Shadows of You
by fairy-colors

People surround you everywhere you go and in return, you surround them with your blinding trademark Malfoy smirk. Your mere presence awing them.

Your face awes people, makes them cry as if a god is within their midst. Maybe they are right, because I thought you were a God when we shared that night.

A night full of lies. A night that was paid for many gray and rainy days on my part.

You walk around the room with your martini, shaken with three olives, sipping it slowly as you talk to another unsuspecting victim. I see it's yet another blonde, just like last night. Wait, wait, you had a curvy redhead last night.

My mistake. How many more mistakes do I have to make?

No.

You are my last mistake. And the world will know what kind of evil lies in those silver eyes.

With the pictures that are plastered in every magazine in the Wizarding world, it's not a much of a wonder why girls fell for you. Angel-face, I remember. That's what I called you for four blissful hours. But underneath that angel-face, a black-hearted, cynical and sardonic soul lies. How was I to know that I was walking into a trap?

You led me to believe that you cared. I should have listened to them; to Harry and Ron. Now I think about it, the blame is partly mine; and so will be with that girl when you whisper into her ear, making her laugh, and finally giving her an offer she can't refuse. Who in this damn world could refuse you?

No one can refuse your charm. Your charm and your money. And that sickengly sexy curve of your stained lips.

Finally, after a couple of hours you walk pass me. I raised my eyebrow at you and pursed my lips. You think it's amusing, but no. I've changed a goddamned helluva lot Draco. But for some reason, you raised your martini glass my way and bestow that infamous smirk. You still recognize me.

Kudos on that Draco, you still remember one of your one-night stands.

If not for the hundreds of people in this room, I would have spat at your face. The same eyes that I thought I came to love.

Love, bullshit.

I see you walk away, handing your martini glass to a waiter and letting your new blonde outside into your shiny Porsche with all the elan and flair that you showed me. No. I will not tell her what kind of mistake she is about to make as she tries to act wordly for you. To make you think she's mysterious.

There is no mystery when it comes to sex. Simply that animalistic instinct that needs to be satisfied as soon as possible. And you know that principle better than anyone Draco.

I am not going to be the one warning her about your deceit and definitely not the one telling her what I went through after you played me. That pain is mine alone and I am not done cultivating it.

I was once that same girl. Besides, I want your flavor of the day to feel the pain I felt.

Hundreds more, I don't care. The more victims, the lesser my pain will be. They will share the pain, my pain, until it is nothing but a figment of my imagination.

Worldy?

I think not. For Draco Malfoy, you're just one of the thousands of naive girls who think he's god.