Understand
Disclaimer: Kate doesn't own Draco or Harry. Or anyone. Except Emily. Kate most definitely owns Emily.
A/N: another story. But no, it was not written by me. It was written by Kate! And since I am so nice, I decided to let her use my account, because of stupid "wait 3 days before you can post" thing. So. Here is a one shot written by Kate. It will not be continued, because plots are for losers. Read. Review. Have fun.
He tries too hard, and he always has. He tries too hard to understand me, but
he always ends up just flashing that small smile that states his confusion clear
as day. He shouldn't strain himself trying to understand me, I don't blame him
for not being able to. How could he, when his friends are those readable
simpletons Weasel and Granger?
He's much too pure to be hanging around the likes of me. Oh, yes, I know he's
the Boy Who Lived, who miraculously survived the Killing Curse and has fought
more evil than a lot of the Aurors at the Ministry. And yet, somehow, he
retains a veil of innocence, almost naivete. I don't know how he does it. He
shouldn't be hanging around me, no, not Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, a
notorious Death Eater. I'll put a smudge on his crystal-clean reputation.
I know I should end this odd little 'relationship' we have going on. It'd be
much better for him. If someone found out about our little flings in the Room
of Requirement between classes, he'd be completely screwed over... no pun
intended. He'd probably be shunned by all of the Gryffindor house, because one:
I'm a Slytherin, and we all know that Slytherins are evil scum from the bottom
of the ocean and deserve to burn in the firey pits of hell for all eternity, and
two: I'm not a female, last time I checked. For some reason, I doubt that those
"noble" Gryffindors would be willing to except that their Golden Boy is gay and
will never have little Potter babies they can worship.
Nope, he's too busy sneaking into my dorm in the dead of night so I can fuck him
up the ass and dominate him just like he likes it-- Wrists tied to the posts of
my bed with striped Slytherin ties our uniforms require (ugly things, they are),
whispering sweet nothings into his ear and leaving hickeys on that little pale
neck of his. I can't believe no one has noticed he's taken a recent liking to
turtlenecks. Gryffindors are remarkably thick.
Shockingly, Harry isn't really as dominant as most girls fantasize he is. Oh,
no, little Harry likes to be tied down and used like my own little whore,
letting me leave bite marks over that Quidditch-player physique, fingernail
marks down his back and ropeburn on his wrists. I make him moan and squirm and
whimper my name-- and he loves every minute of it. And always comes back for
more.
I should be a good Malfoy, like Lucius. I should follow in his footsteps like
he will eventually force me to, become a Death Eater, and use Harry's
"attachment" to me against him. It'd be so easy, lure him right to Voldemort
and he could be dead before he realized I tricked him. I should do that. I
should go to Voldemort and inform him of our relationship and I could be top
dog. I have Harry wrapped around my finger, and I could kill him so easily. I
could have all the power. I could be Voldemort's right-hand man. I could have
the world as my oyster.
But I can't do it.
I can't do that to Harry. All I have to do is look into those pretty green eyes
of his when he's tied down on my bed, looking back at me with something that
almost resembles love-- more like lust and need and adoration and gratefullness
and probably some other unnamed emotions rolled together --and I can't do it. I
couldn't give him up to Voldemort. I don't love him, no, at least I don't think
I do, but I... I need him. I know that sounds like a cheap romance novel, but I
do. Our little fucks are all I have to look forward to, even though I know
they're wrong. If Lucius found out, Harry would be dead faster than you could
say "Don't kill my gay lover." I don't think he realizes how much danger I'm
putting him in, that I'm fully aware of this danger, and that I don't plan on
stopping our flings anytime soon.
Harry Potter is an addiction I can't break, no matter how hard I try. I need
him, I want him, he's my cocaine, my heroin, my drug of choice.
He doesn't know any of this. He probably never will. And he still tries to
understand me.
I wish he'd stop.