The Sketch

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter or any of the characters involved, all belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers respectively. I mess up the toy box.

I was always late for class these days. Ron took his time doing whatever it was he liked to do under the covers at 7 am while I packed my books and trudged off without a shower.

There was no time for me. No time for him. We were drifting apart, and we both knew it. But what were we supposed to do? How do we salvage what we never really had to begin with?

Ron knew I wanted more. He couldn't give it to me, because he had his hands all up in that squishy little ass we called Hermione. I didn't know what he saw in her then. Still don't.

I don't know what made my thoughts change. I reached a point where my brain was all gooey and soft, like dough over boiling water. I just needed something to stir my cauldron.

Snape's lips were moving, but nothing came out of them. He droned on about various rare ingredients, and we all knew the only reason any students listened to him was so they could make note of which ones seemed nice for getting a high.

I was not a saint of a student, but I sure as hell wasn't into the intoxicants scene. That was for the bad boys.

Ooh.

I still don't know why I looked at him, but I did and once I did, I couldn't look away.

He was leaning back in his chair with his legs on the desk, his nose in the air, and his hand on his thigh. He was stunning.

I couldn't take my eyes away from him, and so I sketched him, madly.

Draco Malfoy. A great white thorn in the student body. He was a prickle in my side. Not only in my side. No.

I hated the way he sat between those thugs; they obstructed my view of his beauty, like two ugly boulders with beady eyes and greasy hair. I should have learned a charm that could make them vanish so I could see him sitting between them. I caught a flash of his silverblonde hair and then it was gone.

My quill scratched furiously on the parchment, making note of every gorgeous detail I was fortunate to catch sight of ...

Snape shut his mouth and my eyes went wide. He was staring right at me, but I had nowhere else to look. We were two forces of a common onyx wildflower. His nostrils flared like he'd caught something wondrous upon the air. It must have been my fear.

Snape ate that stuff up.

Class ended and the students filed out. I stayed behind because I knew he wanted me to.

I could feel the cold rush of his cape as he whirled past me, shutting the door. He snatched the folded piece of parchment out from under my shaking hand and his eyes took in the beautiful boy I had replicated in ink.

He was mine, in a way. I could own him on that piece of paper. He could be mine.

Snape smirked. I wondered if he saw the beauty in this boy like I did.

He held the paper away from his body, dangling it before me like a carrot for a desperate rabbit. I raised my fingers to take it back, but then I saw his lips moving.

Snape was speaking. His lips were moving, but they never made sound.