Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter series. They belong to the great lady, J. K. Rowling. I also do not own the rights to Unorthodox Matchmakers. Those belong to Phoenix Soar. Go worship her fic.

Eyes occurs in Deathly Hallows

Eyes…

Draco thought that the only time that he would every feel tiny and inadequate was when Hariah Potter tried to shield him from the thing in the Forbidden Forest by jumping in front of him.

He is wrong.

So very wrong.

"They say they've got Potter," his mother's voice – colder than he has ever heard it before – calls him out from the chair that he is sitting on in front of the fireplace, "Draco, come here."

Draco, pale and frightened and unbelievably small, shuffles towards the prisoners. The werewolf, Greyback, forces one of them under the chandelier and, oh Merlin!

It's Potter. They've caught Potter.

And what in the world happened to her face?

"Well, Draco?" his father asks, "Is it? Is it Hariah Potter?"

"Of course it's her," Draco thinks, "Of course it's her." Even though her eyes are just slits he can still see the green of her irises. He would always be able to recognise them.

"I can't – I can't be sure," he lies, looking away from the girl as quickly as he can.

"But look at her carefully, look! Come closer!" he had never heard his father so excited before, "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgive-"

Greyback cuts his father off, saying something about "who actually caught her." The elder Malfoy impatiently reassures the man before moving closer to the girl.

"What did you do to her? How did she get into this state?"

"That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," his father paused before whispering, "There's something there…it could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

And suddenly he finds himself the closest that he has ever been to Potter since she sliced his chest open in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It definitely her, in fact it's so obvious that he can't believe that his father needs him to confirm it.

"I don't know," Draco says, turning away and heading back towards his mother who is standing by the fireplace.

For the life of him, Draco could not tell you why he lied just then.

It isn't until the chandelier is exploding above them from the spell that their old house elf cast and Potter is yanking his wand from his grasp that Draco comes up with an answer.

"I don't want her to die…"