A/N: I'm back again. This time is Draco, Slytherin's excuse for existing
(only joking, I'm a Slytherin at heart), who is spilling his heart's
secrets ("choose me, choose me!" screams the authoress). Anyway, I know
this "pairing" (I don't know what else to call it) is drastically overused,
but I still love it. Sorry, I really don't think that under any strange
circumstances I could write a R/D story (*shudders*). I can just say "Ew".
Disclaimer: I've said it before, I'll say it again, I. OWN. NOTHING.
Warning: slash, adult issues, much angst, swearing as well (Ron doesn't swear because he's a goody-goody Gryffindor).
Chapter 2: Draco.
I hate Harry Potter. The Boy Who Fucking Lived, The Saviour of the Bloody Wizarding World, The Seeker of this Cursed Century, The Boy Draco Malfoy Is Obsessed With. I hate him.
I do. The fact that I spend hours thinking of him, minutes staring at him during meals or in lessons, the fact that I know everything that can be known about him, the fact that he's my only topic of conversation nowadays, the fact that I jerk off dreaming about him, the fact that every time he looks at me with those emerald eyes I just want to die, the fact that he's made me doubt which side to choose (only doubt, mark that), the fact that he's the only thing I want to think about, those things only go to show how much I hate him.
Oh, well, I tried. I've tried lying to myself. After all, I've lied to the world with astonishing results, lying to myself shouldn't be that much harder. It is. That fucking voice inside my head has to blurt the most inappropriate comments all the time and I can only listen to it. Not even Snape could brew a potion to stop your conscience from talking. So I grit my teeth and listen as fucking violins serenade me every time Potter smiles. Lutes and flutes every time he laughs, and a bloody harp when his eyes sparkle. I've got a fucking orchestra inside my head, playing all the fucking time. No wonder the Mudblood beats me at most lessons.
The worst bit (make that second worst) is that I can absolutely nothing to stop it. I'm a Malfoy, for Merlin's beard, I shouldn't be going through this. Malfoys have no hearts, and if they do, they have it so well hidden in their Gringotts vault that it's all the same. I don't by which strange twist of Fate, *I*, of all people, ended up, not only with a fully- functional heart, but also with Harry Potter lodged in it. I should be in St Mungo's, I should be dead, I should be locked in a dungeon, I should be under a Memory Charm to make me forget those wonderful eyes, the rosy lips, the messy black hair... Stop it, conscience, you're killing me!
Finally, I've got someone to blame: my unconscious. It's all its fault, actually. I didn't want any of this happening, so it's not *my* fault. That is probably the only truthful thing I've said to myself for a long time. I don't want to be in love with Harry Potter, that is my only excuse. Not that my father or Voldemort are going to make much of it. That's the reason why I've been training in repelling the Imperius Curse, and why I bothered to dig up a musty volume from the Forbidden Section of the library, because it happens to hold the only known antidote for Veritaserum. They will have to do a bloody good effort to get my secret out. They will probably resort to torture in the end, and I can't think of anything to do against that. That's the third worst bit.
The worst bit? No, I would much rather not think about that. I would much rather not think about it, because I know that *that* thought always comes with self-pity, and anger, and jealousy, and envy and a variety of feelings that no Malfoy should ever feel. Malfoys don't feel. I must be adopted then. Fine, seeing as there's no way to send that thought back to the darkest recesses of my mind, where it belongs, I'll scream it inside my head.
HARRY POTTER WILL NEVER LOVE ME BACK!
There you go, I've said it. I thought it, more like. It doesn't make any fucking difference, I don't feel any better, if anything, I feel more wretched than before. Even Pansy has noticed that there's something wrong with me. It must be very clear, because that stupid bitch doesn't notice anything that is not hitting her on the head with its obviousness. I wonder if Potter has noticed something as well. He sometimes gives me a weird, inquisitive look when we're in the middle of those verbal-battles that make me feel so much better, almost normal in fact. Those looks unnerve me, of course, as do all others that come from his despairingly bright eyes. I wonder if he has noticed something.
He's the only one here that could notice (besides Uncle Severus, but he won't say anything). The Mudblood has her bushy head so buried in a book that she'll notice less than Pansy, and that's saying a lot. The Weasel girl won't notice anything non-Pottery and the Weasel won't notice anything. Period. About my family I've already taken the aforementioned measures. But what can I do about Potter? I think that I'm so far gone that, if he asked me, I would tell him the truth. And then take the path of noble suicide, obviously.
Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I told him. I dream that he would look at me, and I would get lost in the jungle of his eyes and he would say "I love you too, Draco". Here're the fucking violins again. Or maybe he would look at me and blush violently and I would force him to look at me (feeling his soft skin under my hands) and he would kiss me (scorching, refreshing lips, tongue that darts out to play with mine) and... That's when I have to put a Silencing Spell around my bed. Or maybe, and this is a bloody sight more likely, he would look at me, his eyes filled with hatred and scorn, and walk away, thinking it's some kind of prank. Or maybe, because I feel there's something Slytherny in him, he would take advantage of this to make fun of me. I would be lost anyway, whichever way life went after I said those fateful words, I would be lost.
That's why I keep silent. That's why I turn my eyes away when he looks at me. That's why I could never be his friend, or his associate, or his ally. That's why I keep on the opposing side of the war. Because I could never bring myself to say what I feel those green eyes are asking me. I'll never answer. I can't.
-------------------- A/N: So, did I get Draco right? Would you want Harry to go for Draco or shall my twisted imagination come up with someone else? (*grins evilly*). Who do you want to appear here? Review!
Disclaimer: I've said it before, I'll say it again, I. OWN. NOTHING.
Warning: slash, adult issues, much angst, swearing as well (Ron doesn't swear because he's a goody-goody Gryffindor).
Chapter 2: Draco.
I hate Harry Potter. The Boy Who Fucking Lived, The Saviour of the Bloody Wizarding World, The Seeker of this Cursed Century, The Boy Draco Malfoy Is Obsessed With. I hate him.
I do. The fact that I spend hours thinking of him, minutes staring at him during meals or in lessons, the fact that I know everything that can be known about him, the fact that he's my only topic of conversation nowadays, the fact that I jerk off dreaming about him, the fact that every time he looks at me with those emerald eyes I just want to die, the fact that he's made me doubt which side to choose (only doubt, mark that), the fact that he's the only thing I want to think about, those things only go to show how much I hate him.
Oh, well, I tried. I've tried lying to myself. After all, I've lied to the world with astonishing results, lying to myself shouldn't be that much harder. It is. That fucking voice inside my head has to blurt the most inappropriate comments all the time and I can only listen to it. Not even Snape could brew a potion to stop your conscience from talking. So I grit my teeth and listen as fucking violins serenade me every time Potter smiles. Lutes and flutes every time he laughs, and a bloody harp when his eyes sparkle. I've got a fucking orchestra inside my head, playing all the fucking time. No wonder the Mudblood beats me at most lessons.
The worst bit (make that second worst) is that I can absolutely nothing to stop it. I'm a Malfoy, for Merlin's beard, I shouldn't be going through this. Malfoys have no hearts, and if they do, they have it so well hidden in their Gringotts vault that it's all the same. I don't by which strange twist of Fate, *I*, of all people, ended up, not only with a fully- functional heart, but also with Harry Potter lodged in it. I should be in St Mungo's, I should be dead, I should be locked in a dungeon, I should be under a Memory Charm to make me forget those wonderful eyes, the rosy lips, the messy black hair... Stop it, conscience, you're killing me!
Finally, I've got someone to blame: my unconscious. It's all its fault, actually. I didn't want any of this happening, so it's not *my* fault. That is probably the only truthful thing I've said to myself for a long time. I don't want to be in love with Harry Potter, that is my only excuse. Not that my father or Voldemort are going to make much of it. That's the reason why I've been training in repelling the Imperius Curse, and why I bothered to dig up a musty volume from the Forbidden Section of the library, because it happens to hold the only known antidote for Veritaserum. They will have to do a bloody good effort to get my secret out. They will probably resort to torture in the end, and I can't think of anything to do against that. That's the third worst bit.
The worst bit? No, I would much rather not think about that. I would much rather not think about it, because I know that *that* thought always comes with self-pity, and anger, and jealousy, and envy and a variety of feelings that no Malfoy should ever feel. Malfoys don't feel. I must be adopted then. Fine, seeing as there's no way to send that thought back to the darkest recesses of my mind, where it belongs, I'll scream it inside my head.
HARRY POTTER WILL NEVER LOVE ME BACK!
There you go, I've said it. I thought it, more like. It doesn't make any fucking difference, I don't feel any better, if anything, I feel more wretched than before. Even Pansy has noticed that there's something wrong with me. It must be very clear, because that stupid bitch doesn't notice anything that is not hitting her on the head with its obviousness. I wonder if Potter has noticed something as well. He sometimes gives me a weird, inquisitive look when we're in the middle of those verbal-battles that make me feel so much better, almost normal in fact. Those looks unnerve me, of course, as do all others that come from his despairingly bright eyes. I wonder if he has noticed something.
He's the only one here that could notice (besides Uncle Severus, but he won't say anything). The Mudblood has her bushy head so buried in a book that she'll notice less than Pansy, and that's saying a lot. The Weasel girl won't notice anything non-Pottery and the Weasel won't notice anything. Period. About my family I've already taken the aforementioned measures. But what can I do about Potter? I think that I'm so far gone that, if he asked me, I would tell him the truth. And then take the path of noble suicide, obviously.
Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I told him. I dream that he would look at me, and I would get lost in the jungle of his eyes and he would say "I love you too, Draco". Here're the fucking violins again. Or maybe he would look at me and blush violently and I would force him to look at me (feeling his soft skin under my hands) and he would kiss me (scorching, refreshing lips, tongue that darts out to play with mine) and... That's when I have to put a Silencing Spell around my bed. Or maybe, and this is a bloody sight more likely, he would look at me, his eyes filled with hatred and scorn, and walk away, thinking it's some kind of prank. Or maybe, because I feel there's something Slytherny in him, he would take advantage of this to make fun of me. I would be lost anyway, whichever way life went after I said those fateful words, I would be lost.
That's why I keep silent. That's why I turn my eyes away when he looks at me. That's why I could never be his friend, or his associate, or his ally. That's why I keep on the opposing side of the war. Because I could never bring myself to say what I feel those green eyes are asking me. I'll never answer. I can't.
-------------------- A/N: So, did I get Draco right? Would you want Harry to go for Draco or shall my twisted imagination come up with someone else? (*grins evilly*). Who do you want to appear here? Review!
