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He saw her from across the room, and invariably, he caught his breath. He always watched her; his gaze was pulled towards her as a moth was enticed to a flame. She was quite pretty, one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts in fact, but her sweet, unassuming smile made her beautiful. Something about her knocked him for a loop like a physical blow. Smile at them now, he thought absently. Tonight her smiles would intended for him, and she would look at him as though he were the only thing that existed.
Draco Malfoy’s cool gray eyes seemed brighter as he watched speak, her hands gesturing expressively as she spoke. Her hands always seemed too little and delicately boned within his larger hands, and this was something he had always marveled at.
Her hands were so small and fragile, but that didn’t matter much because with the snap of her finger, she could tear him apart. All it took was the turning of her head away from him, the tiny frown upon her lips, the hooding of her eyes – and he was crushed, crushed and broken so easily beneath her heel, beneath her hand, beneath her mouth. It didn’t take much to break him, he realized that now. Her breath on his face was enough to bend him to her will; it wouldn’t take much for her to snap it.
She laid her hand on Harry Potter’s shoulder, drawing his attention to her. She said something rapidly, and the Boy Who Lived burst out laughing, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly. He felt emotion ripple through him, and his every nerve was suddenly raw.
“Draco,” Pansy Parkinson leaned over him. “You’ve ruined your toast.”
He looked down. His toast was drowning in orange marmalade. He grabbed for his knife and stabbed it viciously into his toast.
There was a sudden burst of laughter from the Gryffindor table, and he scowled. Potter was sitting way too close to her. He was being what she called, “completely absurd,” but he privately thought he had a valid point. Bad enough that she had had a crush on Potter, but then Potter had to go and develop a crush on her. Of course, this was all two years ago, and, as she said, they were now strictly friends, so maybe he was being a little ridiculous.
She was touching Potter again, a small, pointed nudge in the side. Draco’s face burned. The butter knife slipped in his hand, and he gripped it more tightly. She had once ignored him for a week when he demanded that she stay away from Seamus Finnigan, who was among the increasing number of boys that had finally begun to notice her, but was one of the few who actually had the nerve to ask her out. He owed some small thanks to her overprotective git of a brother for that; Ron Weasley tended to exude an extremely threatening air whenever his sister was mentioned in anything but platonic conversations.
The bastard Potter had slung his arm casually around her waist; they were posing for a picture. Colin Creevey and his infernal camera again. He was going to have to break the bloody thing one day. Did that Creevey brat really have to take so long in snapping a damn photo?
Potter said something with a smile, and she mock punched at him. Scarface caught her hand in his, and for some reason, this simple act was enough to make him snap clean in half. Potter’s hand had engulfed hers, why wasn’t she pulling away? He frowned; Potter was holding her hand way too tightly, didn’t he know, couldn’t that stupid prat see that she wasn’t as strong as her temperament was? Draco seethed.
He rose, trembling violently, dropping the knife with a clatter. Pansy stared at him, too accustomed to his moods to be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle half stood before he hissed, “Stay away from me,” and they clumsily sat back down.
As he stalked past her table, she looked up, and she immediately smiled a quick, furtive smile at him and received a coldly furious glare in return. He turned away from her before he could see whatever expression would be scrawled across her face, but apparently he hadn’t been fast enough because he saw her face fall.
Draco Malfoy’s cool gray eyes seemed brighter as he watched speak, her hands gesturing expressively as she spoke. Her hands always seemed too little and delicately boned within his larger hands, and this was something he had always marveled at.
Her hands were so small and fragile, but that didn’t matter much because with the snap of her finger, she could tear him apart. All it took was the turning of her head away from him, the tiny frown upon her lips, the hooding of her eyes – and he was crushed, crushed and broken so easily beneath her heel, beneath her hand, beneath her mouth. It didn’t take much to break him, he realized that now. Her breath on his face was enough to bend him to her will; it wouldn’t take much for her to snap it.
She laid her hand on Harry Potter’s shoulder, drawing his attention to her. She said something rapidly, and the Boy Who Lived burst out laughing, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly. He felt emotion ripple through him, and his every nerve was suddenly raw.
“Draco,” Pansy Parkinson leaned over him. “You’ve ruined your toast.”
He looked down. His toast was drowning in orange marmalade. He grabbed for his knife and stabbed it viciously into his toast.
There was a sudden burst of laughter from the Gryffindor table, and he scowled. Potter was sitting way too close to her. He was being what she called, “completely absurd,” but he privately thought he had a valid point. Bad enough that she had had a crush on Potter, but then Potter had to go and develop a crush on her. Of course, this was all two years ago, and, as she said, they were now strictly friends, so maybe he was being a little ridiculous.
She was touching Potter again, a small, pointed nudge in the side. Draco’s face burned. The butter knife slipped in his hand, and he gripped it more tightly. She had once ignored him for a week when he demanded that she stay away from Seamus Finnigan, who was among the increasing number of boys that had finally begun to notice her, but was one of the few who actually had the nerve to ask her out. He owed some small thanks to her overprotective git of a brother for that; Ron Weasley tended to exude an extremely threatening air whenever his sister was mentioned in anything but platonic conversations.
The bastard Potter had slung his arm casually around her waist; they were posing for a picture. Colin Creevey and his infernal camera again. He was going to have to break the bloody thing one day. Did that Creevey brat really have to take so long in snapping a damn photo?
Potter said something with a smile, and she mock punched at him. Scarface caught her hand in his, and for some reason, this simple act was enough to make him snap clean in half. Potter’s hand had engulfed hers, why wasn’t she pulling away? He frowned; Potter was holding her hand way too tightly, didn’t he know, couldn’t that stupid prat see that she wasn’t as strong as her temperament was? Draco seethed.
He rose, trembling violently, dropping the knife with a clatter. Pansy stared at him, too accustomed to his moods to be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle half stood before he hissed, “Stay away from me,” and they clumsily sat back down.
As he stalked past her table, she looked up, and she immediately smiled a quick, furtive smile at him and received a coldly furious glare in return. He turned away from her before he could see whatever expression would be scrawled across her face, but apparently he hadn’t been fast enough because he saw her face fall.
To Be Continued.
applecede is the author of 11 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 3 members. Members who liked You Shine Too Bright also liked 370 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 3 members. Members who liked You Shine Too Bright also liked 370 other stories.
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