Bliss My Eyes

Bliss My Eyes

Part One: Always Watching (Draco's POV)

They think that I hate you.

They all do and so do you, and for a long while I thought that I did as well. But I don't, if you want the honest bloody truth, and I can't.

It's not like I don't want to and it's not like I haven't tried. But at night you haunt my dreams - with your endless eyes, deep and green, your lips, which look so soft and so kissable, I'm sure it would be like touching my lips to rose-petals, and you face- so friendly and cute and so damn nice.

That's why you could never love me, I know. Because you're nice and I'm not, you're the Boy Who Fucking Lived and I'm just the git whose in love with you that hides in the shadows.

Always in the shadows, always in darkness. You think that I'm evil, and I play the part for you, but what do you even know about me really? Everything I do comes from that one moment when you rejected me. Everything I do I was raised to be that way- you were meant to be noble, I was meant to be bad.

I was meant to hate you but I don't. Do you know what that does to me? Of course not, because to you I barely exist.

I want you to kiss me. I think about that all the time- usually when I sneer at you, or else I strike first it's because I don't know what to do about these stupid bloody feelings of mine, these confusions and frustrations and desires.

Love sucks.

So I watch you, like I did in Flourish and Blotts that day, I look down on you and I watch with a sneer on my face. Because what else am I going to do, really? Smile? Be yet another of Harry Potter's adoring fan club members? That wouldn't make you notice me any better, because all you see is them anyway.

Granger and Weasley, Weasley and Granger.

I hate them so much.

I hate them and I hate you, I hate school and I hate home. Sod the lot of you.

Especially you, Harry, because even when I wiggle my eyebrows and follow you around and stare at you, you still don't notice me. You don't think that there's a reason behind why I'm so fucked up.

And so it goes on.

Part Two: Cinnamon (Harry's POV)

I hear you laughing at me, you and your thugs, and my ears burn like a fire raging out of control. How do you do that, Malfoy? Make me embarrassed, ashamed about the stupidest things. And I know I shouldn't be, because you're nothing and no one, but somehow you manage to always make it hurt.

How the hell do you do that?

It's been ages that we've known each other and it's always been the same between us. There's no lowly depths for our relationship to plummet too, because we've always hated one another. Five years running now, five long long years of insults and competitions and sneers and smirks and " scared" and "you wish" and I'm so bored of it Malfoy, I am so bloody tired of this dance you and I are stuck in.

Except-

I turn my head to see you, even though Ron and Hermione and softly hissing that I shouldn't give you the satisfaction, that I should ignore you like the little bit of nothingness that you are.

You smell like cinnamon, though, which is not at all what your supposed to smell like. Evil shouldn't smell like cinnamon.

I don't know during which recent confrontation it was that I noticed your scent, but I did and found it quite disturbing, because you should smell like Crabbe and Goyle probably smell, whatever that repulsive stench may be, or like too much cologne the way my uncle used to. You should not be smelling of good things, and I should not be thinking about how great your hair would look if it wasn't gelled down all the time. It's like you worry that it will fly away if not smushed down with so much of that disgusting rot.

You stop laughing when our eyes meet, instead you cross your arms on your desk and lean forward, raise one perfect eyebrow.

Maybe if you could shut up sometimes, just be quiet and not speak and not smirk and not glare and especially not wiggle your eyebrows, I could be all right and ignore you like I would like to.

I really wish that I could ignore you.