The Things Draco Knew
This is the B-day fic part 1 for my bestie Misaki Kinomoto. Of course it's late as always.
It was the little things that he always noticed. The way he ruffled his hair when he was angry, the way he would bite his lip when nervous, and that he only had tea and a piece of fruit at breakfast. He kept bacon on his plate for his owl, but never actually ate any himself. In fact he would put the same amount of food on his plate as the people around him, but never eat all of it. He noticed the way that his eyes would shine with suppressed tears when he was particularly hurtful towards him, the way his anger was slow to ignite but was like fiendfyre when it did finally burst. He noticed the dark bags under those luminous green eyes even when he only caught swift glances in the hallways. The panic that made him careless, the tear streaked face he wore when he came back from the Ministry. He noticed the hurt that his friends caused him time and time again. How hard he tried to be normal and return the advances made by others to him. How hard he fought to be normal, to go unnoticed, to be left alone. He noticed that he loved he loved history, always sneaking in to the library to read any book he could get his hands on, charming them to look like quidditch books and magazines. How he always did his assignment twice. The first time the way he would normally do it, the second how everyone expected his work to be, below par. That chocolate was his favorite treat, particularly chocolate covered fruit. And he noticed him sometimes looking at him and just knowing, almost as if asking why do this?
He also noticed that he hated the cold, fatty foods, and lies. How he despised bullies, even when that bully was his own father. He noticed how he steered clear of hurting anyone, from saying what he was really thinking, and from cheating. He realized that he hated defense against the dark arts, the Ministry, and the reporters. How he did not bother to pay attention to rumours because they always were spiteful and hurtful. He noticed how he hated those that were ungrateful for what they had, even when it was his best friends.
He observed how he would flinch away from any and all contact. How he avoided large spaces, sticking close to the walls, or how he always manoeuvred to be in between those he was walking with. He noticed that he held himself away from others, that he avoided eye contact, and that he always tried to let others talk first.
He knew that he was excellent at potions, was great at puzzles, and could remember any piece of history trivia there was. He knew that he loved sweets, but never ate many lest he upset his delicate stomach. Knew that he was too small, too fragile, too skinny, too petite. Knew that anything soft and comfy, or warm, would end up in his trunk, or on his person, on his bed, to sheepishly be returned later. He knew that he always was aware of his surroundings, of the the emotions of the people near him. His eyes sharp as a hawk lest he find himself in danger.
He also knew that he would never get to tell him this. That he would never know. That he could not be dead. That his body was twitching minutiley. That he could not fool him. He saw his breath ghost past his lips, his hand barely twitch. He knew that they could never be more than what they were at this instance. He saw him leap up, roared, "POTTER" and tossed him his mother's wand. He saw him catch it, the glimmer of thanks and recognition, and then watched as everything turned into chaos once more. He watched him from across the courtroom, nodded his own thanks when he walked thanks to his words. He knew he would never forget. He knew they could never be together, but they both knew and that was okay.
As they gazed at each other across the steamy platform of the shining scarlet engine, they knew. And they wished things could be different, but were content with the families they had, if not happy. The knew it was for the best. That opposite sides never had a happy ending together. Even if they knew it was all a lie.