Obsidian Eyes
I'm haunted. I sit in this cold grey room…haunted by eyes. Obsidian eyes. Your eyes.
I remember you. Or parts of you. The whole image has long since been sucked-no, torn, ripped, shredded from my mind. I remember parts of you though. Distant glimpses of dark hair or pale, nearly translucent skin. And hands. There's a memory of hands, traveling up my back.
Gasps. I hear gasps too. Torn from my throat as orbs darker than midnight stare up at me. Your eyes, again.
They're everywhere, in everything I see, everything I dream. They never leave. They're what I see the most. Beautiful black eyes, staring into my soul.
My son visits me sometimes. He sits and talks, trying to coax a conversation out of his useless lump of a father. He thinks the dementors are driving me mad. He's wrong.
It's you. Your eyes. They're driving me mad. They always have, though.
I remember in school those young, haunted eyes. They drew me in, claimed my soul. My heart.
I remember the battlefield. The thump as a body hit the ground, how your eyes stared up at me.
I'd kneeled down next to you afterwards. Staring at the now faded black eyes as spells flew around me. I was a lone figure, leaning over a dead body while chaos surrounded me. And that's the most haunting image of all. Your eyes, staring at me, empty.
I hate your eyes. They drive me crazy, because I love them, and Malfoys aren't supposed to love. Slytherins aren't supposed to love. Death eaters aren't supposed to love. And I'm all those things. And yet I love you. And I hate you for that. Just as I hate your eyes.
You, your eyes, your hair, your hands. They're beautiful and I loathe them for it.
I'm haunted. I sit in this cold grey room…haunted by eyes. Obsidian eyes.
Your eyes haunt me Severus, and I hate you for it.