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Author note: Another story written in under a half hour. I used a thesaurus. I was in a very 'bloody' mood after watching Bang Bang you're dead so thats semi-kinda how I came to write this story. Read. Like, hate, flame, whichever. Just read. And yes. It's short as hell. Did I mention it was written in under a half hour?
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Blood.

Maybe everyone sees it differently. Maybe everyone sees it the same except for me. I really don't know. I only I know what I see when I look at the fluxing red liquid. I want to touch it, taste it, be it. It brings a rush. Did I do that? Did I really do that? It makes me want to cry and laugh and explode. It's indescribable, this surging red sea of tears. This beauty I created.

I. That is Draco Malfoy. My father's worn our name out with his cruelty. I must say I'm expected to follow after him, and I bet I will. I bet this lust for the beauty of blood is just instinct. It's the Malfoy family gene. A love for killing. Seeing the havoc you caused. Having impure blood stain your fingers and your eyes. Maybe it's meant for me. Maybe the blood calls to me, and I answer in the form of self infliction.

Him.

I want to see his blood more than any other. I want to see his heart, pumping the blood to all his limbs. I want to feel his warm blood in my fingers as the other hand brushes his un-tidy hair. I want to have him and have my way with him. I want everything and nothing.

Does he see me brush him in the halls, my eyes filled with enmity that he too returns. My fingers sweating; my heart pacing, increasing bloodflow. I want to reach out and grab his hand and put it in mine and never let go. I want the world to fade and to be able to see him all - inside and out.

He makes me ache and pain and when I finally get him I can't control it anymore. I throw him against a wall, I hope it hurts him. I can't control the wildness of my behavior, but he doesn't flinch. Theres a trickle of blood by his mouth. I get close enough to look into his eyes. They're so green and clear. I see my own reflection and it leaves me startled, but then he whimpers. I lick the little red river which tempts me.

He's my putty to mold, and mold is what I do. My kisses are harsh and everything the opposite of loving, which is something I so want to do. Is this also part of the Malfoy gene? The hard kisses become natural and his mouth might be bruised. I don't know. I push him harder against the wall. I taste his blood in my mouth. I read somewhere once how much blood humans can drink. I wonder if I'm a vampire, it would explain a lot. But I have to rule out that, because father would have boasted about it long before.

Harry's quiet as I unglue my mouth. He's never been much of a talker, anyway. Outlandish things come out. Muggle things, I suppose. Or maybe things that that useless friend of his taught him. I didn't know, I really didn't care. It made ravishing him all the easier, and he willingly obliged me.

After it was over, I brushed his disorderly hair with my fingers, when I realized the left one had a trail of dry blood embedded in it. Harry was fast asleep on my chest and in that moment, I was truly happy.

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Review if this story tickles or your fancy (or you just love me for using that saying).