What You Know
You're staring out the window, not paying attention in class simply because you know you don't have to. You learned the spell ages before today, and you know you could easily test out of this tedious class.
So you turn your attention to the other side of the room, the darker side, the side that wears the same dull black robes as you but theirs seem blacker without the festive ties, scarves, earrings and purses your side adorns yourselves with. He's there, and you shiver as his cool, steely gaze rakes past you unseeingly. You're nothing special, only a know-it-all who isn't worth even to look at for a full second. You know this quite well, just as you know that being upset about such a fact is traitorous and unforgivable. Regardless, you feel slighted, thought that was doubtlessly his intention. Why can't he just gaze at you, you question yourself, or at the very least look at you? Such a thought is ludicrous, but still you look, still you steal glances at him at every opportunity, still you imagine his smooth voice washing over the syllables of your first name – not your unglamorous, boring last – with a trace of laughter in it instead of the cold, bitter sneer.
He's staring out the window, quite as you were merely minutes before, and despite your best efforts, you can't completely stifle the girlish rush of emotions that awaken in you once you've discovered the two of you share something, whether it is a friendship or simply a habit. For once you allow yourself to entertain thoughts of speaking to him without hearing malice in his voice. You close your eyes just slightly, your right hand still pretending to take notes that you don't need, and see him coming closer. He's smiling softly, and he speaks your name in a voice saturated with, dare you say, love. And he leans in, this mysterious, beautiful boy, and his smooth, silky, soft lips gently touch yours.
He doesn't apply too much pressure and it's perfect. It's everything you've dreamed off, more appealing to you than any forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eve could ever be. You wish for it fervently, your body burning with want and need – but in your case, aren't they the same? – as you tear your eyes away from his softly scowling face. You cannot be caught staring at him with such tenderness, or you would be ostracized in the worst way. But here, today, in this world of yours, only entered in times of sleep or unstructured dreaming, there isn't anybody to object, there is no dark or light, only you and him forever.
But you know it cannot be, so you return from your momentary journey from reality and resume staring out the window. You imagine what he is seeing, wishing he knew you cared even about that little detail. Are his eyes fixed on that funny little branch, just like yours? Can he see the cloud, the one that looks like a bird, in the corner of his eye? Is he seeing it moving, like you are in your head? Is he seeing it spread its wings and launch across the sky? Is he picturing it escaping the confines of the sky and dissipating into everything and nothing?
The teacher calls your name and you reel off an answer, seeing your classmates scribble it down in their notes. They know, as do you, that any answer you give is of higher quality than the textbook. For simply a second, you toy with the wicked idea of getting something wrong, perhaps misusing a word, or making your answer of lesser quality. That, you muse, would teach your classmates to forgo studying with the belief that you will provide them with help. But you know you'll never do it, just as you know what you want will never happen. You, the perfect, ideal girl, would never do such a thing. And even you aren't strong enough to rebel against that image, unwillingly stamped on your body and mind.
Thirty minutes later, the bell rings and you file out the classroom. You avoid your best friends; from the looks of it, they are arguing about sports teams and their rankings. Well, they only ever talk about one sport, and it doesn't happen to be the single sport you enjoy. So you hurry your steps, knowing your classmates will assume you are headed to the library, and you find yourself walking alongside him. Is it on purpose, you ask him silently, or did you not mean to come?
The answer is undoubtedly the latter. You aren't walking together, and nobody could accuse either of you of such a fact. You two just happen to occupy the same space at the same time. Though you know this, you can't help but breathe in his spicy cologne and see the perfect locks fall into his stormy eyes optimistically. Too soon, you've reached the doors to your next class, and that feeling disappears.
You are filled with a sudden burst of angst, a strong feeling that this isn't fair, and as if in answer, you boldly brush against him. You know this may be the only contact you'll ever get with him, which is a sad fact in itself, but that doesn't stop the rush of hope that runs through your traitorous body as his muscled body comes in contact with yours.
You know you can never talk to him on friendly terms, let alone kiss him sweetly like in your dreams, but, even as your next class starts, you close your eyes and picture that blissful world once more. It's not tainted with disappointments like you always expect. It's always changing, with that non-stop fluctuating that only dreams contain, but no matter the setting there is always one constant. Him.
He's always there. Sometimes he's smiling at you, sometimes he's scowling without any venom, sometimes he's crying as you comfort him. But he's always there. And even if you'd be shunned if anyone knew of your thoughts, his name has never tasted sweeter as you whisper it into the air, hoping beyond hope he'll hear it, but greatly fearing someone else will instead.
"Draco."
A/N: Just fixed a few errors. Any suggestions/requests for one shots (or even a longer story)? PM or review.