Warning: SLASH male/male pairing DM x HP one sided. PG-13 for swearing.
Disclaimer: Nuh uh, I won't be writing this shit if they are mine. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter and the rest of the characters belonged to Mrs. J.K Rowling and her associates
Credits: the title shamelessly taken from U2's 'Hold me Thrill Me Kiss me Kill me' song title. This story is brought to you by G.Arnet and Beta-ed by Lacey Jackson (Thank you so much)
Hold me, Thrill Me, Kiss me, Kill me
C & P by G.Arnet, 2003
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/I hate you/
/I hate you Harry Potter/
There was one thing Draco Malfoy hated the most. It was one Harry Potter, the boy-who-just-couldn't-die-no-matter-on-how-many-times-the-Dark-Lord-tried-to-kill-him, also known as the Savior of the Wizarding Bible.
In the early morning rain, the green-eyed boy sat between his two sidekicks, that Mudblood Granger and the Weasel. Draco snorted as he watched the object of his hatred from across the room. Potter was smiling happily even in the grey morning while chattering with the rest of those Gryffindorks. If only decency would allow him to throw up he would spill his breakfast, preferably on Parkinson's lap. Hah, that would teach the bitch a lesson. The annoying cow started cozying up on him every chance she got. Draco shivered from top to bottom. It was a good thing he came early and sat between Zambini and Nott. At least /they/ would leave him alone.
Draco watched Potter swilled his spoon in his creamed pancake and brought it back to his full, red, lush mouth and ate the lucky shit with his eyes closed. Potter hummed contentedly, and Draco swore he could tell that Potter was exploring, clean-licking the spoon with his tongue, enjoying every last bit of the cream and let the spoon out with a pop after a full minute. Potter opened his smiling eyes and cheerfully dug in some more. His green eyes sparkled behind the thick-rimmed and round glasses. The brown highlight of his unruly black hair gave him a roguish look and the reflective light added a soft glow on Potter's copper skin, softening his feature. Draco gripped his fork harder as if he was ready to stab the cheeky Gryffindor with it, and maybe slice that sunny grin in this semi-dark morning out from his face. He shifted his gaze and landed on Pansy Parkinson who flirted with him when their eyes met with her eyelashes and sweetened smile. Draco shuddered and /really/ wanted to throw up right now.
With Pansy mooning over him on the opposite direction and with dumb and dumber on either side of her, he might just do that. No wonder he preferred looking else where, with company like them, anyone would loose their appetite. Not that he /intended/ to look at Potty, no, not at all. He was just spying, yes, that was it, spying indeed.
Draco's silver blue eyes darted back at the Gryffindor table
Potter's seeker hand grabbed his glass filled with cold cocoa, almost caressing it like it was his lover.
Potter broke the bread into two almost too gently with care and concentration.
Potter was licking his lips and tasting the after taste of sweets on his mouth.
No, Draco was not looking, no, not at all.
/Indeed/
A voice in his head sneered.
/Oh, shut up/
Draco glared across the room. If looks could kill, Potter might be completely, utterly dead right now.
/I hate you Potter/
/I really hate you/
/You and your self-righteousness/
/You and your fucking luck/
/You and your sacrifices for the good old Wizarding world that does nothing but sacrifice a sixteen year old boy, wanting you to be their savior/
/You and your beliefs of tomorrow will come/
/You. Are. A. Gryffindor/
/A Martyr/
/Next time, you know, they will call a painter to paint you with all your glory, with your body to be crucifix, with the bloody details, sagged rotting skin and thorn crown/
/You are a star of this elegy/
/People don't know what they want. One day they worship you, the next they outcast you, but I will always hate you /
/Thought you should know/
He sneered.
/But you couldn't hear me anyway, nor you would listen to me/
He got up gracefully he learned well from his father, he glided to the main entrance. He glanced one more time at the Gryffindor table, discreetly.
/One day, we will stand on the opposite sides, bearing different marks/
On one spring day, with the warm spring breeze, the two armies would stand on the green grass on the moor. The soil would smell misty from rain. The flowers would bloom perfectly.
/One day, we will stand on the opposite sides, you wearing white, and I a black cloak/
His lips curled into a sinister smirk and he turned around and took his way out.
/And the tip of your wand will point at my chest, and mine at thee/
His last foot steps echoed on the hall, scraping the floor and then it faded away.
/I hate you. I'll kill you/
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-- fin?
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