From the Grave

Chapter Eleven- Draco

   You would have thought Hogwarts was on fire from the way Fred ran screeching into the Great Hall. Turns out Lupin and Black have a thing for each other. And get this- they kissed. In public. Part of me is absolutely disgusted, but the other part longs to recreate the scene with Potter. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away. Get a grip, Malfoy. He doesn't love you back. And why would he? I've done nothing but taunt and torture him from day one. Why? Because my father told me to. And like the fool I am, I listened to him. From the day I set eyes on him, I knew he was mine. I should have protected him! But no. I had to uphold the "sacred" Malfoy honor. "Dammit!" I slam my fist down onto a broken statue lying nearby. "Fuck!" Of course it had to be stone. I examine my bloodied hand ruefully. This is why you keep it inside of you, Stupid. I grab the sleeping bag I was issued and throw it on the floor. As I climb in, I think about the last few days. I still don't know why no one's concerned about Venus dropping from the ceiling and waking the dead. You can't tell me that was just a coincidence. Nobody can bring back the dead. But they did, and everyone's just like, "oh, cool. A person." I want to scream. Why is life so complicated!?! I close my eyes tight, glad I at least get to sleep alone, and eventually I fall asleep.

I'm dreaming. Everywhere I go, I see Potter. Every class, every meal. I'm going insane. How could there be so many of them? Everyone's laughing at me. What do they know that I don't!?! I grab one of the Potters and try to strangle him in frustration, but he just slips out of my grip and laughs merrily. "Polyjuice potion," he whispers before skipping away. Potter skipping? Then it hits me. I'm being pranked. Someone knows how I feel about Potter, and is out there somewhere, laughing as I slowly go insane. I see red. No one does this to a Malfoy! The next Potter I see, I pin him up against the wall. "Just because I love Potter doesn't mean you get to torture me with his beautiful face!" I snarl. Potter smirks and opens his mouth and-

I jerk awake with a gasp. Sweat is pouring down my face. Angrily, I yank the sleeping bag away from my body. I glance around, but it's dark and quiet. No one's around. "FUCK YOU, POTTER!!!!" I scream. My cry echoes in the quiet around me. "Is that an offer?" I gasp and scramble to my feet. Potter? My heart races. Then he steps into the dull moonlight, and I forget how to breathe. He's shirtless, and his bare chest gleams in the moonlight. "Uh, uh," I stammer. I've momentarily lost the ability to speak. What comes out of my mouth next is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever said in my life. "St. Potter, man of my dreams. What are you doing here?"
As I process what I just said, he steps forward, his face tense. His face is inches from mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my lips. The moonlight falls all around us like some sort of weird spotlight, and it's almost too much. I want him so bad, I need him. Just when I feel like I can't take another minute of this, his lips brush mine. I stop breathing. We're eye to eye now, and I stare into the endless pools in front of me. I'm not ready; I'll never be ready, but it's now or never.

I close the distance between us and softly press my lips up against his. For a heartbeat I fear I've gone too far, but then he's kissing me back and I forget everything else as his arms wrap around me, pulling me closer to him. I cling to him like a drowning person, and, in a way, I am drowning. Drowning in my love for the Boy Who Lived.