Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
A/N: Random idea. I actually like this story. Written in second-person. Please review -NiCoLe
People always criticze you, all the time. You hear them whispering it in the halls and pointing and laughing at you because you are a Slytherin and your parents are Death Eaters. And even though they're dead silent in your company, even though they fear you like the plague, they still criticize your very being. Beacause you're different from them and they won't accept you, no matter how hard you try. You'll never be their equal, they'll always look for faults with in you, and they'll always think you have it so bloody perfect, when really, you don't have shit.
And you know this, and Draco knows this, but that's it. Everyone else, even Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle think that you're bloody perfect. They don't think you give a damn about anything save looks and money. But you do, you feel and you laugh and you cry and you bleed. And your blood is red God damn it, red, just like any other human blood. And you don't stare at it like some sicko, you cover it up or put a healing spell on it because, honestly, you hate blood.
Everyone always said that Slytherins are like stone. They say that Slytherins can't feel a bloody thing and that they're as hard as rocks. But you don't feel like a stone, you feel like...like a window.
Yes, a window. With a blue and silver curtain over it. Because those were always your favorite colors, blue and silver, just like the rain. A widow, with a curtain, and green curtain ties because Draco loves green and you love Draco so green is okay too, even if it is the color of Potter's eyes. You feel like a window with a curtain because the curtain is blocking out the world from seeing even a pice of you. The whole world doesn't know a thing about you. But Draco does, Draco is able to pull back that curtain and make you love again.
Not that you ever loved before. There was never any body to love. Oh, you must have loved your parents at some point in you life, but you learned at a young age that they didn't love you. So why love them if they didn't reciprocate the feeling?
People always criticized you, called you a Snake, said you were made of stone and that no one would ever be able to melt your heart. They said that you never felt anything and that you were numb and evil and sadistic. You, sadistic, the girl that rescued bunnies. Now that's funny.
People didn't know that you weren't a stone, or an iceberg, or anything like that.
You were a window.
And if someone would just pull back the curtain, they'd see that.