Body Disclaimer: Only the plot (or lack thereof) belongs to me. The gorgeous creatures involved belong to J.K. Rowling. And I'm not making any money or whatever off of it, either. This is all for my own self-satisfaction.

Warning: This is some mild slash, though it does involve a romantic relationship between two men. Should you have a problem with this sort of thing, you may want to turn back.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/ Seamus Finnegan

Summary: A letter of sorts from Seamus to Draco. Loosely based on the Pulp song, Common People. Sister piece to Piece of Me.

Common People

Charming, isn't it? Having no money, that is. Living day to day and trying just to get by. There's nothing as satisfying for you as watching my everyday life play out. To you, it's just a game and when you tire of it you don't have to play anymore. You can go right back to Mummy and Daddy and forget that there's a whole world out there that's totally at war with itself. As much as I would love to hate you for it, I can't. There's some hormone that releases itself in my blood every time I see you. And every time I touch you that hormone threatens to replace every cell of blood in my body. All I want is to be absorbed in who you are and not have to be separated by a pocketbook.

Summer holiday a few months back you told me that you wanted to know how I live. Flattered out of my mind at the prospect of you taking an interest in me, I said, "I'll see what I can do." The supermarket seemed a suitable starting place. "Pretend you've got no money," I told you. And you just smiled and held my hand. The whole excursion proved to be very amusing to you, didn't it? Smirking while I showed you how to compare prices. Funny to have to worry about where the next meal's coming from, right? Not that you'd know what that's like.

Someday I would like you to try and live like me. Rent a flat above a shop with someone else 'cause you just can't make it on your own. Cut your hair and get a job. Eight hours a day, six days a week because your wages don't count for shit. Would you get any satisfaction from the knowledge that you've got what you've got because you worked your arse off for it? Or would you resent it for forcing you to get dirt under your perfectly manicured fingernails? Everything I have, I worked for; no one gave it to me. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Although, you did seem to like the pub just down the street. I'd never seen you smoke before. You did look awfully sexy all bent over the pool table with a fag hanging out the corner of your mouth. You made me fall in love with you at that moment. You were so... natural. Like it didn't really matter that you'd never been there before, that it was my world. Friends that I'd grown up with thought you to be one of them. They thought you were a common person, too. And for the briefest of moments you were.

Then we went back to the shabby house I share with my mother and my brother and my grandmum and it was torture. Because as natural and real as you were in the pub, that would all have to fade. You come from a totally different world than I do; you've got an image to maintain. My heart broke, you know, when you fucked that image the whole time you were with me. Were you to have been your typical arrogant self, I could have hated you. Why won't you just let me hate you? It can't ever work, so why can't I get you out of my system? Because you're too bloody perfect. Your whole life is too bloody perfect.

Besides, you'll never really get it right, anyway. You'll be laying in bed, watching the roaches climb the walls and when you tire of it, you can call your dad and he'll make it all go away. Why couldn't you just sneer at me and the way I live? Why couldn't you just leave the world I know that you hate? How can you transcend the way you grew up with such ease?

Please, Draco, be a common person like me. Because even if you had nothing at all, you will always be extraordinary to me.