Title: Iris

Summary: He only had hours to live and he didn't want to sit at the library- watching her move and breathe and smile. She was forbidden and he'd never have her. He had to have her. He needed her in his last hours. DG

Disclaimer: I only own the plot. It's AU after some point. Fifth book maybe?


A quill was the only thing to keep her hair from falling onto her shoulders. Tiny breads could be seen, looking awkward in her hair because of the fact that it was pulled back. She wore earrings that dangled, little moons hanging off of chains, and he could tell they were Muggle.

Freckled dotted her face, not faded and, though everyone thought she looked childish, he thought she looked beautiful. Eyebrows had once been plucked but she didn't keep up with things like that and they were growing back. She had a beauty mark by her left ear.

She wasn't so pale that it was disgusting, like himself, yet slightly tanned. Brown eyes gazed down at the parchment in front of her, while her top teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, and later, that lip would be chapped and she'd wonder why. Small nose, wide chin, pouting lips.

If she stood, she'd be inches shorter then him but her passion that burned deep inside of her made her seem so much taller. Her shirt was stained, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, top original button missing to be replaced with a large, green one. Her tie was laying limp on her chest. After years of wearing the same set of skirts, it was beginning to wear at the bottom and it rode up her thighs.

He saw nothing he hadn't seen before and wondered if she knew how much she was teasing him. One of her knee high socks were all the way up, though they weren't going by the school uniform code. The girl was wearing two different socks and he loved it. Her other sock was bagging down by her old sneakers.

She was messy when she ate and loud when she spoke and was always grinning like a fool- he admired it.

Today was no different day then the day before though he now knew he was going to die within a few hours. The thought didn't scare him but, in all actuality, comforted him. Finally, he would be loose from the leash the world had choked around him and he could just die.

She gave a heavy sigh and he had to bite back a groan. Soon, she'd give up on her homework and leave the library and he'd be left in his last hours, wondering if he should have done something. The girl he admired, loved, had cursed him in her fourth year and if he put a foot out of line, she'd do it again.

Watching with hooded eyes, he saw her take her quill off the parchment and slowly drag it across the library table. Her small hands were writing something and a smirk fitted his lips.

"Why are you watching me, Malfoy?" Her voice called and she looked up slowly, her brown eyes capturing his own.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

She was a forbidden fruit that he craved in his last hours of life- wouldn't she just give him that?

"Because you're beautiful." He responded and watched as her whole posture stiffened.

And, slowly, she let go of his eyes and began to put away her books. The bag she had was worn to the last thread but she didn't notice, or she didn't care. He watched as she began to walk by his table, the only route out, before she grabbed the chair across from him and sat down.

Her bag dropped to the floor and she looked at him, staring straight into his eyes. Merlin, if they could just stay like this for the rest of the day.

She chewed her lip when thinking or nervous and, now, she was chewing her lip. And he had to grip onto his pants to stop the temptation to reach over and grab her and kiss her.


His grip on his pants loosened and he grabbed her face, softly. Her skin was dry but felt like silk under his fingers. Those brown eyes of hers didn't widen as he leaned closer to her face, his fingers making small circles on her cheeks as he merely stared at her.

"Just don't ask questions, Weasley, okay?" He asked and watched as she, slowly, nodded.

"Just kiss me, Malfoy, and I won't ask questions." She breathed and he leaned closer, his lips capturing her own.

Her lips were thin and small but it didn't matter. All he could think about was the way her hands suddenly wrapped around his neck and she leaned closer to him. She smelled of ink and peanuts and of freedom and he desired it.

A pinch from her small, chewed-down finger nails on the back of his neck caused him to jump back from her.

"What was that for?" He panted softly.

"I suggest we move ourselves."

He watched as she got up, not bothering to grab her bag, before she reached for his hand and pulled him up also. Once a bookshelf covered their figures from the eyes of others, he pulled her forward, capturing her ear in a gentle bite.

Leaning her head back, he got view of her neck and lowered his lips to that, biting and sucking. He wanted her to be marked by him. Possessive he was and he wanted everyone to know that he was here, his lips were on her neck, his hands touching her body.

He wanted them to know that before he died, he crossed his father and the eyes of others and had the girl he's obsessed over for a year.

In a few hours, he was going to be marked to what everyone thought he was going to become. But he wouldn't allow it- if he was going to ruin his life, it would be his goddamn terms and not everyone else's. No one would understand that, though, except his fellow Slytherins.

They were all to become Deatheaters and no one understood that. It was everyone and no one who forced them to become Deatheaters only because they were Slytherins. But he'd prove them wrong. The leader of the Slytherins, the Malfoy heir, the one to lead the Dark Side wasn't going to follow the rules.

But he wouldn't serve under Dumbledore either- stupid old man. He knew he'd be used by Dumbledore, like Snape was, and he wasn't going to live that life.

"Draco," She whispered in his ear and he tilted his head up to look at her.

She knew something was wrong, perhaps he had given off a sound to warn her of his mood, for her hands were now on his chest, her eyes pleading for something. Her lips were swollen and he found he couldn't look her in the face, the eyes.

"Look at me," She hissed.

Stepping back, to give her her personal space, he ran a hand through his hair. His name sounded like heaven coming off her tongue and it wasn't suppose to.

"You're going to do something stupid tonight, aren't you?" She asked, biting her lip.

"I'm going to do something to free us all."

And, though he had planned to leave, he grabbed her again and gave her a rough kiss. She didn't struggle or melt into him like any other girl would do but she seemed desperate to keep him there with her. Her back was pushed roughly against the bookshelf as his hands moved around her body, trying to help him memorize it all.

"Don't," Was her only word before she moaned.

Don't what?

Don't leave? Don't do something stupid? Don't be a hero? Don't touch her?

"Ginevra," Her name made him shiver slightly once he said it.

And with that he turned, walking out of the library, successfully throwing a chair at one of the bookshelves on his way and making some books tumble down. The librarian screeched and he smirked.


And he watched as she ran across the ground yards, her red hair like a curtain, as she made for the Quidditch Pitch. Gryffindor against Ravenclaw, one of the more important games, and that's where Dumbledore was. She must have forgotten for it had taken her an hour to finally get out there.

She cared for him, he realized with an unrecognizable feeling.

She was going to tell Dumbledore that something was wrong- that he was going to do something and that Dumbledore had to stop him. He had about half an hour to get to the Great Hall before Dumbledore and the rest of the professors would find him. A sigh escaped his lips before he began down the Astronomy tower.

He had finally had her kisses and had finally smelt her and she had been willing. All he could do was breathe in her life, her happiness, her freedom and then it was over. It wasn't as though he could have those things.

The doors to the Great Hall were open and he stepped in.

He wondered if he wanted someone to save him at this moment. Did he want Ginny to save him as he walked over to the Slytherin table and used his wand to send all the plates and dishes and forks and spoons and knives crashing into the walls and floor and other tables?

He wanted to live.

As an afterthought, he closed the Great Hall doors.

A knife caught his attention and he picked it up. Carving was his art and, so, he began to carve into the wood of the table at which his Slytherins ate at. He was going to save them.


She cried and Dumbledore listened and Snape paled and McGonagall gasped.

"How do you know?" Snape questioned softly.

"I know him, his eyes told me," She whispered.


Her scream awakened him from his carving as the Great Hall doors moved slightly. Do it now or never, Malfoy, he thought with a grimace.

So he did, the blue potion pouring into his lungs, his body freezing over. But all he could think about was her lips, her eyes, her freckles, her unmatching socks, her smile, her kiss…


The moment Ginny Weasley walked into the Great Hall, behind her Potion's Master, she knew he had done it. He had done what she told him not to and she saw his body lying on the Slytherin table.

There was no blood around him, she saw as she slowly walked up to him. His eyes were staring at the ceiling, into the clear sky. His father was going to make him become a Deatheater, she'd find out later, and he wouldn't. It was either die by his father's hand or his own.

And so she took a seat, her shoes crushing the already broken plates, beside his body on the table. He was cold to the touch but he hadn't been less then an hour ago when they were in the library. His hands had roamed her body and she had loved it.

He was forbidden to her and she was forbidden to him and they had ignored it.

She had watched him when he was busy or mad or bored. He never gave a sign of any emotion but she had been able to see.

His nails were longer then her own and he always picked at them whenever someone was bothering him. He hated having his hair fall into his face and having to listen to Dumbledore every year. He longed to be someone else but loved life as a Malfoy, if you could call it that.

His one ear was pierced and he, sometimes, used mascara- she saw the Muggle kind slip out of his bag one time- but only when he'd think that he looked like his father. He moves his hand around when thinking, writing the words invisibly as they crossed through his mind. True to his word, he hates Harry as much as his father hates Dumbledore.

He could have ruled the world, if he wanted to. She would have ruled the world by his side, if he asked her to, but he didn't. He stared at her whenever she was in his eyesight, except when she was staring at him.

She thought that, maybe, she loved him. And she thought that, maybe, he loved her too.

And when they removed his body from the Slytherin table, all Prefects and professors and students there to watch (hearing the news and leaving the game right away) they found that he had carved writing into the wood.

She had smiled when she read it. Now everyone would know him but she'd be the only one to really know him.

.A person's last words are suppose to be touching but I am not touching. I am Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and would-be leader of Voldemort's army. And I will never speak last words, for I will be speaking forever, even in death. Everyone thought they knew me but they don't. Bet I surprised you.

Author's Note: Hmm… very weird, very old. AU. Hope you liked it.