Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling made/own/have rights to Harry Potter.
Antipathy
I hate you.
I've hated you for so long, ever since I saw you on those marble steps, talking about Hogwarts and how you've read it in Hogwarts, A History. I've hated you ever since I can remember, actually. The hate I feel for you is so familiar, is so known to my being that without it, an unusual pang fills the void that it once occupied.
You know, I hate a lot of things about you. I hate your bushy hair and how it frames your face, making it so small and delicate to look at. I hate how brown your hair is and how it reminds me of chocolate. I hate your ugly cinnamon eyes and how they sparkle oddly when you think about something. I hate how you would bite your bottom lip or how you twirl your hair around your finger when you're thinking hard. I hate that you would have this fascinated look every time you would read your favourite book. I hate how determined you are when faced with a difficult task. I hate how clever and smart you are and how you would know every answer to every question. I hate that you're a know-it-all and that you have better grades than mine in every subject—even in Potions. I hate that you're always on the top of our class. I hate that you're you.
I hate that you're best friends with Potter and Weasel and that you know each other so well that most of the time, you have this unsaid agreement about things. I hate that you always come to their aid when they need it and that you always seem to care for them. I hate that you're a Mudblood and that you don't seem to care that I call you a Mudblood. I hate that you're a Gryffindor and that you really don't care about the rift between our houses.
I hate that you slapped me back in third year and how your handprint was etched on my cheek afterwards. I hate that you think that I don't have an ounce of talent in playing Quidditch. I hate that you think that I bought my way into our team. I hate that you think Potter is a better Seeker than I am. I hate that you hate me.
I hate how beautiful you looked during the Yule Ball—how you fixed your hair and how good your dress robes looked on you. I hate the way you make my heart beat so fast; it's like I'm about to have a heart attack. I hate how you smell like vanilla all the time and how you make me feel so intoxicated. I hate the way you make me feel limp and dumbstruck (though I try to hide it) every time I lay my eyes on you. I hate that faint shock I feel course through my body every single time my skin grazes yours. I hate that I can't breathe properly and that every breath I take comes in gasps every time I'm near you. I hate that my heart thumps so loudly you might hear it every time I speak to you. I hate that you make me feel so dizzy and happy and angry all at the same time. I hate that you can make me smile genuinely—and Malfoys NEVER smile; we smirk. I hate that you can make me go against my father and all that I've been brought up with. I hate that I can talk to you about almost everything and that I enjoy every bit of our conversations. I hate that you seem to be a part of me, like my hands or my eyes—parts that I can't live without, otherwise I feel so lost. I hate that you can change me.
I hate that I've written this unbelievably long discourse about the things I hate about you and that there's not enough space left for other things I hate about you. I hate that these words are not enough to express what's going on inside my mind.
Most of all, I hate that I'm in love with you.