What would you do if I told you I loved you? That I've loved you ever since that first time we met. When your molten silver met my jaded green and my heart skipped that fateful beat.
He watched discreetly from behind inked in locks, eyes half-lidded in precaution for the possibility that those molten silver eyes would flicker over.
Prepared for the hate he would inevitably see.
You'd stared at me with such childlike naivety, not yet knowing who I was or who I was going to be. You just saw me. The boy being fitted for robes, in clothing too big and shoes already scuffed. Everyone else knew who I was and what I was destined to be.
Savior of the wizarding world, their sacrificial fucking Jesus.
He hid a smile when the object of his affection smiled, lips pulled back in that perfect crescent of a smile, laughing gaily at a remark made by Pansy. Those silver eyes were narrowed to slits, the precious metal taunting and baiting for a split second before they were wide open again.
He wanted to smile too, wanted to smile with him. Pain arced through his heart, yearning. If only he could be the cause of such a smile one day.
But you didn't know me, not the way everyone else did. The only one I had ever met who didn't know me on sight, I was just another nervous eleven year-old getting fitted for robes and you wanted to be my friend. And I wanted to be yours while you didn't act from time hardened rules.
His left hand clenched subconsciously, blunt nails pressing into the palm of his hand, had they been longer he would have half moon pinpricks of blood dotting his tanned and weathered skin. His right hand was permanently frozen curling in on itself, hidden in the arm of a set of robes too big for him. A handicap from war, others had suffered worse.
I wish I had taken your hand on the train that day, maybe everything would have gone differently. Maybe we'd be laughing together now, in matching Slytherin robes, together as best friends. We'd play chess every night before bed, you'd always win. We'd go to classes together, perhaps, making fun of Trelawney and rising to meet Snape's disproving gaze.
Or maybe we'd be more.
His chest ached again, but this time for a different reason. Regret and shame flooded his heart. He looked down at the scarred wood of the desk he sat at in the back of the classroom, it was the only place where he could be alone on the shadows, where everyone overlooked him.
Perhaps I would have been able to withstand Voldemort that night, and saved all those people, even your parents. But I couldn't, and I didn't.
A small, twisted smile graced his lips and he played with the hem of his left sleeve, absently picking at a stray thread before turning his eyes back to alabaster complexion and enchanting silver orbs. But this time they were there to meet his, silvery depths suspicious and threatening.
You hate me now. But…doesn't everyone?
He cast his eyes down, avoiding the unspoken accusations he felt when someone, anyone, met his eyes. At a point during the battle against Voldemort and the man's demise, his eyes, once reflections of his mother in their beautiful, expressive depths, had become a symbol of the loss and grief caused by the war.
No longer did people seek to meet them in hopes that the corners would crinkle in a smile and the viridian irises would sparkle with mirth and selflessness.
Instead, they sought to avoid them, or meet them with spite and hate.
I wish I had taken your hand when he proffered it to me. I wish I hadn't fallen into Voldemort's traps time and time again. I wish I hadn't been the cause of so many deaths. I wish when I died, I hadn't been revived. Do you wish the same?
The bell rang and he stood, standing awkwardly at an angle as one leg supported more weight than the other, not by choice but by necessity. Necessity caused by an incident involving a shattering curse, his knee cap, and the promise that he would never walk straight again.
Bag over his shoulder, he stumbled out the door and paused in the hallway. Someone jostled his shoulder roughly as they passed, but he ignored the wrathful nudge and instead focused on that one person.
Molten silver glared hot daggers at him then turned away to murmur something to Blaise, the dark-skinned Slytherin chuckled mirthfully and they ambled off, out of his line of vision.
What would you do if you knew? If I walked up to you now and declared it for the school to hear?
There was no need to ponder the answer. He hunched his shoulders and hobbled awkwardly down the hall, managing not to hit anyone in the crowd, aided by the effort the school took to not touch him on their own.
Silently he pleaded for his best friends, gone they were to the heavens together. Leaving him behind, alone and miserable. He snuck a quick glance at the one he loved, laughing again without the world on his shoulders.
Moving on with your life. Soon you'll marry, and I'll be left even further in the background. This one-sided love will never come to pass.
He cast his eyes downward and shuffled through the shadowed halls, by himself.
I wish you loved me back.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the affiliated merchandise of theme parks, and I certainly do not own a Ms. JKRowling. I gain no monetary reward for writing this. Do not bug me.
A/N: This is my first fan fiction, please be gentle with your criticism. I know that Harry would never fall in love with Draco, that Harry was not grievously injured in the final battle and that everyone adored Harry after the final battle in the books.
This is not the books. This is a fantastical oneshot written by a besotted fan who enjoys boy love and writing just a little too much. So please, don't start telling me that this is unrealistic, I know it is, and that this would never happen, I also know this.
I don't like writing angst, but I felt like I should write this. I also don't like reading angst. I like fluff. Me gusta mucho fluff and happy, cheesy, romance stories that makes you go 'aaaaw' and giggle at inopportune moments.
Thanks for reading!
-Fridgeworks