Rated for saying damn a lot. Damn.
Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. In my mind. taps skull
Yep. It's all in there.
Draco Malfoy (that would be me, not you, or anyone else) was completely and utterly frustrated.
When would that annoying thing go away? Stupid eternally-untidy black hair. Stupid big green eyes glazing over whenever they land on me (which is most of the time, rest assured). Stupid titles, like "Chosen One", or "The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Drive-Me-Nutters", or if you're really tired of reading out names, 'git' always works. Pestering me endlessly . . .
It was bad enough that he had been throwing hexes at me whenever he got the opportunity, or attempting near-murder (by means of humiliation) 24/7. But no, NOOOOO that WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE BLOODY HERO! He just had to take it to the only possible WORSE level. Harry Potter, boy wonder, was smitten with me.
Honey I'll always love you
I promise I'll always love you
'Cause I think the whole world of you
And you can't change that no no
There's nothing you can do or say
I thought about this for many a day
And my mind's made up to feel this way
And you can't change that
He insisted on spying on me, on making physical contact whenever he pleased, on ANNOYING THE HELL OUT OF ME. He couldn't just pick some random person. Like usual, I was the one who ended up being smothered when I walk within fifty feet of him. I was the one who had him batting his lashes at me during potions like a buffoon. I was the one who had him sitting on my lap for all of dinner because he wouldn't get off. I swear, even after I'd successfully sprouted tentacles on his face, he still wouldn't leave. It really made me lose my appetite. I'M STILL HUNGRY DAMMIT. Plus he kept leaving me those stupid muggle song lyrics . . .
'Cause you're the only one I love
And you can't change that
You're the only one I need
And you can't change that
(You're the one I love)
You're the only one I love
And you can't change that
You're the only one I need
And you can't change that
Now you can try if you want to
I, Draco Malfoy, was taking all measures necessary to be sure that prat stayed away from me. I had even tried desperately to persuade my mother to let us move so he couldn't find me after school was over, or block out the Floo Network connected to my chambers, but somehow he had found out. And sent me those bloody lyrics. What the hell is a telephone number anyways?
You can change your telephone number
And you can change your address too
But you can't stop me from loving you no
You can't change that no no
HOW HAD HE KNOWN? Hm . . . was he checking my mail? No, no, that couldn't be. I'll have to train my owl to attack black-haired, green-eyed, me-obsessed guys . . . well, that could really cut into my weekend . . . whatever. Anyways, I'm rambling. Since my mother refused to move, or remove the Floo Network from my room (and locked away all potential fireplace-removing instruments), I was forced to think differently. I had gone to extreme lengths; lengths that no Malfoy had ever gone to before . . . I, the great Julius Dracus Malfoycus, had worn a wig. YES, I know, it was horrible. But that would never be enough to fool the Boy-Who-Stalked. I had bought several new outfits, all of un-me-ish style. They were greatly leaning towards the "I'm-hardcore-get-the-hell-away" look, but with a hint of "Shut-up-or-I'll-Crucio-you". You would've thought that would do the trick, what with the words boldly printed on my shirt : I AM NOT DRACO MALFOY. But somehow that git had known that it was me, even though my shirt clearly stated I was not and I was wearing a shoulder-length black wig. The look rather suited me, I mean the hair had a ton of bounce . . . anyways . . .
So that evening, when I was attempting to sneak food past the wig so no one could see my face (I'd had to endure strange looks all day and had passed notes to teachers stating my problem), my still-untrained-at-attacking-that-pest owl swooped in with a ruddy letter. And that ruddy letter had those ruddy lyrics.
You can change the color of your hair
And you can change the clothes you wear
But you'll never change the way I care
No you can't change that
I had looked up at the perpetrator of said RUDDY LETTER and he was staring at me attempting to suppress a grin, but when that did not work he began giggling uncontrollably and fell off the bench. I wasn't going to complain, I mean at least I couldn't see him anymore . . . but then he had somehow appeared under my table and crawled up into my lap and hugged the living daylights out of me. STILL GIGGLING. I had looked around for help, ANY help, but when I turned to the staff table, they were all just staring at me with great amusement. Bloody headmaster with his bloody twinkling eyes and his bloody mouth twitching at the corner. And my Head of House wasn't much help either, stupid Snape just sitting there with that stupid "I'm-going-to-use-this-for-blackmail" smirk aimed in my direction. It was at this point, when I was glaring very intensely at said staff members, that Potter took advantage of my distraction and planted one on my cheek. He then promptly ran away before I got the chance to bash his messy head in. I was so shocked that he was half-way out of the Great Hall before I recovered and stood up, flung the ruddy wig at Snape (it landed on Flitwick), and high-tailed it off after Potter, emitting an enraged battle cry at the top of my lungs. I was going to make him pay.
Of course I didn't catch him. Stupid git.
The next day I had refused to get out of bed. This resulted in Crabbe and Goyle dragging me out from under the sheets, dressing me themselves (in my normal clothes, thank Merlin), and me being hauled off to breakfast in the clutches of those trolls. For some reason I think they enjoyed the suffering inflicted upon me by that bugger.
They wedged me between themselves, shoved toast in my face, and kept me in that bloody Hall long enough to see Potter giggling at me again before lugging me to class. Let's just say that day ended in several bruises from my constant bids for freedom.
And you can try if you want (Try me baby)
You can try but you can't change that
(You're the one I love)
You can try but you can't change that
(You're the one)
Over the next couple weeks I endured many more attacks from Potter and bruises from Crabbe and Goyle. Stupid Snape wouldn't even do anything to him when the bugger spent all of Potions just staring at me, without blinking. Snape would just sit at his desk with a very smug look and occasionally let slip a bit of maniacal laughter. Bloody git.
Then, the day had come. Valentine's Day. The single worst day ever. But I, being ooberly smarticle, had a plan. A plan which included letting Pansy Parkinson (shudder) be my valentine. Mwahahaha . . .
What I hadn't expected, not at all, was what happened.
I had walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, conveniently ignoring the apparent hurricane of pink, with my arm around a conveniently smitten Pansy Parkinson. Well, she wasn't as bad as Potter, I'll have to admit. You know, with the stalking and such. I happily munched some toast.
And me, being so happy about having a reason to tell Potter to stay away, didn't notice what had happened until there was only a blurred, teary-eyed figure scrambling out of the Hall and several over-turned platters scattered on the floor. Everyone turned instinctively towards me, and upon seeing my arm around Pansy, I received a Hall-full of glares. Damn. Even Snape looked remotely affected.
It was now that I mentally punched myself in the face, and made a note to Avada Kedavra myself at the next opportunity. It was a mental note, of course. Acting upon some very-nearly-never-heard-of-existing-in-me instinct, I let go of Pansy and ran out of the Hall after Potter. Whole damn Hall watched me too. Damn them. Damn . . .
Anyways. I, acting upon said instinct, found who I was looking for in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I could hear him practically choking up a lung and possibly several other vital organs from within the stall at the end. Why was I doing this? No clue. Was I sane? Probably not. But nonetheless, I walked my tushy over there, yanked open the stall door, received a very-shocked look from Potter (who surprisingly looked very cute after practically sobbing to death), and whipped him into my arms in a gi-normous hug. He was so surprised that he didn't do anything for a near ten seconds, then began promptly bawling into my robes. Great. All I could think of to do was stroke his ridiculously downy hair and say, "It's okay, it's okay . . ." over and over. He calmed down after a few minutes, then began hiccupping. Why hadn't I noticed how adorable he was before? Damn self. Damn hiccups. THEY'RE TOO DAMN CUTE. Then he looked up at me with those damn shining emerald orbs with the cutest most innocent look on his face, still hiccupping of course. I wasn't about to waste any time, so I made haste and flung myself straight into a snogging session with Harry Bloody Potter. Damn.
He sits on my lap at every meal now, with permission.