She's looking at me again with hateful, untrusting eyes. The intensity with which she's staring makes it practically impossible to look away. From my seat I can clearly see the rich smoothness of her eyes; the ones that both hurt and heal me. The long, thick lashes framing her eyes flutter shut for a nanosecond before revealing the chocolate orbs once again.
Tearing myself away from her eyes, I take in the rest of her face. The soft yet angular jaw leading up to the plump, rosy cheeks with the high, high cheekbones. Upwards more to the gloriously rich eyes that create so many emotions it's not normal. Down again to the rounded chin with two perfectly plump lips resting above it. That perfect face of hers that has changed so much from the young girl who entered Hogwarts seven years ago. So much more mature, more feminine and less naive.
But under all that pale pink lies the truth about the girl.
Underneath lies the scars from the things she doesn't dare to speak about, all the things that plague her nighttimes and threaten her daytimes. Things that she's seen, done. Things she couldn't possibly forget.
It seems unfair that such a creature as her should have had to go through so much to get to where she is today. It seems unfair that she should have had to lose so many along the way. It seems unfair I caused a portion of her pain, that I made things so had for her.
It seems wrong that I should now love her, unconditionally and irrevocably.
I never imagined that I'd ever fall in love. A life should go as it was planned. It should conform and do the right thing. Life should make me marry Pansy because she's pure. Life should let me stew in hatred. Life should make sure that I never fall in love because I don't deserve it. I never thought life would be kind to me, much kinder than it should be. Especially to me.
I never expected to feel the rush of heat when I look at her. I never expected to feel protective of her. I never expected to miss her when she's not in the room. Or that I'd want to attack anyone who spoke wrong of her!
But my love for the perfect bookworm is unrequited. It always will be. It's karma, my punishment for making her life so hard. I understand that.
But it doesn't make it any easier.
It's never easier to watch her swan about with Weasley or to shamelessly flirt with someone at the table. It's never easier to see her alone and in pain because it reminds me of what I feel for her.
Sometimes I think she knows how I feel about he in the way she'll do something that will make me jealous. Then, other times, I think she's blissfully unaware of my feelings.
In times like that, I often sit and wonder what it'd be like if she truly knew how I felt. That she'd come rushing to me the way she does to Potter and Weasley. She'd hug me just because she could. She'd want to be seen with me and she'd want me for Draco not the money or the Malfoy fame.
But I know it will never happen. Not even in my wildest dreams. So I'll carry on looking, admiring from the distance, and dreaming of what could have been.
Just one more look before I leave her alone. One more look before I get over this. One more look to burn into my memory forever. One more look to remember her sweet face when times are bad, when things come back to bite me. One look to keep me from going insane.
I glance up at the Gryffindor table, towards her regular space. But I cannot see her. I scan the rest of the table quickly and see Potter and the two Weasleys, but no Hermione. Frantically, I search the rest of the room, but to no avail.
I won't give up, give in. I rise to avoid the person in front
of me blocking my view.
"Draco, look at me."
It's her.