Intense

All at Once

Your tie was half undone, the blue collar of your robes lazily draped around your shoulders. You were clearly having a difficult time. Draco, who'd been bitterly scribbling answers to his overdue homework papers, couldn't help but take notice each time you haphazardly sorted through the many phials of ingredients you had scattered around the table.

He didn't know your name, only vaguely recognizing you as one of the few cellists he'd seen performing at the Yule Ball. Better than being in that insufferable frog choir, he supposed. Seated next to you, he figured you must've been there for blowing something up in class, what with the way your cauldron angrily bubbled with each incorrect addition to the potion brewing in it.

He begrudgingly made his way down one page of his work before moving to another, looking back up to watch you fail at your own task more often than he'd like to admit. You were pleasant to watch, and something in him fluttered every time he saw your fingers twitch in hesitation before pouring something new into your cauldron.

You were making a potion he didn't recognize, one that looked similar to a calming draught, and as far as he could tell your textbook was less than telling on how to make it correctly. 'Typical' He thought to himself, 'Those things are impossible to read.'

He snorted, amused.

"Something funny, Malfoy?" You whispered to him. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes staring holes into his when they met. Draco's stomach churned, and it felt like the breath had been stolen from his lungs. For a moment, he forgot how to talk.

"Uh... what?" He mentally cursed himself for stumbling over his words, unsure of what to say with your piercing gaze still locked onto his. He hadn't expected you to notice him watching you, let alone call him out by name. A part of him was inexplicably happy that you knew who he was.

"Do you have a penchant for watching upperclassmen mess up?" You hissed, one brow quirked up and a scowl worked its way onto your face.

He itched to snark in retaliation like he would with anyone else, the words dying before they reached his throat. His tongue felt dry and he opened and closed his mouth dumbly, ultimately remaining silent.

"You're lucky I don't tip this cauldron onto your lap." You shook your head before turning back down to stare at the page you still couldn't seem to understand.

Draco wasn't used to it, to people speaking so crudely to him. Had it been anyone else, had it been someone like Potter, Draco would've had their name climbing his father's shit list within the hour. Something about you, though, told him he really didn't want that. Something that made him unable to tear his watchful eyes away, something that made his chest throb uncomfortably.

His mind lingered on you, on your calloused hands, on the way your lips pursed when you scowled at him. His mind lingered on the Yule Ball, how those calloused hands would have felt in his if you'd danced together, how your pursed lips would have felt if you'd-

Oh. Oh.

All at once, Draco's thoughts turned to a scattered blur. His heart thudded in his chest, the rhythm almost drowning out the blood rushing through his ears. His breathing slowed and he felt his face heat up. He watched you blink, jealous that your eyelashes were touching your face and he wasn't.

Draco wasn't the kind of guy to fall in love. As the years progressed, people fell into couplings around him like puzzle pieces locking into place, and never once had Draco taken interest. Unlike the people around him, he had no crushes. No crushes, no 'type', no girls that caught his eye, not one. He'd taken Pansy to the Yule Ball as a friend, and done his best to let her down easy when she thought it'd been more.

Here, serving detention in the potions classroom watching you fumble your way through a tedious potion, suddenly it was all making sense to him. Your jaw clenching from stress, your throat bobbing over a dry swallow, your shoulders and chest broad and so distinctly masculine.

Butterflies burst in his chest, and his throat ached in endearment. Draco wasn't the kind of guy to fall in love, much less at first sight, but there he was.

"Do..." He started, probably a bit too loud, sensations exploding behind his ribcage when your eyes met his again. "Do you want help? I'm, uh, I'm really good at potions."

"Detention is not time for making friends, Mr. Malfoy." Snape spoke up from the desk at the front of the room, breaking both of you out of conversation for a moment. He looked at Snape and nodded, face flushing in embarrassment before he looked back at you.

Your mouth hung open with an unspoken response before closing, presumably to avoid angering the professor. You blinked at Draco, another wave of feeling washing over him. Images flashed through his brain, and all he could think was how badly he wished he could run his thumbs along the underside of your eyes and feel your boyish lashes fan against his nails. You scooted to the side, allowing room for him to get closer to your cauldron and book.

Your shoulders brushed together as he helped you, and he felt like a whole new man. His pulse thundered in his ears and he could feel sweat collecting in his palms. Part of him was afraid you were a Legilimens, because if you'd read his mind right then and there all you would have seen was yourself in wedding attire at a banquet with his extended family.

There, going through the motions of learning the potion you were working on and breaking it down for you in whispers, it was a miracle he could focus at all past the juvenile thoughts racing through his mind of spending the rest of his life with you.