Ron/Draco fic based on Almost by Bowling for Soup- listen while reading this fic. I am listening to it while writing
I see him in the hallways of Hogwarts, walking with Harry and Hermione, his hair glistening in the ghostly light coming in through the few windows. Every single time my stomach does flips, my legs get weak when I see him. He brushes past me in the hall, and my skin burns where his skin touched mine. I wish it would happen more, but I know it can't. He is from a whole different world- a world of Dark magic, which is the very world that I and my friends and family have been fighting against over the last several years. But what hurts the most is that he doesn't acknowledge me aside from insulting me. I stand here, taking his insults without a word, sinking in his words, listening to his voice, almost completely losing the meaning of his words. But the meaning is still there. I feel the sting of the words reverberating throughout my body for hours afterwards. I envy the way everyone else shrugs it off, but I can't. When I was with Lavender, she didn't arouse half the feelings in me the entire time we were together that he can with a simply by being near me. I don't understand why it has to be that way. Why can't I be happy and feel that with someone that I am expected to like? I want to be able to be with him, to walk down the halls holding hands, but even if we could ever be together we couldn't do that. We could never be open about it. But he would never want to be with me anyways, so it doesn't matter what I want, it will never happen. It will never happen. That's the mantra that I repeat to myself every night while I relieve myself of the tensity built up when I see him through the day. I always think of him though, I want it to be real. But it never will be.
I know I should push feelings away, everyone knows I am the Ice Prince, after all; but these are too strong. Why do they have to be for the Weasel? I don't feel anything at all, except when I know he is near. Then I feel accountable for my actions, like he is watching me. It brings a warmth that has nothing to do with the fires lit in each classroom to combat the winter chills. But I know that it can never be, my father would disown me, or kill me himself if he knew. And so I watch him in the halls with a longing that I didn't know I could feel. I sit now thinking of how I wish I could find that in a woman, but I can't. He is the one I want, and I can never have him; I can never feel his hands on my waist, or his lips on mine. Even if that does somehow come to be I can never wake up with him by my side, our legs tangled together, still sweaty from the love we made through the night. That is the vision that runs through my head every night, while I go into a world of my own. I imagine that Weasel is the one behind me, instead of whoever my father has ordered to be in that position on that night. He stands there watching while I shut my eyes, bringing myself into that other world. But the things I imagine will never be.