A/N: So our English teacher tells us to write a contrast piece. Now, what is a better contrast than Harry/Draco? Bring on the H/D goodness!
We are nothing alike.
I watch him from across the room. No, we are not alike at all. He is the moon. His skin, so pale and soft, seems to glow from the inside out. I am the tanned sun, brash and roughened by the light. His hair is fine threads of white-gold, so unlike my messy black mop. He no longer slicks it back, but instead is growing it out. It makes him look like his father, the father he both adores and fears.
I hate his father.
Like the moon, he is the light in the dark. Inconstant, fading, surrounded by shadow. But still he shines; still, he is beautiful. I am surrounded by light, supported and carried by it. I do not shine from within, but from without. I am not as strong as he.
He turns and looks at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. They are icy and cold, a shield to hide his pain. I would do anything to melt them. I would do anything to take that pain away from him. I would hold it in my own eyes, the ones that people liken to warm emeralds, the ones that could never be as perfect as his cold sapphires. I would stand by him through everything.
But I, I am not worthy of him. I am just a too-short boy, with too-messy hair and too-green eyes; with a too-stupid brain and a too-needy heart. I am the day to his night, the sun to his moon. I am the Boy Who Lived; he is the son of a Death Eater. I am the Gryffindor; he is the Slytherin. I - supposedly so brave and honest - am not worth his trickery and cunning.
Yet I would forget all that. I would forget all that lies between us, all the differences. I do forget it all sometimes. Like now, when he is staring at me with that sneer on his face, the one that means he is plotting some foul trick to play on me. It's enough to know that he is looking at me. It's enough to know that I exist in his world.
He doesn't know how I feel about him, and he certainly would never reciprocate. How could he? I am everything he despises. We would be a living paradox. I am the fire that needs water to live; he is the ice that hates the flame. I am the snake-bitten lion, wanting ever more poison; he is the serpent that preys on the king of cats.
And yet, there is nothing I want more than him. Nothing that I would rather have, than the heart of a heartless boy. Nothing that I would rather feel, than the contradiction of such an ill-fated love. We are everything that the other is not, and he is everything I want.
I am the boy who fell in love with his enemy.
We are nothing alike.
I watch him from across the room. No, we are not alike at all. He is the moon. His skin, so pale and soft, seems to glow from the inside out. I am the tanned sun, brash and roughened by the light. His hair is fine threads of white-gold, so unlike my messy black mop. He no longer slicks it back, but instead is growing it out. It makes him look like his father, the father he both adores and fears.
I hate his father.
Like the moon, he is the light in the dark. Inconstant, fading, surrounded by shadow. But still he shines; still, he is beautiful. I am surrounded by light, supported and carried by it. I do not shine from within, but from without. I am not as strong as he.
He turns and looks at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. They are icy and cold, a shield to hide his pain. I would do anything to melt them. I would do anything to take that pain away from him. I would hold it in my own eyes, the ones that people liken to warm emeralds, the ones that could never be as perfect as his cold sapphires. I would stand by him through everything.
But I, I am not worthy of him. I am just a too-short boy, with too-messy hair and too-green eyes; with a too-stupid brain and a too-needy heart. I am the day to his night, the sun to his moon. I am the Boy Who Lived; he is the son of a Death Eater. I am the Gryffindor; he is the Slytherin. I - supposedly so brave and honest - am not worth his trickery and cunning.
Yet I would forget all that. I would forget all that lies between us, all the differences. I do forget it all sometimes. Like now, when he is staring at me with that sneer on his face, the one that means he is plotting some foul trick to play on me. It's enough to know that he is looking at me. It's enough to know that I exist in his world.
He doesn't know how I feel about him, and he certainly would never reciprocate. How could he? I am everything he despises. We would be a living paradox. I am the fire that needs water to live; he is the ice that hates the flame. I am the snake-bitten lion, wanting ever more poison; he is the serpent that preys on the king of cats.
And yet, there is nothing I want more than him. Nothing that I would rather have, than the heart of a heartless boy. Nothing that I would rather feel, than the contradiction of such an ill-fated love. We are everything that the other is not, and he is everything I want.
I am the boy who fell in love with his enemy.