Title: Curiosity

Rating: PG-13 to be safe…

Warning: Draco x Harry, homophobes get out.

Disclaimers: Nothing is mine. All characters and terms are property of (insert so-and-so)_________.

Comments: This kind of sucks—that annoys me a little of course. It's Draco x Harry, and I've repeated that twice. I will not tolerate flames attacking my choice of pairings.

Curiosity

Doesn't it ever hurt you? The world, I mean. Or do they fall at your feet? Like the rest of the school, and perhaps, the Slytherins, had I not shown such an intense dislike of you?

Does the world love you? Do they... try their best to give you what you want? Is that why you're—you seem… happy?

Why do they love you? Is it that scar you carry or is it that your last name is 'Potter'? Perhaps because you play Quidditch so well? Or that you're kind? That you love Muggle-borns and Mudbloods and Muggles and Squibs and house-elves and and-- everything?

Is it because you're always happy? Is it because you're funny and witty and and—everything that I'm not? Is it because you're perpetually surrounded by the sunlight? Is it?

                Is it because you defeated the Dark Lord? Is that why… or is it? Or maybe… you're you… your very own person—strong and upright, independent and—and—just you.

                You're such a bitch, Potter. You're out there in the sun, with talent and admiration and friends… even if they're paupers and Mudbloods and filthy Squibs… and I'm down here, right in the dungeons, wallowing in self pity and darkness and death and so much pure blood…

                …Does Weasely kiss you? You're too good for him… How does he kiss you? Does he kiss you chastely, on the cheek or forehead, or does he kiss you on the lips—hard and strong and demanding and hot—and do you arch in deeper and run your graceful fingers through that obnoxious red hair of his and then do you snake your arms around him and hold him tight and let him have his way with you as you pant and moan and writhe and squirm…?

                Sometimes… just sometimes, I see you looking at me, unwavering and piercing. And those looks freeze me and make me feel warm all over. I thrive on those stolen looks… Like during meals, you'd look at me from all the way on the other side—and then I'd feel alive, just those rare instances, and—you make me want to—want to—clamp my nails into the soft skin of your shoulders and drag you up and knock those glasses from your face and kiss you hard, kiss you so hard you'd have fresh bruises blossoming on your lips—and you make me want to bite you and suck you and lick you all over until you cry out my name in pain… my hated name…

                I… I don't know if I hate you or love you, Potter—you shouldn't play with the likes of me. I'm poison—a draught of death… I'm dangerous and wild—and I'd kill you if I had the chance. I'd suck your soul out with one kiss—I'd eat you from inside—I'd turn you blood black and make your heart rot. I'd cut you open with my teeth and serve you to the devil—I'd—I'd do to you what I'm doing to myself

I can't—not anymore… can't live this way—

The hour is closing in on me. Tick-tick-tick-tick is all I hear. I can feel a breeze… in that breeze is a smell of foul blood.

So now, if you don't mind—I'll just sit here and, as the blood flows, watch you…

~finis