This story was inspired by threee things: The most wonderful playwrite, the Bard, William Shakespeare, and a line from Romeo and Juliet; I suspect JayKay's wonderful story, called 'A Simple Gesture', I believe; and my deeply drugged, fever-hazed mind during my recent sickness. I love one-shots, don't y'all? I really think this is complete… Eveything in Italics comes from Romeo and Juliet.
Actual story word count: 333
Harry walked in and sat down, eyes automatically going a few tables away. His eyes widened in shock. The hair, the hair was down! It wasn't plastered and gelled like usual! It fell gently down the face, just curving over the edge of the jaw, like a lover's caress. He stared, wishing he could be that lock of hair, privileged enough to touch the face. Longingly, he looked, then his mouth twisted. " ' See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! / Oh that I might be a glove upon that hand, / That I might touch that cheek! ' " he quoted softly, bitterly. "Romeo, about his Juliet. And we all know how that ended up, don't we?" This was said too softly for his friends to hear, and they might not have paid attention anyway, they were so wrapped up in each other. He gave one last, longing look, and turned to his friends, those who would never understand.
If only he had looked but a moment longer!
Draco, sitting a few tables away, smoothed back his hair, freed from it's usual cage of Sleekeasy's, and looked up, as was his wont, to the boy sitting surrounded by people, all claiming to be his friends, but never noticing his sorrow, that Draco noticed, that ate at Draco's soul. " ' Deny thy father and refuse thy name; / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, / And I'll no longer be a Capulet. / … / 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; ' If only it were that easy, then…." He sighed, and gave one last, longing look, and turned to those who would always understand—if he could but tell them!—but would never be his friends.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.