I want many things in my life

The light filters in soft falling partials of dust, falling around me and if I unfocus my eyes, the dust turns into shattered hopes and dreams, like stars of tears and despair. I shift on the hard stone step that I lay on, bracing my legs on the adjacent wall, my head almost touching the railing on the other side.

I try to forget, I try not to remember, I don't want to dream, I want to wake up now…. I can't wake up from this nightmare. I want to wake up…. I reach my hand above me, grasping at the air and the shimmering dust drifting down. I disturb the pattern, I watch the particles scatter and push away from me erratically as if they fear to touch me.

They aren't alone…no one comes near me anymore, especially in public…they're all afraid that if they touch me, near my heart, befriend me, that they will die, it is all the same fear. It's true though, they will all die in the end; they'll die at his hand…. Or mine. I'm afraid of what I am…I keep wondering if he thinks the same way, if he had the same fear. Perhaps in his soul the only way to protect the mudbloods like himself, was to kill them. That way they'd be safe, safe from this world.

I let my arm drop down, twisting my palm up to face the ceiling, ignoring the twinge caused by twisting the arm in the unnatural position. I don't think, as I watch the center of my palm. You can't think, never think about what you choose to do because if you think about it then you destroy the simplicity, you make it too difficult. They have always done it wrong, all of them. They just don't understand the beauty but then again I didn't either, not till now, now I understand.

I know what I want…. A speck of light buds in the center of my hand and as I study it and the feeling it hold in me. I have to know how to draw on it when I need it, I can't think I have to know.

It grows softly as my mind focuses, carefully, gently. The light changes to my fancy, growing in strength and shape until it forms the shape of a teardrop in my hand.

"…Bloom…" I whisper to it and it does, unfurling beautiful rose petals of light.

A soft noise from behind me draws my attention away from the flower before me. Draco…returning from the hospital wing, probably in hopes of catching the last of lunch. I sit up slowly, gazing up at him through the curtain of my hair.

I push myself up to my feet, bracing against the cold stone wall, cutting him off from any escape to his false world of 'friends' and 'life'.

The light plays across him perfectly, shimmering in an angelic radiance. It surrounds him, alighting his silk spun hair in a false halo, tracing his features and leaving one side of his face in shadow. The ink stain upon remains upon his cheek and a sort of fear dwells in his eyes, this time it is I that over powers him.

I reach up to him, my free hand cupping his cheek, slightly warmed by the sunlight played across it.

"Heaven and hell, life and death, birth and rebirth from heaven and hell." I say, a grin twitching on my lips, my hand slipping from his cheek down.

I grasp his hand by the wrist, ignoring his fear of me, tightening enough to keep him from escaping but not enough to hurt him again. There I twist his hand around and uncurl his fingers, placing in his now open palm a flower made purely of light. Only one so conflicting at him could hold or comprehend such beauty.

Slipping past him, I walk back up the stairs, stopping at the top and glancing back Draco regains his senses. He shakes his head, stepping down the to next step; his leg slipping through step as it disappears, just like it always does. I smile to myself as he stumbles onward, finally breaking into a sprint. Quickly disappearing from sight.

Poor beautiful Draco, he has found new fear in me. I wonder if he will write his father about me…perhaps not. Not many letters make it through Azkaban's heavy screening process. Soon though, Mr. Malfoy will be free again… I can feel it. Voldemort is planning something, something big.

They all think I've learned to protect my thoughts, and I have to certain, extent. I can block off anyone from looking into my mind, chances are they wouldn't even be able to sense my mind at all. I can feel him though. I can plunder Voldemort's mind whenever I choose, mostly because he doesn't realize that I am capable. He chooses to believe I am unable of seeing into his power, into his soul and his pain. They all think I am weak, a fool of luck…. They don't understand, they don't care.

I've learned a lot, much more than they could ever teach me because they don't understand. Voldemort understands, as sick and twisted as that is. He knows the same kind of pain only…right now he really knows little pain but when he was young…when he was young it was different. He was smart then but withdrawn…he had little friends, actually none at all. He was alone as I am. He discovered the depths of his powers alone as well, through pain and trail. No one understood him, understands him now…he doesn't even understand himself…he can't even remember why he began killing, why he began the fear.

Power…it corrupts they say. They never mentioned how much it hurts…pain is constant. Pure magic relentlessly filtering through my body, purifying and eating away my imperfections. I can't look at myself in the mirror, not without an illusion on. My life is an illusion; it's only fair that I cover my image with one.

They can't see me; they don't even know that my hair has now reached a length past my shoulders. Foolish, I am so stupid…why would anyone ever care about me, I'm being selfish again, am I not?

My hand slips along the grained walls, following down one corridor and another, following my feet to their choosing. They take me deeper and farther down than any normal person would go. Down past the dungeon level of the Potions class, farther down…cold, stagnant air smelling of mold and disuse. Dust coats the flagstones, no footprints except those of mine, from now and that one time past.

Last year before I left for the summer, last year when I ran down here to escape the images of a summer of hell on number four of Private Drive. Here deep, lost within the castle, I found a scroll. The single scroll that changed my life…it told secrets of a power no man had ever touched. The author of the scroll…I didn't even discover until I had read the scroll itself over four times, the author signed the name of, Merlin. Whether such a thing is possible I know not. No one will ever know because it gone now…once, I had memorized the scroll by heart, I burned it.

I pause, a distant sound drawing me out of my reverie. Lunch is over, I turn around proceed to return to the world of lies and false images. Something…next class…. Ah yes, I remember now, double potions.

Sweet little Draco will be stuck with me again; then again he is always stuck with me. Coincidence that we both picked the same classes for our future occupations. Now we are stuck together, along with others of course but still…he knows me, he knows my secret, the truth about me. He knows the fear. Perhaps I can have him, he can know my world……no, impossible…but still, worth a try, at least once.

The air remains damp but no longer stale and quite as dusty as I reach the level of Snape's dungeon and the alleged location of the Slytherin Common. Of course it, is, here…I can feel it, taste it, smell it… would be incredibly difficult to miss that intoxicating scent of greed and power…the scent of Draco.

I enter the Potions classroom, the entire room going silent as I enter. Glancing up at the clock, almost ten minutes late. Snape watches me, his face curled into an unpleasant grimace.

"So kind of you to grace us with your presence, Potter. I'm sure something urgent kept you away from my class, perhaps saving the world again?"

He's baiting me, I can feel it in the very tension in the air, they're all waiting to laugh at me, all of them but…

I can't restrain the lazy smile creeping onto my face, my reply coming out flat and dead, "Best you enjoy my presence as long as possible…he will kill me next time, of course."

I hear someone attempt to laugh but it dies away quickly. I can read it on their faces, the shock. They don't know how to respond to such a statement, someone shivers violently and another coughs, hiding their face.

I bow to them, slightly. As a man might do to the court who has given his death warrant. Glancing around I spot several open places, the classes being much smaller in the advanced years. I choose the conveniently placed vacant seat, adjacent to both Hermione and my lovely little dragon.

Snape blinks and slowly reanimates himself, "…ten points from Gryffindor and I think you should stay after class, Mr. Potter."

I nod, a pleasant smile upon my lips and turn to, he of flaxen hair. He won't meet my eye; he stares so fixedly at the board that he appears to be looking through it. His entire body is stiff and his breathing is labored, so close to panicking. I can almost hear his blood racing through his veins but…another air surrounds my Draco, one of overwhelming interest. The great question is which will win out? His fear or curiosity?

I cannot hear the lesson, any lessons. I have found that no matter how hard I try, the lessons pass strait through, not even leaving a trace of boredom just an empty hole in my mind. I weary quickly of pretending in this game…it is only the third day of my return and the façade is already disintegrating. I don't wish to hide, I don't want to pretend anymore but I can't undo what I have done. Not until it gives out, my honor.

Honor. I hate the word. I cannot feel and such thing inside of me, I have long cast away the last remnants of my pride and my loyalty is fast fading away. The honor towards house and headmaster has no touch in me. Dumbledore is a man and a common is simply a place to rest my human shell.

Although, now I hardly find sleep at all and when I do it is for the only two or three hours at a time. I keep thinking that my body is just humoring me; I do not believe that it even needs rest anymore, just a trained habit, a security to my mortality and nothing more. Strange that I need not sleep but that I weary quickly. Perhaps it is simply that I find life itself tiring.

My honor lies only for myself

"Since, Mr. Potter, seems to know so much more than everyone else, seeing as he is not paying attention. Perhaps he could tell me about flesian."

I close my eyes and gently force my consciousness down. Of course I don't know the answer to his question but letting my mind get in the way won't help. Magic is everything magical. You think a muggle could mix together a potion and have the same results as a wizard? Foolishness. A potion is not only made of magical ingredients, it is also comprised of magic from the mixer, not much, just a little essence but in the end it is the key to success and failure.

My mind seeps back and as it does, my awareness if flooded with knowledge of a million centuries. "Flesian", I whisper, focusing my thoughts, ignoring the snickers and whispers of the creatures around me. Then, I know.

"Flesian is gathered from a rare, tropical tree. Its bark secretes a loose, baglike shell, drying off-white, and then filling within that bag- humanlike flesh. This is gathered and is called Flesian. Its only use is to create a potion that, when applied to the skin, eats away all the flesh and when it is consumed, it slowly dissolves your internal organs into a pulpy mess and you die most painfully.

"There is no cure. Once you touch or ingest flesian you will die. Unless of course, it is applied to a limb, which can be cut off. Flesian potions are illegal and are considered to be in the realm of the darkarts. Use of the substance or gathering of it results in a penalty of death. In fact, no one is supposed to know of it anymore, except in basic references.

"That means that, Professor Snape would be baiting me because he wanted me to get it wrong. Because he wants to hurt me for all the failings in his life and for what my father did to him as a student…." I watch his expression, calm and irritated as always but, his eyes, his eyes are panicking and angry, very angry, "The past can no longer hurt us but there is always the present to make up for it all. It is human to hurt people in order to transpose upon them a piece of your pain. It is human to cause pain upon others who in turn hurt even more and it never stops. The humans' only purpose is to cause pain."

As I finish, a smile flits across my face, a twisted, painful smile. I have uncovered another piece of the illusion. I look around me, faces staring in shock and confusion. People fear what they don't understand, the kill what they fear and then they tear into small pieces to see what makes it work. Hermione's face is filled with worry; she thinks she understands, she wants to. She couldn't though, not even if she knew. I turn and look at my Draco.

He understands, he knows something that no one else does and he had made a decision. I can see it in him, although I know not exactly what it is exactly he has decided. Despite the ability within me, I choose to allow people their privacy. I hate reading peoples minds because when you do, ultimately you will find in them something that you can't have. But, Draco has made a decision.