So, pretty much I wrote this fic a few weeks ago. I sent it to my beta (slash-friend) and she couldn't even do me the courtesy of reading it. (Ha, Rachel!) So, here it is.
I hope you like it and if you have any idea for a name leave it in a review.
At first it was the hair. Isn't it always the hair? That flowing red hair that drives me crazy whenever I see it. I love running my fingers through it while I hold her tight, the deep red curls in strange contrast with the paleness of my skin. I love her hair, it reflects her fiery, red personality, and that infamous Weasley temper that, despite the rumors, was indeed passed on to the youngest of the clan.
When I first met her, I, a second year, king of the world and she, a first year, innocence still intact, (although it did not remain that way for long, my father and 'Tom' quickly saw to that) her hair was a bright vibrant red. An ugly color, I thought as I quickly dismissed all thought of her. She was scrawny and unattractive. She was just another Weasley.
It wasn't until five years later that my mind held thoughts of her again. Again, it was the hair. Throughout the years it had darkened, turning from a bright tomato red to a dark wine color. It tumbled over her shoulders and partway down her back. I watched her, while sitting at my table in the library, no longer able to focus on the unimportant task of my sixteen inch essay due for charms the next day. She flipped her hair and I watched, mesmerized, as the river of lava curls tumbled again, down onto her shoulders.
She stood up and walked into the row of shelves, presumably to look for another book to add to the ever growing pile that resided beside her elbow, and I got a good look at her. The scrawny eleven year-old had disappeared leaving a stunning young woman in her place. She had filled out in all the right places, my eyes followed her form into the stacks and I was still watching when she returned.
She must have felt my eyes on her because she looked. I expected her to look away with the trademark Weasley blush coloring her cheeks. She surprised me. Instead of looking down, she flushed a little bit but held my eye. She continued to stare straight back at me and returned to her seat, only breaking contact to continue her work.
I am a good liar, of that I am sure. I can lie to anybody except for myself. I was intrigued; I wanted to find out more about the vixen with the red hair.
Now, she is mine. Through hard work and determination, I have succeeded. She is now my vixen with the red hair and woe to any who fail to acknowledge it.
--
It was his eyes. Those gray orbs that seem to see into my very essence, my very being. I love his eyes. I love how they sparkle with feeling when he looks at me. He has not told me how he feels, but I know. It is not just in the way he steps in when other boys are talking to me or, the way he holds his hand on my lower back when he walks me to class. It is not even in the way he kisses me goodbye, in full view of all of our classmates, eager to show that I belong to him and only him. It is his eyes. It is the way they tell me that he loves me, without him having to say the words. It is the way they become stormy when he is upset. It is the way they have that impish gleam that turns to seriousness when he wants me.
I remember when I first saw him. I was in first year and nervous as hell. I had wanted to go to Hogwarts for as long as I could remember and now that I was there, I had no idea how to handle it. He was sitting at the Slytherin table with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. Ron whispered in my ear pointing him out to me and telling me to stay away from him at all costs. I looked over and thought that I would have no problem staying away from him. He did not look like he was a nice person. He was not even attractive. In fact, I thought he was downright funny looking. He had pale skin, pale hair, a pointy chin, and peculiar-looking ears.
I did not pay attention to him over the next five years. He was of no interest to me and did antagonize me as he did my brother and his friends. It was because of his actions that I even bothered to pay him any attention at all.
I remember every detail of that fateful day, although my mind is eager to erase other not-so-pleasant aspects of my past. I was in the library, at my usual table in the back. (If I am too far to the front, Hermione usually makes me study with her. Do not get me wrong, Hermione is great, just in small doses.) I was so involved in my potions homework that I did not even feel his eyes boring into me. (A pretty hard feat to accomplish. Stupid Snape!)
I got up to get another book for my essay on the uses of Bicorn horn. On my way back, I walked more slowly, trying to prolong the moment until I had to go back to my work. My gaze swept the library and I was surprised when the lit upon a pair of gray eyes. Our eyes locked. I am sure Ron would have been furious with me if he knew that it did not even cross my mind to break eye contact with him. Why was he looking at me? I felt a blush spread across my cheeks but I did not look down. I kept contact with his eyes until I reached my seat. I then sat down and pretended to continue work.
I sat there, with my homework spread out in front of me, lost in thought. I wondered when Malfoy had gotten so hot. His body had changed, it had filled out, and his face had a soft look to it; no longer was his chin so pointy that it looked like he could stab someone right through with it. He had grown into his ears and it was obvious Quidditch had done him good. Damn, had it done him good! The muscles that rippled across his chest under his shirt as he turned to keep me in his sight were making me weak in the knees.
It took Malfoy two weeks to approach me. Two weeks of him sitting at the table in the library staring me down. And it took me another three weeks before I would go anywhere with him. Ron's lessons did not go to waste. But now, he is mine, and I his.