He was beautiful. Sure, when we first met he turned me down nearly instantly, but he was still gorgeous.
As years went by I recognised that though I wanted to, I could never be with him. He was good, I was evil. He hated me. And I tried to tell myself that I hated him.
'Draco, you despise Harry Potter. Draco, you can't stand Harry Potter.'
But I soon came to realise that I was jealous. Of his fame, his fortune, his friends. I wanted to be Harry Potter, but I also wanted to kiss Harry Potter. I wanted to run my hands through his short black hair and smack my lips onto his with such ferocity, and I wanted him all to myself. I wanted him to be mine.
Yet as time passed nothing changed. Well to be certain things did change: he got a girlfriend, lost said girlfriend, got another girlfriend, girlfriend became wife, had children with said wife... but I knew that he would be happy without me. That without me his life became easier.
It was painful but I told myself that if I truly loved him, I would be happy for him.
Thing is, that's easier said than done. I wasn't. I wasn't happy for him, and I just couldn't be.
Maybe that made me a privileged, selfish little Malfoy prick who tragically fell in love with a straight man. But possibly, in some other life, it might happen. My selfish, idealist dream might become a reality. We might finally be together, a happily ever after once and for all.
But not now. Not in this life, anyway...