A/N: My first Drarry. Enjoy!
It had always been difficult for Draco to express his feelings the way he really wanted to. His words always got stuck in his head, and what he said was never what he meant. All he could ever manage were insults, and that was no way to get someone to fall in love. He contemplated a love potion once or twice when it all seemed hopeless, but he always promptly dismissed the thought. He didn't want a love created from a chemical. No, Draco wanted the purest love imaginable. He wanted a love that lasted through thick and thin, one where they would laugh and hold hands on a walk on the grounds, watching the stars appear one by one, one where Draco would steal a quick kiss on the cheek in the corridor and go on his way, one where they would not be judged for who they love. All he ever wanted was a love with Harry Potter.
That was highly impossible though, seeing as Draco had waited much too long to admit this even to himself. It was too late now, Harry was dating Ginny Weasley, and Draco was too much of a coward to confess. Even if he did confess, he was convinced all he would get in return would be a broken heart. Draco wasn't strong enough to face rejection; he hated himself for that.
He never thought of himself as someone good enough for "The Boy Who Lived". Yeah, Draco was rich, had an influential father, and not to toot his own horn or anything, he was rather good looking. But this didn't seem enough. He would never be able to keep up with the ever popular Harry. Draco could never do the things he did, like facing He Who Must Not Be Named. He would have been dead on sight if he were to oppose The Dark Lord, yet Harry did so openly. That kind of bravery was something Draco just didn't have.
A sudden snap of the fingers brought him back to reality. It was Goyle, looking ever so confused as he sat across from Draco at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
"Why you lookin' at Potter, Malfoy?" He asked, not even waiting for an answer. He had already begun to scarf down every bit of food that appeared before him. Crabbe sat next to him, already on thirds.
Draco paid them no mind, but tore his gaze away from Harry as their eyes met. He didn't even try to determine if that weird look he got from him was hate, confusion, intrigue, or something else. Draco had never been good at reading facial expressions. He also didn't want anyone else to question his gaze. It wasn't his fault; it was Harry's. Curse him for being so damn good looking!
Dinner went by without any more questions. Draco managed to keep his gaze down on his food and away from his object of affection, and even participated in the conversation. There was always such a droll topic being discussed among the Slytherins, but he somehow kept himself engaged. If he hadn't he would have focused entirely on the Gryffindor table through the whole the whole meal.
After the empty plates and silverware had vanished from the table, the very stuffed witches and wizards made their way to their respective dorms, Draco among them. Crabbe and Goyle chattered incoherently about the meal they just scarfed down, and the blonde kept to his own thoughts. When had he started falling for Harry Potter? He had always felt a strange desire to be near him, ever since their first meeting in Diagon Alley when Draco hadn't even known who he was. He had tried to befriend the boy, but the words got twisted in his head and instead he blurted insults, earning him the opposite of what he had tried to accomplish. He made several attempts to make amends, but all ended in failure. Now whenever he saw Harry all he could do was mock him; it had become such an awful habit.
Draco sighed when he reached the Slytherin Common Room. He would never be able to get on Harry's good side now; it had already been six years of this routine, and now Draco was at the mercy of the Dark Lord. As much as he hated his horrid fate, he couldn't abandon the Death Eater lifestyle for fear of losing his life. It was his father's decision that led to the young wizard's perpetual misery.
He forced a smile as one of the younger student's greeted him as he entered. Not everyone hated him, mostly just Gryffindor students. He didn't even hate them either. He might say awful things about Muggles and the friends of them, but he didn't really mean them. It was all what his father drilled into his head as a young boy. Because his father hated Muggles and Muggle-borns, Draco had grown to adopt the same mentality, well almost. His was supposed to have grown to think the same way, and put on a façade that he did, but he really didn't mind them at all. The Muggle-born students didn't seem all that different from the pure-bloods in his eyes, so he didn't know why he was supposed to hate them.
Not bothering to talk to anyone else that night, Draco went straight to his room clad in green and silver. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. He had to get a good night's rest for his Quiddich practice the next day. That was one thing he didn't hate. Sure, his father's influence secured him a spot on the team, but he did work hard as to not disappoint. Draco practiced as much as he could. He wanted to impress Harry with his Seeker skills, but he never seemed to be good enough.
He turned towards the wall and closed his eyes, drifting of into yet another fitful sleep plagued by nightmares of He Who Must Not Be Named.
A/N: I do apologize for the shortness. It was much longer when I was writing it on my iPod. Well, please tell me what you think. Chapter Two is on its way.