Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, Draco would be mine ( and the books wouldn't even a fraction of how amazing they are.)
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Her Eyes
Year 1
She was average. Pretty, but not gorgeous. That hair was positively atrocious. Her teeth were abnormally large. But her eyes. They were so pretty. The way they widened with awe as she stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. She glanced at him and smiled when they locked eyes. He returned the smile, almost missing the magic that swirled all around them; he was so caught up in her eyes.
Of course she was a mudblood. He should have noticed. How dare he even think she was remotely decent? She sat next to that red-headed pig and Potter, barely looking up as he approached. That was fine. He wouldn't look at her either. She was just filth. But he didn't miss the rage that sparked in her eyes when he put Potter in his place. She should understand that the Boy Who Lived wasn't all that. Of course she wouldn't though. Just a stupid mudblood.
Year 2
She was such a know-it-all. Did her hand ever stay by her side instead of always up in the air? But he had bigger things to worry about. He'd done it. Spat the word at her. Labelled her as the mudblood she was. His father would be proud. So why did he feel so guilty at the hurt flooding her eyes as she tried not to cry?
Year 3
Stupid mudblood and her stupid eyes. Why was he obsessed? They were ugly. The brown was exactly like the muddy blood running through her veins. So why did he keep looking?
Year 4
He did a double take as she walked in. She was with Krum, but every boy in the whole school wanted her to be his. Her dress was gorgeous. Her hair was set stylishly. Her makeup was light and natural. She'd done something to accent those eyes of hers. She was beautiful, gorgeous, enchanting. But her eyes. Her eyes. They were perfect.
Year 5
He loved it. That defiance in her gaze. Bound as she was by that so called Inquisitorial Squad that toad of a teacher had concocted, that fire was unquenchable. He knew she had a plan. She looked up at him and smirked, her gaze narrowed. She didn't realize yet. She thought he was one of them, that he still thought of her as dirt on the bottom of his shoe. He stared steadily back at her. He'd prove her wrong if that's the last thing he did.
Year 6
He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to see the change in her. He wanted her to know that he hated this task, hated the man, the creature who was forcing him to do this. He saw her alone and approached her. She greeted him with a raised wand. He held up his hands in surrender, and saw the clouds of confusion and distrust swirling in her eyes. He told her he wanted, needed to talk to her, alone. He was even willing to let her bind him down, if it meant she'd listen to him. She did just that. He told her everything. He spilled his guts, watching all her emotions spread through her eyes, even though her face remained impassive. The shock, the pity, the worry, the care. He just hoped she could see the sincerity in his, hard as that seemed with them filled with tears. He just couldn't help it. All the frustration, the pain, the terror of the past year just bubbled out of him. He finished his story and closed his eyes. The shame washing over him. There he was, broken down and bound, in front of a girl he had tormented for years, confessing horrid crimes, and yet, he hadn't been cursed into oblivion yet. Suddenly, he felt the most unexpected thing: arms around him. His eyes flew open. She was actually hugging him. She pulled back and looked deep into his eyes. And she promised him that she wouldn't let him fall. She'd help him save himself. She was his lifeline.
Year 7
He saw her. In the midst of the battle. She was in her element, a powerful witch, magic swirling around her, just like the justice in her eyes. Strong, focused, she gave him the reassurance he needed with one look. He was Light, like her. He fought straight and true, sought freedom. She kept her promise; she saved him. He would keep his promise to himself; he wouldn't let the light fade from her eyes. Not now, not ever.
The End of the War
He searched for her. She was still alive, still well. He knew it. She had to be. She called his name, and he spun around. He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, so relieved. She relaxed into him, a silent bond of trust and friendship they had grown into over the past year or so. He knew she felt him shaking, and she pulled away with a slight frown, looking him over for major injuries as he did the same to her. She looked back at him, and he looked at her. Drawing strength from each other. He carefully watched every emotion those eyes of hers displayed. He had grown so used to it, knowing her, reading her, seeing the deepest parts of her through them. He shared her pride, felt the fatigue, saw a flicker of another emotion. If he hadn't felt it himself, he wouldn't have recognized it. Love. That's all he needed. He leaned towards her, and their lips met in a mixture of longing, of comfort, of pure, innocent, sweet love.
A Few Years Later
He rolled over on the bed to see the witch asleep beside him. His girl. He smiled to himself as she began to wake. Her eyes fluttered open, so peacefully. They were so, so beautiful. He had long since put aside any pureblood beliefs, and saw once again what he saw at age eleven. He looked into her eyes, and she stared back at him, neither moving, neither making a sound. Her eyes were the eighth wonder of the world. She had promised she wouldn't let him drown in sixth year. She never knew that he did. He drowned in those pools of love and adoration that stared up at him now. He knew, then and there, that he could do this forever. He could spend an eternity lost in her eyes.