"I am not in love with Potter.”
“You're staring,” Pansy sang to his left. It was the morning of Christmas eve and the students who decided to stay back for Christmas break were currently eating breakfast in the great hall. There weren't many people here this year. Most of them went back, probably because parents were worried about leaving their children back here when the war had just ended a few months ago.
Draco had stayed with Pansy as they had nowhere else to go. His mother, on house arrest and his father, rotting away in a cell in Azkaban. Pansy's parents weren't always around and there was nothing better to do at home, so there wasn't any reason for her to be there anyway.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, averting his eyes from a messy haired boy.
“You were staring at Potter. Again.” She was smirking now. She always did that when she thought she knew something he didn't.
“No, I wasn't. You should probably get your eyes checked,” Draco said stubbornly. He took a bite of his eggs and gave a flitting glacne at the brunette. The look was so subtle and quick, not even Pansy noticed it. And she noticed everything.
“Oh, come on, Draco! Just admit you love the boy who lived and be done with it!” she said exasperatedly. He has been doing this for months now, always making heart eyes at Potter and gushing about him. He had even started using extremely subtle flirtatious remarks when he was insulting him – she was sure she even saw Potter blush a few times – and it was driving her mad to the point she wanted to scream at one of them to “make a move already!”
“I am not in love with Potter.” He grit out through clenched jaws, fists curled on the table top. She didn't know what she was talking about. He was not in love with Harry Potter.
Pansy sighed in exasperation and left Draco to brood in silence.
She had been saying this for months. She would always tell him he was in love with Potter. He wasn't. And he was sure of it. If he had been in love with Potter, surely, he’d know.
So it boggles his mind when his best friend says this. He was not in love with Potter. Perfect Potter with all of his little fans. Honestly, who would want to date him?
Who would want to date – or even love – him. Potter, with his annoying, nosy fans. Potter with his redheaded blood traitor and know-it-all muggle born friends. Potter with his Gryffindorish-ness and saving people thing.
Potter with his messy, freshly-shagged looking dark curls that seemed to frame his cute face perfectly. With his beautiful emerald like eyes that seemed to shine brighter whenever he was looking at something of his interest. Eyes that when you looked into, you would see every single emotion expressed in them.
When he was happy or excited, it was as if the entire world could be seen in those eyes. They shined like the great lake did on hot summer days. The uptick of his lips when he was amused was incredibly beautiful and Harry's laugh rang in Draco's head for hours after he'd heard it. He was sure he would recognise it from the other end of the world.
And when he was upset, those gemstones of emerald would glaze over with unshed tears, a small pout forming on his lips. He'd cross his hands across his chest to stop his hands from trembling, his face tilted down to hide from the world. All of it made Draco wish he could do something to ease his sadness.
More often than not, Draco was faced with a Harry that was righteously annoyed. Then, his eyes would burn in to Draco's like blazing fire. His eyes resembled the colour of the killing curse and Draco found it impossible to move away from it.
Harry Potter was an enigma. A mystery that even the most closest of his own friends could not solve. A mystery that was ever more enticing to figure out as the years went on and another began. This little tidbit of information, or lack there of, really, endeared the blond boy.
He wanted to solve the mystery that was Harry Potter. He wanted to know him. The real him. Not the falsely painted image that newspaper articles portray him to be. He wanted to know, desperately, the person behind it. Not the quiet, and mostly reserved, person he’d been since the end of the war. Not the bundle of nerves that he seemed to have gained over the months. But the person he is when he’s relaxed and comfortable, happy and sad. Just him being him.
He may know the emerald eyed boy from the news articles, but he wanted to know of the carefree boy he'd seen a glimpse of when he'd seen him in the library. The small peek he had seen had lasted merely minutes, yet the image was stuck in his mind, refusing to leave. When he was alone, the ever so short memory raced through his mind like a lion pouncing a deer. The images kept repeating themselves over and over again, leaving him to do nothing but sit and staring into the oblivion, observing the black haired boy. As he observed, his heart kept yearning for another glimpse of that carefree boy.
The image was perfectly perfect. He had conjured the small scenery at least a dozen times. It was of Harry in the library. One might say it was a normal picture, but to Draco, it was all so perfectly Harry. Harry had been reading, what appeared to be, a muggle story book in the more secluded sections of the library. That part had always been more peaceful and comforting than any other place in Hogwarts. He had been sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, leaning heavily on the bookshelf for support. He'd had the book in his lap, one hand playing with the corners of the pages while his other hand held the book steady. Harry's raven hair was messy, dark locks falling on eyes that glittered brightly with childlike happiness. Small giggles leaving his soft pink lips when something funny happened in the book. Draco wanted nothing more than to be the one that got to sit there with him. He wanted to tuck the loose strands of messy black hair behind his ear, to laugh along with him while reading the amusing parts, to be pressed against each other, side by side, doing nothing more and nothing less than to read, and laugh, and love.
Everything the emerald eyed boy did was making his heart yearn for something that would never truly be.
The blond was falling more and more in love with the black haired boy by the second.
He snapped back to reality. He frowned and worried his bottom lip.
Wait, what?
Love?
No. No no no no no. Nuh-uh. No.
He was most definitely not falling in love with the boy who lived. He was not. That would be truly unbecoming of one such as himself. Of a Malfoy, especially. Pansy most definitely was not right.
Or was she?
Never mind, that. He didn't even know what love was. How could he possibly fall in love with someone when he didn't know what love was.
His parents weren't the most loving parents in the world. His mother and father didn't show love like most did, instead they spoiled him rotten with toys and clothes. They would give him anything and everything he wanted when he asked for it. Both his parents grew up in households similar to what they had raised him in.
His mother raised by the Blacks with her two other sisters, taught to sit still, look pretty, and to not ask questions. Disobedience, punished by blood and bruises. Obedience, paid by nothing more than a good meal and a piece of jewellery. His father raised by his grandfather, as his grandmother was told to do nothing but feed and look after him when he was out. His grandfather wasn't that much of a bad man, spoiled his son rotten with gifts and toys, in return his son would learn all the necessities of a pureblood wizard; history, obedience, a false sense of masculinity, not to show emotions and the do's and don’ts of a Malfoy. Both his parents never learning how to show familial love or affection as they both grew up not knowing either.
This lead to them not knowing how to express those emotions to Draco and him not knowing what love is.
Draco didn't know what love was. But he guessed that it was the butterflies that fluttered in his belly and the erratic beating of his heart when Harry looked at him. Or the fantasies and dreams that crossed his mind when he was alone in bed or asleep in peace. Or the yearning in his heart that told him to go up to Harry and kiss and cuddle him. Or maybe it was the part of him that wanted to just hold him and be with him for all of his forever.
But the one thing that Draco was sure of as he watched the raven haired boy sleepily eat a waffle, was that no matter what, Harry James Potter would always bear a big piece of his heart