Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I wish I did. But they do not belong to me. They belong to JK. and her publishers and Warner Bros. tear I wish I could have them… anyway don't sue me cause I have no money. None. No matter what anyone tells you to the contrary. I have NO MONEY! So just love me and review this ok? And the poem belongs to who ever produced and wrote 10 Things I Hate About You.
Notes: I was reading the script and watching the movie and I got a good idea… so here it is… my fic… enjoy, very angsty…
Draco sat there at his desk severely annoyed with life and everyone in it. Nothing lately had been going the way he wanted it to. He had not wanted to wind up after the war at a desk job in the Ministry. He had also not expected to wind up sharing a flat with Harry-sodding-Potter. The man was so irritating sometimes. He marveled at the fact that he could get through a day with out snapping at the other man.
Even in school he couldn't understand why every thing that Harry said annoyed him, why even the sound of the other mans voice irritated him like no other sound in the world. Everything about this man annoyed him. The way he got his hair cut, for example, he couldn't stand the fact that Harry could so effortlessly obtain the 'just been fucked well' look that so many could only get after four pounds of gel, that the hair was still as soft as silk to the touch, and the fact that he cut it himself.
Every morning it was the same thing too, they both ate breakfast at the table then Harry would grab the keys to the car and not even give Draco a second look. The way Harry drove his car, drove Draco wild, it was so erratic, too fast, or too slow. Harry could never drive the car well enough to suit Draco. So they would inevitably sit in the car and argue for five or so minutes after they got to work before they got out. But once in the office, Harry would stare at Draco. Not all the time, but enough so that Draco noticed. It made him feel unnerved, the simple stare was disturbing. The emerald green eyes bore into him making it impossible to ignore the other man for any length of time.
I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair
I hate the way you drive my car
I hate it when you stare.
When they went out on the weekends Harry would wear the same things. A baggy T-shirt, baggy jeans and black combat boots that he had gotten at a thrift store. Said they were from one of the Muggle wars. Draco had scoffed. The boots looked like they had been worn through thick and thin, but were obviously made to survive. They were steel toed too. Draco hated those boots. To him they represented everything that was wrong with the world. They were with out class, no finesse. When Draco had first seen them Harry had laughed and bet Draco three galleons that he knew exactly was he was thinking. Four minutes later, Draco had grudgingly given up the three galleons.
Draco noticed that Harry did that a lot, he could always know what was going on Draco's mind, be it good or bad, and he hated that. It seemed like every time he turned around and was about to say something Harry either had already said it for him or was in the process of saying it for him. That was one of their huge arguments. But he had to sometimes wonder, if what Harry always said when they argued was true.
Was he truly afraid of not being noticed? That inevitably led to another fight, and it was always after those fights that Draco got ill. Physically ill, he would throw up everything in his stomach, and Harry was always there to hold his head and keep his hair out of the way, whispering nonsensical words to calm the heaves.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind
I hate you so much it makes me sick
It even makes me rhyme
Harry is always right, about everything. He always had to be anyway. It didn't matter if he wasn't; in the end he was always right. It was irritating to say the least. He always knew, always. No matter what. Harry always had the answer to everything that ailed a person, how to make things better with the right answer, or the correct response. Draco hated that he couldn't do that. He hadn't been raised that way.
But some how even after Draco was humiliated for the thousandth time, because Harry was always right, Harry made Draco laugh. It was never fair that Harry could do that, he could make him get so mad and then laugh two seconds later. Again, Draco never found that quite fair. How could one man do that to Draco?
And then Harry turned around and lied to Draco, to his face. When Draco found out, he knew something was wrong. Harry never lied to him. Draco may hate him, but he didn't like it that Harry lied to him. When they got back to the flat that day Draco yelled at him. They fought like never before. Vases were broken, priceless china was smashed, by the sheer power of their wills. Then Draco kicked Harry out. Harry had been stunned and then went out the door.
After he heard the click of the door Draco fell apart. He cried like he'd never cried before, because he hadn't, Draco had never cried before and he hated Harry for making him cry, for making him feel weak. Draco didn't go to work the next day, afraid to see Harry, afraid to see anyone. He stayed in the flat alone, not leaving for two days, and realized how much he had depended on Harry's presence before. Draco realized that he didn't like being alone. He hated being with out Harry, and that scared him. What scared him even more was that Harry hadn't called. He had no idea what had happened to him. He hated that he hadn't called.
I hate the way you're always right
I hate it when you lie
I hate it when you make me laugh
Even worse when you make me cry
I hate it when you're not around
An the fact that you didn't call
But Draco knew, he knew with in the depths of his soul that the reason he hated Harry so much, was because he didn't. He discovered this fact while lying in bed one night. It had been three days since Harry had last come to their flat. At that point Draco knew only he could do something to make it up to him. He got out of the bed and dressed in jeans and a soft button down shirt, and went to the car. His fingers froze as they realized that Harry wasn't there to fight over them. He reached out and grabbed them and walked purposefully to the car, locking the flat door on the way out.
He drove in silence, not with the loud blaring music that Harry usually played. While he drove it started to rain. When he got to the hotel that Hermione had told him that Harry was at, he ran from the car to the front desk asking where Harry Potter was staying, the receptionist gave him the room number and he ran to the stairs soaking wet. He pounded on the door, not caring two wits about the neighbors. He pounded, waiting for Harry to answer the door. Harry opened the door and was astounded to see a very wet Draco standing there looking defeated. Draco grabbed Harry and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.
As they broke apart Harry cocked his head silently asking 'why' and moved a finger to move the wet bangs out of Draco's face. Draco let his forehead fall on Harry's, closing his eyes and whispered…
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you
Not even close
Not even a little bit
Not even at all.
"Because I love you." Before he pressed their lips together once more.