(In Creative Writing class today, our journal topic was about love, because of Valentine's Day. So, instead of writing about my own views on love, I decided to write a love note to Harry Potter. As Draco Malfoy. Enjoy the schoolboy bromance! ))

Dear You Insufferable Twit,

This is incredibly stupid, and I feel even dafter for wasting perfectly good parchment on it. But, since you're such a dimwit, with the most annoying of hero-complexes, I suppose I have to explain it to you. I honestly don't want to do this. I'd rather kiss Goyle than do thi- wait. No, I lied. I wouldn't rather do that. At all. That's just disgusting. But, I think I'm getting my point across. Even you should understand that I absolutely loathe this.

Anyway, Pansy forced me into it. She knows. I asked the heavens how it's even possible, but for god-sake, she just knows. Ugh, this is simply terrible. She cornered me in the common room this morning and told me to finally admit it. In ink. I tried to shove her away and storm off with a witty retort to show her her place, but she's stronger than her scrawniness implies. I couldn't even act dumb, because goddammit she knows! Is it women's intuition? Did Trelawney's crackpot teaching methods actually work? Whatever it is, I hope it suffers a horrible, painful, crippling, agonizing death.

In all seriousness, I have to just say it. Pansy is reading this over my shoulder, and her breathing in my ear is starting to tick me off. So, let me just say it… But, I guess I have to clarify what it is. I assume you don't know, because, well, you're a nitwit. A nitwit with filthy blood.

Oh, that bitch. She slapped me! Oh, she will regret that. She thinks I deserve it, but I think otherwise. Why should I lie? Your blood is dirty, and today, of all days, I'm not in the mood for bullshit.

So, Potter, here it is…

I, er, well… Oh screw it.

I like you.

Oh, Merlin, what have I done?

I don't even know why I do. One moment, I want to stun you into a coma. Another, I'm wondering how it would feel to run my fingers through your unruly hair. Oh, I'm so confused. And pissed. Mostly pissed. I'm just… I-….

I feel like my Malfoy status should be revoked. We don't love. Or get flustered over it. Malfoys trick people into thinking we love them for our own personal gain. We use people. We stab others in the back and we feel good about it. Just the thought makes my blood pound in a wonderfully thrilling way. Oh, yes…. Yet, this doesn't change the fact that I want you, Potter. Oh, I really do. And I hate myself for it. Still, I suppose it is Valentine's Day, even as fake and commercial as it is. But… being a Malfoy, I do have my pride. And I will get things done. As soon as I finish this, I will personally hand this to you in front of the entire Potions class. I will give it to you, you will take it, and you are going to eat dinner with me. I will insult you the entire time, too; I will scorn your murdered parents, laugh at their weakness, and refer to your mother as a Mudblood whore. Your friends will be the butt of all my jokes. I will trash your Quidditch skills, negatively remark on all of your so-called "heroic" deeds, and remind you that your fashion sense is a good decade out of style. I will do it all, and do it all as I hold your hand. I hope our first date goes well, and I'm pretty sure it won't. Regardless of my own idiotic desires, I know I'll never really have you. You'll marry into that Weasel's family, have near-sighted ginger children, and live happily ever after. I'm not delusional; I know I'm not part of that ever after. But, I'll never know until I try. And Malfoy's never lose their nerve in the face of a challenge.

So… Happy Valentine's Day, Potter.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Your Own Personal Hell for the Past Six Years

P.S. Just because I fancy you doesn't mean my twat-like behavior will stop. On the contrary, I'll be even meaner. Especially if you say no. So in all honestly Harry, I suggest you just say 'yes.'