Chapter 3: Eyes
By: Artemis
Summary: All about eyes. Really pathetic. Just review, anyway. Enjoy.
* * *
The only sound he could hear was the soft thud of his feet upon the smooth carpeted floor of the Slytherin Common Room. He couldn't sleep. And every time he tried to do so, all he could see were… her eyes. Soft… gentle… hazel-colored… eyes that had seen him at that brief instant of his vulnerability. He saw his reflection mirrored within those innocent hazel orbs not as the dragon she once thought she knew, but as a divinity she wanted to know, though uncertain that she did. It was no longer the untamed look of amazement he had seen in her face the time he had collided with her in the confines of the train. What he saw was more like the bounty of sheer and utter admiration that she had kept from him and from everyone else in a long time. Draco had never thought --- never dreamed --- that one day she may be able to look at him in that way, to look at him with longing. And neither did he even know how much it would matter to him when she did.
He shook his head. He still couldn't believe it of her. What did she see now that she had never seen times before? He knew what she thought of him. She saw him the way that wretched Potter did: as an enemy not even worth looking at. They finally realized that three years ago. They had begun to ignore him then. Though, Draco thought with amusement, they couldn't ignore him, could they, the day they saw him onboard the Hogwart's express.
Yes. Draco remembered. He had made the greatest impression upon the entirety of the school at the beginning of the year. And until now, the whisper of his name still echoed within the corridors that shaped Hogwarts. Yes. He was famous now. Even more so than Harry Potter himself.
Although… it was not so much his appearance that had nearly unsettled the impenetrable fortress of Snape's calm, nor was it the reptilian glint that sparkled in the depths of his depthless gray eyes. But he only realized it vaguely that the impact most acquired in his presence came with the regality of his countenance and the meticulously refined demeanor that had taken every girl and boy in school by surprise. Some of his female schoolmates (he noticed) would nearly faint --- yet again --- with but a mere sweep of his hands, a mere arch of his brows, a mere curl upon his lips and a mere glint of mischief within his eyes. With no more than those simple actions, he knew that he already had them wrapped around his little finger, his to command… save for one.
She stood out amidst them all. After her first initial shock of seeing him on the train, she had already grown accustomed to his presence, and would not… even… look… at… him! Draco was, in a way, though he was loath to admit it, intrigued by the pride he had noticed in the very air that she breathed. Truly, she would give herself up to no man, least of all, him.
*It was all that damned Weasley's fault! * he swore. It was true enough, he supposed. Had the imbecilic git been smart enough to have laid his hands off her, Draco would have had the chance of…
No! Dammit! He couldn't think of these things! And least of all, he couldn't think any them of a wretched Muggle! A Muggle! Part of the entire race of pathetic, underdeveloped humans that he was destined to hate forevermore! But why was he feeling like this? Why was he feeling as if that hate was slowly disintegrating into nothing more than disgusting puddle of vile beneath his feet? Why was he even feeling! He was Slytherin! He shouldn't feel anything!
He shouldn't feel anything…
He should just forget it… forget everything.
He walked up from the sofa of the Slytherin common room, and approached the cackling, red fireplace. Bending down, took the poker from the floor beside the glowing hearth, and began poking it around the burning wood that had been left aflame. Once again, the glow reminded him of Weasley, and he was angered even more. He couldn't understand why he even bothered to think about any of them. To think about… her
Granger… that damned Muggle! That accursed bush-shaped hair! That incessant chattering! Those accursed smiles! Those accursed lips! And those hateful… soft… brown… EYES!
With a furious growl, Draco hurled the rusted poker to the open window, where it landed… somewhere, with an audible clang of metal against metal. He couldn't have cared less even if it had pierced flesh, especially if it had pierced her flesh.
Draco scowled, and turned away. He couldn't be thinking of these things. Surely, his father wouldn't approve. He wouldn't approve of his son's loss of self-control. He wouldn't approve of his son's loosing it because of a Muggle.
Damn! Why did she always have to burn in his thoughts. Like the immortal phoenix that kept coming back over and over again. Thoughts of her would always rise up from the ashes of his anger… and his regret. And now that he regretted it, having had anything to do with her, he remembered her once again, and her eyes, such perfect innocence with which he had been deprived of at birth.
Feeling the root of his anger slip away, basking in the memory of her, he covered his forehead with the palm of his hand, and shook with silent laughter at the absurdity of his situation.
Why would he be wasting his time regretting it? Why would he waste his time trying to figure out what his father would do to him? Why would he be wasting his strength, hating them, loathing them, loathing her? When now that he finally knew that he loved her.
Loved her…
Of course he loved her!
Why? He had yet to find out.
Slowly, and in resolve, he walked back towards the confines of his bedroom, into the safety of his four-poster bed, into the rest of a tranquil and peaceful slumber, all the while, dreaming of her…
… and of her eyes…
Hermione woke up after hearing the clash of metals. Quickly wrapping herself with the night robe just above the table beside her bed, she strode stealthily towards the open window not wanting to wake up the other sleepers that shared the same room.
She took a peak towards the grounds below, her eyes searching for the source of that nerve-prickling sound. With the help of the waxing moon, she saw a small metallic glint that was rested atop the center fountain. It was a thin, metallic rod, very much resembling a poker. She wondered if it was, although the reason why a poker would be sitting ever so casually atop a fountain eluded her.
A cloud began to move, drawn by the coming of a chilling wind. The large cumulus formation unceremoniously obscured the moon from her sight, plunging all of Hogwarts into darkness, especially in a starless night. But somehow, she could still see the piercing gray of the metal that gleamed with a light brought about by the existence of a single lantern somewhere within the grounds. It gave her a sudden chill, an eerie coldness that seeped through her with more force than the flight of the wind.
She wrapped her robe tighter around her, and she backed away from the sight. Slowly, and with much eagerness, she closed the window, and sat down.
The thought was then finally embedded in her mind, and she began to regret it even as she returned to her bed, pulling the covers above her. And she knew that it would follow her, even in her sleep. The piercing metallic gleam that ever so haunted her during the day now haunted her during the night. And even as she slipped into a dim and dreamless slumber, she could think of nothing more than the gleam of his presence, than the presence of her own growing love. All these combined could no longer affect her than the memory of his eyes.
And yet, one name outstood her own thoughts, and she whispered it as she began to sleep. The sound of silence, embraced it, and took it, and it whispered back, "Draco."
* * *
A/N: Gasp! What a sucky ending! Eeeewwwww……….!!! *Sigh * (Dot. Dot. Dot.) Don't worry! I'll make it better next time!
By: Artemis
Summary: All about eyes. Really pathetic. Just review, anyway. Enjoy.
* * *
The only sound he could hear was the soft thud of his feet upon the smooth carpeted floor of the Slytherin Common Room. He couldn't sleep. And every time he tried to do so, all he could see were… her eyes. Soft… gentle… hazel-colored… eyes that had seen him at that brief instant of his vulnerability. He saw his reflection mirrored within those innocent hazel orbs not as the dragon she once thought she knew, but as a divinity she wanted to know, though uncertain that she did. It was no longer the untamed look of amazement he had seen in her face the time he had collided with her in the confines of the train. What he saw was more like the bounty of sheer and utter admiration that she had kept from him and from everyone else in a long time. Draco had never thought --- never dreamed --- that one day she may be able to look at him in that way, to look at him with longing. And neither did he even know how much it would matter to him when she did.
He shook his head. He still couldn't believe it of her. What did she see now that she had never seen times before? He knew what she thought of him. She saw him the way that wretched Potter did: as an enemy not even worth looking at. They finally realized that three years ago. They had begun to ignore him then. Though, Draco thought with amusement, they couldn't ignore him, could they, the day they saw him onboard the Hogwart's express.
Yes. Draco remembered. He had made the greatest impression upon the entirety of the school at the beginning of the year. And until now, the whisper of his name still echoed within the corridors that shaped Hogwarts. Yes. He was famous now. Even more so than Harry Potter himself.
Although… it was not so much his appearance that had nearly unsettled the impenetrable fortress of Snape's calm, nor was it the reptilian glint that sparkled in the depths of his depthless gray eyes. But he only realized it vaguely that the impact most acquired in his presence came with the regality of his countenance and the meticulously refined demeanor that had taken every girl and boy in school by surprise. Some of his female schoolmates (he noticed) would nearly faint --- yet again --- with but a mere sweep of his hands, a mere arch of his brows, a mere curl upon his lips and a mere glint of mischief within his eyes. With no more than those simple actions, he knew that he already had them wrapped around his little finger, his to command… save for one.
She stood out amidst them all. After her first initial shock of seeing him on the train, she had already grown accustomed to his presence, and would not… even… look… at… him! Draco was, in a way, though he was loath to admit it, intrigued by the pride he had noticed in the very air that she breathed. Truly, she would give herself up to no man, least of all, him.
*It was all that damned Weasley's fault! * he swore. It was true enough, he supposed. Had the imbecilic git been smart enough to have laid his hands off her, Draco would have had the chance of…
No! Dammit! He couldn't think of these things! And least of all, he couldn't think any them of a wretched Muggle! A Muggle! Part of the entire race of pathetic, underdeveloped humans that he was destined to hate forevermore! But why was he feeling like this? Why was he feeling as if that hate was slowly disintegrating into nothing more than disgusting puddle of vile beneath his feet? Why was he even feeling! He was Slytherin! He shouldn't feel anything!
He shouldn't feel anything…
He should just forget it… forget everything.
He walked up from the sofa of the Slytherin common room, and approached the cackling, red fireplace. Bending down, took the poker from the floor beside the glowing hearth, and began poking it around the burning wood that had been left aflame. Once again, the glow reminded him of Weasley, and he was angered even more. He couldn't understand why he even bothered to think about any of them. To think about… her
Granger… that damned Muggle! That accursed bush-shaped hair! That incessant chattering! Those accursed smiles! Those accursed lips! And those hateful… soft… brown… EYES!
With a furious growl, Draco hurled the rusted poker to the open window, where it landed… somewhere, with an audible clang of metal against metal. He couldn't have cared less even if it had pierced flesh, especially if it had pierced her flesh.
Draco scowled, and turned away. He couldn't be thinking of these things. Surely, his father wouldn't approve. He wouldn't approve of his son's loss of self-control. He wouldn't approve of his son's loosing it because of a Muggle.
Damn! Why did she always have to burn in his thoughts. Like the immortal phoenix that kept coming back over and over again. Thoughts of her would always rise up from the ashes of his anger… and his regret. And now that he regretted it, having had anything to do with her, he remembered her once again, and her eyes, such perfect innocence with which he had been deprived of at birth.
Feeling the root of his anger slip away, basking in the memory of her, he covered his forehead with the palm of his hand, and shook with silent laughter at the absurdity of his situation.
Why would he be wasting his time regretting it? Why would he waste his time trying to figure out what his father would do to him? Why would he be wasting his strength, hating them, loathing them, loathing her? When now that he finally knew that he loved her.
Loved her…
Of course he loved her!
Why? He had yet to find out.
Slowly, and in resolve, he walked back towards the confines of his bedroom, into the safety of his four-poster bed, into the rest of a tranquil and peaceful slumber, all the while, dreaming of her…
… and of her eyes…
Hermione woke up after hearing the clash of metals. Quickly wrapping herself with the night robe just above the table beside her bed, she strode stealthily towards the open window not wanting to wake up the other sleepers that shared the same room.
She took a peak towards the grounds below, her eyes searching for the source of that nerve-prickling sound. With the help of the waxing moon, she saw a small metallic glint that was rested atop the center fountain. It was a thin, metallic rod, very much resembling a poker. She wondered if it was, although the reason why a poker would be sitting ever so casually atop a fountain eluded her.
A cloud began to move, drawn by the coming of a chilling wind. The large cumulus formation unceremoniously obscured the moon from her sight, plunging all of Hogwarts into darkness, especially in a starless night. But somehow, she could still see the piercing gray of the metal that gleamed with a light brought about by the existence of a single lantern somewhere within the grounds. It gave her a sudden chill, an eerie coldness that seeped through her with more force than the flight of the wind.
She wrapped her robe tighter around her, and she backed away from the sight. Slowly, and with much eagerness, she closed the window, and sat down.
The thought was then finally embedded in her mind, and she began to regret it even as she returned to her bed, pulling the covers above her. And she knew that it would follow her, even in her sleep. The piercing metallic gleam that ever so haunted her during the day now haunted her during the night. And even as she slipped into a dim and dreamless slumber, she could think of nothing more than the gleam of his presence, than the presence of her own growing love. All these combined could no longer affect her than the memory of his eyes.
And yet, one name outstood her own thoughts, and she whispered it as she began to sleep. The sound of silence, embraced it, and took it, and it whispered back, "Draco."
* * *
A/N: Gasp! What a sucky ending! Eeeewwwww……….!!! *Sigh * (Dot. Dot. Dot.) Don't worry! I'll make it better next time!