DRACO

You know that feeling when you start to feel that strong emotion coming up in your chest? It comes out tiny, unnoticeable, so you pass through. But when you see that one person again and again, that tiny bud of feelings start to evolve and seep into your brain until it clearly verifies its existence.

Draco Malfoy, damn. You are in love with that Potter boy.

It was clear that I always hated him. Every insult pleasured me, but after all this time I was insulting him, the pleasure came from seeing him. Now the guilt comes back, stabbing my brain. I'm calling myself a freaking chav for not noticing this strong emotion.

And I wonder, I freaking wonder, if he can still return feelings for me after all this bloody hate. Because hell, I do love him.

Did that mean I like men? Well, Potter himself is a boy. And yes, I do like them, only the particular ones, like Potter himself. I haven't be able to train myself to say his first name. And Christmas is coming around soon, and they'll be mistletoe dangling from the ceiling, letting lovers everywhere enjoy the gentle touch of each others lips.

It sent a funny jolt in my butterfly-filled stomach. What if me and the Potter kissed? I've have never, no matter how rich or handsome I am, kissed someone.

I have studied Potter's face. At first, my reaction was 'that-ugly-shit', because of my hate for him. And the bud of emotions begins to pop and he becomes 'attractive-dearest.' He had messy tresses of dark ash black hair; his eyes were green as a raging rainforest. I wanted to feel the press of his lips against mine, wet, gentle, only slightly repulsive at first… But it melts gently together, only making my emotions wrap around each other more tightly, letting the thrust of love spill over to the sides.

"Draco, Draco Malfoy!"

Charms, Flitwick. I am deadly asleep.

I feel the gentle 'wap' of his feathery quill. A couple of Gryffindors stifle a chortle. Potter's face is staring at me, his expression slightly confused with mixtures of annoyance. I understand this facet of his face is for hate, but I can already feel the heat of his glare rise up to my face. 'Crap,' I think, "Sorry Professor, I have a bit of a cold." Flitwick nods curtly.

"Now, can someone tell me the spell of Wingardium Leviosa?" Granger's hand is already raising high to the ceiling, not much of a surprise there. Weasley's chuckle mixes with Potter's laugh.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! This love feeling has gone quite off of the hand. Am I that in bloody love to be jealous of that idiot ginger? The laughs stop and Granger answers the easy question and life goes on. Meanwhile, I am confused with this aching heart I hold.

More questions are addressed and answered. Soon enough, the dreading hour ends and mid-time meal comes. Can food be the cure to my deepened love for Potter? I ignore Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe who are chasing me; wanting a word with my off behavior. 'No, I don't want to talk.' I ponder; my shoes are pounding furiously against the hallway. Then 'bump', this person crashes down as I fall down on my arse.

"Watch it, Malfoy."

This voice that I am drawn to, the tone that seduces me. Anger, isn't it? I look down, "Your heading the wrong way, you idiot." It's Potter. He's kneeling down, feeling for his glasses. As he finds them, he's three feet closer to me than usual. Potter collects his textbooks. My mouth is dry, the impulse of a abusive response. "Stuff it, Potter. The Weasleys can't afford manners?" The heart that's overfilling my love for Potter is oozing with pain. 'No, I didn't mean it," I think. My mouth is begging for the release of the sentence.

But I can't.

Potter cringes; he wraps the books against his chest. The depressing thought of the possibility of Potter returning the love I have for him decreases. The hallway is clear, the last few steps of his shoes disappeared. I am the idiot that is hated by a crush and is gloomily alone, sprawled against the glassy hallway.

727 words. That's the least I wrote this year. XD

Chapter two coming out at mid August!