Chapter Seven

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How is it that I can never make my body respond to you in a normal manner? You looked at me so long I thought I might die waiting for you to come to me. And then you did and I was happy, but it couldn't last longer than a single walk around the lake. My body has betrayed me again.

You were so close I could feel the heat of your body in the cold air. I've been walking for years with no problem, but with you there it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other without tripping on invisible obstacles, or stepping into unseen holes. Your arms wrapped around me for one perfect moment when you pulled me up from where I had fallen.

But then my head swam and water poured out my hands and the vertigo didn't subside until I shook you off. I wanted to hold your hand. It was swaying, open at your side, an invitation when your fingers brushed mine as we went along. But my palms were hot and damp and I shoved them in my pockets to keep them from giving me away.

You spoke to me like a friend, like someone whose company you enjoy. You smiled shyly and looked down at your feet and all I wanted was to kiss you. Your eyes are so beautiful, but I would drown if I looked too long. It felt like we walked forever, but it was over in a moment and you were gone back to your friends and your responsibilities and left my heart in the mud at the edge of the lake.

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I will be better off without you when at home. There are no reminders that you ever possessed a part of me outside the grounds of Hogwarts. Once I am back in my room, with my things, I will be myself again. I won't crave the brush of your shoulder as you pass me in the halls, or the sound of your laughter piercing the din of a thousand voices at dinner.

I'll go back to resenting you for the privileges you enjoy without even noticing them. The heat of hatred and anger will replace the chill of missing you that has somehow filled my chest. Every morning I will remember my duty to my family and forget the sentimental ties with which you have bound me to the enemy.

And when I see you again, I won't ache to lock my eyes with yours, to crush my lips to yours, to feel for myself that you are still mine. All I need is time away from you to rid myself of this need to be near you. I will forget the mess you call hair that demands someone run their fingers through it. All I need is time.

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Your friends are writing to me. Why are your bloody friends writing to me? Shouldn't they be, oh, I don't know, saving the Wizarding World from people like me instead of trying to strike up a correspondence with me? And unlike some people, I was brought up with manners so I can't just ignore them as I really ought to be doing. It's like Death Eater Summer Camp here and I'm trading owls with Dumbledoree's minions every five minutes.

Someone is going to notice. It's only a matter of time. Practically everyone from Slytherin is camped out at my house right now. Pansy will notice for certain, though with Granger's verbosity even Crabbe and Goyle might notice. I think Blaise may have already. He keeps watching me, the suspicious little git. He's probably reporting to my father that I send love letters to the Mudblood every night. What a laugh.

Not you, though. You've never sent me a single letter. I don't even know what your handwriting looks like, and yet I could copy Granger's from memory. Weasley says you are fine, and that I needn't worry that you've been murdered in your sleep or had your hands cut off or been locked away in the cupboard under the stairs. As I have been assured that nothing untoward has befallen you to prevent your writing me, I can only assume that you simply do not wish to and leave it at that.

According to Granger, she and Weasley have been together all summer, and she has never been happier. I wonder where that leaves you. Shut up in the same house as your friends, but alone, none the less, while they shag the stuffing out of each other and you twiddle your thumbs. Well, turn about is fair play and Ron deserves to have it, no matter how put out you feel.

But I know how you hate to be alone. It's probably intolerable for you at this point, and I know you're with the Weasleys. Are you buggering one of the fuckwit twins, yet, or both, perhaps? More likely you've taken up with the little Weasley bitch. She always did want to lick your boots.

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A/N: Most people get this by this point, but of course, not everyone even thinks about it since all we are getting is Draco's POV. Of course Harry wouldn't be intentionally cruel to Draco, but he has no idea what's going on in Draco's squirlly little head, as the boy hasn't been talking to him, or even sending him the letters. So all Harry knows is that Draco has rejected him. Several times. So don't kill him, yet.