One thing I had decided to myself: Potter could never, ever know who was sending him those notes. I had said too many things, told him too much. If he ever found out if was me writing all those things, then he'd know… everything. And I had no doubt that he'd tell someone. Be it Dumbledore, Lupin, or the Mudblood or Weasley, he would tell someone the things I'd said. I couldn't risk that.
And yet… I wanted him to know. I had stopped going out of my way to get at him and his friends, ever since that day. Life for both of us was already hard enough. Me with no friends worth speaking of, and Potter with no friends who truly understood; neither of us needed a bitter enemy.
Not that I'm friends with him or anything. I am not his friend. I don't admire him. I don't empathize with him. My fondest wish is for his painful death.
My mantra. I chant it every night before I write my father my daily letter of report, and again before I go to sleep. And yet, the next morning, it's forgotten, and all I can think about is what Potter had written on my parchment, out by my tree.
The night before, I had written something odd on our parchment. For once, I hadn't been able to come up with a poem. So, instead, for some insane reason, "I know who you are."
I was my dorm room, lying on my bed, reading his reply.
I don't know who you are. I don't care. Finding somebody who… There was a break in the words, and I could almost see Potter biting his lip as he tried to come up with something to say. I'm sure you understand. I don't know who you are. But I know that whoever you are, I'd never be able to guess. You can keep a secret too well. You are so deep that you can bury your identity and nobody will ever be able to find it. I supposed that was a compliment. I don't want to know who you are. But I don't want this to end, either. Maybe poetry isn't supposed to be a hero's forte, but it's so controlled.
I knew what he meant. Being able to put feelings into the boundaries of a poem, a real poem not "free verse" which is just uncontrolled emotion, which doesn't help the reader or the writer.
What happens after? After school ends, after everything… ends. You know who I am, so you know that my friends, Ron and Hermy, will be gone. I can write letters, but what can I tell them? I am so relieved to find somebody who can look at things the exact same way I do, without the focus being on looking from my point of view. I know I'm making no sense, but I'm not feeling very sensible right now. What do you think? I know you'll have to go home, home to people who don't understand you, just like me. What will happen after all this ends? What happens after?
If Ron and Hermione ever find out I'm trusting a stranger more than I'm trusting them, they'd hate me.
And if they ever found out you were trusting Draco Malfoy more than them, they'd kill you.
Then again, if my parents found out that Harry Potter trusted me, they'd kill you too. They'd use me to kill you.
If they found out I trusted you, we'd both be dead.
I scribbled on the back of the paper.
It's a good question that has no answer. Everything will end. It's just a question of when and how.
I left the parchment out by the tree, and went to breakfast with muddy shoes and cloudy thoughts.
What happens when it ends?
Do we go back to where it began?
Back before we both ran,
Away from all the rainstorms send?
Do we give up hope of laughter,
Do we start the whole thing over,
Or become a dark world rover,
Wondering what happens after?
I was sitting in the hall, scribbling down something pointless. Potter's phrasing had struck something in me, something that needed to be written down. Potter could do it better than I could. I was better at finding force behind the poem, but Potter was better at shaping it. If that makes any sense.
Potter and his friends walked by at that moment. And I'll swear to anyone who listens, I was planning on ignoring them. Weasley, however, was already looking my way and grinning wickedly.
"Whatcha doing, Malfoy? Looking for friends among the other beetles?"
"Ron, don't provoke him!" Granger hissed.
I stood up. "You have something to say to me, Weasel? Better say it now, you can't afford the paper it would take to owl it to me."
"I'd rather have no money at all no brains or no friends," he said. I felt a sting at his last words, but brushed it off.
"Too bad you have all three. Oh, I forgot, you've got the Mudblood and Golden Boy Potter to pity you, which I suppose counts as friendship. Two outta three isn't bad, though."
Weasley started towards me. "Say that again, you little bastard."
"I don't repeat myself for Weasels. Waste of good air."
He lunged at me, but both Potter and Granger dropped what they were carrying to grab at him before he got more than a step or two.
I smirked as, with a scowl so dark it would've taken a rather large torch to lighten it, Weasley turned and started to help his friends pick up their books and papers. "Temper, temper, Weasel. Wouldn't want to get another Howler from Mommy-Frumpikins, now would you?"
Granger laid a hand on Weasley's, and he didn't turn around. I snickered. Poor Weasley, couldn't realize that he had absolutely nothing on me, and any time he tried to insult me I could fling it back at him ten times worse.
As I turned away, I heard Granger ask, "Harry, what's this?"
A cold hand ran a finger down my spine as Granger started to read, "I don't know who you are, I don't care."
I whirled around and saw Harry, looking very pale, yelped, "Give me that!" while thrusting his hand forward to snatch the paper much as he tried to grab the golden Snitch.
Granger moved out of his grasp, and kept reading. "Finding somebody who-" She started to read silently.
"Got it!" Harry snatched it from her hands.
"Harry, did I see my name on there?"
"What is it, Harry?" Weasley butted in.
"I don't know," Granger replied, as Harry didn't seem to be responding, "but I saw our names on there. What is it, Harry?"
"Let me see!" Weasley tried to grab it from Harry, who held it behind his back. Granger was grabbing for it, though, and he'd lose it within minutes.
If Granger and Weasley read that, they'd realize that he didn't trust them. And he wouldn't have any friends at all. We wouldn't be in the same position anymore, he'd be worse off. I don't know if I felt sorry for him, or if I just didn't want to have to feel sorry for him.
"That's mine," I said cooly.
"Is not!" All three of them chimed at once, Harry looking even more horrified at the thought of "The Evil Draco Malfoy" reading his most personal thoughts.
"I hear the noise of many waters,
Making moan,
Sad as the sea bird is when going
Forth alone."
His eyes widened as I spoke. I didn't dare look at Granger or Weasley, for fear what they thought would scare me out of saying what had to be said.
"It's time to 'go forth alone,' Potter."
Harry's eyes met mine for a moment. His weren't filled with shock, as I had expected, but just mild surprise. Then, after a moment, he nodded. "I thought so."
"What the heck?" Weasley asked, as Harry reached over both their heads, not an easy task as Ron was at least three inches taller than him, and handed me the piece of paper. I shoved it in my pocket, never breaking eye contact with him.
"It's over."
"Yes." He agreed.
I turned and walked away.
And, with Weasley and Granger following, pestering him with questions that would never be answered, so did he.
A/N: Hiya everyone. Hope you liked it. yep, it's all done. Write your own ending, if you like. Gomen nasai for those who don't like my ending, but consider: I wasn't going to write a second chapter when I posted the first one. My first Draco-centric fic! I'm so happy!<:') Yes, all poems are mine, except for the "Many Waters" thing. If you really, really like them, "Ask and ye shall be given, seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be opened to you." Take the poems. But ask first.
Please review!