The Perfect Imperfection

After knowing somebody for so long, you start to gain the ability to know their thoughts, and predict their actions. But let me tell you, out of all the things he could've done, that was the last thing I ever would've imagined. I get the impression Pansy feels the same.

I can feel him standing in front of me, I can hear Pansy swearing, but I'm not all quite there.

My heart is heavy and I feel as if I've fallen off the Astronomy Tower. I'm trying to speak, but there are no words to express it. My gaze is focused on my feet, and the frayed shoelace I can see poking out from under my robe. I can barely see him out of the corner of my eyes, but I notice that his smirk falters the instant I feel a tear start to slide down my cheek. I become aware of the few bystanders that are left and the weight of their eyes upon me. It's then that I shake my head, and casually brush the tear aside, using all my strength to keep the rest from coming.

Finally, I regain my composure and I manage to get a firm hold on all of my books. I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes so I simply turn around and walk up the stairs, desperately hoping nobody wants to talk to me. For once, luck is on my side and I have an easy walk toward the library. Finding a table in the back, I place my books down and flop halfheartedly into a chair.

There's no way I'll get any homework done now. No way in Hell.

Absentmindedly, I unroll a sheet of parchment in front of me, before letting it snap back into its' previously curled form. My eyes aren't focusing on anything in particular as I stare into space, my chin resting on top of my pile of books. As of now, I can only feel one thing: hurt.

The way he was able to just so carelessly kiss another person is mind boggling to me. I know Pansy was just as shocked as I was...but it's so obvious to everybody the way she fancies him, I bet it was a dream come true. And it wasn't just a small peck on the lips, either. He's so unabashed I can't stand it. He did it to bother me, and it's working. Damn him, it's working.

He asked me how it felt. Yeah, as if you can put a feeling like that into words. As if he would ever know what it's like to see the person you love put their lips on another's. He thinks he's getting his revenge. He's trying to teach me a lesson. Let me see what it's like. How would he know? Even when I was with somebody else behind his back, it wasn't like this. I wasn't hurting him, if anything I was hurting the other people I was with. But he felt nothing but jealousy.

He was jealous because I'm supposed to be his alone. But me, I'm not jealous. I'm shocked, stunned, angry, and hurt. And I feel this way because of the way I feel about him. Not because I'm jealous and I feel he should devote himself entirely to me (But God, if he would...) I feel this way because I care. I care about the fucking bastard and he's using that against me. He's bothered because he's selfish, and I'm hurt because I care.

I can't let him know it's getting to me. I'm not going to let him know it's getting to me. Yeah, as if the crying didn't give it away...but I can still try to hold on and try to pretend.

I've been pretending so long, why stop now, right? He wants me to see what it's like for him, to feel what he thinks is genuine anguish. I want him to see what it's like for me. And maybe I can't make him know what unrequited love feels like, and maybe I can't explain to him what it's like to feel like nothing more than an object. You can't explain to somebody what it's like when absolutely nobody cares. But at least I can try.

This is the only time I've ever been ballsy enough, been angry and hurt enough to go against him.

I just can't continue with the way things are. He might be fine with us, but I'm not. I have to try something...try anything to salvage what we have. I have to. If I don't, then what does that leave me with? The same way it's been? Sneaking around trying to seek out a person who cares, while letting myself get abused by the person I do love? That's not life...that's existence. I don't want to exist. I want to live.

It's no secret how much I hate Potions, but today I've decided it's going to be the best class of the day. Snape is in a particularly foul mood, and immediately he puts us in groups to begin a sleeping potion. I know this one nearly by heart, so it's not very difficult for me to work on it, and continually sneak glances in Draco's direction. The look on his face isn't as smug as I'd imagine. In fact, he looks as if he's having the same sort of day Snape is.

I try to convince myself it doesn't matter. That the constant look of contemplation on his face is nothing. That his feelings are nothing. Of course, I'm lying to myself, but what can I do about that?

My thoughts are all over the place as I measure thimbles full of powdered horse bone and vials full of zebra bile. He hasn't looked at me all class. Ignoring me, I suppose. Or is he?

Ignoring people isn't really a Malfoy trait. I'm sure if he was that upset, he'd have knocked me out with his cauldron already. What is it then? What's on his mind? I long to be able to ask him. To have the freedom to actually talk to him, to find out what he's thinking, not where he wants to meet for a fuck. Then, I decide he looks guilty, and I become nervous. He's done all sorts of things without being guilty, what sort of a horrendous act could make him feel that emotion? I bet it's a new one for him, that's why he looks nearly ill.

Pushing it out of my mind, I turn back to my simmering cauldron. If he's planned something terrible for me, I'll just await it in silence. I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle. Besides, I refuse to let it get to me. I refuse to let my emotions grip me and throw me around again. If I'm going to be gripped and thrown around, I might as well let him do it.

Surprising as it may be, I find myself free of trouble, and Potions class ends without event. I'm no longer suspicious of him, and instead I wonder if it's wise to start a conflict with him in such a state of mind. But then I remember that I have to think like him. If I want to show him how it feels to truthfully feel like he's nothing, then I better not start by going out of my way to be nice. I just remind myself it's for the sake of the relationship. For the sake of my sanity, it has to be done-not that it makes it any easier.

The bell rings and it's a mad dash to the door of the dungeon. People are scurrying out in a flurry of parchment, quills, and a low hanging silver mist that has been present ever since Neville started his potion. Draco is one of the few in the back of the pack, obviously not in any hurry to run off and kiss anybody else. I decide to hang back as well, and I manage to make us the last two out of class. As the rest of the group hurries up the stairs, I slip up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. He wheels around and looks at bit surprised to see me standing before him. However, his surprise turns to mild amusement as he grins and crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a once over with those startling gray orbs.

"What is it now, Potter? Have you come to apologize again for being such a slut?" His eyes narrow, and it's remarkable how evil he can look in the blink of an eye. Drop dead gorgeous, of course. But an evil gorgeous, if there is such a thing. His face is inches away from mine and he's speaking in a hushed, husky voice. "Or are you here to get on your knees and beg me to take you right now? Because we both know that's what you want...just admit it."

Immediately, I wonder where he's acquired the ability to make me want to agree to everything he says. I suppose it's been that way for a while, only now I'm just realizing it. However, admitting it is the last thing on my mind. With every ounce of courage (Gryffindor, don't fail me now) and guts I have, I reach up and shove him backward, causing him to stumble and nearly loose his balance. My fists clench at my robes as I resist the urge to reach out and grab him, and apologize for what I've done. When I catch the look on his face, I begin to wonder if running would be a better idea, but I stay put, trying to hold my head high as I stare at him. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are nothing but slits, and if I'm not mistaking, that's his wand he's reaching for.

"I just want to talk with you," My voice is shaking, and I hope it's not apparent to him. I swallow hard and glance again at his hand, which is buried in his robe pocket, obviously grasped around something. "Only...I don't want to talk now. I want to talk to you later. Here, outside the dungeons. Midnight." I want to slam my head against the wall. The dungeons at midnight. Of course I would pick the tame and place of nearly every meeting we had since this first began.

It's excruciatingly nerve-racking as I stand there, my fingers still clutching the black cloth of my robe. I'm not necessarily nervous because of what his answer may be. I'm curious if there will even be a dignified answer. I know he doesn't respect me a great deal, he never has. But does he think of me as enough of a person to grant a simple request?

He sucks his bottom lip under that top set of pearly whites and rolls the thought over in his mind. At first, his silence unnerves me, but I calm myself down a bit when I notice that his hand as gone lax in his pocket. He merely gives a light nod, and neither of us has to speak for me to know that's my cue to leave.

Lying in my bed fully clothed but under the covers, I'm reminded of the adventures Ron and I used to have at night. Giving the impression we'd gone off to sleep, when in reality, we were ready to take on the world at midnight. Truth be told, I hadn't done much with Ron this past term.

After he and Hermione became so involved, I put all my attention and efforts into Draco. And for what? I wonder if this is the right way to go about things. When was the last time I ever stood up to him? A year ago? I begin to wonder if I even have it in me. If I have the ability to get through to him. I have to try. We've both been destructive, and I've got to try something else.

I sigh and slip myself out of bed before walking down to the common room. There's just the smallest hint of a fire in the fireplace, and I see Chocolate Frog wrappers all over the floor in front of it. Had it been any other night, I might check to see if there were any candies left, but instead my stomach lurches at the thought of food. I can hear the Fat Lady snoring the night away as I shut the portrait door behind me and set off into the torch-laced darkness.

The castle is amazingly cold tonight, and I'm almost sure I can see a trace of my breath in the air every time I breathe out. I wrap my scarf tighter still around my neck as I make my way down to the dungeons, anticipating the sudden drop in temperature that is sure to come when I get there. My teeth chatter as I slowly walk down stone stairs, the echo of my footsteps the only sound in the deserted corridors. I begin to wonder if he'll really be there when I turn the corner. Or if this isn't a replay of the time he tricked me into going out, only with the intention of getting me into trouble. Although, I had to admit, as selfish and cruel as he is, he's a great deal more mature than we were in our First year. A great deal.

It's as if I'm reliving those nights from months ago. My teeth are chattering and I've withdrawn my hands inside the sleeves of my robes in a desperate attempt to gain some warmth. There's a single torch lighting the hallway that I step into, and there, on the brink of shadow and light, he stands. He looks comfortable, as if it's always freezing where he goes. Leaning back against the stonewall, his hands are casually resting in the pockets of his robe. His scarf is undone and it hangs loose around his neck. I can't see his eyes, as they're shielded from my view by the veil of hair that is hanging around his brow. With his head hanging, he looks like the epitome of casual perfection. I can't help but revel in the fact that this person could have nearly anybody in school, and he chose me. It's only when I think about the difference between him loving me, and wanting to keep me as a plaything, that the fleeting thought of smugness passes.

Still, it's strange. I imagine I could've walked this way in my sleep if I wanted to; I've followed the path so many times. Only this time, it's obviously different. There's a stillness in the air around us, and even the heat of the torch can do nothing to warm his cold disposition.

If it were months ago, he would be pacing the hall. Anxious to see me. No, I remind myself, Anxious to get his kicks.

If he can hear my footsteps-and I don't see how he can't- he certainly doesn't show it. He remains quiet and still, not a single lock of feathery gold moving out of place. Only until I'm about a foot away from him does his head jerk up. I stop in my path and expect him to speak to me, but instead he just stares. His eyes aren't as cold as I'd imagine, but his gaze certainly is piercing. He glances me up and down, before meeting my stare. My heart flutters but I force myself not to worry about it. I give a light nod in his direction and walk down the corridor, to what appears to be a dead end.

Fred and George had shown me this once before, and I had decided to show Draco one night, also, to save us the trouble of walking to the lake, or the chance that we'd be caught on an old room. I press my shoulder hard against the stones at the end of the hall and immediately, they give way. The room is rather large, with an old fireplace on one end of it, and bookshelves on the other. My best bet is that it used to be the staff room, but the only thing I know for sure is we're the only souls who have used it in quite some time. There must be an inch of dust at least sitting on top of the mantle place, and the books look more than decrepit.

He walks in behind me, and casually kicks his heel back against a small panel on the wall, causing the door to seal itself up again. He then falls a few inches back against the wall, taking up his leaning position again. Only now his expression isn't so much blank as it is curious. His brow is arced and he's staring intently at me. I turn away from him, taking in a deep breath I pray he can't notice, before running my tongue across my extremely chapped lips.

I turn around to face him, taking a few slow steps in his direction before stopping to look straight at him. I keep my eyes locked with his for what seems like an eternity, before I finally muster the nerve to begin.

"I bet you thought you were pretty smart yesterday. I don't know many people who exploit their friends to get back at their lovers."

I nonchalantly upturn my shoulders in a light shrug, glancing away before looking back at him. He's stone-faced and his eyes are a bit wide. I can tell he's searching for a tone of jest in my voice, but he won't find one.

"Funny you should say that." Sneering, he pushes himself away from the wall, and steps toward me. "It seems to me that's what you spend the better part of your time doing." He inches closer and I struggle to maintain my position. I force a scoff, and manage a weak smirk as I begin to feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"Did you ever stop to think...that the reason I had to play behind your back...was because they were giving me things that you couldn't?" I grinned at him, I'm sure he thought I was doing it to be obnoxious, but in reality, I was grinning because it was true, not because I was happy or because I had said something rude. Not because I had hit him in his ego, where it would hurt the most. But because they had given me something he couldn't; only he had no idea what it was. I'm sure he thinks it's something physical, better kisses, smoother moves, and bigger cocks. The fact that he's clueless makes my grin widen. He's quite upset now. Oh, yes. I can see a vain beginning to appear on his neck and his face is about as red as the color on my scarf.

"What kind of shit is that?! You're so full of it. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you. You know it, and I know it."

As angry as he is, his voice is faltering. I can tell it's really getting to him, and I'm encouraged to go on with it. His eyes are scanning my expression, and I wonder what it is he thinks he'll see. I can hear him gulp and I glance down to notice the fist that is balling at his side. I've been expecting this. Whenever his emotions get the best of him, you can count on him to use physical force to get his point across.

"If it makes you feel better to say that, then be my guest. But do it with the knowledge that it's wrong."

I'm lying. God knows I'm lying, but for once Draco doesn't. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. The best thing that ever will. Only now there's no time to let him know. No time to even drop a mild hint. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I'm struggling to act like nothing matters, to act like he doesn't matter, and it's becoming more difficult by the minute.

Before I have time to think twice, I can see his fist coming at me from my side. I'm sure a swift punch to my face would make him feel a lot better about the situation, and normally I'd allow it. But tonight, I can't. With my Seeker reflexes, it's more than easy to shoot my hand up and catch his fist within inches of my head. I squeeze my fingers around his fist, gripping hard as I stare at him.

"Not tonight, Malfoy. Not tonight."

My voice is quiet, and I have to admit I'm just forcing the words out of my mouth. I can see he's shocked, shocked and confused. His mouth drops for a moment before he snaps it shut, and jerks his hand away from me. I want nothing more than to run into his arms and murmur an apology, but the damage is irreversible as of now. It's obvious he doesn't know what to do next.

I think he's in such a disoriented state, he couldn't hit me again if he tried. He simply stands there, staring at me, and I realize I'm not quite sure what to do next, either. To be honest, I hadn't thought much of this out. Only than to know I wouldn't let him leave without a glimmer of understanding between us. I take a step closer to him, and he'd back against the wall again.

"What makes you so fucking fantastic, Malfoy? I can't kiss anybody else on the side, but you can kiss them right in front of me?" The hurt in my voice isn't obvious, and I know it this time as he looks away from me. "You said it wasn't fair what I did...but how does kissing her make it fair? How?!" I take a tip from him, and grasp onto the front of his robes. I can't bring myself to bash his head against the wall as he'd so gladly do to me, but I know I'm getting my point across. His gaze slowly move up to meet mine and he mutters an inaudible under his breath.

"What was that?" I'm not shouting this time, as I'm genuinely curious as to what it is he's going to say to me.

"I said sorry, damn it! For somebody who's so sorry all the fucking time, I imagine you'd get it."

His eyes drill into mine and I can tell he's angry. Only this time his anger is mixed with a dab of something I know full well is hurt. He's on the receiving end now, and I wonder how long he can take it. Then I wonder how long I can keep it up...I'm hurting him, just like he did to me.

Slowly, I close my eyes and lean forward to whisper softly into his ear.

"Sorry...isn't good enough. It was never good enough for you, and I won't let it be good enough for me."

He writhes against the wall, and I find I've pressed myself against him. His breathing is rapid and forced, and I can tell he's trying to keep it under control. We both know he could shove me off of him this instant and leave, but he doesn't. He's letting me do this. Just like I let him. Pulling back, I bring my eyes to meet his as he starts talking again. His voice is remarkably quiet, and this time he doesn't falter for a moment.

"It was a kiss...I kissed her, Potter. I didn't fuck her. You're the one who fucks everybody! You're the whore, not me. Not me, but you. You did it first, you did it the most, and you made it hurt the worst."

Silence. Both of us are silent as my stare becomes deadlocked. Now I'm the one glancing for a smirk, listening for a laugh, anything to tell me what he's said isn't true. What do I say to that? I knew I was finally getting to him...I knew I was making him feel it. I just had no idea I had hurt him before. I'm sure he hadn't meant for that to come out. And I almost wish it hadn't. Harry Potter hurt Draco Malfoy? That's a story for the Daily Profit. I'm staring at him, but not paying attention. My thoughts are reeling and finally I bring his face back into focus. His eyes are glossy and red, and I can't help but notice how unusually pale he is. I swallow hard and take my weight off of him, letting go of his robes.

When I thought I had finally got through to him, I had been satisfied. But to hear that I had hurt him...to hear it from his lips was something else entirely. For him to hurt would mean he'd have to care. And he doesn't care. He can't care. Not about me. Not about what I do...I'm unconsciously shaking my head, as if that will make it untrue. I wanted him to understand me, not hurt like me. He's gone back to glaring at me again, and I'm glad. I secretly long for him to lash out at me, just to bring some sense of familiarity into it all.

I'm amazed at my own power and strength. That something I could say, or something I could do could have that effect on him...then I realize I'm no better than he is. Hurting another to feel better about myself. No, not hurting another. Hurting him. Hurting the only one who matters...

It's all too much for me, and take in a few deep breaths, trying to process it all. I turn away from him, but I can still feel him glaring into me. I'm afraid to look up because I know if I do, I'll have to see what I've done. See what I've caused him. I try to remind myself of all the times he's hurt me. Hurt me more than he could imagine. More than...I thought he could imagine, anyway. M emotions are running haywire. My hurt, anger and fear all at once.

Only this time, I'm not the only one who is hurting. And this time, I'm the one who caused it.

Before I know it, I've broken down and I can feel every single tear sliding down my cheeks. Immediately, I cover my face with my hands in an attempt to hide it, but I can't. The salty drops leak between my fingers and the embarrassment of letting him see me like this only adds to the flood. I'm not crying anymore, I'm sobbing...I wonder what he thinks of me right now, and I almost lift my head to check and see if he's left in disgust. But before I've gotten the chance, I'm being pulled forward. As my sobs quiet down, I realize my face is buried in his chest. For one horrible second I wonder if I've made a fool of myself by clinging to him in a moment of desperation. But the feeling is soon erased from my mind as I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me closer.