Staring

Staring

I had watched him across my breakfast every morning for 4 years. I spent two years not-so-silently hating him. I'm not quite sure when the hatred turned to something else, but I can't yet quite categorize what it is I feel for him. I know it's not hatred, or even intense dislike. Almost no one else has noticed yet. Not the stares in potions or the lingering glances in the hallway.

Well, most everyone, anyway.

I suppose I let my eyes linger too long one day. It was in detention in McGonagall's class. Ron and I had gotten in a fight and I had accidentally broken his finger. He was fine and now we couldn't remember why we had been fighting, but I still got a detention. I was quite depressed about it since it was during the Christmas holidays and I had things to do still.

I wasn't sure why Malfoy was there, but I certainly was pleased when I got the chance to sit next to him for nearly two and a half hours. Unfortunately for me, he happened to be more perceptive than everyone else around.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" he asked derisively. Instead of answering with a childish remark I would come to regret, I simply shrugged. Malfoy raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You know, Potter, at least when Pansy stares at me for a solid 10 minutes without blinking, she has the decency to admit it."

"I wasn't-"

"Oh, don't lie. We all know you're terrible at it."

"I'm not lying!" I replied defensively. Inwardly, I cursed myself for acting like such a fool. Malfoy raised an eyebrow again.

"If you insist, scarhead." Malfoy smirked, but I simply shook my head. I wondered why I went to all of the trouble of avoiding acting like a child when that's how he acted. Scarhead. How creative, I told myself. I have a head with a scar on it. The guy's got imagination, I must say. I laughed to myself. I suppose it was a good joke when he made it up.

Amidst my rambling thoughts, my eyes had settled on him again. He wasn't bad to look at. In fact, he was quite pleasant to look at. I wondered if his hair was as smooth and soft as it appeared. As much as I tried to ignore it, his eyes were emphatically cold and cruel. They did fit him well, however. Every bit of him seemed to be metallic. His white-blonde hair, his ethereal white skin. I wonder if he feels as cold as he looks. I couldn't help imagining what his skin would feel like on mine, his lips pressing mine with urgency. And if I could've helped it, I wouldn't have wanted to.

"Alright, Potter, I played dumb last time, but I know you're staring at me." I started to open my mouth to protest. "And don't say you're not," he finished. I closed my mouth again. He rolled his eyes. It was rather girly of him. "You're still staring at me, Potter. I'd imagine one of your mudblood friends would wonder if they had something on their face, but since I am so gorgeous I think I'd like to do you."

"What did you say?" I asked, nearly falling off my chair.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Malfoy asked irritably. "I said I know that can't be true."

I let my breath out. So he hadn't said it. It doesn't mean that can't be true... He went back to his book, muttering under his breath obscenities towards me and I resumed my obviously not so subtle staring. He was mouthing the words as he read them. It was a quite cute, if not curious, habit. Because of the deathly silence, I could hear him softly reading aloud. His voice was barely a whisper and sounded so much warmer and human. I imagined him saying my name that way, with more intensity and passion. I could feel his soft breath on my shoulder as he whispered my name over and over. I began feeling dizzy and I tried to concentrate on the table in front of me.

"I can hardly see how the table would be more interesting than me, Potter. But obviously you see something I don't."

I knew he couldn't be aware of how I felt. I wondered if he knew he was so close to the truth, though. I said nothing, but I could feel his eyes still resting on me. His gaze wasn't unwelcome. It felt somehow very familiar. I knew I wasn't imagining the warm feeling that had come over me for once.

"I see you've taking up staring at me, Malfoy. I don't think Pansy would much appreciate you're taking a fancy to me."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Not bad, Potter. It was half-way insulting. Would be more so if I actually did care for Pansy and if I didn't fancy you."

My breath caught painfully in my chest. Was I hearing him correctly this time? Or was my mind playing a trick on me?

"What did you say?" I asked very softly and hesitantly.

"Malfoys," he began, "do not repeat themselves," he paused. "And I know you heard me."

I continued staring at the table, but I still felt Malfoy's unwavering gaze on me.

"I would've imagined I'd get more of a reaction from you. Don't you think I've noticed you staring at me? I'm not stupid, Potter. But since you're the one who fancies me almost to the point of stalking me, I'm amazed you're not jumping at this--" he paused again, considering his words carefully, "opportunity."

I still said nothing as I bit my lip and tried to calm myself. Isn't this what I had dreamed of? Did I really fancy Malfoy or was it teenage lust and nothing more? I heard Malfoy sigh.

"You are the most tragically boring person I've ever had the misfortune to meet." I could see a small smile tugging at the corners of his gorgeous pink lips. "But I'm not sure if it was all misfortune."

I wanted to talk so badly. Of course, first I'd have to look away from the table.

"I do feel rather like I'm talking to myself now, Potter. I'd appreciate if you'd speak, especially since I made a rather earth-stopping announcement."

I opened my mouth, but I had nothing to say, so I closed it. I repeated this process several times, with no words ever protruding.

"You look rather like the fish from last night's dinner. It's really quite unappealing, unless you happen to like fish. And I don't."

I continued to bite my lip. Hard. I tasted blood on my tongue.

"I'm not sure who's crazier here: me, talking practically to myself, or you, the git who refuses to say anything to the point where he bleeds even though he wants to. Because I know you've fancied me for at least 2 years."

"I don't know what to say," I muttered honestly. "It all seems a bit trivial," I finished weakly.

"How very interesting. One would think you'd at least be able to have some sort of a civilized conversation."

"Alright, then. Why are you here over the Christmas holidays?"

"Interesting choice of topic. My mum doesn't want me to come home."

"Why not?"

"My mother hasn't been herself lately. She's going to visit some friends in Germany." I knew why his mother hadn't been acting right. It was my fault. I hated that what I had done had made Draco miserable. I didn't say anything. I wasn't quite sure what you're supposed to say in response to that.

"No sense in asking you why you're here, is there?"

"No. Not really. It's not like I have anywhere better to go."

"And how does Harry Potter, savior of all that is good and fuzzy, feel about living with Muggles?"

"I hate it. Not because they're Muggles, but because they really just don't like me. I'd imagine you don't generally get locked in a broom closet and have to be rescued by a flying car, do you?"

Malfoy looked amused. "Not lately. What'd you do to get into detention during holidays?"

"I broke something."

"What?" Malfoy looked genuinely curious.

"Ron." Malfoy looked somewhat shocked. "We got in a bit of a fight. I'm not quite sure why, but I broke his finger."

"Just a finger? How disappointing."

I shook my head. "He's not evil, you know. He's a really nice guy," I said, trying to defend Ron.

Malfoy nodded solemnly. "I always have to break nice guys' fingers."

"Oh shut up, Malfoy."

"And we were having such a lovely conversation too."

I pondered this. We were having a nice conversation. In back of my head, I knew Malfoy is evil. He hated me too, or, at least, I think he did. I shook my head in confusion.

"You hate me," I said softly.

Malfoy frowned. "Should I?" he asked. "What have we ever done to each other besides petty teasing?"

"Hermione slapped you once." Malfoy scowled at the memory. "And I--" I faltered. "I put your father in Azkaban." I bit my lip too hard and I tasted the sweet blood and watched Malfoy's face. He shrugged.

"I know."

"You said you wanted to kill me."

"I did. You took my father away. Surely you of all people can understand how that must feel."

I nodded. "I'm sorry, Draco. I really am."

"I figured as much. You really seem too nice to fight in any war, much less put someone in Azkaban. Even if you had to do it."

I bit my lip harder.

"You're going to cut through your lip if you keep doing that, you know," Draco said softly.

"I know. I've done it before."

"And why exactly would you do something like that?"

"Nervous habit," I said, noticing how close Draco was to me. He had moved closer as we talked.

"Are you nervous now?"

I could feel his soft breath on my face. I thought for a second and tried to steady my breath. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure Draco could hear it.

"No. I'm not."

"I didn't think so," he smiled softly. It was barely noticeable, but I saw it there. His breathing seemed to quicken ever so slightly. We were so close now, we began breathing in unison. I blinked slowly, hoping this wasn't a dream. When my eyes opened again, he was still there. He was still smiling and he was still leaning in. I bit my lip again and tried to catch my breath. I failed drastically, of course.

"You really shouldn't do that. Blood is not exactly a preferred taste of mine."

I said nothing, hoping he was hinting at what I thought him to be. He leaned in before I ever got a chance to lean in and kissed me.

He kissed like I'd always imagined he would. He tasted sweet and his lips were just as smooth as they had felt in my dreams. He wound his arms around me, pulling me closer. I was sitting on the edge of my seat, concentrating on not falling and pulling Draco with me, and continuing the implausible kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the skin like silk against my wrists. My lungs were about to wither up and die; I hadn't taken a breath in nearly forever.

He pulled away before I did, breathing deeply. I went back to biting my lip. 'I wonder if he'd mind if I bit his lip..." I thought. I looked back at Draco and saw him staring curiously at me.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Hypocrite. You can stare at me for no apparent reason, but I can't stare at you when I have a reason."

"And what is your reason, exactly?"

"I was just wondering how Harry Potter, the Amazing Happy Virgin Boy learned to kiss like that."

"I'm not a-"

"For being such an honest bloke, you certainly do lie a lot. Everyone knows you're a virgin."

I blushed furiously. Everyone also knew Draco was very much not a virgin. Draco was actually smiling now. "You're just lucky I don't find virgins quite as evil as Muggles."

"So now I'm evil? I knew there had to be a reason you liked me." I noticed Draco was still smiling.

"I have a thing for the evil guys."

"Me too, apparently."

Draco half-laughed and leaned in to kiss me again. He kissed me harder and with much more intensity this time. This may be lust, I told myself, but there's got to be something more here too.

I must say, the best part of detention was seeing McGonagall's face when she walked in to see Draco and I half on the table making out vigorously.

"Mister Malfoy! Mister Potter! This is certainly not appropriate behavior for two young men in detention! Stop this instant boys!! Boys! Boys! Are you listening to me? Oh, just go to dinner," McGonagall said shaking her head. She glared at us as we walked out, looking both worried and furious.

Draco stood and pulled me up behind him and out of the room. Out in the hall, I began to feel uncomfortable again. Draco looked quite satisfied and was still flushed.

"Well. That was certainly interesting," Draco said with a grin. "My detentions don't usually go this way, you know."

"No. Mine neither."

"I'll consider myself lucky, then." He kissed me softly on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Harry Potter."

He walked away and I stared after him. Always staring.