sardonic smile that it took twenty-one days to make a habit and twenty-one days to break it.

It had taken all of Draco's childhood years to pick up on calling Muggleborn witches and wizards "Mudbloods."

It took him one day to break it.

It had been Potions class, hot and stuffy and utterly boring, though it was a class he usually liked. Professor Snape had been yelling at Potter the Prick and his sidekick the Weasel. . . .

And she had just looked so bloody perfect, her cinnamon eyes blazing and her flawless braid tossed over one shoulder, glowering at Snape as she consoled her fellow Gryffindorks.

And all of a sudden something just started to pull at his chest. . . . and he'd realized why he always minded why her little friends hugged her or pecked her on the cheek or even touched her with their scummy Gryffindork paws, and when she stood up for them with those glowing cinnamon eyes, and when those Rita Skeeter rumors of Pansy Parkinson's doing about Potter and her arose, and when Snape yelled at her for no good reason. . . .

He was in love with her.

That's why.

God, I'm so pathetic, he mused as he twirled his fork. Pretty soon Pansy would come flouncing in wearing her horrid frilly robes and practically shove something into his mouth because of his Quidditch match that afternoon, gushing about how her Drakikins needed his energy for the blood match against Gryffindor.

Ugly, annoying, prejudiced, evil, pug-faced Pansy, so unlike her. . . .

And there she was, flanked by her two git friends/bodyguards, wearing the Muggle clothing that he'd always so detested until he'd seen her in it. . . . denim capri pants, black wedge shoes, a little black cardigan, and a tiny T-shirt. . . .

A red T-shirt. Red for Gryffindor. Red for the house that separated him from her. Red for the anger and fury that came from the house differences. Red for the color roses he'd surprise her with if they could defy Fate and become a couple. Red for the ruby he'd have set between two diamonds for her engagement ring.

And red that was the most different color from the Slytherin green Quidditch robes he wore.

Potter and Weasley sat on either side of her as they took their places at the Gryffindor table, smiling their "We're-boyishly-handsome-Quidditch-seeker-and-keeper-of-the-Cup-winning-team-so-join-our-fan-club" smiles. She was smiling, too, laughing, tossing back her tight ponytail, which was tied with a narrow black ribbon.

Even as a pouty Pansy in lacy robes of green silk pranced in, he couldn't force himself to tear his eyes from her and one damn thought from plaguing his mind.

Tell me, do you see me?