A Drabble. This is how Harry feels about Severus. I wrote it for fun. It's not the best, but here it is anyway. Pairing: Harry/Severus (You really don't see any of that in here though, just his feelings, I might put up a sequal to what Severus thinks of all this, if you guys like it.)
Harry sat in the soft cofortable armchair that sat opposite the fireplace and he waited. Waited for what exactly? He didn't know. To be riduculed? To be told he was an insolant brat who didn't know his place? What? Sometimes he didn't know why he put up with it. Why sit for hours in a single room waiting for one person to come in and tell him off, waiting for that one person to tell him how stupid he is, how inconsiderate he is, how obnoxious he is. Why? Why does he put up with this crap? He knows why though. He has known from the first time that he snuck into the rooms and sat in this chair why he was there. He has always known. He has always known what has drawn him to this place, to the man that dwelled inside these walls. It was the confort, not the comfort one would expect, not words of encouragement, or hope, or love. Words that cut through his soul and remind him, that however much the world outside wants him to be, he is Harry, and here, in the arms of a man he thought he hated. He has found love, because unlike the rest of the world, this man, this tall, sadistic mean bastard whom he should hate, has every right to hate, has given him the one thing that he has always wanted in his life but never got the chance to because he was either "the freak" or "The boy-who-lived". He gave him the chance to be normal, the chance to be treated as every other student would be. And for that Harry was grateful.