DISCLAIMER: Alright listen up. Everyone please be seated, buckle your seatbelt and make yourselves comfortable. Today the journey goes to Slash Island of the HD Association. Of course it would essential to mention that the author does not own anything. Please do not sweet talk the characters, do not feed or pet them, they tend to get attached. If they run off with you, I will be disabled from writing about them.
WARNING: May I also please remind you that this is a slash story, meaning that this contains lovers of the same gender. If this does not strike your fancy, then please take your leave, I do not wish for the characters to feel subjected to prejudices. Thank you.
Life is Hell.
You know what I mean?
No, I don't suppose you do.
However Life Is Hell.
You know this is supposed to be my year. MINE. I'm in my seventh and final year of school at Hogwarts. My year, not his.
How come he gets everything? I mean look at him. He's so…geeky looking, with his big round glasses and that hair…it looks like something died in there or laid a nest at least.
His clothes are too big and they look like something that the Weasels would buy, that is if they had any money.
Why do they fawn over him? Just because he's the Bloody-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die- And-Only-Lives-To-Make-My-Perfect-Life-A-Living-Hell. Oh, look at him, he's the saviour. Oh, that poor dear, an orphan at such a young age.
I mean, Hello, what about me?
I am at least good looking. No wait, wrong words. I am beyond good looking, I am gorgeous, perfect in every way. I get good grades, I'm an athlete as in I play Quidditch and I'm popular. I am a fucking God.
Yet he gets all the attention. Him and his dorky friends.
The Mudblood with the oversized brain and hair that looks like she put her finger in a socket, yes I know what a socket is, I take Muggle Studies. Why? Well, you have to know you enemy and their weaknesses, even though Muggles are as stupid as they come. Fine, fine I made a bet with Parkinson, stating that I wouldn't survive one year of Muggles Studies. But here I am in seventh year and still taking the course. Take that Parkinson, I won.
Alright, back to the Mudblood, she used to have these huge and I mean huge buckteeth. Made her look like a beaver. But she had them corrected back in fourth year after a spell hit and made her teeth grow longer. Merlin, did she look freaking hilarious. But now I can't use that insult anymore.
Damn Know-it-all that's what she is. We're competing for the best grades, you know? And every damn year she beats me. Maybe there's a spell for draining away intelligence? I'll have to check it out later.
And then there's the Weasel. Bloody idiot. Though it is fun to see him all riled up, when I insult his family and girlfriend. Yeah, the Weasel and the Mudblood are dating, as if one wouldn't see that coming from a mile away. No never, only since second year. When the Mudblood got petrified, then it was confirmed again in third year and again in fourth year and so on and so on. I positive the entire school had bets placed on when they would get together. Well, they finally hooked up last year.
Weasel, the boy who has enough siblings and family members to form a Quidditch team, yet with no money to fund it. All their hand-me-down robes, red hair and…ugh…freckles. And they have been infesting the halls of Hogwarts for several years. Thankfully there's only two of the left now, the Weasel and the Weaslette. But that's enough as it is. Those Muggle-loving, pureblood-disgracing penniless tribe of redheads with the procreation rate of rabbits.
And then to complete the circle, as in back to where I started. Potter, the fucking Scarhead. Not very original you say?
The Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived, now that's original. Yeah, right and I'm a Muggle-lover. Please. Boy-Who-Lived? Who comes up with this stuff? Scarhead is a vast improvement if you ask me.
Just look at him. Look! Sitting there with his 'friends'…ugh…I would rather deliver myself on a silver plate to a pack of rabid werewolves than have friends like his. That was what I tried to tell him in our first year. They are the wrong sort. Gryffindors. Count the shivers running down my back, just from that name. Pathetic lot all of them. Bravery, more like stupidity, take the Weasel with shit for brains as an example or even better Longbottom. They really are utterly pathetic.
Alright back to Potter. Yes, yes, of course everything has to revolve around him. Of course he's the centre of the universe. Why he's the Boy-Who-Lived. He's a fucking thorn in my side. That's what he is. Every damn year, he beats me in Quidditch, every damn year he comes out on top.
That didn't sound right.
Jerking his head up from its former position of hovering over his journal, Draco turned to look at the person next to him. He growled in annoyance.
"What do you want, Zabini?"
"Aww, come on is that a way to speak to your best friend?" The dark haired teen grinned.
"Since when have you become my best friend?" He sneered.
"Since Crabbe and Goyle finally did the impossible of getting even more obtuse than before."
"Whatever, well at least you can construct a sentence of other words than 'huh'." Draco smirked. "Though I don't know if that is an improvement. They knew not to disturb me, when I was busy."
"Busy with what? Hey is that, oh this is priceless, is that a diary?" Blaise cackled, holding his hand over his mouth in an attempt to quell his laughter.
"NO! This is a journal, diaries are for girls." Draco huffed and turned away from the laughing brunette. Suddenly he felt the book being hauled away from under his hands.
"Hey, give it back, NOW!" He ground out, glaring at the offending thief. "Blaise, if you even dare read it, I will hex off your hands to the extent that you'll have to eat with your feet for the next week."
"Now, now Draco. All I want I is a quick look." Blaise grinned while holding the book out of Draco's reach. "There must be something rather secret in here for you to act so defensive. A secret crush maybe?" Ignoring Draco's struggles to get his journal back, Blaise quietly hummed to himself flipping through the pages.
"I hate Potter…I hate Potter…Potter…Potter…Potter. Damn, you some weird obsession with Potter, my friend."
"I am not obsessed with Potter."
"All you write in here is how much you loathe Harry Potter. Not very inventive, if you ask me." Blaise chided.
"I am NOT obsessed with Potter!" Draco all but yelled.
"Really then why did I catch you staring at his arse a few days ago? You have a crush on Potter, haven't you?" Blaise grinned wickedly.
"Do not." The blonde tried to object.
"Well, I don't blame you Dray-"
"Don't call me Dray."
"-I mean he is kind of hot. Especially when he has his Quidditch robes on. And that hair, looks like he just had the best shag of his life." The brunette continued ignoring Draco's objections. "Wouldn't you agree, Pansy darling?"
The girl with dark brown hair next to Blaise smirked, who hadn't even bothered to hide her interest in the boys' conversation, unlike many others at the table. "Well, if you go for the tall, dark and handsome thing, then yes, he is kind of hot. But his clothes are rather dreadful." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Now if he got his hands on some nicer ones, maybe got rid of those awful glasses, he could do."
"For the last time, I am NOT obsessed with Harry freaking Potter!"
"Really? I think you are. It's as clear as daylight to me, Dray." Blaise said.
"Blaise it's seven in the evening, there is no daylight."
"It is a metaphor. You know what I mean?"
"No, I don't. Why are we even discussing this?" Draco said glaring at the two.
"Because we're sad, sad people without lives?" Blaise offered with a grin.
Draco sighed in frustration cradling his face in his hand, before he all of the sudden rose from his seat, grabbed the journal out of Blaise's hand and stalked out of the Great Hall.
Draco walked hurriedly down the corridors of the dungeon's lower levels, heading towards the entrance to the Slytherin common room. As he spoke the password he quickly made his way past the couches and onwards to his dorm. He threw open the door and stormed in. He reached his bed and dropped himself onto it casually, drawing a heaving sigh in the process. He crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up into the ceiling of his four poster bed.
What on Earth had possessed him to bring his journal to the Slytherin table in the great hall? He had literally asked for trouble by doing so. This was not dignified. He was a Malfoy and they did not do anything that wasn't dignified. Except if one counted the numerous fights he had gotten into with Hogwarts' resident Boy Wonder.
It wasn't as if he could just ignore it. Potter's mere existence practically begged him to provoke the raven haired Gryffindor. He was drawn to the other, to rile him up and see his face contort in anger. Why? He asked himself for the first time he could remember. Was Blaise right? Was he obsessed with Potter? If he listened to his rational side, then yes. Though his other side just argued that dealing with Potter was a past time, something to keep him from getting bored.
He was not obsessed.
Having a hobby and being obsessed was not the same thing.
He wasn't obsessed.
A/N: Read and Review please, because seriouslyI have no idea as to if I should continue. The idea for this story just suddenly popped up and begged me to be written. Tell me what you think, it would help a lot.