A/N: Just so you don't get confused, this chapter is from Draco's point of
view. And thank you to dracoisahottie13 for the review! I'm so glad you
like it! Anyway, here's the next chapter! PS: I forgot to mention this last
time, the little "*" thingies indicate thoughts. Sorry about forgetting to
mention that! Anyway, enjoy!
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Chapter 2: More Than Ready
I was in my room, packing my trunk for Hogwarts, when I heard my mom yell for me. *Damn woman. Can't she just leave me alone for ten minutes?* I thought to myself. "Coming, Mother dearest," I yelled down the stairs. I made sure my personal notebooks were in the hidden compartment of my trunk before heading down.
"Yes, Mom?" I asked. "Draco, honey, could you possibly explain this?" She said as she handed me a few sheets of paper. I quickly scanned them and cursed under my breath. They were some of the poems I had written about Hermio- I mean Granger. The top one looked like this:
I love you
You hate me
Why can't we just kiss and make up?
I want to feel you in my arms
You know hate is only one step away from love
So why don't you take that extra step?
I had noticed that not one reference to Granger or her house was in any of the poems, and considered myself lucky. If either of my parents found out that I was in love with a Gryffindor, especially one like her, no one would have ever seen me again.
As I contemplated my answer, I slowly stroked the scars on my arm. I remembered when I got those, and how. And now, I have no clue what I was thinking. It's not as if cutting myself made me feel better. Afterwards, I only felt worse. Sometimes, I was again tempted to take the knife and just make one more little cut, right over one of the scars, but I always held myself back. I had made a promise to myself to never do that again, even though I always have a knife within reach.
"Well, Mother," I said, finally beginning to answer her, "I like this girl at school, and she seems to hate my guts, and these poems sprang from that." I figured the answer was good enough, not the whole truth, but not any lies either. I silently congratulated myself on my success. "Alright then, take these with you, and finish packing your trunk, and then go to bed." "Ok," I said. I headed back up to my room with the papers, and thought about that one weekend that had sprouted those scars.
~*~Flashback~*~
"Go eat dung, Malfoy," the once-bushy and now sleek-haired girl told him. Almost in tears from the heartbreak, Draco Malfoy turned away and walked with constraint to the bathroom. When he got there, he pulled out a pocket knife, kept merely for defense purposes. He flicked open the blade, and suddenly an idea came over him, without thinking about it, he made three cuts on his arm in quick succession. As he looked at the cuts, such a bright pink on his pale skin, he heard the door to the bathroom close. He quietly put the knife back in his pocket, got up, flushed the toilet, washed his hands and walked out. He knew that he would never tell anyone what had happened. The next day, he did the same thing, only this time, he made five cuts, one of which was deeper than any of the others. He knew that the scars would be horribly visible, but with the Hogwarts robes, he wasn't worried about it. Why should he be? The cuts would heal in time, and all that would be left would be scars, which would be a constant reminder of the heartbreak.
~*~End Flashback~*~
After my trip down Memory Lane, I finished packing my trunk and climbed into bed. I just couldn't wait until tomorrow, when I could finally see her beautiful face again.
A/N: I don't really like Draco cutting himself, as I'm sure the rest of you don't, but I've had a personal experience with cutting, and if you want to know about it, email me (no_name_the_walrus@hotmail.com), but I'm not posting it publicly on the site.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the poem, which came out of my head, so you can only use it with my permission. *sticks tongue out in childish fashion*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 2: More Than Ready
I was in my room, packing my trunk for Hogwarts, when I heard my mom yell for me. *Damn woman. Can't she just leave me alone for ten minutes?* I thought to myself. "Coming, Mother dearest," I yelled down the stairs. I made sure my personal notebooks were in the hidden compartment of my trunk before heading down.
"Yes, Mom?" I asked. "Draco, honey, could you possibly explain this?" She said as she handed me a few sheets of paper. I quickly scanned them and cursed under my breath. They were some of the poems I had written about Hermio- I mean Granger. The top one looked like this:
I love you
You hate me
Why can't we just kiss and make up?
I want to feel you in my arms
You know hate is only one step away from love
So why don't you take that extra step?
I had noticed that not one reference to Granger or her house was in any of the poems, and considered myself lucky. If either of my parents found out that I was in love with a Gryffindor, especially one like her, no one would have ever seen me again.
As I contemplated my answer, I slowly stroked the scars on my arm. I remembered when I got those, and how. And now, I have no clue what I was thinking. It's not as if cutting myself made me feel better. Afterwards, I only felt worse. Sometimes, I was again tempted to take the knife and just make one more little cut, right over one of the scars, but I always held myself back. I had made a promise to myself to never do that again, even though I always have a knife within reach.
"Well, Mother," I said, finally beginning to answer her, "I like this girl at school, and she seems to hate my guts, and these poems sprang from that." I figured the answer was good enough, not the whole truth, but not any lies either. I silently congratulated myself on my success. "Alright then, take these with you, and finish packing your trunk, and then go to bed." "Ok," I said. I headed back up to my room with the papers, and thought about that one weekend that had sprouted those scars.
~*~Flashback~*~
"Go eat dung, Malfoy," the once-bushy and now sleek-haired girl told him. Almost in tears from the heartbreak, Draco Malfoy turned away and walked with constraint to the bathroom. When he got there, he pulled out a pocket knife, kept merely for defense purposes. He flicked open the blade, and suddenly an idea came over him, without thinking about it, he made three cuts on his arm in quick succession. As he looked at the cuts, such a bright pink on his pale skin, he heard the door to the bathroom close. He quietly put the knife back in his pocket, got up, flushed the toilet, washed his hands and walked out. He knew that he would never tell anyone what had happened. The next day, he did the same thing, only this time, he made five cuts, one of which was deeper than any of the others. He knew that the scars would be horribly visible, but with the Hogwarts robes, he wasn't worried about it. Why should he be? The cuts would heal in time, and all that would be left would be scars, which would be a constant reminder of the heartbreak.
~*~End Flashback~*~
After my trip down Memory Lane, I finished packing my trunk and climbed into bed. I just couldn't wait until tomorrow, when I could finally see her beautiful face again.
A/N: I don't really like Draco cutting himself, as I'm sure the rest of you don't, but I've had a personal experience with cutting, and if you want to know about it, email me (no_name_the_walrus@hotmail.com), but I'm not posting it publicly on the site.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the poem, which came out of my head, so you can only use it with my permission. *sticks tongue out in childish fashion*