You insufferable ponce.
You, you pretentious prick.
How dare you. How dare you turn the name Draco Malfoy into the mockery of the Slytherin House!
I see them, I see them staring at me, watching me. They're watching me I tell you! They know things noone should. Things noone could know, Potty! I don't care what you say! They all know!
And I don't care if you're Harry "The-bloody-git-who-lived" Pothead! You have no right to turn me into, into this... thing! You have no right! I am the sole heir of the Malfoy fortunes! A Pureblood of the highest breeding! How dare you make me...
How dare you enter my thoughts against my will. How dare you fill my dreams with those haunting, startling, beautiful green eyes of yours. How dare you fill my mind at all hours of the day with images of your lean, strong tan body atop my own. How dare you make it impossible for me to remove your sent from my clothes, my hair, my body...
...my memory.
I can't forget, I can't forget what it's like to feel you moving inside me, filling me and bringing me so painfully slow to my climax I want to tear your scarred skin to shreds. Skin that has been subjugated to the most inhumane and primitive of tortures and yet still so responsive to the slightest of touches.
My touch.
I revel in the knowledge that I can bring the same pleasure to you that you arouse in me. I hate you for making me believe I'm the only one that can do this to you. I know I can't be the only one, I know I know I know that if I saw anyone take you to the same places I've taken you, I'd die. I'd let the Womping Willow tear my body to shreds and toss the pieces out for the wind to scatter to the Forbidden Forest.
You terrify me.
You control me in ways that noone has. I let you twist me, turn me, contort me in ways I never thought possible and all singlehandedly. With a look you turn me into an obedient shadow of my former self, but noone can ever now this. Not even you. The minute I see you I must put on my mask and trace the steps of my well choreographed dance as to never let you know of how deep my obsession runs.
Our nightly rendevous, our long hours spent covered in the ancient potion that is the mixture of our sweat, the confessions uttered into each others ears must be our little secret. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle, or the Granger girl and her pet Weasel can know. Not yet. Not ever.
They can never know how well you know every curve and dip of my body, or the reactions you will receive by touching certain parts.
I am raveled up in you. Lost in a sea of emeralds I don't think I'll ever be able to escape your stare, your caress. I know you want to scream it from the top of the Astronomy Tower, but you wont. You wont because you want to protect me. Did it ever occur to you that I want to keep this hidden to protect you? You, the angel of the public eye, demon in the sheets with the son of a Death Eater who is currently sitting in Azkaban? Do you know what would happen to you? Do you? Voldemort would try to use me to get to you, your followers would turn from you and the papers, my God Harry, the papers would pick you apart! I can't see that happen to you, I...
There, you almost made me say it again.
Boy, you do interesting things to me.
My outer appearance is the same as it always was; cold, quick and calculating with a self righteous sneer.
But me? I'm differant now, you've changed me, I think. Or is this who I've always been, and I've worn the mask for so long I've forgotten who I really am; a sheep in wolf's clothing.
Does this make you the real evil here? Does this mean that you're the manipulative, conniving ponce here? Have you been stringing me along? Wrapping me tighter and tighter around those perfect fingers that I've allowed to travel along my skin? What are your intentions? Perhaps I'm the key you need to unlock the door to Voldemort. Perhaps Snape told you how close I am to the inner circle. Perhaps.
Or maybe you don't give a rats ass about your supposed destiny. Maybe you have your own sick and twisted reasons for holding me the way you do. Kissing me and stroking me in ways that make me want to tell you all of my dark little secrets. Maybe.
Maybe.
