And Maybe

I can still see him sometimes.

In the flashes of lightening and the rain drops that fall colorless across the glass panes that rest on their sills.

His eyes are everywhere that luminous volume that speaks without saying a word, whispers without hissing a sound

It was almost three years nine months seventy-two days ninety-six hours thirty-two minutes and thirty fou...wait thirty five seconds since I last tasted his skin.

Cinnamon and salt and a taste so uniquely different that I couldn't possibly even begin to decipher what it tastes like.

So here I am, sitting once again listening to his friends...my friends listing of the various reports...opinions sadness clues hints, I want them all to shut up.

I want them to tell me that he's alright, that he will come back for me, that I'll be able to taste him on me again, the breathe in his scent, to...to touch him in ways he always swore no one else had ever touched him.

I want him to come back so I can stop this bone deep tiredness that doesn't go away and thinking about him only makes it worse and even in my thoughts I'm rambling and I can tell that Ron is glaring at me because I'm not paying attention and I've started to foam at the mouth because all I want is to be happy.

I'm so tired of hurting, and I'm so tired of being afraid of my cold empty bed and afraid that he may never come back because he's dead or he's found someone else.

And I hate him and love him and want to scream at him and smile at him and hurt him and hold him and smooth back that unruly mop of fluff he calls hair and listen to him tell me he loves me.

I never knew hurting could hurt so badly.

I can still smell him too. Which is beyond disconcerting...Hermione claims I've lost my mind but I swear it...some mornings I wake up groggy and I can still feel his warmth...can still taste his lips on my tongue.

And my fingers twitch and itch because they long to tangle in those jet black strands and pull his head towards me and kiss him, they long to push him against any flat available surface and hold him while my mouth charts a path down his neck, past his chest, teeth grazing firm toffee colored nipples. Because only he has nipples of that distinct toffee color and sometimes I could have sworn that they were nearly more addicting than the sweet of their color.

I want my mouth to touch him, to ravage him and bite and suck and lick and kiss trails down his body long traveled.

It's raining and I'm feeling breathless and I have to leave the building I have to go for a walk because this feeling of hollow emptiness settling in my throat is suffocating me.

I know by now I'm nearly lost in the rain, I can hear people honking Muggle horns at me and I'm still walking, no I'm practically running because I don't want to cry again because I couldn't stand knowing that I was crying for someone who couldn't possibly really truly love me.

How could he really?

I'm a terrible person and I only hope that somewhere you're thinking of me and know that I'm so horribly a mess that I'm trying to live hoping beyond all reasonable hope that you're alive and hurting just as bad as I am.

Because this dull aching in my heart hasn't stopped since I discovered you'd gone missing.

I'm crying even more because I see you everywhere...in front of me pushing me against a wall in some dingy grimy back ally....I'm hallucinating and being ravaged by a mouth I know and yet don't know, because I've never known you to be so aggressive so possessive, and I've seen you so many times in my dreams I know that this couldn't possibly be real, but I suppose it is because you've just apparated us back to my apartment and I'm so out of it I realize that it is you and probably isn't and even as you pull me to you again my heart is breaking and screaming foul things at my mind for playing such a cruel trick on it.

I can hear you whispering apologies and I love you's in my ear's even as my hands are tearing at your clothes, and I think I'm yelling at you, screaming at you even while my mouth is on your throat biting, claiming.

And dear gods your pushing me to the floor, and I'm hoping again without any trace of fear that this really is you and that it really is you pushing inside me, that it is you kissing me savagely, widening my even as your pushing almost barbarically against my prostrate and I know it's you because only you ever called me that and only you ever smelled so difficult and I can see your eyes clearly now and they're the same shade of green.

Telling me secrets I already know even as they take from me secrets I never had.

And I can feel you straining to keep control even as I love myself, and the muscles you're trying to pull against are feeding upon your soul even as I wrench out your heart to heal it, and I kiss you and hug you to my chest so fiercely you can scarcely breathe.

I'm telling you again that your never to leave me and I can feel you crying, heaving sobs that send shudder's through my body, we'll more than likely fall asleep this way and I'll wake up and I'll yell at you some more even as I drag you to our bed and take you again and again with a savage need that I can already tell is building up inside of me.

And I can already tell what the papers will read. I already know that our world will hardly approve of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter being in love and I could hardly care, because even if they don't think our's is a fairy tale ending...I know it isn't, because ei don't believe in fairy tale's all I believe in is you and that's all that matters.

But you know it doesn't matter because you're here and I know it's you because I know you and now I know your alive, and maybe to some it matters a lot, and maybe to some it doesn't matter, because it's not the beginning that counts it's everything between the start and the finish...because this is my happy ending.

It's what we make of it that makes it all worth while.