My 14-Hour Flight With Harry Potter

Fourteen hours. Fourteen entire bloody hours inside this god-forsaken hunk of metal hurtling through the sky at thousands of kilos per hour. And I'm stuck across the aisle from Harry bloody Potter.

I specifically chose a seat near the front of the plane to minimize interactions with muggles, and now I have to deal with the consequences of that decision.

Mother would've told me to hold my head high and ignore him. Father would've told me to request a seat change for Potter.

I do neither.

Instead, I'm staring at his jet black hair and coffee-colored skin, enraptured by the way he glows even in the shoddy light of the airplane. He's gazing out the window, deep in thought, not even noticing me. That's a first.

The sharp voice of the flight attendant standing next to me brings me back to reality, where I'm being fussed at for not having buckled my seatbelt. Of course, this draws Potter's attention toward me, and we lock eyes.

I immediately look away.

I immediately wish I hadn't.

Because now, there's a permanent image of striking green eyes staring curiously at me. I can't even fathom what would cause Potter to look at me the way he is right now: indescribably confused. I feel him boring a hole in the back of my head, as if laser beams are the result of his staring.

Get a grip, Draco. Seriously.

I risk a glance back at Potter, and we lock eyes again. Only this time, I respond with a snide look and roll my eyes. There. Maybe now he'll stop looking at me.

—— 13.5 hours ——

I've only looked at Potter twice more since the plane took off. Against my will, of course.

First he sneezed, and I automatically said bless you - I was raised with manners, you know - and we just stared at each other, surprised. He looked away first.

The second time, my eyes wandered towards him without my permission, and suddenly I was lost in the blush on his cheeks. He certainly was not blushing because I was looking at him.

Certainly not.

—— 12 hours ——

"Malfoy. ... Malfoy!"

Why is Potter Talking to Me, and Will He Stop If I Ignore Him, a biography by me.

"Malfoy!"

Well, at least one of my questions was answered.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"What are you doing here?"

I deadpan. "I enjoy the stale air of planes and sitting across from you, obviously."

Potter just stares. Thickheaded twat.

"Potter, I'm going to New York. Same as you and everyone else on this plane."

"Yes, but..." he can't seem to find an end to that sentence. Good.

"Now if that's all, please leave me to my suffering in peace."

I turn away, despite the fact that he opens his mouth as if to say someone else.

—— 10.5 hours ——

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep. But unfortunately I wake up, and Potter notices.

"Good nap, Malfoy?" Harry asks, sounded simultaneously intrigued and peckish.

"Wonderful, thanks. It'd be even better if your presence had been a dream."

Potter rolls his eyes and my heart skips a beat. This has happened every time he's ever rolled his eyes at me since forever, so I really don't think much of it.