Just a minute longer, than this
Just a little closer, than this
I would get to know you
A little bit better
I could tell you
If only we had
Just a minute longer
LONGER
It happened in corridors, crowded classrooms, even on the quidditch pitch ... This bizarre sense of longing that surprised Draco Malfoy. It began as nothing but a passing, infrequent twinge that occurred occasionally when Draco was in Harry's presence. And then, to Draco's horror, the twinge grew into a fully blown ache that settled in his chest whenever the Boy-Who- Lived came into view.
Every glance, even a careless flick of the eyes, that Draco sent in Harry's direction became filled with such meaning, full of thousands of thoughts that Draco was afraid to say out loud. He paused in classroom doorways now, just to brush Harry's shoulder as they both bumped their way through, a silent competitive tradition that had built up over the years, only now for Draco, the childish squabbling had taken on a new meaning.
Draco sat on the other side of the dungeon in Potions. In the murky caverns where Snape subjected them to incessant lecturing that, for everyone but Snape's favourite student, was usually accompanied by the need for an attentive ear and an accurate quill, Draco spent many an afternoon staring into space, fighting with himself to not look over while he knew everyone else was busy writing. Draco knew he shouldn't, that it would only add fuel to the flames but shamelessly, he couldn't resist.
Draco's gaze would trip automatically to the furthest back corner, to a familiar messy head buried under what seemed like piles of parchment. For a moment, Draco's heart would still. Placated by the brief respite that only such reassurance could bring, his gaze would linger on the furrowed brow and even dare to dip into the ocean of green that swirled beneath. Draco couldn't look for too long, lest he be caught in the rip tide and swept away.
Draco couldn't afford to slip, he kept his distance for his own safety. There were too many eyes watching. Most people believed Crabbe and Goyle to be hired muscle. It was true, they were. Only, they weren't hired by Draco, so he kept quiet. Never admitting what he really thought. Measuring every word, every movement, every reaction ... Making sure it was exactly what was expected of him. Draco thought he'd worked himself into a rhythm. And then this. Him.
It kept Draco awake sometimes. That longing feeling. Draco thought about Harry and all he wanted was more. Even if it wasn't much, just enough so that things weren't like ... this. With animosity marring every exchange between them. And then one very unremarkable day, the moment arrived. Draco had been walking down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeon, on his way back from the library, when Peeves knocked a few school books from Draco's arms. Out of nowhere, Harry had appeared and helped Draco collect his discarded things.
The longing surged in Draco. Becoming almost palpable in it's veracity. To have Harry this close was torture of the most blissful kind. As the all too brief encounter came to a close, Draco couldn't help but wish they had but a moment longer. As Harry's hand brushed Draco's, the Slytherin wanted to spill his secrets, tell Harry everything, every deep, dark fear, every hope, every dream. Just one more moment and Draco would let go, plead for Harry to hear him out, explain himself, beg for his help. But before Draco could open his mouth to speak a word, Harry smiled, handed Draco the last book, nodded quickly and was gone before Draco could blink.
Draco was appalled at himself. He couldn't believe he'd managed to come so close to bringing down his walls ... All in the space of a mere few moments. All because of that blasted boy and his warm green eyes. They were so inviting, so welcoming, even to Draco who was generally considered the enemy. At the same time, through all Draco's frustration, the warm lick of longing stretched up inside him and he found himself wishing for the next moment, the next time he would look up and see, for that brief instant, the smile on Harry's face. To imagine for one moment, that Harry regarded him as something other than an irritating nemesis. Perhaps as friend, even confidante ... Draco didn't dare dream for more.
So Draco waited. Holding up his mask and speaking all the words everyone expected to hear ... Biding his time. Draco wondered if he would be strong enough the next time. If his will would hold ... If Harry would notice. But 'if' was a dangerous word. Thinking about 'if' lead to thoughts about what would happen if Draco opened his mouth the next time Harry crossed his path. If Harry stopped to listen as Draco told of his desire to repent, of the reasons of Draco's sudden defection. Of the salvation Draco saw when he looked at Harry. If Harry knew ... If was the most dangerous word Draco knew.
Draco shook himself from his thoughts, from the tattered movie reel of this wasted obsession. Something he replayed so many times in his mind's eye that he considered it an old favourite. The longing was still there, burning steadily in the pit of his stomach. A pang of loneliness struck him as he glanced around the deserted library. He gathered his things quickly and left silently. He hurried down the corridor, wanting to get back to the comfort of his dormitory, his thoughts about Harry leaving him melancholy as usual.
The longing inside Draco twisted and flickered as images of Harry rolled through Draco's mind. He bit his lip at the way his chest tightened, wincing as the longing flamed, licking through his chest as Draco was assaulted with the thought of Harry's lips pressed against his. Draco stumbled before his natural grace could stop him. He steadied himself against the cold stone wall, pausing a moment for his breathing to return to some semblance of normality. Draco composed himself and resumed his planned course, rounding the corner and almost immediately coming into contact with another body.
Both bodies stepped back immediately and as Draco looked up, the colour drained from his face. There in the empty corridor in front of him ...
"P- Potter?"
-Fin-
Just a little closer, than this
I would get to know you
A little bit better
I could tell you
If only we had
Just a minute longer
LONGER
It happened in corridors, crowded classrooms, even on the quidditch pitch ... This bizarre sense of longing that surprised Draco Malfoy. It began as nothing but a passing, infrequent twinge that occurred occasionally when Draco was in Harry's presence. And then, to Draco's horror, the twinge grew into a fully blown ache that settled in his chest whenever the Boy-Who- Lived came into view.
Every glance, even a careless flick of the eyes, that Draco sent in Harry's direction became filled with such meaning, full of thousands of thoughts that Draco was afraid to say out loud. He paused in classroom doorways now, just to brush Harry's shoulder as they both bumped their way through, a silent competitive tradition that had built up over the years, only now for Draco, the childish squabbling had taken on a new meaning.
Draco sat on the other side of the dungeon in Potions. In the murky caverns where Snape subjected them to incessant lecturing that, for everyone but Snape's favourite student, was usually accompanied by the need for an attentive ear and an accurate quill, Draco spent many an afternoon staring into space, fighting with himself to not look over while he knew everyone else was busy writing. Draco knew he shouldn't, that it would only add fuel to the flames but shamelessly, he couldn't resist.
Draco's gaze would trip automatically to the furthest back corner, to a familiar messy head buried under what seemed like piles of parchment. For a moment, Draco's heart would still. Placated by the brief respite that only such reassurance could bring, his gaze would linger on the furrowed brow and even dare to dip into the ocean of green that swirled beneath. Draco couldn't look for too long, lest he be caught in the rip tide and swept away.
Draco couldn't afford to slip, he kept his distance for his own safety. There were too many eyes watching. Most people believed Crabbe and Goyle to be hired muscle. It was true, they were. Only, they weren't hired by Draco, so he kept quiet. Never admitting what he really thought. Measuring every word, every movement, every reaction ... Making sure it was exactly what was expected of him. Draco thought he'd worked himself into a rhythm. And then this. Him.
It kept Draco awake sometimes. That longing feeling. Draco thought about Harry and all he wanted was more. Even if it wasn't much, just enough so that things weren't like ... this. With animosity marring every exchange between them. And then one very unremarkable day, the moment arrived. Draco had been walking down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeon, on his way back from the library, when Peeves knocked a few school books from Draco's arms. Out of nowhere, Harry had appeared and helped Draco collect his discarded things.
The longing surged in Draco. Becoming almost palpable in it's veracity. To have Harry this close was torture of the most blissful kind. As the all too brief encounter came to a close, Draco couldn't help but wish they had but a moment longer. As Harry's hand brushed Draco's, the Slytherin wanted to spill his secrets, tell Harry everything, every deep, dark fear, every hope, every dream. Just one more moment and Draco would let go, plead for Harry to hear him out, explain himself, beg for his help. But before Draco could open his mouth to speak a word, Harry smiled, handed Draco the last book, nodded quickly and was gone before Draco could blink.
Draco was appalled at himself. He couldn't believe he'd managed to come so close to bringing down his walls ... All in the space of a mere few moments. All because of that blasted boy and his warm green eyes. They were so inviting, so welcoming, even to Draco who was generally considered the enemy. At the same time, through all Draco's frustration, the warm lick of longing stretched up inside him and he found himself wishing for the next moment, the next time he would look up and see, for that brief instant, the smile on Harry's face. To imagine for one moment, that Harry regarded him as something other than an irritating nemesis. Perhaps as friend, even confidante ... Draco didn't dare dream for more.
So Draco waited. Holding up his mask and speaking all the words everyone expected to hear ... Biding his time. Draco wondered if he would be strong enough the next time. If his will would hold ... If Harry would notice. But 'if' was a dangerous word. Thinking about 'if' lead to thoughts about what would happen if Draco opened his mouth the next time Harry crossed his path. If Harry stopped to listen as Draco told of his desire to repent, of the reasons of Draco's sudden defection. Of the salvation Draco saw when he looked at Harry. If Harry knew ... If was the most dangerous word Draco knew.
Draco shook himself from his thoughts, from the tattered movie reel of this wasted obsession. Something he replayed so many times in his mind's eye that he considered it an old favourite. The longing was still there, burning steadily in the pit of his stomach. A pang of loneliness struck him as he glanced around the deserted library. He gathered his things quickly and left silently. He hurried down the corridor, wanting to get back to the comfort of his dormitory, his thoughts about Harry leaving him melancholy as usual.
The longing inside Draco twisted and flickered as images of Harry rolled through Draco's mind. He bit his lip at the way his chest tightened, wincing as the longing flamed, licking through his chest as Draco was assaulted with the thought of Harry's lips pressed against his. Draco stumbled before his natural grace could stop him. He steadied himself against the cold stone wall, pausing a moment for his breathing to return to some semblance of normality. Draco composed himself and resumed his planned course, rounding the corner and almost immediately coming into contact with another body.
Both bodies stepped back immediately and as Draco looked up, the colour drained from his face. There in the empty corridor in front of him ...
"P- Potter?"
-Fin-