Maybe It's Him

PG-13

To Chan, for her birthday that's coming on the 29th. You are loved! Draco's POV.

I hate him.

Maybe it's his hair. It's always blacker than the night, always wilder than the wind, and softer than the silk drapes in my room. He never combs it, and it always seems like someone's given it a good ruffle. It's a stark contrast to my own blonde strands that fall over my forehead. He hardly looks like he bothers to groom himself. I hate that.

Maybe it's his eyes. Green fire against silver pools makes everyone around aware of the electricity waiting to explode in a rain of sparks. It happens all the time. There's always the great burn of an intense glare searing into my skin during meals, and everyone knows, and worries about the pressure erupting in their respective faces. I hate his stare.

Maybe it's his voice. It's normally used in a verbal sparring between us, when he hurtles insults at me and I counter just as viciously. It's deep and rich and it drives me wild when he moans, when it rings in my ears and it makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. I hate that.

Or maybe it's his hands, rough and well-used like mine, maneuvering broomsticks and gripping snitches with the ghost of our lives. He's got bigger hands than I, but I've got longer fingers. It sends smooth, strong currents sailing through my blood when he spreads his fingers out in a fan, and I spread mine out too, so that the pads touch. I hate that he's good with his hands.

But then again, there's always a tugging in my chest when we're alone together, when my fingers are stroking his soft hair, when the smell of it warms me up.

And then again, his eyes fall on me like a warm blanket on a cold night, and they comfort when the days and the heart grow heavy, they calm when frustration claims the mind.

Or then again, his faint whispers makes my heart tremble, his pleas, commands, we end up on our knees for each other and he renders me helpless with his loving touch.

Maybe he's better than me in a lot of things. Then again, I have my own talents.

Maybe I hate him for what he lacks. Maybe I hate him for what he's good at.

Then again, I love him for who he is.