Disclaimer: I'm obviously not J.K. Rowling. Don't sue me. I have no job and no money.
A/N: I don't know what this is, but it just came to me like half-an-hour ago. I hope you all like it, please review! It makes my day. Edited: 7-02-07. This is still my most-reviewed one-shot to date. Glad you all like it!
There you are, tall and dark and elegant. You're laughing now. Funny how Weasley always makes you laugh.
Never thought I'd stoop as low as to be jealous of a Weasley?
Yeah. Me neither.
Your eyes flick around the room, finally coming to rest on me.
The way you look at me kills me.
Your smile fades, leaving your full red lips in a straight line. When our eyes meet I can see a tremor pass through you.
Why does my gaze make you shudder? Am I that revolting?
Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other. Why?
I feel for you…I mean…really feel for you. But…I can't. Not me. So I loathe you. I loathe you for making me feel out of control. For making me want something that I can't have.
Because that doesn't happen to me. Not to a Malfoy.
I'm too young for you anyway…I mean…even if my world was completely turned upside down and inside out and there was the tiniest sliver of a chance of us, I'm two years younger. And the two years between 15 and 17 are two very long years.
Besides – silver and green aren't red and gold.
And, unfortunately, that's one thing that's never going to change.
You look away first. Like always.
You're too scared of what could happen – aren't you?
You're too scared of what we could become.
You're too scared of me.
So I'll go on pretending that I hate you…though I know it's not true.
And you'll go on pretending that you don't stare at me when I walk by.
I'll sneer and spit and at first glance anyone could clearly read the distaste that I'm supposed to feel.
You'll scowl and whisper and glare, and at first glance anyone could clearly read the look of disgust that's supposed to be splayed evidently on your absolutely perfect face.
But I can see far beyond your face Angelina Johnson. You're terrified of me – because you know that I -
I love you.
There, I said it. I love you.
I'm not supposed to.
But I do.
And I'm sorry.
So we'll both go on pretending that I don't. You'll leave this year anyway.
And you'll forget all about me.
It's too bad that Draco Malfoy, a fifteen-year old Slytherin with blonde hair and gray eyes will never forget about you.
It's too bad that Draco Malfoy is a stubborn, selfish prat who's lonely and who doesn't know how to be different than my family made me.
I'm really not a Malfoy you know?
Deep down, past all the green and silver serpents, the lies and deceit and hate and malice…
I'm just Draco.
