It was hard to not notice him. He was taller and slimmer than the boys she knew, but she knew that he hid lean, hard muscles beneath his robes. He was tall, dark (in terms of his family's beliefs or if you considered that he was related to the House Black), and handsome. What captured her the most was his eyes. His eyes were shades of grey and blue, depending on his mood. When he was with his brood of serpents, his eyes were the shade of ice on a sunny day. When he was angry, they flashed into the sharpest icy blue she'd ever seen. Then there were days they were just a relaxing blue grey. When he looked at her, she could see blue and flashed of silver, like water twinkling in the daylight.
She hated that feeling he gave her. She hated it when he turned towards her, pinning her with a gaze that said, "I don't mean what I say." Some days, she believed what she saw through those windows of his soul more than the scornful words that dripped from his mouth. It was on those days, she hated him the most. Every time he looked at her or spoke to her, a slight flush bloomed across her cheeks. She hated how she would feel like dancing on clouds, only to wake up the next morning feeling like she'd need bottles of Skele-gro. She hated everyone who stared at him with obvious longing in their eyes for him to touch them. Everybody wanted him for his gold, name, connections, looks, and/or for their revenge plan.
She wondered what his life was like, to grow up with a beautiful and get whatever he wanted. She wondered how his hair could always fall into place, neatly like dominos, no matter how many times he jumped or fell. She dreamt up stories of his life, an idyllic life, one where she'd be walking across wooden floors into his arms. He would sometimes wear a Ravenclaw eagle T-shirt, a gift from her because he was quite brilliant. Stories in which they'd be at some dinner party, where she hears him say something so completely contrary from what he tells her. She doesn't call him out because he shows his true heart when it's just the two of them.
He couldn't help but see her. It was hard not to. She was more on the petite side, standing somewhere between 1.5 to 1.7 meters. He admired her riotous brown curls. Just be looking at her hair, he could tell her mood. When she was distressed in any way (including stressed and angry), her hair was more a curly mass that became more bush-like as she became angrier or more stressed. When she was sad, they hung in limp, subdued ringlets. When she was happy, they were bouncy curl of glinting gold brown. Her hair had its own mind, but it was never in her way. But, her eyes drew him even closer. They were shades of brown, also depending on her mood. The angrier she was the closer they looked to fire. When she was said, they were a duller brown. But on a normal day, they were a warm brown with flecks of gold. When she looked at him, her eyes were a mixture of dancing fire and flecks of gold.
He hated how she made him feel. His heart fluttered weakly whenever she brushed past him in the halls. He would smile and flush ever so slightly whenever she nodded towards him in cold courtesy, acknowledging that he was more than what appearances said. He hated how he felt like falling from his broom whenever she looked at him with scorn in her eyes and an uncharacteristic sneer on her rosy lips.
In the darkness of the nights, he dreamed of a life they could have if life was different. They would dance in shining wood floors in the Manor ballroom. They'd vacation on the French coast, acting as only lovers would. He would wake to her riotous hair on the pillow every morning, wearing a T-shirt with a Ravenclaw eagle, a shirt given to her as a nod towards her intelligence and curiosity.
It's a daydream, she knew. It's a dream his heart made, he whispered to himself. Fate and time was against him, for it would mean certain death for either of them if one of them made a move towards the other. There were few occasions where they would face each other; him at the Slytherin table, her at the Gryffindor table. Once though, in their fifth year, they almost decided to defy Fate. Flecks of golden brown met glints of silver blue. In that moment, both felt the undeniable longing for the other. Both had put their palms on the table, ready to push away from their respective tables and meet each other somewhere in the middle. Then, Dumbledore began talking, and each saw the glimmer of hope die in the other's eye. So now, they glanced at each other with sadness in their eyes and seriousness in their mien. They don't look at each very often, because they turn to their housemates as quickly as they catch each other's eye. They can't afford a gold rush.