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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any mentioned characters, and the song belongs to FM Static.
~*~
Don’t think I can take it
Wake me when it's over.
So far away
I wish that it was closer.
I see her every day
I'm too scared to go over.
I wonder what she'd say,
I barely even know her.
And how much longer?
Will this keep getting stronger?
I wonder what she's doing when I'm singing myself to sleep.
Cause he's a faker,
So see ya later.
I wonder when you realize that she means a lot more to me
- Definitely Maybe
She will never know…
She will never know how frequently you watch her. In between classes as you pass her in the halls; you can spot her a mile away with her bright flaming ponytail. You love to see her face as you sneer down at her and, always, she is worth the glance back as she walks away, even though you have to make a mad dash to potions afterward so that you’re not late.
Even during dinner in the Great Hall. You make sure to sit so that you can glare at Potter instead of being caught staring at her, should the occasion arise. She probably thinks you immature and petty to hold a grudge even as a seventh-year, but you'd rather her think that than freaky and creepy. But her looks of disdain can't taint her gorgeous face, flawless as a Greek Goddess.
Yes, it is quite obvious that you are fascinated - enamored - by her, more than you hate her, more than you abhor her. And it's not just that she's beautiful and talented and so kind to everyone who's not you, it's that she's forbidden. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, she is the fruit that gleams just as brightly as all the others in the orchid, but she is not to be eaten.
So of course, you wish to devour her, like Eve did the fruit. Rest assured, not without severe consequence as you surely would face, but she had her satisfaction and the fruit was hers. But Weasley, she is forbidden to you, so she is the most desirable of all the girls in Hogwarts. She is untouchable, which makes your fingers itch at the thought of her soft hair and smooth cheeks.
And she will never know how close you were to her, how close you were to admitting such a disgusting thing to her today. She will never know how you blankly and blatantly stared at her as you grabbed the handle of the Quidditch chest to carry it back to the games shed. The game was excellent and being so close to Weasley, you aren't even bothered by the fact that you felt the snitch's soft wings before it was ripped out of your hands.
You like the fact that she doesn't even grimace as she lifts up her half of the heavy trunk. You admire that she lets the sweat on her pink face just drip off and she's not completely disgusted by its presence. You think that she's gorgeous even though she's wrapped up in Quidditch garb and her face is pink with perspiration and her red ponytail sticks to the back of her neck and she smells to high heavens.
She deserved all 50 points that she scored.
Harry Potter didn't deserve that win at all.
And you hope with all your heart that right now, she'll see you as just another Quidditch opponent, who lost a game well played. Not her lifelong enemy, not her secret love, just a person on the other team.
Slowly now, don't sound rushed; she'll get suspicious. "That was a quite a good game, don't you think?" Look her in square in the eye, blink slowly. Easy now.
Control seemed out of grasp in that short sentence, your once calm heartbeat races while a breath gets caught in your throat.
She looked up, hair plastered across her forehead and a crazy grin on her face. It makes you feel better; a lot better.
"Yeah, it was wicked good," she agrees. Good.
"You really played hard, Weasley. I mean, you could knock small animals out with your odor."
"Witty," she says, looking up. She is bold enough to look you in the eye. A constricting feeling fills your chest like your lungs have grown too big for your ribs. "You too, Malfoy, and you didn't finish the game exactly spotless."
God knows how bad you must look right now. You smirk at her while running a hand through sweat-drenched hair.
She looks you up and down and when she glances back at your face, you raise an eyebrow. "Damn close to havin' the snitch."
It suddenly doesn't matter that one moment you had it, and then you didn't.
"You noticed?" you ask, trying to stamp out the surprise in your voice by biting your tongue.
"Of course I noticed! Everyone stops to watch you and Harry chase the Snitch."
"Really?" She nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "Doesn't seem like it."
"Oh yes, it's the most exciting part of the game. You and Harry, neck to neck. Everything stops, you almost forget to breathe."
"Well what about you guys? You're fairly important." 'In more ways than one,' you add mentally and bite your lip. You shift carrying hands for a distraction.
"Oh, we're important, but not as important as the seekers are to the team and to the fans. Chasers, Beaters, Keepers? All background," she said, waving her free hand.
You set the crate down to open the doors to the shed. Behind you, Ginny waves her wand and the entire room is aglow with yellow light from several ceiling-mounted lanterns. It smells like old sweat. Along one side of the wall are shelves with hangers for the Quidditch gear, all except two hangers full. Along the other wall are school brooms, hanging handle-down.
You lift the crate and set it in the middle of the shed, rubbing the dust from your hands onto your robe. Sitting atop the chest, you begin to dismantle the Quidditch gear. Weasley does the same, and the shed falls silent as you focus pointedly on the task at hand, sneaking glances as the young woman in front of you dismantles her gear.
If you were not in love with her, you would have thought her the ugliest thing on the planet right now. If.
You finish before she does. Leaving your robe on the chest, you pluck the two empty hangers from the rack and hand her one, poking her lightly in the shoulder to gain her attention. She looks up and grins, giving her thanks, and hangs her gear. You do the same, and she insists on hanging your gear as compensation for handing her the hanger. You let her without even so much as a word of objection, but with a raised eyebrow and a lazy grin.
"You're supposed to insist on hanging it yourself," she says, shutting the doors behind her as you leave the shed.
"Why?" you ask, pretending you're at total ease. "If you wanted to take it from me, I wasn't going to stop you."
"But that's not being gentlemanly!" she maintains.
"It's not a question of being a gentleman or not!" you argue back, the corners of your lip upturned. "Besides, I handed you the hanger."
"That was real difficult, Draco," she says with much sarcasm, looking you in the eye. She lets it slips and pretends not to notice. You catch her slip and pretend not to care.
"I would've hung your gear back up. I was closer," you say to her as you walk back to the locker rooms.
She looks up at you. "Yeah, but my feminine pride would have been deeply offended," she says with a smile. You forget to breathe. After a thought, she mentions, "And they aren't all that heavy."
"See! You have nothing to complain about," you drawl. Confusion ebbs its way into your mind.
"One of them isn't so bad," she says, gesturing. "Two is pressing your luck." You bump shoulders.
"You took it out of my hand, Weasley," you say softly, catching her hand and holding it, wrapping long fingers around long fingers. "I wasn't exactly holding a wand to your head."
Her eyes flutter from you to her hand and then back to you. You slowly unwind your fingers with a scowl on your face, not wanting to let go of what could be your only chance to touch her. Her eyes flash and you have no idea why. Her hand lowers slowly.
"I was hoping that you'd say thank you, that's all," she says, measured, walking ahead of you. The back of her red robe hits the top of your black boot. The unspoken "But I suppose Malfoys are above 'Thank You's' " hangs in the tension-filled air.
She unintentionally slows down and falls in stride with you, you notice smirking. You down look at her, eyebrow raised, and she meets your eyes with a challenge. Go on, they say, say something.
You are nearing the locker rooms with every step and you simply must say something before you part ways because you can't end your conversation on a sour note. Not with her, anyway. Your mouth is dry, with want of something.
And then, you suppose, your conversation with her shouldn't end. Ever.
"Weasley," you surprise yourself by saying, coming to a halt just in front of the locker room. She is already in the entrance when she turns, her red ponytail moving around her head like a fox tail. Her face could be a mirror of yours, she doesn't expect anything from you, you're Draco Malfoy. Her eyebrows are raised and her lips have their corners slightly tucked in as though you've already proven her right.
"Thank you," you say in an air of slight reluctance but still regal superiority, stepping up and moving to walk away, heading for the entrance of the Slytherin locker rooms. You still don't miss the astonishment that crosses her pretty face and her lips form into a hesitant smile, as if she was internally unsure of something. You raise an eyebrow and turn into the locker rooms, shrugging off your green robe and tossing it casually over your shoulder as an act of dismissal. The warm, humid air burns your cold cheeks, making them blush pink.
"You’re welcome,Draco," she says crisply through a soft smile before turning out of view.
You feel the corners of your lip tug upward, and you bite that urge back down. Your heart threatens to explode inside you. Your face blushes with more than just steam as you admit to yourself that you really are crazy for her.
Thank God that she doesn't - and will never - know.
And it doesn't bother you that you were so close to victory at all.
Because maybe you’ve already won.
~*~
Wake me when it's over.
So far away
I wish that it was closer.
I see her every day
I'm too scared to go over.
I wonder what she'd say,
I barely even know her.
And how much longer?
Will this keep getting stronger?
I wonder what she's doing when I'm singing myself to sleep.
Cause he's a faker,
So see ya later.
I wonder when you realize that she means a lot more to me
- Definitely Maybe
She will never know…
She will never know how frequently you watch her. In between classes as you pass her in the halls; you can spot her a mile away with her bright flaming ponytail. You love to see her face as you sneer down at her and, always, she is worth the glance back as she walks away, even though you have to make a mad dash to potions afterward so that you’re not late.
Even during dinner in the Great Hall. You make sure to sit so that you can glare at Potter instead of being caught staring at her, should the occasion arise. She probably thinks you immature and petty to hold a grudge even as a seventh-year, but you'd rather her think that than freaky and creepy. But her looks of disdain can't taint her gorgeous face, flawless as a Greek Goddess.
Yes, it is quite obvious that you are fascinated - enamored - by her, more than you hate her, more than you abhor her. And it's not just that she's beautiful and talented and so kind to everyone who's not you, it's that she's forbidden. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, she is the fruit that gleams just as brightly as all the others in the orchid, but she is not to be eaten.
So of course, you wish to devour her, like Eve did the fruit. Rest assured, not without severe consequence as you surely would face, but she had her satisfaction and the fruit was hers. But Weasley, she is forbidden to you, so she is the most desirable of all the girls in Hogwarts. She is untouchable, which makes your fingers itch at the thought of her soft hair and smooth cheeks.
And she will never know how close you were to her, how close you were to admitting such a disgusting thing to her today. She will never know how you blankly and blatantly stared at her as you grabbed the handle of the Quidditch chest to carry it back to the games shed. The game was excellent and being so close to Weasley, you aren't even bothered by the fact that you felt the snitch's soft wings before it was ripped out of your hands.
You like the fact that she doesn't even grimace as she lifts up her half of the heavy trunk. You admire that she lets the sweat on her pink face just drip off and she's not completely disgusted by its presence. You think that she's gorgeous even though she's wrapped up in Quidditch garb and her face is pink with perspiration and her red ponytail sticks to the back of her neck and she smells to high heavens.
She deserved all 50 points that she scored.
Harry Potter didn't deserve that win at all.
And you hope with all your heart that right now, she'll see you as just another Quidditch opponent, who lost a game well played. Not her lifelong enemy, not her secret love, just a person on the other team.
Slowly now, don't sound rushed; she'll get suspicious. "That was a quite a good game, don't you think?" Look her in square in the eye, blink slowly. Easy now.
Control seemed out of grasp in that short sentence, your once calm heartbeat races while a breath gets caught in your throat.
She looked up, hair plastered across her forehead and a crazy grin on her face. It makes you feel better; a lot better.
"Yeah, it was wicked good," she agrees. Good.
"You really played hard, Weasley. I mean, you could knock small animals out with your odor."
"Witty," she says, looking up. She is bold enough to look you in the eye. A constricting feeling fills your chest like your lungs have grown too big for your ribs. "You too, Malfoy, and you didn't finish the game exactly spotless."
God knows how bad you must look right now. You smirk at her while running a hand through sweat-drenched hair.
She looks you up and down and when she glances back at your face, you raise an eyebrow. "Damn close to havin' the snitch."
It suddenly doesn't matter that one moment you had it, and then you didn't.
"You noticed?" you ask, trying to stamp out the surprise in your voice by biting your tongue.
"Of course I noticed! Everyone stops to watch you and Harry chase the Snitch."
"Really?" She nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "Doesn't seem like it."
"Oh yes, it's the most exciting part of the game. You and Harry, neck to neck. Everything stops, you almost forget to breathe."
"Well what about you guys? You're fairly important." 'In more ways than one,' you add mentally and bite your lip. You shift carrying hands for a distraction.
"Oh, we're important, but not as important as the seekers are to the team and to the fans. Chasers, Beaters, Keepers? All background," she said, waving her free hand.
You set the crate down to open the doors to the shed. Behind you, Ginny waves her wand and the entire room is aglow with yellow light from several ceiling-mounted lanterns. It smells like old sweat. Along one side of the wall are shelves with hangers for the Quidditch gear, all except two hangers full. Along the other wall are school brooms, hanging handle-down.
You lift the crate and set it in the middle of the shed, rubbing the dust from your hands onto your robe. Sitting atop the chest, you begin to dismantle the Quidditch gear. Weasley does the same, and the shed falls silent as you focus pointedly on the task at hand, sneaking glances as the young woman in front of you dismantles her gear.
If you were not in love with her, you would have thought her the ugliest thing on the planet right now. If.
You finish before she does. Leaving your robe on the chest, you pluck the two empty hangers from the rack and hand her one, poking her lightly in the shoulder to gain her attention. She looks up and grins, giving her thanks, and hangs her gear. You do the same, and she insists on hanging your gear as compensation for handing her the hanger. You let her without even so much as a word of objection, but with a raised eyebrow and a lazy grin.
"You're supposed to insist on hanging it yourself," she says, shutting the doors behind her as you leave the shed.
"Why?" you ask, pretending you're at total ease. "If you wanted to take it from me, I wasn't going to stop you."
"But that's not being gentlemanly!" she maintains.
"It's not a question of being a gentleman or not!" you argue back, the corners of your lip upturned. "Besides, I handed you the hanger."
"That was real difficult, Draco," she says with much sarcasm, looking you in the eye. She lets it slips and pretends not to notice. You catch her slip and pretend not to care.
"I would've hung your gear back up. I was closer," you say to her as you walk back to the locker rooms.
She looks up at you. "Yeah, but my feminine pride would have been deeply offended," she says with a smile. You forget to breathe. After a thought, she mentions, "And they aren't all that heavy."
"See! You have nothing to complain about," you drawl. Confusion ebbs its way into your mind.
"One of them isn't so bad," she says, gesturing. "Two is pressing your luck." You bump shoulders.
"You took it out of my hand, Weasley," you say softly, catching her hand and holding it, wrapping long fingers around long fingers. "I wasn't exactly holding a wand to your head."
Her eyes flutter from you to her hand and then back to you. You slowly unwind your fingers with a scowl on your face, not wanting to let go of what could be your only chance to touch her. Her eyes flash and you have no idea why. Her hand lowers slowly.
"I was hoping that you'd say thank you, that's all," she says, measured, walking ahead of you. The back of her red robe hits the top of your black boot. The unspoken "But I suppose Malfoys are above 'Thank You's' " hangs in the tension-filled air.
She unintentionally slows down and falls in stride with you, you notice smirking. You down look at her, eyebrow raised, and she meets your eyes with a challenge. Go on, they say, say something.
You are nearing the locker rooms with every step and you simply must say something before you part ways because you can't end your conversation on a sour note. Not with her, anyway. Your mouth is dry, with want of something.
And then, you suppose, your conversation with her shouldn't end. Ever.
"Weasley," you surprise yourself by saying, coming to a halt just in front of the locker room. She is already in the entrance when she turns, her red ponytail moving around her head like a fox tail. Her face could be a mirror of yours, she doesn't expect anything from you, you're Draco Malfoy. Her eyebrows are raised and her lips have their corners slightly tucked in as though you've already proven her right.
"Thank you," you say in an air of slight reluctance but still regal superiority, stepping up and moving to walk away, heading for the entrance of the Slytherin locker rooms. You still don't miss the astonishment that crosses her pretty face and her lips form into a hesitant smile, as if she was internally unsure of something. You raise an eyebrow and turn into the locker rooms, shrugging off your green robe and tossing it casually over your shoulder as an act of dismissal. The warm, humid air burns your cold cheeks, making them blush pink.
"You’re welcome,Draco," she says crisply through a soft smile before turning out of view.
You feel the corners of your lip tug upward, and you bite that urge back down. Your heart threatens to explode inside you. Your face blushes with more than just steam as you admit to yourself that you really are crazy for her.
Thank God that she doesn't - and will never - know.
And it doesn't bother you that you were so close to victory at all.
Because maybe you’ve already won.
The End.
Dan is the author of 1 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 7 members. Members who liked She Will Never Know also liked 1229 other stories.
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