A slender pale boy snapped the covers of a red-bound journal shut as he finished scribbling down his emotions. There, it was done. He actually felt a little better now that everything was out and written on paper. It almost seemed as if he could completely forget what had happened.If he fooled himself enough, he could actually accomplish that.
Looking up at the blue-grey sky, Draco Malfoy released a shaky sigh. Who was he kidding besides himself? Moving on from this was going to take alot more than a stupid poem.
"'ey, 'arry! Wait up, will ya!"
Draco quickly shifted his eyes away from the afternoon sky in a sort of panic. Sprinting across the bright green lawn was Ronald Weasley and ahead of him, dressed in scarlet and gold Quidditch robes and exiting the entrance hall, was the bane of his existence. Harry Potter. What kind of name was that anyway?
But he still watched as the two friends crossed the lawn together, obviously heading towards the pitch for practice.
"Stupid Potter," Draco hissed.
He sighed again. Denial sucked. Draco got up and dusted his cloak free of grass before heading back to the castle. This was going to take ALOT more than just a poem.
- - - - -
"But why? Why ?"
"Because...I...I..."
"Just say it, ok? Spit it out and get it over with."
"It was a mistake...Just a big mistake..."
"Why did you do it then? Look at me- no, LOOK at me damn it! Why did you do it?"
"I don't know, OK? I don't KNOW!"
" I'm not about to be the only one who goes down in flames here. If I'm going, you're coming with me."
"God damn you, Malfoy..."
"Save it for someone who cares."
"Fuck you!"
"You wish, Potter."
- - - - -
Draco somehow found himself in a dark corner of an unknown corridor, deep in the heart of the dungeons. He looked up, barely realizing he was on the floor in a tight ball. Something cool splattered on his arm and he was shocked to see it was a tear. His face was covered in them. The hallway was practically pitch black and without his wand, he'd have no way of knowing where he was going.
But he didn't care. He really didn't. It would suit him just fine if he never found his way out, if he just died right here in this very spot. So, the shaking Slytherin balled up tighter, sobbing silently into his arms.
"Malfoy?"
The boy looked up sharply at the weak voice. A person slowly started to come into view, their shadow defining against the darker black around them. He didn't dare to believe. It was just another one of his halucinations. He was just dreaming that a boy of 16 croutched down besides him, his unruly raven hair cascading round his face. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and willed the image away.
A hand brushed like a soft breeze against his cheek and he shuttered.
"Please go away," He croaked into the sleeve of his sweater.
Like clockwork, the hand vanished, taking with it the sense of security and comfort the broken Slytherin ached for. But he had to do it. If he couldn't have the real thing, he didn't want anything to do with that Gryffindor.
Draco weapt harder into the darkness.
Looking up at the blue-grey sky, Draco Malfoy released a shaky sigh. Who was he kidding besides himself? Moving on from this was going to take alot more than a stupid poem.
"'ey, 'arry! Wait up, will ya!"
Draco quickly shifted his eyes away from the afternoon sky in a sort of panic. Sprinting across the bright green lawn was Ronald Weasley and ahead of him, dressed in scarlet and gold Quidditch robes and exiting the entrance hall, was the bane of his existence. Harry Potter. What kind of name was that anyway?
But he still watched as the two friends crossed the lawn together, obviously heading towards the pitch for practice.
"Stupid Potter," Draco hissed.
He sighed again. Denial sucked. Draco got up and dusted his cloak free of grass before heading back to the castle. This was going to take ALOT more than just a poem.
- - - - -
"But why? Why ?"
"Because...I...I..."
"Just say it, ok? Spit it out and get it over with."
"It was a mistake...Just a big mistake..."
"Why did you do it then? Look at me- no, LOOK at me damn it! Why did you do it?"
"I don't know, OK? I don't KNOW!"
" I'm not about to be the only one who goes down in flames here. If I'm going, you're coming with me."
"God damn you, Malfoy..."
"Save it for someone who cares."
"Fuck you!"
"You wish, Potter."
- - - - -
Draco somehow found himself in a dark corner of an unknown corridor, deep in the heart of the dungeons. He looked up, barely realizing he was on the floor in a tight ball. Something cool splattered on his arm and he was shocked to see it was a tear. His face was covered in them. The hallway was practically pitch black and without his wand, he'd have no way of knowing where he was going.
But he didn't care. He really didn't. It would suit him just fine if he never found his way out, if he just died right here in this very spot. So, the shaking Slytherin balled up tighter, sobbing silently into his arms.
"Malfoy?"
The boy looked up sharply at the weak voice. A person slowly started to come into view, their shadow defining against the darker black around them. He didn't dare to believe. It was just another one of his halucinations. He was just dreaming that a boy of 16 croutched down besides him, his unruly raven hair cascading round his face. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and willed the image away.
A hand brushed like a soft breeze against his cheek and he shuttered.
"Please go away," He croaked into the sleeve of his sweater.
Like clockwork, the hand vanished, taking with it the sense of security and comfort the broken Slytherin ached for. But he had to do it. If he couldn't have the real thing, he didn't want anything to do with that Gryffindor.
Draco weapt harder into the darkness.