Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter – or Draco Malfoy. But if I did, I'd play…nice….

   Author's Note: Last edited 9/4/2003. Part of a half-assed fanfic-challenge that Wil and I were issuing to one another. Write your Pansy/Goyle, girl! Anywho, I hereby dedicate this to Aurora Violin, humbly apologizing for not being able to show the pairing more justice. (Was that an awkward sentence or what?)

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   I can't want him.

   It's too easy to want him- to long to run your fingers through his unkempt ebony hair, to dream of looking into his distant emerald eyes, to wish to wrap your arms around that petite, fragile body. I've been there; I can overcome it. What am I, a vacant-headed schoolgirl, like that bashful young Weasley? No. I'll be damned if he makes me blush, or Merlin forbid, giggle.

   I can't love him, either.

   I'm sure this is just the next stage of wanting. Of course, I've overcome the wanting, so this I don't know. I've seen it, though. I've seen what it's like for others and they make it look easy, to love. Like they've never even thought about it – like they've always been symbiotic with one another.

   I'll never let myself be that way. I, unlike them, can think. I can decide whom I love, and who will love me. And I will never love him, and he, I'm certain, will never love me.

   I'll never smile when he laughs. I'll never frown when he cries. I'll never be the cause of his joy or the one to kiss away his tears. There's no love between us, and so none to lose.

   So I hate him.

   Naturally, it's the hardest thing to do. Why would you want to hate him? He's clever, he's witty, he's brave, he's talented, he's…beautiful. He's everything that's perfect. Everyone thinks so. Why would you want to hate him?

   I hate him for his perfection, even though it's not his fault. He's just like that. But I hate him for it. What else can you hate someone for, besides who they are?

   I mean, hate- pure, undiluted hatred- that has to be personal. That has to be inspired. It's a hard thing, hate. But if anyone can manage to hate him, it's me. Why? Well, obviously, I'm the only one around here with any brains.

   He hates me back, which makes sense, of course. But I wonder why, sometimes. Obviously, in my hatred of him, I've become everything loathsome, in his eyes. So why can't he face the challenge?

   Why doesn't he try to love me?

   I mean, if I were to choose anyone to love me, I guess it would have to be him. He's bold, he's kind, he's fierce, he's caring, he's smart, he's handsome…he's the pinnacle of everything and anything that everyone and anyone would want. Why wouldn't I want him to love me?

   Then I remember: I hate him. I hate him, so when I look at him, I see everything weak, cruel, brash, useless and ugly about the world in his vacant emerald eyes.

   Except that I don't.

   Sometimes I want it to be easy to hate him. Then I remember. I chose this because it was hard.

   And if it becomes easy to hate him, then I'll have to love him.

   Either way, he looks the same. He's beautiful. He's everything that's perfect. He's everything anyone ever wanted.

   Then I remember: it's easy to want him. I remember that I can overcome it.

   I let it slide, this time.

   I hate him, after all.