Poem: "That Pretty Rage" by WWMrsWeasleyDo

[ginger_lust]

Title: That Pretty Rage
Author: wwmrsweasleydo
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Beta: tania_sings
Rating: R
Warning(s): Explicit sexual content and unrequited love.
Word Count: 1334
Disclaimer: All characters and settings remain the intellectual and creative property of JK Rowling. No money is being made from this work.
Author's Note: I haven't written poetry for a long time, so I am extremely grateful to the guidance I got from tania_sings and hope that this has turned out ok.
Summary: A series of love poems written by Draco Malfoy.
Prompt: 13 by Charles Dickens:

"How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose.
I don't ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred;
give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn;
it will be enough for me."



The low winter sun shines through your hair:
You have a halo, a mane,
A wreath of fire about your head.
You build in me a warmth of flame,
A burning licking round my loins,
A scorching, searing, blackening
That threatens to turn me to mere ash.
It takes time for wood to catch light on snow,
But once it's burning it melts
All around it. Leaves the grass beneath charred
On still solid soil.

More Beautiful in Anger than in Repose

The Bludger hit you hard, my remark harder still.
My words must have smarted
Because your cheeks became as red as they would be
If I laid my hand hard across them in a slap -
Oh how I would love to do that.

You leapt down from your broom, and I from mine,
We ran across the earth, heels winged with hate.
Your eyes blazed clear and sharp as they would be
If I laid under you and took you into me -
Oh how I would love to do that.

Your wand forgotten, you snatched at my cloak,
Dragged me towards you, teeth bared,
Your lips formed taunts, wet and fast as they would be
If I laid my mouth on yours to kiss passionately -
Oh how I would love to do that.

How Beautiful You Are

The frost reddens and roughens your knuckles.
Freckles dance brown across the backs of your hands.
What big fingers you have!
Long and broad, thick-knuckled.
There are splashes of ink,
Like Fairy wings,
Flying down the crease between your thumb and index finger.
A line of hardened, yellow skin
Crosses each of your palms,
The bruise down your ring finger
Is purpling.

I Don't Ask For Your Love

What use could I make of such a poor thing as the love of a Weasley?
What a miserable, thin thing that would be!
It would be cabbage dinners eaten in a kitchen from a tin bowl.
It would huddle under a threadbare blanket
In a corner full of dust and potato peelings,
It would be a greyish rag not worthy of a House Elf's pillowcase wrapping.
Its walls would be painted in a whitewash so watered with hate
That the bare bricks would show through it.

Give Me Yourself ...

Give me yourself and your heroism,
Give me yourself and your loyalty,
Give me yourself and your honesty,
Give me yourself and your hatred.

Give you myself and my scorn,
Give you myself and my perfidy,
Give you myself and my murderous treachery,
Give you myself and my love.

How Beautiful You Are

Your smile is like sunshine,
Your deep laugh rumbles
Through your body and you shake,
Through my body and it shakes me.

The skin around your eyes
Shrinks and lines
Creasing your skin as you grin,
Tingling my fingertips, so I sneer.

Your neck tilts down and forwards,
All your attention is on your friends,
I want to be the focus of that face,
I kill that smile to take from them what I would kill to have.

In Repose

How lucky is the armchair in which he sits.
Its back is graced by the length of his arm,
Spread across its red and gold upholstery,
His fingers dangle
Towards the floor.
His knees bend over the chair's arm,
Long thighs sloping gently upwards,
Lower legs swinging his sock-clad feet
To gently tap a rhythm of pats at its side.

Your Hatred

I was taught hate for
Every Blood Traitor.
With mother's milk.
On sheets of silk,
To abhor
The poor.

You learned to blame
My family's name,
At father's knee.
Among the blast-holes of my family tree,
The message stark:
To hate the Dark.

How Beautiful You Are

Your back is strong and straight as the pines
Clustering up the mountain sides all round us,
You lean your beautiful head
On your fine, firm forearms on the scorched wood
Of the desk,
Your buttocks no less solid than
The school chair on which they sit.


That Pretty Rage

With one carefully crafted sentence I can make him come undone,
Self control unravels, shrugged off, lies coiled at his feet.
Fists clenched; I know he wants to punch.
I want it too.
I want to feel his skin on mine, knuckles at my cheekbone.
I would make him pay, I would ensure he suffered:
Detentions and lost points and a sneaky swift hex;
His friends are right, I am not worth it.
They have to pull him back, though,
His skin is boiling crimson, just for me,
Because of me,
I'm all he sees.

Ask For Your Love

You do not have to lose your hate for me,
I understand it, I despise myself.
Not pure enough for your love and yet,
I ask for it.

Your hatred for the evil that I do,
Burnishes your heart and makes me love you more.
I know you cannot love me yet,
I ask for it.

My path is stony and my way ahead ill-lit,
I follow my father's ways, which take me
Further from your love and yet
I ask for it.

How Beautiful You Are

No summer sky is blue as your eye,
Framed by the amber lashes
Which I have seen wetted with tears, but only once.
No summer day is warm as your gaze
On those for whom you care,
Nor icy lake as cold as looks
You send me.
Enchanting Scorn
Your breath flies from your face in clouds
Into the cold evening air.
I could catch it,
Bottle it,
Breathe it in at night time.
Your hands, ungloved, drop
Your wand, your bag, your books,
Onto the slushy ground.
I could help you collect them,
Let our fingers glance against each other as I hand them back.
Instead I laugh,
Sneer at you and you,
As I had hoped,
Look up at me and warm me with
All the fury you feel at yourself.
It Will Be Enough for Me
I dream of your body as my world falls,
I sweat and writhe like Crucio in my sheets,
Gifted your flesh by my unconscious.
I scrape my nails through ginger curls,
And glide my tongue along the valley
Of your arse.
At night your teeth are at my nipple,
Your fingers at my hole
And you pant my name onto my heated skin.
I cry in a bathroom every day,
Noticed only by a ghost-girl,
Longing for my bed where your phantom awaits me.
How Beautiful You Are
Your big feet,
The pale skin exposed at your ankle,
The knotted muscle of your calf,
The sharp lines of your knee,
Those thick, strong thighs
That will never grip my waist,
The buttocks I will not stroke,
The cock I will not harden,
The belly whose red hairs I have only imagined,
The chest that breaths evenly,
Rising and falling and living,
Arms which won't encircle me,
The face I long to cover with kisses
Tracing plump lips, high cheekbones, long nose.
These are what you are.
How beautiful you are!
Give Me Yourself and that Pretty Rage
I wish we could defy the ties that bind,
Or run away to strange cities,
That know not of Magic,
Nor care for our inherited enmities.
I would that you would think on me with softness,
Or feel the rage of lust
And not desire to see me dead,
But stroke me softly in a shared bed.
I want to have a part of you to hold,
For you to know my heart and feel the same,
Without a loss of who you are.
Give me your love, give me your pretty rage as well.

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