Love and Hate
By: Shinigami Alison Black
Chapter Two: Harry's Prince Charming
Tension.
I feel tension.
Lust.
Desire.
I've been feeling a strong tension around the classroom. The hairs of my neck tickle as I felt an intense stare looking at my back. I just want to get out of the classroom, thinking that he might be the one looking at my back.
I must be under a spell to believed that. You can't be looking at me; you hate me, do you? The teacher dismissed the class and every one rushed out of the classroom, everyone except, you and me. I fumble with my bag trying to pack my books but the quill fell to the floor. I was about to pick it up when I saw your smooth and white blonde hair in the way.
You were picking the quill for me.
You must have laughed inside as you saw my widen eyes and opened mouth. I try to say 'Thank you' but I couldn't find my voice; it was struck in my throat. I'm still surprised you actually did something generous, let along for me as such to pick my quill. You gave me the quill.
And our hands brushed.
Warm brushed skin-to-skin, pleasure tickles in my skin as I feel yours. It made me almost ravished you on the spot. You looked at me with gray cold eyes not breaking the touch in our hands. When I looked deep into your cold steel gray eyes I gasped. You were looking at me with lust and passionate eyes.
But that's not all; you were scratching the center of my palm.
I know exactly what that means. You want to fuck with the one you made this, meaning: me. I looked at you, trying to find an answer of my question: Do you like me? Do want it to happen?
Suddenly you let go of my hand and walked off to the door leaving me with one question in my mind:
"What are you thinking right now?"
I looked down at the quill at my hand. The quill of this incident. The victim of our touch. I laughed silently as I take my bag. So, do we need an object to touch each other? An excuse? If it so, I'll make sure I find one.
I walked towards the Gryffindor Tower alone. I dropped off Divination but Ron didn't, so now he might be heading to the Divination Tower. Hermione must be heading to the Arithmancy class, so I was alone, in my own fantasy world.
As I walked to the Gryffindor Tower I think of your eyes; cold steel gray eyes. The way they match your smirks and remarks. The way they shine with hatred and malice. Some people say your eyes are the doors of your heart but yours are a mask hiding your true self from any one you don't trust.
I love the way your hair moves every time you play Quidditch. Did you notice I'm always watching your eyes narrow for the Snitch, when your hair caresses your pale skin? I don't watch you because you might find the Snitch first. It's because you're the best sight, the best thing I could lay eyes upon and wish I could catch with my hand.
I always wanted to touch that white blonde hair and to see if it's really how I imagined. Fine, smooth and delicate locks. I hold myself every time I see one of your long white blonde locks fell on your face as you write thoughtfully on your parchment. I want to touch that lock and tuck it behind your ear.
Your skin is like milk. So delicate and pale; it looks smooth. God you're an angel! My Dark angel! You must have muscle too. I can see it in your broad pale neck. It makes me want to track all those muscles with my fingers, explore them and feel the warm contact of skin to skin.
Your red and fine lips. Make me want to kiss them, taste them, devour them. I love the way my name leaves your lips. The way you spell Potter. I want to hear the word Harry when I'm making love with you as you hug me and bit me. I like the way they curved in a smirk and a sneer. That's why I answered back your remarks, to see your eyes flicker with hatred, when those lips scowled at me and hear your voice once again mocking me.
Each stare we share are heaven to me. Every glare we throw each other make me hot and drunk with desire. I never felt this way before for anyone, let along my rival. I try my best to bump with you and fight each other with our hand rather than magic. Where I can feel you, smell your raspberry and cinnamon scent. When I curved my finger in your neck makes me want to lean over you and kiss you passionately.
What I'm felling is love and hate. People usually tell: The one you love is the one you hurt and hate the most. I can't deny it; it is true. Love and hate are the same when they meet each other. They are one at the end.
I told the password to the portrait of Fat Lady and entered the boy's dormitories. At the window near my bed was a gray and black owl that extended his paw at me. I took the letter and the owl flew off the window.
Warm feelings spend through my body as I touch the letter. I know this feeling very well. It's the feeling I get every day I see you, I sense you near, I touch you as we fight.
I opened the letter.
Potter. It was written on an elegant, curvy and fine handwriting.
Meet me at the left side of the dungeons at ten.
D.M
Draco Malfoy. I could have spelled it of even from sixteen feets in the air. I smiled dreamy at the letter. I just can't wait for tonight.
By: Shinigami Alison Black
Chapter Two: Harry's Prince Charming
Tension.
I feel tension.
Lust.
Desire.
I've been feeling a strong tension around the classroom. The hairs of my neck tickle as I felt an intense stare looking at my back. I just want to get out of the classroom, thinking that he might be the one looking at my back.
I must be under a spell to believed that. You can't be looking at me; you hate me, do you? The teacher dismissed the class and every one rushed out of the classroom, everyone except, you and me. I fumble with my bag trying to pack my books but the quill fell to the floor. I was about to pick it up when I saw your smooth and white blonde hair in the way.
You were picking the quill for me.
You must have laughed inside as you saw my widen eyes and opened mouth. I try to say 'Thank you' but I couldn't find my voice; it was struck in my throat. I'm still surprised you actually did something generous, let along for me as such to pick my quill. You gave me the quill.
And our hands brushed.
Warm brushed skin-to-skin, pleasure tickles in my skin as I feel yours. It made me almost ravished you on the spot. You looked at me with gray cold eyes not breaking the touch in our hands. When I looked deep into your cold steel gray eyes I gasped. You were looking at me with lust and passionate eyes.
But that's not all; you were scratching the center of my palm.
I know exactly what that means. You want to fuck with the one you made this, meaning: me. I looked at you, trying to find an answer of my question: Do you like me? Do want it to happen?
Suddenly you let go of my hand and walked off to the door leaving me with one question in my mind:
"What are you thinking right now?"
I looked down at the quill at my hand. The quill of this incident. The victim of our touch. I laughed silently as I take my bag. So, do we need an object to touch each other? An excuse? If it so, I'll make sure I find one.
I walked towards the Gryffindor Tower alone. I dropped off Divination but Ron didn't, so now he might be heading to the Divination Tower. Hermione must be heading to the Arithmancy class, so I was alone, in my own fantasy world.
As I walked to the Gryffindor Tower I think of your eyes; cold steel gray eyes. The way they match your smirks and remarks. The way they shine with hatred and malice. Some people say your eyes are the doors of your heart but yours are a mask hiding your true self from any one you don't trust.
I love the way your hair moves every time you play Quidditch. Did you notice I'm always watching your eyes narrow for the Snitch, when your hair caresses your pale skin? I don't watch you because you might find the Snitch first. It's because you're the best sight, the best thing I could lay eyes upon and wish I could catch with my hand.
I always wanted to touch that white blonde hair and to see if it's really how I imagined. Fine, smooth and delicate locks. I hold myself every time I see one of your long white blonde locks fell on your face as you write thoughtfully on your parchment. I want to touch that lock and tuck it behind your ear.
Your skin is like milk. So delicate and pale; it looks smooth. God you're an angel! My Dark angel! You must have muscle too. I can see it in your broad pale neck. It makes me want to track all those muscles with my fingers, explore them and feel the warm contact of skin to skin.
Your red and fine lips. Make me want to kiss them, taste them, devour them. I love the way my name leaves your lips. The way you spell Potter. I want to hear the word Harry when I'm making love with you as you hug me and bit me. I like the way they curved in a smirk and a sneer. That's why I answered back your remarks, to see your eyes flicker with hatred, when those lips scowled at me and hear your voice once again mocking me.
Each stare we share are heaven to me. Every glare we throw each other make me hot and drunk with desire. I never felt this way before for anyone, let along my rival. I try my best to bump with you and fight each other with our hand rather than magic. Where I can feel you, smell your raspberry and cinnamon scent. When I curved my finger in your neck makes me want to lean over you and kiss you passionately.
What I'm felling is love and hate. People usually tell: The one you love is the one you hurt and hate the most. I can't deny it; it is true. Love and hate are the same when they meet each other. They are one at the end.
I told the password to the portrait of Fat Lady and entered the boy's dormitories. At the window near my bed was a gray and black owl that extended his paw at me. I took the letter and the owl flew off the window.
Warm feelings spend through my body as I touch the letter. I know this feeling very well. It's the feeling I get every day I see you, I sense you near, I touch you as we fight.
I opened the letter.
Potter. It was written on an elegant, curvy and fine handwriting.
Meet me at the left side of the dungeons at ten.
D.M
Draco Malfoy. I could have spelled it of even from sixteen feets in the air. I smiled dreamy at the letter. I just can't wait for tonight.
