...Cold Blood
The world could be ending and I wouldn't notice. Or care. The beautiful, pale, sleeping boy in the bed is my world. The moonlight streams in and meanders over his features. When he is asleep, he looks so peaceful. Awake, and no matter how happy he is, sometimes you can catch a shadow of sadness in his intense green eyes.
I'm perched on the end of his bed in my old track-pants and a t-shirt with the Slytherin shield printed across my skinny chest. Right now, I hate this t-shirt; it is yet another reminder of how different we are, and all the things that are keeping us apart. It's bloody freezing, but I don't dare move. There is something holding me there, a thought, an idea that I can't quite put my finger on.
He fills my dreams, thoughts and hopes. I've never felt so much for one person, in my entire seventeen years. In a short time, I went from hating him, to being addicted to his very being. I'm ashamed when I think back to how I used to treat him, the things I said. I'd give anything to take them back, I swear. I admit, I was jelous of him. After all, he was the boy who lived, a hero, and I was just Draco Malfoy, the poor rich little bastard whom everybody knew was a death-eater in the making.
I remember our first kiss, I always will. That memory can never be tainted, not by the hatred from my peers, the indifference from my father, or rejection from my mother. Over the seemingly never-ending summer holidays, he is the only thing that keeps me wanting to live. Keeps me breathing. The Malfoy manor echoes with mother's bitter, biting words. She knows, of course, as mothers often do. She knows where my heart lies, and resents me for it. She would never speak of it, and perhaps that is for the best. After all, I can't begin to imagine what her despicable, rich, pure-blood friends would say if they found out that the Malfoy heir isn't quite the ladies-man his father predicted he would be. It was always my mother who controlled everything, not my father, like everyone thinks. It's rather strange, common knowledge is very rarely accurate.
But no, our first kiss was unlike anything I ever have, or will experience. He had come across me in one of the abandoned class-rooms, after a particularly nasty Howler from mother. I'm not ashamed to admit that I had been crying, mother's nasally toffee-nosed voice still ringing in my ears: "Draco, you're pure-blood, yet still not top of the year, beaten by a mud- blood..." And he'd come along, watched me with his brilliant emerald eyes, said nothing, until the act had dissolved, and I'd told him everything. I'd ended up on my knees, with him kneeling beside me, his slender hands lifting my face to meet his own. "I understand." He had whispered, and pressed his lips against my own.
He whimpers in his sleep and turns over. He does that often. He rarely tells me about his dreams, but every so often I hear names, words or phrases when he cries out. He's changed since our first encounter in Madame Malkin's. Not just physically, although, of course he would have, it's been six years. But more than that. He's aquired a burden, and it shows. He has seen so much death, so much evil. His innocence was stolen from him early on. By He-who-must-not-be-named, those beastly muggle relatives of his, and I suppose, myself.
I rub my eyes. it's been ages since I last slept properly. The last time was after our first night together. I'd woken up in his arms in the late morning sunlight. It was probably the happiest I had ever been. He had kissed my forhead, and mumbled three simple words into my hair. Three of the most over-used words in the world. Three words that I had spent my life trying to convince myself that I didn't need. "I love you."
It is beginning to get light. The Gryffindor dorm is freezing, but never as cold as the dank Slytherin dungeons. Seamus begins snoring quietly, and Weasley mumbles something that sounds like 'Quidditch'. I'm going to have to go soon, his dorm-mates don't like me being here, in fact, they don't like me at all. Nothing has changed there, nor do I believe it ever will. He hasn't told them, I don't expect him to. We both have expectations to live up to. I suppose he'll probably end up married to Granger, or someone similar. And as for myself... Well, I hear that St. Mungo's is rather nice this time of year.
As silently as possible, I stand up, and make my way out of the Gryffindor tower. Pre-occupied with my thoughts, I fail to notice the foot-steps behind me, and suddenly, I am thrown against the cold stone wall. "What the fuck are you doing prowling around here?" I wince, having hit my head, and look into the eyes of my attacker. Ron glares down at me. "You can stay down in the Slytherin dungeons where you bloody well belong, and if I find out that you've been hanging around Harry again..." He trails off, and slams me against the wall again to emphisize his point. With that, he's gone again, leaving me alone, and decidedly rattled. He's always hated me, as I have him. I suppose he has finally worked out exactly what is going on.
Harry doesn't have to know about what just happened. He's better off with his friends, respectable, predictable Gryffindors. Call it giving in, call it whatever you like, but it's true. If it ever got out that the hero of our generation was... Well, playing for the other Quidditch team, so to speak, there would be uproar. As a general rule, magical folk are rather tolerant, but this would be another matter all together. It is expected of him to find a nice girl, and settle down. Just as it is expected of me.
With all this talk of our differences, I sometimes fail to notice our similarities. We are both the subject of much interest. He from the mainstream wizarding community, and I, myself, from the dark side. The pressure grows every day for me to accept my fate as a death-eater. Lucius Malfoy's heir become anything other than pure evil? It would be unheard of.
That whole topic is one that rarely leaves my mind. It would be so easy, initially, to just slip into the role. Accept my fate, and kiss the feet of my father's hero. I could do it, I could even make it believeable. But the problem would be internal. I would eventually go mad, being someone else's lap-dog, as my father is. That is the other vice I have inherited; pride.
I head slowly back towards the Slytherin common-room. The sun has almost risen, and the air is filled with that grey silence that comes with dawn. Another night without sleep, and still, I am no closer to a decision. Strictly speaking, Harry and I have ended our little... Arrangement. But he can't stick to that, and neither can I.
I close my eyes, and lean against the wall, right under a Slytherin banner. A silver snake, the symbol of Slytherin house glares maliciously out at anyone brave enough to meet its eye. Cold-blooded, cruel. Hello, father, had a nice seven years? Oh yes, I've been away at Hogwarts. Classes, Quidditch, homework, I've kept myself busy. I have a headache...
What I don't know, at this point, could fill a book. I don't know how I will go on my approaching Transfiguration final. I don't know that Ravenclaw will beat Hufflepuff in next week's game. I don't know that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, will watch me, with his gorgeous eyes, and gaze sadly at the ground whenever I pass. I don't know that we will probably never speak of what has passed between us, let alone ever return to it. Because at this point, I'm just trying to get by, I'm just Draco Malfoy. Who else could I be?
The world could be ending and I wouldn't notice. Or care. The beautiful, pale, sleeping boy in the bed is my world. The moonlight streams in and meanders over his features. When he is asleep, he looks so peaceful. Awake, and no matter how happy he is, sometimes you can catch a shadow of sadness in his intense green eyes.
I'm perched on the end of his bed in my old track-pants and a t-shirt with the Slytherin shield printed across my skinny chest. Right now, I hate this t-shirt; it is yet another reminder of how different we are, and all the things that are keeping us apart. It's bloody freezing, but I don't dare move. There is something holding me there, a thought, an idea that I can't quite put my finger on.
He fills my dreams, thoughts and hopes. I've never felt so much for one person, in my entire seventeen years. In a short time, I went from hating him, to being addicted to his very being. I'm ashamed when I think back to how I used to treat him, the things I said. I'd give anything to take them back, I swear. I admit, I was jelous of him. After all, he was the boy who lived, a hero, and I was just Draco Malfoy, the poor rich little bastard whom everybody knew was a death-eater in the making.
I remember our first kiss, I always will. That memory can never be tainted, not by the hatred from my peers, the indifference from my father, or rejection from my mother. Over the seemingly never-ending summer holidays, he is the only thing that keeps me wanting to live. Keeps me breathing. The Malfoy manor echoes with mother's bitter, biting words. She knows, of course, as mothers often do. She knows where my heart lies, and resents me for it. She would never speak of it, and perhaps that is for the best. After all, I can't begin to imagine what her despicable, rich, pure-blood friends would say if they found out that the Malfoy heir isn't quite the ladies-man his father predicted he would be. It was always my mother who controlled everything, not my father, like everyone thinks. It's rather strange, common knowledge is very rarely accurate.
But no, our first kiss was unlike anything I ever have, or will experience. He had come across me in one of the abandoned class-rooms, after a particularly nasty Howler from mother. I'm not ashamed to admit that I had been crying, mother's nasally toffee-nosed voice still ringing in my ears: "Draco, you're pure-blood, yet still not top of the year, beaten by a mud- blood..." And he'd come along, watched me with his brilliant emerald eyes, said nothing, until the act had dissolved, and I'd told him everything. I'd ended up on my knees, with him kneeling beside me, his slender hands lifting my face to meet his own. "I understand." He had whispered, and pressed his lips against my own.
He whimpers in his sleep and turns over. He does that often. He rarely tells me about his dreams, but every so often I hear names, words or phrases when he cries out. He's changed since our first encounter in Madame Malkin's. Not just physically, although, of course he would have, it's been six years. But more than that. He's aquired a burden, and it shows. He has seen so much death, so much evil. His innocence was stolen from him early on. By He-who-must-not-be-named, those beastly muggle relatives of his, and I suppose, myself.
I rub my eyes. it's been ages since I last slept properly. The last time was after our first night together. I'd woken up in his arms in the late morning sunlight. It was probably the happiest I had ever been. He had kissed my forhead, and mumbled three simple words into my hair. Three of the most over-used words in the world. Three words that I had spent my life trying to convince myself that I didn't need. "I love you."
It is beginning to get light. The Gryffindor dorm is freezing, but never as cold as the dank Slytherin dungeons. Seamus begins snoring quietly, and Weasley mumbles something that sounds like 'Quidditch'. I'm going to have to go soon, his dorm-mates don't like me being here, in fact, they don't like me at all. Nothing has changed there, nor do I believe it ever will. He hasn't told them, I don't expect him to. We both have expectations to live up to. I suppose he'll probably end up married to Granger, or someone similar. And as for myself... Well, I hear that St. Mungo's is rather nice this time of year.
As silently as possible, I stand up, and make my way out of the Gryffindor tower. Pre-occupied with my thoughts, I fail to notice the foot-steps behind me, and suddenly, I am thrown against the cold stone wall. "What the fuck are you doing prowling around here?" I wince, having hit my head, and look into the eyes of my attacker. Ron glares down at me. "You can stay down in the Slytherin dungeons where you bloody well belong, and if I find out that you've been hanging around Harry again..." He trails off, and slams me against the wall again to emphisize his point. With that, he's gone again, leaving me alone, and decidedly rattled. He's always hated me, as I have him. I suppose he has finally worked out exactly what is going on.
Harry doesn't have to know about what just happened. He's better off with his friends, respectable, predictable Gryffindors. Call it giving in, call it whatever you like, but it's true. If it ever got out that the hero of our generation was... Well, playing for the other Quidditch team, so to speak, there would be uproar. As a general rule, magical folk are rather tolerant, but this would be another matter all together. It is expected of him to find a nice girl, and settle down. Just as it is expected of me.
With all this talk of our differences, I sometimes fail to notice our similarities. We are both the subject of much interest. He from the mainstream wizarding community, and I, myself, from the dark side. The pressure grows every day for me to accept my fate as a death-eater. Lucius Malfoy's heir become anything other than pure evil? It would be unheard of.
That whole topic is one that rarely leaves my mind. It would be so easy, initially, to just slip into the role. Accept my fate, and kiss the feet of my father's hero. I could do it, I could even make it believeable. But the problem would be internal. I would eventually go mad, being someone else's lap-dog, as my father is. That is the other vice I have inherited; pride.
I head slowly back towards the Slytherin common-room. The sun has almost risen, and the air is filled with that grey silence that comes with dawn. Another night without sleep, and still, I am no closer to a decision. Strictly speaking, Harry and I have ended our little... Arrangement. But he can't stick to that, and neither can I.
I close my eyes, and lean against the wall, right under a Slytherin banner. A silver snake, the symbol of Slytherin house glares maliciously out at anyone brave enough to meet its eye. Cold-blooded, cruel. Hello, father, had a nice seven years? Oh yes, I've been away at Hogwarts. Classes, Quidditch, homework, I've kept myself busy. I have a headache...
What I don't know, at this point, could fill a book. I don't know how I will go on my approaching Transfiguration final. I don't know that Ravenclaw will beat Hufflepuff in next week's game. I don't know that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, will watch me, with his gorgeous eyes, and gaze sadly at the ground whenever I pass. I don't know that we will probably never speak of what has passed between us, let alone ever return to it. Because at this point, I'm just trying to get by, I'm just Draco Malfoy. Who else could I be?