When the world is bright and the sky is clear, sometimes I think I can see a hint of a
smile at Draco’s mouth. A true smile, not the smile of sated lust or mockery, a first year
falling from the stairs, but a true smile, joy, at being alive, here, now. The kind of feeling
you can only get when all your bets pay off, when all of your risks come to fruition, and
all your hard work reaps in rewards. I see it pulling, tugging, straining against his mouth
when I kiss him, when I make him hold his hand, when he watches my pathetic attempts
at being sexy. When I’m playing Quidditch and he’s in the stands, watching through solid
gold Omniculars, and I pull off a feint that’s come to be known as the Malfoy’s Illusion, I
see him, biting his lip, trying to fight down his smile. And when my head is buried in the
crook of his arm at 4 am, and my hand is clutching at his legs, pulling him closer to me, it
over comes him.
And he smiles.
And that’s ecstasy.
Agony (Draco)
This world is filled with three kinds of people. There are givers, takers, and then there are
Malfoys. Givers are never very successful, and the only thing they are oft left with to give
is themselves, which they give without shame. Some takers will grab them, cling to them,
adopt them like you adopt a cat, not to feed the cat and nourish the cat, but to call it your
own, and to keep your lap warm on a cold night when you are to far from the fire and too
lazy to move. Other takers will grab a giver, spend themselves, and cast them away, and
that’s pain, both for the giver and for the taker, and his lost kitten. Malfoys will grab a
giver, take him, set him up above himself, and control him. They will tick across the
givers insides, re-arranging things when they see fit, enlarging muscles and shrinking
nerves, eviscerating the backbone as they steel the bones. Potter... Harry, is a giver. And,
by right of birth, I a Malfoy. For the giver, the match up for pain.
For me, it is agony.
Sacrifice (Harry)
I feel Draco, in the same sense that I don’t feel him. There’s heat, and wetness, and teeth,
against my fingers, against my shoulder. I feel wiry muscles and pale, faintly freckled
skin. I feel him, all over, every inch of skin, every segment of his body. But I don’t feel
him at all. He’s a mile away when he’s on top of you, up in the clouds, using your
shoulders as foot stools. I know that Id be his ladder out of quicksand, my head would
simply be a brace for his sneaker. But its my place to know that, and my place to accept
it. That feeling, that knowledge, that you would wreck yourself, destroy yourself, take
your pure soul and make it clean just to put a spot in the blackness of another. That is
your choice.
That is love.
And that is the only real sacrifice.
Betrayal (Draco)
I am a traitor, every second of every day, I am Peter Pettigrew. I am Aligoran. I am
Benedict Arnold. What, you think I don’t read the Muggle histories? I know every capital
city the United States has ever had, how many times, and what year. Can you say the
same? I know you as a hunter knows its pray. As an assassin knows its target. As a rapist
knows its victim. I watch you, your women, your men. Our women. Our men. And that is
my treason, my crime, that my conscience will hang me for someday, without looking
back. Every sideways glance, wavered glance, licked lips. I’m betraying what I stand for,
what I need, what Harry needs. Because I’m already preparing myself for the end.
Because that is treason, is treachery.
That is betrayal.
Absolute (Harry)
The day you make the decision is the busiest, most filled, hardened day of your life. Its
embedded, burned, forever in your mind, in your memory. There’s no way around it,
under it, through it. Its a part of you forever. It always will be, and you realize soon
enough, that it always has been. The day you decide, you realize, that your gone, that you
are no more, is there forever. You have stopped being an I, completely, entirely. You are
now we, us, our. To others, you are they.
You are together
You are absolute.
Delirium (Draco)
Hallucinations are the most common side effect of love. Infatuation, adoration, other
sappy adjectives ending with ion. It doesn’t matter. They are smaller, shorter, weaker.
Nothing is stronger, more pungent, more pulsing with the beat of the heart. Deluding
yourself, confusing signals, hearing things that aren’t even there. Believe that the other
person is on the same layer you are. Believing that you and that other person are joined.
Are one.
But you’re just deluded.