emeraldine087

Notes: This one is inspired by Perfect Moment, a song by Martine McCutcheon for the OST of Meteor Garden 1, a Taiwanese series. Draco’s POV and emphasis in italics.

Tell me you love me.

When you leave,

You’re more than a shadow,

That’s what I believe.

You take me to places

I never thought I’d see.

Minute by minute

You’re the world to me.

Wish I could frame

The look in your eyes

The way that I feel

For you inside

This is my moment;

This is my perfect moment with you.

-M. McCutcheon “Perfect Moment”

~~~~~~~~*^*~~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening but I stayed put. At the very least, my housemates couldn’t blame me for not showing house solidarity. They couldn’t accuse of me of being a spoilsport and…well—I could tell a thousand different reasons to evade the one real reason for being around to watch the usual morning chitchat and the festivities of Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin over third helpings of everything during breakfast. My gaze strayed towards the Gryffindor table and looked out of the corner of my eye for someone.

He wasn’t there yet.

I breathed a sigh of relief and practically buried my nose in my cup of scalding coffee. The noise was apparently not loud enough to drown my thoughts. I placed my elbows on the edge of the table and encircled my palms on the hot surface of the coffee cup. Why am I feeling this way? Why have I been feeling this way for as long as I can remember every morning at breakfast? Crabbe was telling a really crude joke and if I weren’t feeling so confused and cranky, I would have joined in the joke to laugh louder than everybody else, but then I wasn’t in the mood to… I wasn’t up to doing anything remotely close to what I always do.

Fuck—why, oh why do I feel this way?

The double doors of the Great Hall opened and a rambunctious group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors entered in their loud voices and ecstatic guffaws. He was there. He stood there like a beacon in the middle of desolation, all smiles and chatting away with his friends: the Weasel and the Mudblood. He walked towards empty chairs at the Gryffindor table to take his breakfast amidst the roar of his housemates. I mustered all my energy to look away.

Come on Draco, just look away. It’s so easy to look away. Just try to reward your coffee cup its much-needed attention and look away…Damn it—look away Draco!

But my eyes were glued to him. They always have been. Every morning. Since the day I realized that…

The beating of my heart quickened again and the chirping birds and singing sopranos burst into song in my head as if they were cued. Perfect. Just perfect. I watched him reach out to grab the pot of coffee and then fork sausages onto his plate using his right hand. It never changes. A sausage, pancakes, ham, bacon, eggs—no matter what it was we were served every morning, he always uses his right hand. And it’s funny that I had taken the time to notice. The conversations all around me were still raging. But I made no effort to join my housemates in their fruitful conversations of wet dreams and dildos. I was too busy, too busy looking at him.

He seems so perfect with his tousled black hair and those magnificent green eyes that seem to look through you, search you—every part of you. And now I long for those eyes to meet mine—to search me, every part of me.

And all sarcasm, all malice and all envy flew out of me. Why does he have to be so perfect? But then I wrenched my gaze away and turned to look at the other students munching away: none of them were looking at him the way I know I always do. He’s so perfect and yet no one seems to notice that perfection aside from me. Does he know that I think he’s perfect? Would he even give a fuck?

I mean, it’s just me—the person who always breaks hell loose for him; the person who would always point out to him that he would always be worth nothing. I had created this for myself… He hates me because I am an ass. Or maybe it’s because I just don’t have the courage to tell him how perfect he is. For me.

Fucking sopranos belting out some lame horseshit love song again. Damn. The coffee had gone cold, but I didn’t make a move to gulp the whole confection down. I prefer to take my time. Hell—maybe this time he’ll look my way…

I raised my eyes to steal a glance at him again and my heart froze. He was there. Seated and flanked by his friends in all his glory. And he was looking straight back at me.

Shit.

My breath caught in my throat and I felt my eyes give me away. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. He’s looking back at me. And he doesn’t look like he’s going to look away any second—he was just seated there, looking at me. Looking through me. Looking within me. And the whole world seemed to stop. A complete orchestra playing to their hearts’ content had joined the sopranos in my head. Now—where did all of these butterflies come from? The noise in my ears halted to a standstill. There was no noise, no movement, no time, and no people. Nothing. We were the only two people left on earth. The green eyes sparkled and I saw it. I saw it. The light in the room was more than enough for me to catch the one and only time that I saw his eyes ablaze in fiery green like a satchel of emeralds bathing in the glow of the sun.

It was perfect. And I didn’t dare blink. I wanted to drink his fluid eyes and breathe his gaze, inhale everything I could from where I was. It was the perfect moment. Oh god please let this moment go on.

I held on to the hard wood of the Slytherin table in fear that I might topple over in absolute happiness. I saw everything. I saw his eyes; in them I saw not the hatred but hope; in them I saw everything my life was worth. It was much, much better than travelling the world because just one look from his eyes, free of vindictiveness, free of hardness, I was taken to the past, the present, the future, to paradise and back. To everywhere. To nowhere. Time was not important anymore. Nothing but the moment was important anymore.

Right then I wanted to stand up and go to where he was seated and profess my undying love. Gods Draco, now where the hell did that come from? I know—must be the sopranos cajoling my weakened freewill. I know that wouldn’t look too good with Snape and the whole Slytherin house most especially after such a satisfactory breakfast, but the urge was too strong. My feet were restless; they wanted to go to him. But I stayed put. At the very least, my housemates couldn’t blame me for not showing house solidarity.

Tears came to my eyes, but they were kept unshed. Must be because of not blinking. Gods—what if I’m getting cross-eyed or something? It won’t be very becoming of me. Not during such a perfect moment… A hand was swiped in front of me but I didn’t give a flying fuck. No one can ruin this moment for me—

But he looked away all of a sudden and the noise came back in full force, almost knocking me senseless.

—except for him.

My housemates rewarded me with a look as if I’d sprouted extra limbs and they started asking me over and over if I was feeling fine. But I’m not fine, at least not anymore. I returned my unadulterated attention to my cup of coffee. Someone might have spat in my coffee and I wouldn’t have reacted. But nonetheless, I pushed the coffee cup away—in case someone did spit on it. I wouldn’t put anything past my crazy housemates after all.

But still the emptiness was there. Like a hole. A void. It was the perfect moment. And I didn’t hang on to it long enough…

Screw the world. Screw him.

My eye was caught again. He stood up and with a casual wave left the table with his cronies, in all his splendor. His back was turned to me now. And I couldn’t even see his eyes; his bangs had fallen over them. And that fucking Weasley was fucking blocking my view. He twisted the knob open and left without a double take. Well—it wasn’t as if I was expecting him to look back at me and wave goodbye. But I guess, I was half-hoping after all, a wave goodbye comes free…

Hell!

I cast my eyes down and shrugged. Just another breakfast, another morning. There would always be one again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. I smiled a wistful smile.

It was the perfect moment.

But it ended too soon.

“Buzzing in my ears,

eyes heavy with unshed tears

Sunlight peeks through cracks.”

“The marble was cold

Against the girl's aching knees.

The prayer just died..”

“Fingers scrape the wood;

Screams fall from her bitten lips.

Dawn is a mere wish.”

“The touch fell softly,

And scalded like inferno.

The heavens rained tears.”

-          Products of bitchin’ boredom

15 December 2008, 3.09pm

Civil Law Review Class, Rm. 203-205

Your brother, with shaky feet and a stony face, walked towards his destination. He didn't want to be there. You could tell. You told him you could leave if he felt uncomfortable about it, but he said no. He said it was now or never and you nodded that you understood. Your brother never had many joys in life. He used to joke that it was the curse of the first-born-- to bear the weight of the world. You answered that you understood but you never did. And you never will. Your brother smiled weakly at you, and you smiled back, wishing you could convey what little strength and happiness you have. He stretched out his arm and you took his hand. They were sweaty but cold. He said he will never stop regretting that he wasn't here when... it happened. He said he knew he was supposed to be here to take care of you--but he wasn't. You replied that you understood. But back then, you couldn't. But you didn't tell him that. Your brother froze in his stride and before you could say anything, he fell to his knees on the grass. He whispered his apologies, his promises, his regrets to the dry, dusk air, not really talking to anyone, not really saying anything you could understand.

Your brother touched the newly planted tombstone jutting out of the grass where your mother's name was freshly engraved. You told him the tombstone was new; it wasn't there the last time you were here. You knew it was small talk, but there wasn't anything else to say. He started telling you about the curse of the first-born again as if it could somehow tell you the words you would've wanted to hear three months ago. He said he wanted to be here. And then you replied curtly that if he did, why wasn't he. He fell silent. You knew you now had no one else but him. You never had much to begin with, like he didn't have much, as well.

"We only have each other now," he said as if reading your mind. You tried to hang on to the anger, but like the sun at dusk, it was fading faster than you would have wanted it to. "Like always," was what you quietly answered.