Disbelief

I worry about him sometimes. But, that's not exactly a surprise. I worry about everyone. It's who I am. Part of my internal matrix, so to speak.

I worry about Ron, who's likely to explode if he doesn't hurry up and admit his feelings for Hermione. I worry about Seamus, who's likely to explode from a transfiguration experiment gone terribly, horribly wrong. And I especially worry about Neville, who's likely to explode when Snape finally has a mental breakdown and hexes the unfortunately inept boy into oblivion.

His case isn't really any different. The worry gets a little more extreme now and then, considering the equally extreme circumstances, but it's basically just a result of my general need to save anyone and everyone. Sometimes, though, I get the nagging feeling that he may need saving more than even I suspect. Or maybe that's heartburn. Maybe I should ask Madam Pomfrey? Do wizards get heartburn?

I wouldn't be very surprised if he did turn out to be in trouble, though. For one thing, his father is a total lunatic. I don't just mean the 'I'm-gonna-go-do-aerobics-with-Richard-Simmons' kind, either. He's an all-out, 'let's-go-kill-us-some-kittens' psycho. And is the leap from kittens to his own son all that impossible?

Well, the son in question might think so. Mo matter what kind of treatment he gets at home - and I somehow doubt that it's all sunshine and blood-lollipops - he always sticks up for dear old dad. Huzzah Purebloods, on with the Malfoy name, and all that rubbish.

But maybe, just maybe, he does realize the danger he's in. So, why doesn't he do something? I've never even noticed him making a special effort to stay at school for the holidays, let alone trying to escape that madhouse for good. Not that I pay that much attention to him. It's not like I'm constantly watching him, or anything. That'd be creepy. Stalkerish, even. And if I was going to stalk someone, it wouldn't be Malfoy. But I wouldn't be stalking anyone to begin with, of course. No. Of course not. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Boy-Who-Snuck-Around-In-The-Dark-Taking-Pictures-Of-His-Classmates. That's Colin's territory.

Really, it's more of a coincidence that I know he always goes home gladly. If by coincidence you mean running into him in the Great Hall and having to listen to his smug disdain at my always staying at school during the holidays. Of course, if I spent all my free time at Hogwarts with lunkheads like Crabbe and Goyle, then Christmas at Malfoy Manor might not look so bad. Between the two of them, they have about the IQ of a rock. No offense to the rock.

Besides, just who would he go to if he did want help? Me? Yeah, right. I can see it now. "Gee, Potter, I really despise you and all, and hope that you someday die a particularly gruesome and painful death, but it turns out that not only do I have to admit that I have a weakness, but I must beg you for help. So, how about it?" He would sooner swallow a snake. A live one, no less. A live poisonous one. A live, poisonous, ten-foot one. Damn him and his stubborn pride.

Doesn't it even occur to him that he's worrying the people who care about him? Wait, no, wait, hold on. Let me rephrase that. That's not me, you see.. I don't...I don't care about him, really. It's just that, well, he needs help. More than everyone else. But, I don't feel anything for him. Why would I? Bloody hell, why would anyone?

So maybe he's intelligent, and suave, and a lot of his jokes are actually pretty funny. Yes, even some of the ones about Ron. There was this really great one the other day in Care of Magical Creatures...what was it? Something about Ron and a flaming cactus? I can't quite recall.

Not that I laughed or anything. It's still Malfoy, after all. But it was kind of amusing. Slightly. A wee bit. Er...just don't tell Ron that I said that, okay? I'd actually like to live to see my next birthday.

And maybe he's also good at Quidditch, and at Potions, and at keeping his cool. Unlike...well...practically everyone I know. We Gryffindors aren't exactly the calmest people around, to put it lightly.

For example, the other day, Pansy Parkinson made some snide comment to Neville, and he turned so red that I thought someone must have hexed his face to change color. Okay, so, as it turned out, I was right, and Pansy just been muttering the spell, but that's beside the point.

And maybe he even has really silky-looking hair, and chiseled features, and a great body...

But, since I'm not gay or anything, I've never really noticed any of that. No, no, of course not. And I also haven't noticed the way his eyes get all misty when he's trying to remember something, or how his long, elegant fingers would be perfect for playing the piano, or how he nibbles delicately on his lower lip while he thinks. Nope. I've never given it much thought, at all. Good thing I haven't, either, or I'd really start to wonder about my mental health.

I wonder what the attendants at St. Mungo's would think if the famous Harry Potter was suddenly admitted, mumbling incoherently about subtle silver eyes and other poetic nonsense. There'd probably be a sudden heart-attack epidemic.

Fortunately for their health, though, I don't care about him. Really. Seriously. I don't. Reeeeeally.

Well, okay...maybe just a little.

I don't particularly want him hanging around, though. Truly, I don't. After all, it's not like I'd die if I didn't see his thoroughly, annoyingly smug face two or three times everyday. I certainly get enough of him as it is, what with all his caustic remarks about my heritage, intelligence, or inconvenient existence in general, his bigoted insults at Hermione, and his almost-but-not-quite-funny jokes about the Weasleys.

There was that one time back in fifth-year, though, that he slipped off his broom during Quidditch practice and nearly broke his head open, therefore becoming confined to the hospital wing for a good week and a half. Everything felt really...really strange with him gone. No smirks, no insults, no challenge. But, it wasn't bad, per se. I mean, just because my life suddenly felt hollow and meaningless, that's no reason to get all worked up, is it? I didn't think so. A little pointlessness never hurt anyone. Er. Much.

There are worse things that could happen, after all. Voldemort could suddenly rise from the dead yet again, a giant meteorite could appear out of nowhere and destroy the planet, or Hermione could get another cat. As if Crookshanks weren't enough. I think I might be allergic. Or maybe just easily annoyed. Whatever.

Malfoy strikes me as a cat person. Proud, independent, and damned sneaky. I'll bet he just loves their devious little kitty minds. Living with him would certainly be hell, what with the million shadowy black cats you'd no doubt have to put up with. Not that I'd be living with him. Good lord, no. Living with him? Where would you ever get that idea? That's possibly the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my entire life. Harry Potter rooming with a Malfoy. Yeah, right. Tell me another. Or worse, maybe doing more than just rooming together.

Gah! Why did I bring that up? I must be some sort of masochist! A relationship...with him? He's arrogant, and cold, and insufferable, and...oh, yeah...MALE! Ew, ew, ew... I think I need to go wash my brain. I'm scarred for life. Imagine...Harry Malfoy. Or would it be Draco Potter? Either way, that's just....just...shudder.

What kind of a nancy-boy name is Draco Malfoy, anyway? He's sounds like some ridiculously hopped-up bad guy out of an old James Bond movie. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. What a git.

And he gets all offended when someone laughs at it. Honestly, who wouldn't? But he just keeps insisting that it's sexy, or exotic, or something. Right, Draco. Just keep telling yourself that.

As if anything about that slimy worm is even remotely sexy. Well, okay, so his name might be a tiny bit attractive. If you were a homosexual, that is. Unlike me. Definitely not me. I am seriously, dangerously straight. Oh, yeah.

It does sort of roll of your tongue, though, doesn't it? Draco Malfoy. I catch myself scribbling it in the margins of my Charms notes, sometimes...just because it's so completely odd, you know. Not for any other reasons, or anything.

And, yes, fine, in addition to being particularly strange, his name is also utterly sexy, just like he says. Along with his bad boy attitude, and smug demeanor, and slim build, and silvery-blonde hair, and mysterious eyes, and pouty lips, and...

Not that I would...I mean, I would never...I'm really not...I've never even considered...I just don't...Ergh...

Oh, fuck it. I love him.