Disclaimer: No I don't own
Harry Potter and all related characters and themes, the goddess named J.K.
Rowling does... so don't sue me. I'm only borrowing them temporarily so I can
make them do my bidding ^_^
POV: A whole bunch of
people, I'm kinda just fiddling around with it. Tell me if you like my POV
strategy or not.
AN: Yes this will get
better (i.e. more romanticy/slashy)... don't worry. I would love reviews, even
flames. I don't care as long as I know someone read it. Thanks and Enjoy!
-=-::-=-
"Harry? ... Harry!?...
Ugh," The sound of a something being thrown and hitting its' target faintly
sounded.
"Ow." The Boy Who Lived
turned and glared at a bunch of freckles and fiery red hair, picking up the
quill that was thrown at his head and lazily tossing it back.
"Stop daydreaming."
"Daydreaming? What else is
there to do here? It's Potions Ron."
Ron rolled his eyes and
sighed, tossing in the insides of a particularly fat frog to a bright green
simmering potion.
"What's up with you lately?
You seem... preoccupied. Like your mind is somewhere else."
Harry shrugged, not
particularly wanting to have this conversation lead to anything else, like the
thing what was filling up his mind, his heart, his whole being and making his
stomach wiggle and churn whenever he thought of him and what could be. He
didn't want anyone to reject him for falling for someone definitely off limits.
In fact, he wanted to go back and change time so he wouldn't have to have
realized he had fallen for him. So that he could go back to playing
quidditch and talking with his friends and fellow students without a care in
the world except his homework. Anyone else but him. It could have been
anyone else. Actually it should have been anyone else. But it wasn't. It
was him. And that simple fact alone made Harry's mind reel and cause him
sleepless nights, and stare off at him for the longest times, studying him,
even though he didn't even offer him a glance back. Harry picked up a dead
caterpillar and squished its head distractedly as he stared off again at the
object of his desire.
Damn that Draco Malfoy.
-=-::-=-
Potter knock it off! I glance uneasily in the direction of my rival,
knowing he's staring at me. He doesn't seem to notice how I shift my body, so
my back is facing him for the sole purpose for him to look away. I don't think
my back is very interesting but Potter obviously does.
Maybe it's just you he
finds interesting. Another voice
drifts into my head.
*Shut up; go fuck around
with someone else. *
Draco you are so stupid, you even think so. How can you
keep lying to yourself like this? You're in such denial that you don't even
realize what the truth is. The truth is that you love Ha-
*Shut up, Shut up, Shut up!
*
I slam my book shut and
glance at Potter once more. I notice his eyes immediately. They're so bright
and affectionate, so full of life and love. I roughly shake my head trying to
rid myself of those thoughts.
Draco you are losing it.
I sigh and look back at
Snape, pretending to pay attention to his boring lectures, hoping for once I'm
not right. Or more specifically, my smarter voice isn't right.
-=-::-=-
I knew something was wrong
with him; sighing and moping around like that. He couldn't have fooled anyone
with that attitude, much less his best friend. Does he think I don't know how
his mind works? After spending 6 years with someone you would think you would
get their behavioral patterns down pat. It's got to be girl troubles, I think.
I've never seen him this depressed before.
I pick my head up and look
around the common room and see Hermione reading. How typical. I glance around
and spot Harry staring into the crackling flames, his face set into an
expressionless facade. I know he's feeling something. I study him a little further.
His brow is furrowed slightly. He's thinking. About? Who knows? I'd like to
know. I sigh and bite my lip wondering if I should go talk to him.
"Hey Harry!"
He looked up, blinked a
few times seemingly trying to erase what he was seeing in his mind and turned
to me with tired eyes. He hadn't been sleeping very well. "Yes, Ron?" He said
heavily, rubbing his eyes.
I got up and shoved my
chair so it was next to his. I didn't want everyone to hear us, just in case he
decided to open up. "I know something's not right with you and I'm... well...
worried. Is it girl troubles? You how much of an expert I am with them." I
couldn't help it. I glanced at Hermione. Harry didn't see this however; he was
busy shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
"Erm... not exactly Ron.
I... I mean nothings wrong." He smiled quickly at me in a desperate attempt to
change my mind. I hid my grin and shook my head.
"Nice try Potter. Care to
have another go?"
He smiled slightly and
stared at the floor, seeming to be thinking something over. After ages, (or so
it seemed), his brilliantly green eyes looked into mine, almost searching my
soul to whether I could handle this or not. I just looked back at him, hoping
my eyes told him I could handle anything he could throw at me.
"Alright Ron, I'll tell
you. But I can guarantee you are not
going to like this."
-=-::-=-
The soft swishing of my
long black cloak is all I hear as I make my way down the deserted corridors,
mindlessly dragging myself along just for the hell of it. Well, not entirely. The
smallest part of me expected Potter to jump out of nowhere. I grinned. Wouldn't
that be lovely? Mouthing off to Potter-the-Great while everyone was sleeping.
My grin faded slightly and I leaned against the cool stonewall, my thoughts
racing one after another and stared out of the window, the trees along the
densely thickened forest being silhouetted by the moons rays.
I wonder, would anything
be different if my parents, well my father, hadn't forced me to study the dark
arts, endure pain without flinching and show no one my feelings at all costs?
Why did I have to be the "great" Lucius Malfoy's heir? I'd much rather be
muggle-born then deal with this... this brainwash; this cruel and unusual
punishment I still have to endure just because my twisted father thinks its
amusing. I know what's right, and I know what's wrong, but what I know is not
what is done or even considered. What I feel isn't an excuse for anything. The
bottom line is I'm here for one purpose, to serve the dark lord.
I sigh and look around,
vaguely aware of the prickling sensation in the back of my eyes. I've never
cried. At least as long as I can remember, and I can remember every beating and
torture which is saying something.
Why is it that Potter and
I play this never-ending game of who can win the verbal war? And why, even
though I put on my smuggest face and look
satisfied, feel worse then ever when it's over and I'm awake all night thinking
of the boy with black untidy hair and immaculate quidditch skills? Why can't we
just call it quits?
Because you started the whole thing, you big prat. You
weren't forced to push him away, at least not then.
Before I can object to
myself I hear a loud bang and thundering footsteps. I curiously peer into the
next hallway, looking for its owners. I squint into the darkness and soon
enough I come face to face with a very red-eared, crimson-faced, raging mad
Ronald Weasley.
-=-::-=-
AN: How do you like so
far?