Right, this is my first fanfic, and it's nearly 2am in the morning when I'm writing this. If you've read it, please review; it's my first one and I just want to know if people like it! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, but please remember that the only person who's ever read this is me!
Watching
He watches her constantly. In classes, in the hallways, in the Great Hall at mealtimes, constantly. He knows her every movement; the way she only ever uses her left hand to tuck her hair back, the inkspot that is ever present in the join between her thumb and first finger because of the way she hold her quill, the slight limp she has, the determined look she gets when there's something she's adamant she wants to say. He knows her in ways that they never will; in ways they never will because they don't watch her like he does. They don't want her like he does.
He remembers the first time he ever saw her. It was on platform 9¾ the first time he got the Hogwarts Express. He saw her standing nervously with people he now knew to be her parents, biting her lip and switching her bag from hand to hand. She was not pretty in the normal sense of the word; her hair was very curly, and her teeth were just a little too big for her mouth. She was, however, intriguing. He knew, beyond a shadow a doubt, that she was not pureblood; he could tell from her stance, from the very fact that she looked nervous. Pureblood wizards and witches don't get nervous; they are self assured at all times. He also knew that, for possibly the first time in his life, he didn't care about blood.
Any dreams he may have had about this fascinating brown haired girl went out of the window as soon as he saw who she was talking to at the end of the train journey. Harry Potter. He knew that he would not be able to greet her as if she were a stranger, just another new student, if she was friends with Harry Potter. His fears were confirmed when she was Sorted into Gryffindor; his father would never allow a friendship with a Gryffindor, and especially not a Mudblood Gryffindor.
Part of him knows its useless thinking like this. It's been more than 6 years since that day, and all he has ever done is insult and belittle her. He wishes she knew that it's all only about appearances; he must be seen to be insulting her, to be belittling her. It's part of his heritage, part of his role. Every time he calls her a Mudblood, and sees that flash of pain, cuts him to the bone, but he has spent a very long time learning to hide his feelings. He hides them so well that nobody suspects a thing. None of this changes the fact that he wishes she knew.
Over the next three year of school, his curiosity about her grew. She obviously very intelligent; she was at the top of the year seemingly effortlessly, and yet she was constantly self critical. He recalls coming out of an examination behind her, and hearing her dissecting an answer with Weasley. He remembers thinking that this only fascinated him further; that she was so clever, and yet so unaware of it. He had always been taught to advocate his own talents, even if they were not enormous, and part of him did not understand how she could run herself down so much. He was interested by her; she was the antithesis of everything he had ever known, and yet her behaviour was fascinating.
The first inkling he had that he was more than intrigued by her was the Yule Ball. When she walked through the doors of the Great Hall escorted by Viktor Krum, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to rip him apart for even daring to touch her, for daring to think he could put his hand so casually on her arm, and get her drinks, and dance with her as if it were nothing. That was the first time he could ever remember wanting to be someone other than himself, and it unnerved him, possibly even more than these newly discovered feelings did. Malfoy's do not wish they are other people; they are the highest of the high, and consider themselves better than everyone else, and yet he did wish he was someone else.
It took him a while to get used to this, but once he did, he couldn't spend a waking day without actively seeking her out. If they didn't have any classes together, he would go to the library, where he knew she would be at some point. He would sometimes spend hours there, just waiting to catch a glimpse of her. After a while, of course, people started to get suspicious of where he was going for hours on end. He always made some allusion to being part of the Dark Lord's plans, and generally this kept them at bay, but he knew he could not keep this going without some proof much longer. He didn't care. It was more important to him that he see her than he explain himself to others.
He often wonders if it is possible to love someone who has no idea how you feel. He thinks he loves her; certainly, he hates when others insult her, he wants nothing more than to be able to show the whole world that she is his and he hers, and this than more than anything makes him think he loves her. He is a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not belong to anyone, and yet he wants to belong to her.
The thing he has always admired about her is her bravery. Everyone in the wizarding world knows about the Golden Trio; Potter, Weasley and Hermione, and everyone knows that Hermione and Weasley would gladly follow Potter through the gates of Hell if it meant it would help him. The only person he can ever imagine feeling like that about is her, and it is killing him that he cant show this. He thinks that if it were her who had these feelings, she would be brave enough to show them; would be brave enough to stand up to her friends and family, and say that she was in love with someone they deemed unsuitable. He wishes her were more like her.
He watches her now. She is absently eating some pasta while reading what looks like an essay. He observes her foot tapping against the table leg, the rhythm matched exactly by the movement of her fork. He wonders if she realises this. He watches Potter looking at her with a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face, and saying something to her that makes her gesticulate towards the paper in front of her and make a panicked face. He wishes it could be him talking to her. As he thinks this, she glances his way. She catches his eye, and he is momentarily paralysed. He doesn't know if he should look away or smile, but she breaks the eye contact. He realises that she hardly even realised it was him; that after 6 years of his insults, she has finally started to ignore his very presence. This hurts him more than he could ever express, but he knows he can't change it. He is a Malfoy, and she is a Mudblood. For the millionth time he tells himself that this has to stop, but he knows he is just lying to himself. He is infatuated with her, and is tormented by the knowledge that she will never know this. He just can't stop watching her.