Maybe...
Harry Potter has the gall to want normality. He has it all. He can go anywhere he wants and be seen with anyone he wants, without worrying about standards or the family name. Harry Potter can dance with any girl and kiss her if he likes. His parents loved him enough to die for him. My parents would kill me if Lord Voldemort so wished.
Potter's summers may be bad, but they can't compare with vacation at Malfoy Manor. My father wanted an heir that would grow up to be just like him. I was meant for a Death Eater from the cradle. Not many people know it, but my middle name is Voldemort. Father had high ambitions, but nobody asked me.
Nobody ever asks me. At Christmas Father sent me an owl practically ordering me to take Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball. Advantageous family connections. He would have sent me 'Avada Kedavra' by owl post if I'd told him I wanted to ask a Mudblood Gryffindor.
Although I despise Weasley for the way he treats Hermione, I do far worse. It's so easy to fall back on snide remarks instead of betraying my true feelings. But while I'm insulting her teeth I want so desperately to run my hands through her hair and hold her close to me and kiss her forever.
Sometimes I wish that, just for one instant, I could forget she's a Mudblood and she could forget my surname is Malfoy and we could just be Draco and Hermione, Hermione and Draco. And I want that instant to go on forever.
Hermione. Her name rolls off my tongue though I want to hold it forever. Hermione means 'eloquent.' She's never said anything nice to me, but she can slap me and hex me and call me names: I'll come back for more. I love the sound of her voice. Love is resilient, right.
I'll never survive this. I should have stayed a ferret. At least, maybe, she thought Draco the white-blond ferret was cute. And maybe, if we'd been alone, she might have picked Draco the ferret up and cuddled him and kissed his nose, the way she does with that cat of hers. What I'd give to be that cat. It sleeps in her bed.
You've got it bad, Malfoy. Not a one of these wild fancies of yours is going to come true. Hermione Granger will never look at you with anything more than a glare and you will never have a chance with her.
But maybe. . .
maybe,
maybe,
maybe.
My life is made of maybes that have never been and will never be. But that could change. Maybe.
Draco Malfoy
Author's Note: Draco belongs to Ms. Rowling, who could make him nicer, but then he wouldn't be the Draco we all know and (some of us) love. If she ever wants to sell, I have first dibs. The story is mine. I appriciate reviews of all sorts, even flames, but if you flame me, I will flame back. I didn't spend all that time in Knockturn Alley for nothing. This story is for Tom Felton, who looks to be a superb Draco. I can't wait to see him as Slytherin Seeker(my Quidditch team and position of choice.)
Harry Potter has the gall to want normality. He has it all. He can go anywhere he wants and be seen with anyone he wants, without worrying about standards or the family name. Harry Potter can dance with any girl and kiss her if he likes. His parents loved him enough to die for him. My parents would kill me if Lord Voldemort so wished.
Potter's summers may be bad, but they can't compare with vacation at Malfoy Manor. My father wanted an heir that would grow up to be just like him. I was meant for a Death Eater from the cradle. Not many people know it, but my middle name is Voldemort. Father had high ambitions, but nobody asked me.
Nobody ever asks me. At Christmas Father sent me an owl practically ordering me to take Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball. Advantageous family connections. He would have sent me 'Avada Kedavra' by owl post if I'd told him I wanted to ask a Mudblood Gryffindor.
Although I despise Weasley for the way he treats Hermione, I do far worse. It's so easy to fall back on snide remarks instead of betraying my true feelings. But while I'm insulting her teeth I want so desperately to run my hands through her hair and hold her close to me and kiss her forever.
Sometimes I wish that, just for one instant, I could forget she's a Mudblood and she could forget my surname is Malfoy and we could just be Draco and Hermione, Hermione and Draco. And I want that instant to go on forever.
Hermione. Her name rolls off my tongue though I want to hold it forever. Hermione means 'eloquent.' She's never said anything nice to me, but she can slap me and hex me and call me names: I'll come back for more. I love the sound of her voice. Love is resilient, right.
I'll never survive this. I should have stayed a ferret. At least, maybe, she thought Draco the white-blond ferret was cute. And maybe, if we'd been alone, she might have picked Draco the ferret up and cuddled him and kissed his nose, the way she does with that cat of hers. What I'd give to be that cat. It sleeps in her bed.
You've got it bad, Malfoy. Not a one of these wild fancies of yours is going to come true. Hermione Granger will never look at you with anything more than a glare and you will never have a chance with her.
But maybe. . .
maybe,
maybe,
maybe.
My life is made of maybes that have never been and will never be. But that could change. Maybe.
Draco Malfoy
Author's Note: Draco belongs to Ms. Rowling, who could make him nicer, but then he wouldn't be the Draco we all know and (some of us) love. If she ever wants to sell, I have first dibs. The story is mine. I appriciate reviews of all sorts, even flames, but if you flame me, I will flame back. I didn't spend all that time in Knockturn Alley for nothing. This story is for Tom Felton, who looks to be a superb Draco. I can't wait to see him as Slytherin Seeker(my Quidditch team and position of choice.)