For Jessie, my Draco/Harry obsessee. I promised you this!
Pretty Things
"I don't need, I don't need to hear you say
That if we weren't so alike, you'd like me a whole lot more"
They say that when it rain, it pours.
It's raining now. It's coming down in sheets against the dark glass windows. You can see the Forbidden Forest when the lightening flashes and it lights up the room, and there's your solitary figure, silhouetted against the window, only visible for a second, and in the distance there's thunder.
I left you standing there, too afraid of what you might say, or do.
Not knowing whether it had all been real or if it was just some kind of warped fantasy, another one of your one-night things.
You'd caught me by the wrist, leaving bruises with your fingertips pressing hard into my skin.
Frustration and confusion in those cold eyes, and said that if I told anyone then "…you'll be dead Potter."
I never told anyone.
I didn't tell them about the absolute hunger for it, for each other.
For the chance to do the unexpected, the immoral, to be the complete opposites of ourselves.
I didn't tell them about the desperation, and the shamelessness.
None of them had mattered then. It was consuming, lips and skin and heat.("…and they said you were such a cold person.")
It was irrational. But that's lust.
And it's enough to pass you in the halls and corridors. Glancing at me with unspoken shame, dropping your eyes, and I turn away and try to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach and tell myself that there is no "What could have been".
That it was a delusion, it was misplaced lust. And we'll both suffer, and we'll both yearn.
We were something. We were beautiful
Vanity is not always unbecoming.
We were want and need and scandal.
And now denial.
Of course there's denial.
Denying it ever happened, denying that you could possibly want more.
Denial, confusion, and the hurt.
We spurn each other for what happened, reassuring ourselves silently that it's not our fault, and it was a mistake. And then we return to normal. The enemies, Potter and Malfoy.
But they've noticed that we never seem to have the heart to fight one another anymore.
You sit at the window while I watch you, your head in your hands, trying not to cry again, so they won't wake up. And the moonlight coming in through the glass makes you seem all the more elegant, all the more cold.
Your silver blond hair runs through long pale fingers.
Your sorrow becomes you.
The lightening flashed once more and you turned, looking right at me, but seeing nothing.
And I realized that I was nothing to you.
I was your mistake.
And I left. Trying to leave all those notions and fantasies behind me when I silently closed the door. Wanting to forget it all. But these muffled sobs aren't helping.
We really could have been.
We're jaded, you and I.
"And it's you when I look in the mirrorAnd it's you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can't make it on your own
Sometimes you can't make it
The best you can do, is to fake it
Sometimes you can't make it on your own"
