Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. God forbid I ever do because I would make them do simply wicked things.
*
I have learned that you cannot deny your roots. Your instincts, your behaviors, your ideals. These are things you cannot ignore. You claim to hate your parents, when in all actuality you are JUST. LIKE. THEM. Take my father for example. He's a self-centered, cruel individual who can't bear to be jovial to someone for more than a minute, even if he loves him or her. The things he hates, he destroys. And the things he loves, he destroys even worse. And me?
I'm his fucking spitting image.
I have an appreciation for beauty. I like all my things to be beautiful, and all the things I love are beautiful. In fact, I'm known to love things so much that they become my obsession. My obsession that often ends with destruction. I love smashing my beautiful things, breaking them into pieces so small no spell could put them back. I destroy the things I love to make their beauty only mine to behold. I destroy everything, including the people I love.
*
The sheets tangle beneath us as we desperately grope and discover each other's bodies. There is sweat, and there is spit, and there is another bodily fluid mixing into it. There are groans, and there are moans, and there are even pleas for mercy. The pinnacle of passion is reached, and with satisfied sighs we lay quietly on the bed beside one another.
I'm pleased with myself tonight. I made him beg and cry for my attentions until finally he broke down and fell onto his knees. He looks at me now with a gaze of sheer, undisputed love. "That was damn amazing, Draco," he says endearingly, touching my cheek. His emerald green eyes look up at me expectantly, like a puppy waiting for a treat.
When I make no reply, he wiggles up so he can look me in the eye. "I want to tell you something," he whispers, brushing my cheek with his fingers.
"Go ahead," I answer back tonelessly, waving my wand around in my other hand.
He took a deep breath. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."
Jackpot.
I stare at him for a few moments. It makes him uncomfortable that I'm not saying it back to him. The color drains from his face. "Draco?" he ekes pitifully. "I said I love you."
I glare at him with all the coldness I can muster. "I heard you."
His eyes start to glaze over and he looks down at his hands. "I shouldn't have said it. Because you don't love me back, do you?"
It is now my time to begin destroying Harry Potter.
I throw the sheets off and stand up angrily. "Of course I don't love you, Potter!" I scream at him, pulling on my clothes as quickly as he took them off a few hours ago. "How could someone like ME love someone like YOU? Just because we fucked around a few times, that makes us soul mates? PLEASE! Why would someone like ME love a Muggle-born, Mudblood-loving, Weasley-associating, Diggory-murdering, bespectacled waste of wizarding space such as yourself?"
I have done it. His eyes spill over with tears and he turns away from me. "Get the fuck out, Malfoy," he says, his voice broken with crying. "Just get the fuck out now."
Something tugs at my heartstrings. My conscience, that little annoying voice that tells me when I'm doing something unspeakably cruel. I can usually keep it quiet. But I can't now. I love Harry Potter. With every fiber of my being. And here I am, convincing him that I would rather see him dead than be his love.
I shake away the pangs of guilt. I will destroy Harry Potter. Because he is beautiful and I love him. I'll add him to my collection of beautiful things that I have smashed and broken. He'll be mine forever. Because he is beautiful and I love him. I will keep him forever, shattered.
Gathering up my clothes, I leave a sobbing Harry Potter in his four-poster bed.
Good? Great? Terrible? I may or may not continue this, depending on the reviews, or lack of reviews I get. My first HP fic, please be kind!