Disclaimer: I own nothing; all quotes are from thinkexist online.
"Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead."
"Mudblood"
The word was still foreign on his lips having only heard it from his parents. His short eleven years of life had taught him naught much but power, the power held through this simple phrase. His father could bring a calm man to the brink of fury through its mention. The prejudice and bigotry behind the letters were lost on the young boy; its influence giving him the authority he only hoped could one day rival his fathers. It was this hope that drove him to spit the words towards the insecure mouse of a girl in front of him.
"Filthy Mudblood"
Each declaration seemed to alter her presence, a narrowing of the eyes, pursing of her already thin lips, energy seeming to radiate from her in a cloud of tan tangles framing her head. Oh how he loved the change it could bring in a person. He could tell, see it in her scrunched up features, her desperation to return the insult, contained only by her newcomer status to the magical world and its customs.
Flipping a strand of platinum that had miraculously escaped the mass of gel he slicked on, he smirked for measure. The movement unfamiliar on his still innocent features yet comfortable all the same.
Still he was only eleven and no amount of authority or false supremacy could convince him to stick around when two red-headed lanky figures began to advance on the commotion. Somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledged his cowardice in cornering the quivering girl alone, without the safety of her self-appointed guardians, but it was his Slytherin nature that ignored the shameful Gryffindor qualities of courage and spinelessness, anything that got him what he wanted. With a final perusal of the state he had brought her to he turned on his heel and swept away unintentionally imitating his potions professor with the sweep of his cloak. Morphing his pale features into another smirk, he could easily get used to this control.
"Those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love."
It was his last year and he needed her, needed her so as to feel his right over another. Those in the Slytherin common room were just that, common. No others getting worked up so easily and appealingly as he knew her to. He had found a greater pastime over the years, realising the thrill in not just angering her but also her pet buffoons as they had the most amusing transformations. Potty would turn shocked with wide eyes as if unbelieving he could be so rude, pity he couldn't get over that point no matter how many times the situation occurred. And Weasel, oh it was like pushing a button, a big red button that would cause his explosion. An explosion of blood rushing to his face in rage only to finally co-ordinate itself with his flaming red hair.
Finally catching sight of the famous trio he hurriedly leaned against the nearest wall bringing a foot up to jut out and rest against the stone, conveniently blocking their path through the hall whilst setting a casual bored image only given away by the slight pant in his breath from running. He could read her by now, and knew never in a million years would she back away from such a blatant challenge that his harmless knee seemed to issue through their obstruction.
Lifting his mercury eyes to the burning gaze fixed upon him his lips twitched into a now customary smirk. He could see it, lingering behind the golden specks of her toffee orbs, a sense of anticipation for the hurls of verbal abuse expected to come. Yes the previous power quest had been abandoned for the new thrill she created. He could feel it through her almost playful magic. She needed him just as much as he her, despite the firm denial he knew they would both issue to this realisation. He wouldn't be mistaken for harbouring romantic emotions for her, he did believe in majority of the slurs he threw her, it was instead an addiction to the abilities she granted him, a sense of familiarity in the ever-changing environment.
"Mudblood"
The slight incline of his head could never be mistaken as respect, purely another mocking insult from his aristocratic features. Faintly outside their connection could he hear a barrage of pathetic profanities from the now single coloured red head to her left, knowing that if he glanced right he would predictably see the fish-mouthed potter, yet again surprised by routine. However as he was staring intently on the now woman in his line of vision, all he noticed was the slight tremor of his lips he knew were longing to emulate his own trademark smirk. In her eyes, the same eyes of the quivering mouse from first year, he received the awareness of her situations similarity to his.
They were enemies, opposites and they truly hated each other. And because of this the result was the barely restrained passion emanating from their eyes in an almost palpable form. Each knew they could never be together, in fact neither wanted to be for then the conversion of their hate to love would relinquish the edge to their passion, and the fire would dim to a flame. The unspoken agreement to never douse the fires between them was passed through their temporary connection, the only thing they would even agree upon. And with the matter settled unexpectedly Draco stalked down the corridors, only parting a whisper of a word in his leave.
Hermione watched him go, and if either her companions had pulled themselves out of their childish behaviours they would have been concerned with the uncanny smirk that fled across her features. Yes she too had plenty of fuel for the fire.
"It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very easy to get"
A traitorous drop of liquid slid down her sniffling face as the train pulled away. Hermione's matured figure, slightly plumper, was engulfed in a comforting embrace as her youngest son was sent to Hogwarts. Fading orange wisps of her husband's hair periodically flicked into her eyes as he consoled her. It was this moment, locked in Ron's hold that her eyes lit with flames, unconsciously seeking the blonde head of hair she recalled from the recesses of her preoccupied mind.
Her crying halted all at once as she tightened her grip on Ron, eyes now seized by the arrogant form down the platform. The same link reaffirmed itself as she observed him wrapping his arm around a dark haired woman seeming to soothe her hysterics much as Ron was to her. The flames in each of their souls growing stronger to the unforgettable fire as each held another in their arms.
"You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul."
Thanks
annapelle