A/N: Another one of my loopy-Draco fics. Poor bloke's all fucked up in the head, know what I mean?

WARNINGS: Twistedity, slashiness and general loopiness.

~ And You Burn ~

You wanna know what I think of you?

No, of course not, why would the Great Harry Potter want to know what the spoilt little son-of-a-bitch pureblood thinks of him?

Well I'll tell you why.

Because you have to die.

You have to, and you will, you will, be it by my hand, or my father's, or my master's . . .

You will die and you will burn, burn in the fiery depths of hell . . .

Quite warm, isn't it?

Getting hotter, aren't you?

You know that thing, that burning thing you feel inside?

It's hate.

Hatehatehatehatehatehatehatehate.

Hate for me, hate for the world, hate for your friends.

You will hatehatehate and you will be destroyed and you will die and you will scream.

And I will laugh.

Laugh and watch as you fall.

Fall down, down . . .

Down and burnburnburn, burn in hell, burn you stupid bastard, burn!

Why won't you burn?

Why?

I think that it's because the power from my steel grey eyes is not enough to make you burn.

So I wait.

I map.

I plan.

And now here I am, three months from graduation, five steps away from your room, and thirty-six seconds away from your death.

I have to tell you what I think of you first.

I think that you are

Spoiled-everyone loves you just because you defeated the Dark Lord when you were a child, it never seems to cross their minds that I could have done that because who on earth would think of me when you're in the same room you stupid pompous little brat ,don't you ever get-

Dirty-I've seen the way you look at other boys and it's sick and wrong and disgusting but it's so very very pleasing when I hear their bodies thud to the ground after I've caved their heads in with a rock for even being looked at by the Boy Who Lived, because they don't even deserve it, those repulsive mangy dogs, don't they know that you're-

Tainted-I know how you're haunted by the look on your Godfather's face, Diggory's face, by countless faces all over the world as they are killed by Voldemortdadmedeatheatersfriends and I can see in your green eyes, how it penetrates you deep inside to the very core of your being and you turn to your countless sleeping partners just like the repulsively sickening boy you are-

Pathetic-you cry and oh how you cry I hear you in your room I come here all the time I can find my way here blind don't you know, and you're so pathetic and you cry for all those people faceless people who have died at Voldemort's hand but why do you cry, you can't even remember their names and they're going to become nothing but numbers to you soon and when you cry you are so pathetic, but even though you are pathetic it doesn't stop you from being-

Beautiful-like the blood on my hands after I had my first taste of power, like the smile on Mother's face after I show her how well I can perform the Cruciatus Curse on a house-elf, like the way the leaves turn orangebrowngrey and fall in the autumn, they fall, they crumple and die, just like you will . . .

Now that I have told you what I think of you, I light the match.

It's a pity that all the beds at Hogwarts are made out of the finest wood, sanded down and not varnished, isn't it?

I drop it on you bed and . . . and . . .

Oh, how you burn.

End.