Strawberry Gashes

Prologue: Strawberry Gashes

Turn her over
A candle is lit, I see through her
Blow it out and save all her ashes for me

Curse me sold her
The poison that runs it's course through her
Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over all over

Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over

Called her over
and asked her if she was improving
She said "feels fine" it's wonderful wonderful here

Hex me told her
I dreamt of a devil that knew her
Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over all over

Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over

I lay quiet
waiting for her voice to say
"Some things you lose and some things you just give away"

Scold me failed her
If only I'd held on tighter to her
Pale white skin that twisted and withered away from me away from me

Watch me lose her
It's almost like losing myself
Give her my soul
and let them take somebody else get away from me

Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over all over me

Johnny's in America, low-tech's at the wheel

No-one needs anyone, they don't even just

pretend

Johnny's in America

I'm afraid of Americans

I'm afraid of the world

I'm afraid I can't help it

I'm afraid I can't

Johnny's in America

Johnny wants a brain, Johnny wants to suck on a

coke

Johnny wants a woman, Johnny wants to think of

a joke

Johnny's in America

I'm afraid of Americans

I'm afraid of the world

I'm afraid I can't help it

I'm afraid I can't

Johnny's in America

Johnny's in America, Johnny looks up at the stars

Johnny combs his hair and Johnny wants pussy

and cars

Johnny's in America

I'm afraid of Americans

I'm afraid of the world

I'm afraid I can't help it

I'm afraid I can't

Johnny's in America

God is an American

I'm afraid of Americans

I'm afraid of the world

I'm afraid I can't help it

I'm afraid I can't

I'm afraid of Americans

I'm afraid of the words

I'm afraid I can't help it

I'm afraid I can't

Johnny's in America

Johnny's in America

Chapter 1: I'm Afraid of Americans

Malfoy stepped onto Hogwarts Express and trudged off towards an open compartment with a grave look on his face. He truly enjoyed his magical school, for it was his only way to escape the grip of his father. Now starting his 6^th year at this academy for witchcraft and wizardry, he was Prefect of Slytherin house. He wouldn't have thought of applying for the position if his father hadn't demanded him to do so. His father frightened him so that he felt that if he did not obey is every command; he would be sentenced for life in Azkaban. He shuddered at the thought. Yes, he was a Slytherin; a foul-mouthed, rich Pureblood snob, but yet there was something he didn't possess and he yearned for: love.

His father and mother never saw him as a boy, their son (let alone human), but treated him as if he were their machine for ultimate power. That lack, as well as never having any relationships that had meaning, left him defenseless. Sure he had a few good snogs and shags, but he never truly cared for any of the girls he fooled around with. His entire love life had only been lust and infatuation; he never connected with any girl on an intellectual level.

The one thing he wanted most in life was not to follow in his father's footsteps (which would have been a moronic move, since his father was thrown in jail), but a real love, pure in all ways possible, where he wasn't just attracted to a girl's body, but to her mind as well. He thought of Harry Potter and his girlfriend, Hermione Granger. They had been best friends since 1^st year (along with Ron Weasley) and only recently the two became a couple. (Too bad for Weasley, apparently he had a crush on the girl too.) As much as he hated them in general, all their courage, wits, happiness and all, he was envious of them as well. He knew that he would never have a relationship that was equal to theirs, and that just made him grow even more lonesome.

"Blasted Potter," he muttered under his breath as he made his way through a crowd of joyous witches and wizards towards the back of the train. The happiness and glee that filled the others made him sick; sick enough to vomit right where he was standing. His thoughts were interrupted when a body slammed into his.

A few sickles went flying from one of his inner robe pockets.

"Sorry about that," said a voice Malfoy didn't recognize. "Here, let me get that for you," the person said as they picked up the few golden pieces off of the crimson carpet and handed them to him with a gentle smile upon their face.

Before him stood a girl who appeared to be about his age, yet was nearly a foot shorter than he was. Malfoy, standing at a height of 6 foot, towered over her mere 5'2''. She looked into his menacing blue-gray eyes, then scanned over his platinum blonde hair which rested just below his ears, then to his square jaw line, and finally to his pouting yet kissable lips.

Only one thought raced into her mind: Wow, I love England already.

Malfoy just stared at her. She was not British, oh no, but by her accent, he could tell that she was American. He shot her a look of disgust as he snatched the coins from her hand.

"Watch where you're going," he said in a vulgar tone as he pushed her out of the way and continued on his search for a booth where he could be alone.

"Damn Brits," she scowled under her breath as she headed for the front of the train.

As he entered an empty cubicle, he looked over his shoulder at the girl. It was at that moment when he realized exactly how pretty she was. She had rich hazel eyes, full lips, straight teeth with an attractive smile and very short, dirty blonde hair. He watched her closely as she walked towards him in search of a seat, stopping every few steps to see if there was any space available. Draco sighed as he sat on the velvet emerald cushion of the bench in his compartment. He stared out the window as the train passed beautiful scenic views of lakes, mountains and forests.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on the oak-finish of the door. "Excuse me, is there any roo- oh, it's you again," the American girl stood in the doorway with a frown on her face.

The polite tone in her voice grew cold the instant she recognized him.

Malfoy stood up and blocked the doorway with his rather sculpted body and he replied, "There isn't any room for a filthy Yank like you."

She looked down at the floor and noticed by his stance that his weight was slightly off-balance, and with a not too forceful shove she easily knocked him to the ground.

"Don't toy with me," she said sternly as she placed herself on the bench.

"Who are you anyway?" she asked curiously.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Prefect of Slytherin House. That means if you disobey me I could sentence you to detention for weeks," he hissed.

He held his face about an inch away from hers, glaring at her, allowing her to smell the mint on his breath.

She aped his glower and said sarcastically in the tone of a seven year old, "Ooh, I'm so scared. I better go and get my mommy to save me." She smirked and then used a British accent and mocked his pride: "Look at me everyone! I'm Draco Malfoy, Prefect of Slytherin House. Disobey me and I'll have you serving detention for weeks!"

She chuckled at her own insult. Malfoy turned away so she couldn't see him grinning at the joke as well. He found her British accent rather amusing.

"By the way, the name's McQuerie. Tristan McQuerie," she stated.

Malfoy continued to have his back to her and he replied, "What is a pathetic little first year doing bothering me?"

Tristan lifted an eyebrow and said back, "Well you are mistaken, Malfoy. I am but a 6^th year. I was born to Muggle parents. I had always wanted to travel the world, and after I found out that I was a witch, I began to enroll in schools in other countries. I've always a great liking for England, that is, until I met you."

He faced her and snapped back, "Go back to America Mudblood, you aren't wanted here."

Malfoy grabbed his robes off the shelf of the compartment and stormed out towards the dressing rooms. Tristan could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. All her anger had finally peaked and she grabbed her robes as well and followed Draco, not caring if he could hear her behind him or not. Nothing upset her more than being called that deceitful name, a Mudblood. When he went in an empty room, she entered as well, closing the door behind her and locking it. She punched him in the nose; he had been off guard. Blood began to stream freely from his wound. Before she could hit him again, he grabbed her and forced her to the ground, pinning her arms to the floor. Then he decided to do the unspeakable.

He kissed her, long and hard. After their mouths broke apart, he ran his soft, warm tongue over her lips. The mixture of the taste of his lips and his blood left a sweet flavor in her mouth. She didn't let it bring her barriers down: it only enraged her even more. She kicked him hard in the groin. As he was wallowing in pain, she got up and grabbed her robes off the floor.

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me again," she snarled as she ran out of the room.