Obsession

Draco would have been the first to admit that he had a problem. A very large problem, in fact, and it came in the form of the one and only Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Gryfindor's Golden Boy.

Saint Potter.

Draco's problem wasn't so much of a problem as it was an obsession. He knew that every morning, at exactly 7:36, Potter would stumble in from his dorm, sit at the spot third down from the end and demand something caffeinated, and he preferred enormous amounts of hot chocolate - no whip cream - to any form of coffee. If the Golden Boy wasn't there at 7:36 on the dot, he wouldn't show up for breakfast at all, and could be seen sneaking pieces of toast during the first half hour of Potions, which was completely lecture.

He also knew that Potter was prone to late night jogs around the castle, returning at odd hours coated in sweat, but none the worse for wear. He had somehow toned up over the summer, developing tight muscles he could see from across the Great Hall.

Draco had discovered, after years of Potter-Watching-That-Was-Nothing-Like-Stalking-ThankYouVeryMuch, that the resident hero had a bit of a sweet tooth, and that tooth wasn't tiny, either. The first year of Hogwarts he had noticed that Harry tended to shove as much food in his mouth as he could, as if he would never get another meal. Sometimes he even snuck food from the Great Hall into his pockets. Sometime around the winter break, he had realized that the food wasn't going to disappear on him, and then taken his time eating, which was followed by the discovery of Sugar. This ingredient was the main reason Perfect Potter preferred hot chocolate over coffee, despite the drop in anything caffeine-related.

Or so Draco assumed, he wasn't about to ask Raven that.

Raven was the name Draco gave the Golden Boy when he did not want to remember that said boy was Harry Bloody Potter, current-champion-of-everything-good. So he was named for his hair, a way of distancing Draco from the thoughts he was certain he shouldn't be having.

It was a sickness, but more than that, it was an obsession.

Besides, Raven-Watching sounded so much better than Potter-Watching.

As Draco nursed his third cup of coffee - black, strong, and no sugar or cream, thank you very much - he watched for Raven.

And three.

Two.

One.

There would be no watching today, of birds or otherwise.

Draco wasn't disappointed - not really, anyway - days without having to watch that messy mop of dark hair led to days of thinking, and of analyzing the facts. Harry wasn't there, meaning he had either slept in, or something had caused him to run off to Dumbledore. Considering the fact that the conniving old fool was sitting at the head table, it was most likely that Gryfindor's one and only had merely slept in.

But what was this seemingly necessary need to watch for the boy every morning? To stare at him - discretely, of course, Malfoys were never caught - throughout meals and classes and think about him day and night?

It all stemmed from that second meeting - the one where Bloody Potter had denied him friendship, and that stupid, no-good, son-of-a-muggle-loving-freak had become his friend instead.

Oh yes, he could think of several things to describe that red-haired, sniveling, prick-the-size-of-a-twig and none of them were very nice. In fact, he was just barely scraping the surface, he could, in all actuality, go on for days.

But back to that. Their first meeting had gone rather well. Granted, Draco hadn't known that he was speaking to The Harry Potter, Savior Of All Things Good at the time, but there had been no hatred on either side. Sure, he had been a bit of a boastful youngling, but Potter had been honestly curious, and it was that small boy that reminded Draco of Raven - the Potter That Was His Friend.

Draco got up to leave, his coffee finished, and made his way to the dungeons. But in the hall, he found something that was so totally un-Raven that he had to stop: Harry was on his way to breakfast. He would be there, and it wouldn't be 7:36....in fact, it was already past the 45, and the other would have plenty of time to sit down and eat instead of munching toast in potions.

This simply went past all logic.

But they were alone in the corridor, and Harry was about to pass him, and he couldn't just have the other boy ignore him.

"A bit late this morning, aren't we, Potter?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your business." Ah yes, a voice like silk. A voice Draco knew better than his own.

"I just want to know one thing this morning."

One black eyebrow shot up in question.

"Why?"

"Why what? Why am I late? I overslept, Malfoy, surely you can understand that."

"No...why did you choose him over me?"

His brows furrowed together...he was thinking.

After a few moments, Harry left.

Draco walked away, cursing his big, fat mouth and all the words that seemed to spill from it.

My life revolves

around you;

know now:

I did not mean it to.

You snuck upon me

-quiet, silent, graceful-

then pounced,

and took my soul.

Quiet as death

you seeped in my life.

You are the goal

for which I strived.

I didn't see it coming,

didn't see the shame

-you pounced,

it's you I blame.

I did no wrong,

but life has changed.

It must, and

for that you are not blamed.

It's your fault,

and yet

it is mine as well.

I lost the bet.

And now know

that my life revolves

around only you,

and know forever more:

I did not mean it to.