He was a boy, plain and simple. Oh, but he was a beautiful boy. Sometimes when he was angry, it was so obvious how frustrated he was. The way his eyebrows furrowed together, straight white teeth digging through a shock of crimson lips, and the eyes. Wide and lost. As though he really wanted to be furious, murderous, but his eyes were betraying him. The only hint that beneath that face twisted in rage was a little boy who didn't want the confrontation. He wanted to get along with everyone, it was obvious. Those eyes would have been happy to quell a fight with tea and a handshake. But the rest of him got so angry.

And Draco was the one who got to see that side of him, all the time. Sometimes he was the only one. He liked to think of it that way, as though this side was for him, and only for him. His Harry.

Beautiful.
Like war.

It was worth it to go out of his way at breakfast, the halls, Quidditch. Just to see that Look. The one reserved for him, the one that was screaming beneath that torrent of black hair that it wanted to reach out, take over, beat Draco's skin until the tight flesh across knuckles cracked open. It wasn't just a Look; it was more like another personality.

So sour was he to see Harry happy. To see his whole face light up simply from lips stretching over teeth. It was one of those smiles that you can tell has gone years without use. Where you could see one's entire self in it's dimples.

He wanted to bash every one of those perfect teeth in. He wanted those mouldy green eyes on his, filled with hurt. Flooded with tears of pain.

Pain is beauty.
Beauty is pain.

And so, beautiful Harry was. Pain on two legs, the sole reason Draco's bleeding heart continued beating. Pain. Live for pain and refuse comfort. That was the way it should be. Perhaps that was why it was so natural to love the boy who lived not for him. It was so much easier to bring out the Look, the Personality, with only a bit of persuasion and prodding, than it would be to befriend him. No, the friendly Harry was a tramp. The friendly Harry was for everyone. His relationship was with Harry's anger, his defeat. Poor little Harry didn't even know that his other side was involved in an affair of the senses with his enemy. Emotions this complex were lost on the golden boy. The realisation that hate and love are incestual brothers hadn't quite hit him yet.

But it would. Eventually. And Draco would be waiting.
Unrequited love is a bitch.