And he just looks at me with those eyes of his. Eyes that could, quite easily, cut through my very soul. My brain, at the very least, is a shamble of ribbons and fears. I can't quiet my heart and it beats out his name in a tattoo. Draco. Draco. Draco. Ever and always his name. And when he approaches, the smug smile in firm place over those miraculous cheekbones and full lips, I'll say the first thing that comes to my fragmented brain.
Robot
Malfoy
Prick
Never his name. I never think his name. It's too much a part of me, my rhythms, to need to be thought. It's just, somehow, always there.
Never I love you. That's also just an intrinsic given in my life. Another thing too basic to ever actually be stated.
It's the same for him. He sees me. Really sees me through the veil of prophecies and stories. Between the lines of fine print and fear. And he'll use such horrible names for me.
Golden Boy
Potter
Asshole
But his pale, delicate hand will dance over my own, tracing his love on my own calloused one as he pushes past, our black silk robes swirling around us like Peruvian instant darkness powder. For an unseen instant, he smiles like he only does when we're alone. I smile goofily, uncontrollably back, and even when the darkness is changed back into light, our eyes shine with a shared secret.
Later, passion will fire between us, sparks leaving trails of stardust on our skin. It will seem that the twisting, arching glory of us will never end. There will be no veils then, no secrecy. Everything will be shown in the darkness of the night. The stars will see all and we will be endless. Endless. There will be no war then. No enemies to fight. No sides to take. No right or wrong, light or dark, Slytherin or Gryffindor.
But for now, it's just the two of us, staring at each other across the hallway, each with our posse of mindless followers. Each with a sort of desperation in our eyes.