Chapter Thirty-Four: Eye to Eye
---
I'm not even going to try to apologize for not updating for over a year. I know I promised to have this written sometime in the spring of 2003, but, well, that didn't really work out, sorry. I've been busy, to say the least--senior year in high school, writing five (yes, five) books, a whole bunch of other stuff...sigh. I'm sorry. Okay, so I did try. :o)
Thank you for your patience and have a happy new year,
Aimée
---
Life at Hogwarts was, to say the least, mundane and monotonous. After the initial trials and tribulations through which a new teacher is expected to go, I found the same faces that passed through my classroom each day to be little more than just that: faces.
Needless to say, teaching was not something I enjoyed.
Through the boredom that lectures produced and the mass panic that wand-days always seemed to bring, I plowed on, keeping to myself mostly and only communicating on a regular basis with the twins and McGonagall. Professor Snape, while no longer a teacher, worked long and hard hours on his self-proclaimed miracle, and even though he was at Hogwarts the majority of the time, I rarely had the opportunity to speak with him.
To be honest, however, I really didn't want to. The twins were enough of a reminder of Harry without dragging Snape into it. Every day I felt Harry in my mind, brushing up against the very edges of my awareness, but still there was nothing I could do. I waited, counting the days to an unknown date, when I would finally see him again.
What I didn't want to admit to myself was that I feared that date would never come.
"Professor Malfoy?"
I was pulled from my daydreams by an eager fourth year named Miriam Quake, a girl who reminded me far too much of a certain Hermione Granger. Fourth Years were always the hardest to teach, as they were wedged in a cusp somewhere between prepubescent Third Years and O.W.L.-taking Fifth Years, but that wasn't the reason my conscience had drifted from class that day.
Staring at me from page 765 of the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, his hair tousled and his face stretched with grinning, was a eight-year-old Harry Potter. Even the text refused to acknowledge Harry's real last name, and I noted with dismay how few people knew—or cared—that their precious Boy Who Lived was a Snape.
"Excuse me," I said to a classroom full of wide-eyed students. I moved with sweeping strides over to the front of my desk, where I perched precariously atop the mahogany wood. "Can any of you tell me what Mr. Potter is famous for?"
Stupid question, yes, but it certainly got them talking.
"Sir, Harry Potter, also known as the Boy Who Lived, is known mostly for his defeat of Lord Voldemort in the early eighties, when he was still an infant," Miriam Quake piped up. At least she bothered to raise her hand, I noted, despite her obliviousness to the fact tradition hailed that I call upon her before she answers.
"Very good," I said with as little sarcasm as possible. "And can anyone tell me his real name?"
Blank stares were all I received, and after a moment or two of embarrassed silence, I sighed and cleared my throat, no longer able to endure the ignorance my class was portraying.
"Harry Potter, born on July 31st, 1980, is the only son of James and Lily Potter," I began, my tone more waspish than usual. "His father, James, was killed on October 31st, 1981, the same night Voldemort attacked their residence in Godric's Hollow. Harry's mother, Lily, cast a spell upon him that protected him from Voldemort's wrath, and thus, when Voldemort tried to kill him with Avada Kedavra, the spell bounced back upon him, destroying the very essence of his being."
The story was a familiar one to all who listened. While they were too young to know of my relationship with Harry which, despite the evidence presented at Harry's almost-wedding, was thankfully still one of the wizarding world's Best-Kept-Secrets, they had heard the story many times before.
"Does anyone know anything of Harry's history after he killed Voldemort?" I questioned, not at all surprised when I saw not a single hand raise into the air. "Does anyone not know where Harry is today, or if he is even alive?"
Miriam slowly raised her hand, her expression uncertain. "Professor, isn't Harry Potter also the name of a Quidditch player?"
I suppressed the urge to laugh and to explode, all at the same time. "Yes, Miriam," I said through gritted teeth. "Harry Potter is also the name of a Quidditch player."
"Sir," she said once more, "we—we don't know what happened to him."
"That," I said coolly, "is fairly evident, Miss Quake."
She bit her lip, but nonetheless continued to speak. "Sir, could you maybe tell us what happened to him?"
Slowly a smile spread across my face, and I hopped off my desk and slowly sauntered over to where Miriam sat. "I thought you'd never ask."
The satisfied grin on her face was enough to make me want to tell the tale—only to educate the masses, of course.
"Harry Potter's mother, Lily, married a man named Severus Snape soon after James was killed," I continued. "Together they had an unholy number of children, all of whom have gone to this school—including Castor and Pollux Snape, whom you may or may not know about."
"And Dakota?" Miriam interrupted suddenly, and I nodded.
"And Dakota," I replied. "Harry James Potter became Harry James Potter Snape, and he lived out his childhood much as all of you have. He was happy and content, but always believed Snape was his father—until he came to Hogwarts and his past was finally revealed.
"Harry finally learned the truth of his parentage and, after coming to terms with it, always felt like an outsider in his family. Even his friends at school noticed the change in him—especially a boy who would eventually become his best friend."
Miriam frowned. "But Professor, you're saying this like it's all a story—you know every detail! Are you making this up?"
I shook my head patiently. "No."
"Then how—?"
"Miriam," I interrupted as gently as possible. "If you keep interrupting me, I'll never finish."
She nodded. "Yes, sir, but please, just tell us—"
"I went to school with him," I said flatly. "I was the boy—he was my best friend for a decade, Miriam, and I know him better than anyone else alive. Is that enough reason for you?"
Apparently it was, for she didn't ask a single question or voice a single doubt afterwards.
"Anyway," I continued. "Harry and I became best friends when we were about your age, even though he was a Gryffindor and I was a Slytherin. After graduation, we became flatmates, and he ended up becoming a Quidditch player—under his father's name, much to his coach's insistence. A few years after graduation, he almost married a woman named Cassandra Miller, but that was fortunately called off before the wedding ended."
Short giggles escaped from every corner of the room, and I realized with horror that my relationship with Harry had in fact made newspapers—even though it was a misguided and misinterpreted footnote in all. Professor Snape had paid a great deal of money to many people to keep the story quiet, and even then it was only out of luck that all the reporters decided to keep their word.
"As some of you may have heard, three years ago Harry Potter was struck once more with the Avada Kedavra curse, and for the second time he survived—although the caster, his half-brother Ethan, was killed in the process. He was unconscious for six weeks, in which time he was tried for murder and found not-guilty, but shortly thereafter he fled to the United States, where he has been living ever since—or at least we hope so."
By the time I finished, all eyes were upon me—a rarity for a class full of adolescences shortly after lunch on a warm spring's day—and all looked eager and entranced.
Score one for Professor Malfoy.
Slowly, one by one the students raised their hands until there was a virtual sea of limbs swimming in front of me.
"Mr. Jenks," I said briskly, nodding toward a small boy toward the back of the room.
"Professor, do you think Harry Potter is ever going to come back to Britain?"
I allowed myself a sad smile. "I sure hope so, Mr. Jenks, although no one knows for sure—not even Harry knows for sure, to be honest. Miss Allons?"
"Why did the curse rebound?"
"Well, Miss Allons, no one knows for sure, but—"
Before I could say another word, a headache like no other hit me, and in an instant I was holding my head in my hands, my eyes squeezed shut and mind feeling as if it were going to explode.
Draco…
Suddenly I stood up straight, my eyes flying open and blinking rapidly in the dim light of the classroom. There was irony in the world after all, I decided, and without another word, I turned and bolted out of the classroom for my chambers, where I knew there was something I had to do.
At last, it had happened, and I wasn't about to let this chance run away from me.
Yes.
It was that single word which sent me flying down the corridors to where Headmistress McGonagall's office lay. As the spiral stairs turned much too slowly for my liking, I tapped my foot impatiently and tried to hold on to the whispered word that still echoed throughout my mind.
He had said yes.
It had been three days since I had first heard from him, and in those three days I had written and sent a letter to him insisting that he choose whether or not he wanted to be with me. As I saw it, the answer was simple, and it was my luck that he seemed to feel the same way.
After what seemed like far too much time spent on the spiraling stairway, I burst into the Headmistress' office, startling her to the point where she dropped the crystal paperweight she had been holding.
"Draco!" she exclaimed, fixing the shattered object with a wave of her wand. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Headmistress," I said urgently, "I've come to resign my position."
She raised her eyebrows. "Pardon me?"
"It's Harry," I explained as best I could. "He's finally coming back, and I need to be with him—please."
She sighed. "You don't have to ask me, Draco, and under any other circumstances, I would express my desire to have you stay here with the staff. However, seeing things as they are, I urge you greatly to do as you have suggested."
"Thank you!" I exclaimed, resisting the urge to come round to the other side of the desk and embrace her, and instead I bolted back out the door and through the castle. The stone walls blurred around me as I dashed through the corridors, finally making my way out the front door and down the path that led to Hogwarts' gates. I didn't care about my meager amount of belongings left lying about in my chambers. Instead, the moment I stepped foot outside Hogwarts' boundaries, I Apparated back to the flat I had abandoned for so long, ecstatic that I was finally going to be able to see Harry once more.
Once back to our flat—surprisingly comfortable, considering I hadn't stepped foot inside since the first day of September—I changed clothing as quickly as I could and closed my eyes once more, picturing Harry's face floating somewhere in front of my own, his eyes glittering with happiness and mirth.
And finally, with a deep intake of breath, I Apparated farther than I ever had before, the rush of space roaring in my ears for what seemed like forever but was in reality only a few seconds.
When I opened my eyes once more, I found myself in a busy street of an unfamiliar city. People of all shapes and sizes hurried around me, too wrapped up in their own silly little lives to take note of a man who had suddenly appeared out of thin air. I didn't mind; the less they noticed, the better.
Cautiously I glanced around for any sign of Harry. He had to have been within a hundred-foot radius; I hadn't added that tracking spell to my letter for nothing. However, any sign of him was lost in the bustle of the city, and I sighed heavily as I made my way to the nearest business, which looked to be a small café with a variety of diners inside.
I concentrated as I opened the door, determined to find Harry, but all I could hear were whispered words of dejection. With a frown, I realized that for whatever reason, he was unhappy, and I scowled slightly to myself as I walked up to the counter, glancing over my shoulder at the rest of the customers before turning back to look at the sour-faced waitress.
And then, with a start, I looked back over toward a booth in the corner, too shocked to believe my good fortune.
There, sitting with his back to the wall and his eyes trained down toward whatever drink he was nursing, was Harry.
"Merlin's balls," I muttered to myself as I brushed the waitress off and hurried down the aisle. Once I got within a few feet of his booth, however, I slowed down to a painfully sluggish pace, my eyes focused on every feature of Harry's face. He had changed, I noticed; his eyes were heavy with an emotion I shamefully couldn't identify, and his skin was paler than it ever had been. His shoulders were hunched over and, with a start, I realized his trademark flyaway hair was shorn into a short hairstyle that was undoubtedly easier to care for.
When I finally reached the table, I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Fortunately it turned out I didn't have to do anything, as a tiny snake—Sam?—slithered out from underneath Harry's cuff, her heavy eyes focused lazily upon me.
Suddenly Harry's head shot up and his wide eyes met mine with an expression so deeply troubled that it tore me apart to meet his gaze. He slowly stood up, his cup of coffee abandoned and his snake slithering silently back into his sleeve, and he took a step forward until he was less than a foot away from me.
Without a word, he reached out to touch my cheek, and his rough fingers brushed up against my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
"Draco," he whispered, and with his gaze still locked with mine, I heard a small popping sound, and the walls of the diner melted around me, soon replaced with stark white walls of what looked to be an unkempt hotel room.
"Harry—" I started, but he shook his head and pressed his finger up against my lips. At that moment I would have dissolved into a pile of mushy goo had is not been for his strong arm reaching out around my shoulders, bringing me to him where, with the same gentleness and ease he had over three years earlier, he kissed me.
And then, the fireworks exploded.
I got myself a notion.
One I know that you'll understand
We set the world in motion
By reaching out for each other's hands
Maybe we'll discover
What we should've known all along
One way or another
Together's where we both belong.
If we listen to each other's heart.
We'll find we're never too far apart.
And maybe love is the reason why,
For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye
If a wall should come between us
Too high to climb
Too hard to break through
I know that love will lead us
And find a way to bring me to you
So don't be in a hurry
Thank me before you count us out
You don't have to worry
I won't ever let you down
(Nothing's gonna stop us now)
If you're ever lonely
You don't have to be
After all this slowly
I'll be there for just you and me
If we listen to each other's heart.
We'll find we're never too far apart.
And maybe love is the reason why,
For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye
- "Eye To Eye, from A Goofy Movie
---
I'm not even going to try to apologize for not updating for over a year. I know I promised to have this written sometime in the spring of 2003, but, well, that didn't really work out, sorry. I've been busy, to say the least--senior year in high school, writing five (yes, five) books, a whole bunch of other stuff...sigh. I'm sorry. Okay, so I did try. :o)
Thank you for your patience and have a happy new year,
Aimée
---
Life at Hogwarts was, to say the least, mundane and monotonous. After the initial trials and tribulations through which a new teacher is expected to go, I found the same faces that passed through my classroom each day to be little more than just that: faces.
Needless to say, teaching was not something I enjoyed.
Through the boredom that lectures produced and the mass panic that wand-days always seemed to bring, I plowed on, keeping to myself mostly and only communicating on a regular basis with the twins and McGonagall. Professor Snape, while no longer a teacher, worked long and hard hours on his self-proclaimed miracle, and even though he was at Hogwarts the majority of the time, I rarely had the opportunity to speak with him.
To be honest, however, I really didn't want to. The twins were enough of a reminder of Harry without dragging Snape into it. Every day I felt Harry in my mind, brushing up against the very edges of my awareness, but still there was nothing I could do. I waited, counting the days to an unknown date, when I would finally see him again.
What I didn't want to admit to myself was that I feared that date would never come.
"Professor Malfoy?"
I was pulled from my daydreams by an eager fourth year named Miriam Quake, a girl who reminded me far too much of a certain Hermione Granger. Fourth Years were always the hardest to teach, as they were wedged in a cusp somewhere between prepubescent Third Years and O.W.L.-taking Fifth Years, but that wasn't the reason my conscience had drifted from class that day.
Staring at me from page 765 of the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, his hair tousled and his face stretched with grinning, was a eight-year-old Harry Potter. Even the text refused to acknowledge Harry's real last name, and I noted with dismay how few people knew—or cared—that their precious Boy Who Lived was a Snape.
"Excuse me," I said to a classroom full of wide-eyed students. I moved with sweeping strides over to the front of my desk, where I perched precariously atop the mahogany wood. "Can any of you tell me what Mr. Potter is famous for?"
Stupid question, yes, but it certainly got them talking.
"Sir, Harry Potter, also known as the Boy Who Lived, is known mostly for his defeat of Lord Voldemort in the early eighties, when he was still an infant," Miriam Quake piped up. At least she bothered to raise her hand, I noted, despite her obliviousness to the fact tradition hailed that I call upon her before she answers.
"Very good," I said with as little sarcasm as possible. "And can anyone tell me his real name?"
Blank stares were all I received, and after a moment or two of embarrassed silence, I sighed and cleared my throat, no longer able to endure the ignorance my class was portraying.
"Harry Potter, born on July 31st, 1980, is the only son of James and Lily Potter," I began, my tone more waspish than usual. "His father, James, was killed on October 31st, 1981, the same night Voldemort attacked their residence in Godric's Hollow. Harry's mother, Lily, cast a spell upon him that protected him from Voldemort's wrath, and thus, when Voldemort tried to kill him with Avada Kedavra, the spell bounced back upon him, destroying the very essence of his being."
The story was a familiar one to all who listened. While they were too young to know of my relationship with Harry which, despite the evidence presented at Harry's almost-wedding, was thankfully still one of the wizarding world's Best-Kept-Secrets, they had heard the story many times before.
"Does anyone know anything of Harry's history after he killed Voldemort?" I questioned, not at all surprised when I saw not a single hand raise into the air. "Does anyone not know where Harry is today, or if he is even alive?"
Miriam slowly raised her hand, her expression uncertain. "Professor, isn't Harry Potter also the name of a Quidditch player?"
I suppressed the urge to laugh and to explode, all at the same time. "Yes, Miriam," I said through gritted teeth. "Harry Potter is also the name of a Quidditch player."
"Sir," she said once more, "we—we don't know what happened to him."
"That," I said coolly, "is fairly evident, Miss Quake."
She bit her lip, but nonetheless continued to speak. "Sir, could you maybe tell us what happened to him?"
Slowly a smile spread across my face, and I hopped off my desk and slowly sauntered over to where Miriam sat. "I thought you'd never ask."
The satisfied grin on her face was enough to make me want to tell the tale—only to educate the masses, of course.
"Harry Potter's mother, Lily, married a man named Severus Snape soon after James was killed," I continued. "Together they had an unholy number of children, all of whom have gone to this school—including Castor and Pollux Snape, whom you may or may not know about."
"And Dakota?" Miriam interrupted suddenly, and I nodded.
"And Dakota," I replied. "Harry James Potter became Harry James Potter Snape, and he lived out his childhood much as all of you have. He was happy and content, but always believed Snape was his father—until he came to Hogwarts and his past was finally revealed.
"Harry finally learned the truth of his parentage and, after coming to terms with it, always felt like an outsider in his family. Even his friends at school noticed the change in him—especially a boy who would eventually become his best friend."
Miriam frowned. "But Professor, you're saying this like it's all a story—you know every detail! Are you making this up?"
I shook my head patiently. "No."
"Then how—?"
"Miriam," I interrupted as gently as possible. "If you keep interrupting me, I'll never finish."
She nodded. "Yes, sir, but please, just tell us—"
"I went to school with him," I said flatly. "I was the boy—he was my best friend for a decade, Miriam, and I know him better than anyone else alive. Is that enough reason for you?"
Apparently it was, for she didn't ask a single question or voice a single doubt afterwards.
"Anyway," I continued. "Harry and I became best friends when we were about your age, even though he was a Gryffindor and I was a Slytherin. After graduation, we became flatmates, and he ended up becoming a Quidditch player—under his father's name, much to his coach's insistence. A few years after graduation, he almost married a woman named Cassandra Miller, but that was fortunately called off before the wedding ended."
Short giggles escaped from every corner of the room, and I realized with horror that my relationship with Harry had in fact made newspapers—even though it was a misguided and misinterpreted footnote in all. Professor Snape had paid a great deal of money to many people to keep the story quiet, and even then it was only out of luck that all the reporters decided to keep their word.
"As some of you may have heard, three years ago Harry Potter was struck once more with the Avada Kedavra curse, and for the second time he survived—although the caster, his half-brother Ethan, was killed in the process. He was unconscious for six weeks, in which time he was tried for murder and found not-guilty, but shortly thereafter he fled to the United States, where he has been living ever since—or at least we hope so."
By the time I finished, all eyes were upon me—a rarity for a class full of adolescences shortly after lunch on a warm spring's day—and all looked eager and entranced.
Score one for Professor Malfoy.
Slowly, one by one the students raised their hands until there was a virtual sea of limbs swimming in front of me.
"Mr. Jenks," I said briskly, nodding toward a small boy toward the back of the room.
"Professor, do you think Harry Potter is ever going to come back to Britain?"
I allowed myself a sad smile. "I sure hope so, Mr. Jenks, although no one knows for sure—not even Harry knows for sure, to be honest. Miss Allons?"
"Why did the curse rebound?"
"Well, Miss Allons, no one knows for sure, but—"
Before I could say another word, a headache like no other hit me, and in an instant I was holding my head in my hands, my eyes squeezed shut and mind feeling as if it were going to explode.
Draco…
Suddenly I stood up straight, my eyes flying open and blinking rapidly in the dim light of the classroom. There was irony in the world after all, I decided, and without another word, I turned and bolted out of the classroom for my chambers, where I knew there was something I had to do.
At last, it had happened, and I wasn't about to let this chance run away from me.
Yes.
It was that single word which sent me flying down the corridors to where Headmistress McGonagall's office lay. As the spiral stairs turned much too slowly for my liking, I tapped my foot impatiently and tried to hold on to the whispered word that still echoed throughout my mind.
He had said yes.
It had been three days since I had first heard from him, and in those three days I had written and sent a letter to him insisting that he choose whether or not he wanted to be with me. As I saw it, the answer was simple, and it was my luck that he seemed to feel the same way.
After what seemed like far too much time spent on the spiraling stairway, I burst into the Headmistress' office, startling her to the point where she dropped the crystal paperweight she had been holding.
"Draco!" she exclaimed, fixing the shattered object with a wave of her wand. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Headmistress," I said urgently, "I've come to resign my position."
She raised her eyebrows. "Pardon me?"
"It's Harry," I explained as best I could. "He's finally coming back, and I need to be with him—please."
She sighed. "You don't have to ask me, Draco, and under any other circumstances, I would express my desire to have you stay here with the staff. However, seeing things as they are, I urge you greatly to do as you have suggested."
"Thank you!" I exclaimed, resisting the urge to come round to the other side of the desk and embrace her, and instead I bolted back out the door and through the castle. The stone walls blurred around me as I dashed through the corridors, finally making my way out the front door and down the path that led to Hogwarts' gates. I didn't care about my meager amount of belongings left lying about in my chambers. Instead, the moment I stepped foot outside Hogwarts' boundaries, I Apparated back to the flat I had abandoned for so long, ecstatic that I was finally going to be able to see Harry once more.
Once back to our flat—surprisingly comfortable, considering I hadn't stepped foot inside since the first day of September—I changed clothing as quickly as I could and closed my eyes once more, picturing Harry's face floating somewhere in front of my own, his eyes glittering with happiness and mirth.
And finally, with a deep intake of breath, I Apparated farther than I ever had before, the rush of space roaring in my ears for what seemed like forever but was in reality only a few seconds.
When I opened my eyes once more, I found myself in a busy street of an unfamiliar city. People of all shapes and sizes hurried around me, too wrapped up in their own silly little lives to take note of a man who had suddenly appeared out of thin air. I didn't mind; the less they noticed, the better.
Cautiously I glanced around for any sign of Harry. He had to have been within a hundred-foot radius; I hadn't added that tracking spell to my letter for nothing. However, any sign of him was lost in the bustle of the city, and I sighed heavily as I made my way to the nearest business, which looked to be a small café with a variety of diners inside.
I concentrated as I opened the door, determined to find Harry, but all I could hear were whispered words of dejection. With a frown, I realized that for whatever reason, he was unhappy, and I scowled slightly to myself as I walked up to the counter, glancing over my shoulder at the rest of the customers before turning back to look at the sour-faced waitress.
And then, with a start, I looked back over toward a booth in the corner, too shocked to believe my good fortune.
There, sitting with his back to the wall and his eyes trained down toward whatever drink he was nursing, was Harry.
"Merlin's balls," I muttered to myself as I brushed the waitress off and hurried down the aisle. Once I got within a few feet of his booth, however, I slowed down to a painfully sluggish pace, my eyes focused on every feature of Harry's face. He had changed, I noticed; his eyes were heavy with an emotion I shamefully couldn't identify, and his skin was paler than it ever had been. His shoulders were hunched over and, with a start, I realized his trademark flyaway hair was shorn into a short hairstyle that was undoubtedly easier to care for.
When I finally reached the table, I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Fortunately it turned out I didn't have to do anything, as a tiny snake—Sam?—slithered out from underneath Harry's cuff, her heavy eyes focused lazily upon me.
Suddenly Harry's head shot up and his wide eyes met mine with an expression so deeply troubled that it tore me apart to meet his gaze. He slowly stood up, his cup of coffee abandoned and his snake slithering silently back into his sleeve, and he took a step forward until he was less than a foot away from me.
Without a word, he reached out to touch my cheek, and his rough fingers brushed up against my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
"Draco," he whispered, and with his gaze still locked with mine, I heard a small popping sound, and the walls of the diner melted around me, soon replaced with stark white walls of what looked to be an unkempt hotel room.
"Harry—" I started, but he shook his head and pressed his finger up against my lips. At that moment I would have dissolved into a pile of mushy goo had is not been for his strong arm reaching out around my shoulders, bringing me to him where, with the same gentleness and ease he had over three years earlier, he kissed me.
And then, the fireworks exploded.
I got myself a notion.
One I know that you'll understand
We set the world in motion
By reaching out for each other's hands
Maybe we'll discover
What we should've known all along
One way or another
Together's where we both belong.
If we listen to each other's heart.
We'll find we're never too far apart.
And maybe love is the reason why,
For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye
If a wall should come between us
Too high to climb
Too hard to break through
I know that love will lead us
And find a way to bring me to you
So don't be in a hurry
Thank me before you count us out
You don't have to worry
I won't ever let you down
(Nothing's gonna stop us now)
If you're ever lonely
You don't have to be
After all this slowly
I'll be there for just you and me
If we listen to each other's heart.
We'll find we're never too far apart.
And maybe love is the reason why,
For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye
- "Eye To Eye, from A Goofy Movie