Loving Draco Malfoy is not as simple as it seems. When you love Draco Malfoy, you love every shattered broken piece, no matter how cruel or beautiful they may be.

Draco Malfoy is what one would call an oxymoron. His words are made of milk and honey, and his words are made of sand and grains of glass.

Loving Draco Malfoy is like loving a forest fire, and the raging sea. Loving Draco is like loving a world of oxymorons. That is something that Harry has come to expect.

Draco Malfoy is beautiful and broken and so, so spectacular in every fragmented bit.

Loving Draco Malfoy is also loving every tiny mangled piece of yourself.

They will be in bed and it will be so goddamn early in the morning but they will be awake, and they will lay there and realize that their broken pieces are slowly mending.

He says I am sorry I am not an easy person to want I look at him surprised who said I wanted easy I don't crave easy I crave goddamn difficult.

Loving Draco Malfoy is fighting wars against your friends for him. Your friends who are stuck in the past, reminiscing on the sins of a father who never said no. It is an abuse all it's own, and they don't understand. Loving Draco Malfoy is having the willpower to stay when your best friend would rather you fuck his little sister than somebody you love.

Loving Draco Malfoy is accepting his sins, and spilling forth your own. It is accepting that a child loves his father dearly, but is also so very terrified of him. It is finally telling the exact details of the abuse you faced at the hands of people who were supposed to love you.

Loving Draco Malfoy is like loving the sun and the moon, loving tornadoes and soft breezes. Harry decides that maybe loving Draco Malfoy is the best thing to ever happen to him.