Disclaimer: I do not in any way own JK Rowling's "fictional" characters. If I did, Harry and Draco would be shagging like bunnies by now--or in anyway do I own James Blunt's "You're Beautiful".

A/N: This is my second story, and I hope you enjoy! By the way, I DO need a beta, so message me if you're interested!

Touch the Sky

My life is brilliant. My life is brilliant. My love is pure.

Today is the happiest day of my life. I suppose it's because you bought me a gift. And, if I say that, I would be lying through my teeth. What has got me jumping for joy, with wonders flying throughout my head, are three simple words. I love you.

You said it back today; I very nearly cried there. It could've been a cruel joke played out by—you, of course. But no, you looked at me with eyes of slate grey—pure with unrelenting love, it was sincere. Whispered, uttered, those three words that sometimes mean nothing. This time, I convinced myself—it was real.

I saw an angel. Of that I'm sure. You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true.

You know, you really are pretty. Surreal, almost, like someone scattered angel dust on your body. You skin is unblemished, smooth, creamy. It is pure alabaster—the most rich and expensive, of course. You even have a head of flaxen silk, catering to your every whim, whether it's up or down—every strand perfect, of course. When you stand, you're a tower—not only are you a few inches above me; you radiate surges of class and power. You are an aristocrat, of course.

I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do,

I saw you at one of their meetings, once. Only once—never do I want to see (or hear) those hideous words spill from your mouth again. That must be your only flaw. Heaven forbid! You killed that 4 year-old girl's parents. How could you! The only thing in my mind that even made it past my lips when you got home—murderer! I know what its like to be an orphan. She has no one. But, I forgave you—again, of course.

Yeah, you caught my eye, as we walked on by. You could see from my face that I was, fucking high.

Have I mentioned—you're a fucking drug? You're my crack. I need you—can't live without it, can barely afford it. You make me scream, cry, laugh. Ecstasy flows through my blood. You're my poison. We talked about this once. You told me I was insane—stupid even, of course.

And I don't think that I'll see you again, but we shared a moment that will last till the end.

No! I cried. You said they were attacking tomorrow. I screamed, I punched you—I made you bleed, I made you hurt. I controlled you. I nearly killed you. I think that would've been a nicer fate. We shared one night, you said you love me.

The next day, you put on that disgusting mask, tied your hair back, and the robes—you looked like your father. I told you that. You slapped me and cried, "Never!" I held my cheek and locked my eyes with yours. You looked at me with grave eyes and I nodded. This was a 'Goodbye' not an 'I'll see you later'. Or so we thought…

You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true.

Only the truly beautiful can look surreally stunning in death. A blow—green like my eyes struck you from the back. I screamed. My best friend killed you—my lover, of course. Irony's a bitch and she hates me. I toyed with it in my head. My best friend killed my lover... I lifted my arm, and killed him too. I wanted to see him on the other side as well, we needed to talk. I looked around for the cruel, unforgiving man that started it all. I stabbed him—with my wand…how anti-climatic, of course.

Then, I looked for the second man…Harry-fucking-Potter, the boy-who-wouldn't-bloody-die. After, it finally sunk in. I rolled it around on my tongue. Then, I yelled it, "My best friend killed my lover—Draco Malfoy," the whole war, stopped, of course, how fucking typical. They watched as the boy-who-lived, took his own life. What could've been…

There must be an angel with a smile on her face, when she thought up that I should be with you.

We shared laughs, smiles, and even happy times—a rose given, a nice dinner, our two-year anniversary. Nights alone, they were peaceful. Trysts in closets in between our meetings, which was enjoyable. It was forbidden. It was adrenaline. It was a way of life. It is my life.

But it's time to face the truth; I will never be with you.

It's simple, you're going to Heaven—you're an angel. I'm going to Hell. They never meet. One day, love, one day, Heaven and Hell will combine. Because I'll freeze Hell over—I'm the boy-who-lived. I will touch the sky.