A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Assignment #1 – Paleontology - Task #8 - Ankylosauria Fossil: Fossils of this dinosaur have been found on every continent, but the first was found in Antarctica. These dinosaurs are of the majority with armor in the form of body osteoderms.

Write about someone who has emotional barriers, or is 'keeping up walls' to protect themselves.

Writing Club January

Assorted Appreciation: 18 - Marilyn - Dialogue: "If my mother could only see me now." - Marilyn Monroe - Alt: - "What doesn't kill you is going to leave a scar." - Marilyn Manson

Amber's Attic: 12 - Hecate: Write about someone who is misunderstood and demonized.

Marvel Appreciation: G - Groot: (Dialogue: "I am Groot!") OR (Object: Tree)

Lyric Alley: 10 - What the hell am I doing here? (Bonus)

Word Count: 776

People say there's a thin line between love and hate.

People say that hate is caused by fear, that fear makes people do stupid things, act in stupid ways. Fear is caused by not understanding. We fear what we don't understand. Does that explain the kiss? He doesn't understand me, therefore he fears me, hates me but the line became so blurred it became something else? Does that explain the kiss?

I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't expecting to see him back for our eighth year. I thought he was in prison, or something like that. He was marked, I know he wasn't innocent. What does he hope to accomplish coming back here? Eighth years get their own dorm, regardless of house. We're in the same tower, me and him. He's a shade of who he used to be, I can see that. He's pale, thin, and twitchy. I doubt I'm much better, if I'm being honest. The war took its toll on all of us.

He doesn't speak to me. I don't speak to him. We have nothing to say. What is there to say? 'I'm sorry'? That doesn't even begin to cover it. Sorry for what? Sorry I didn't save you, sorry about the fact I was on the wrong side, sorry that maybe I should have given you a second look. No, there's nothing to say. We go to classes, we eat, we study. We don't interact. Not him and I, no, not us.

I pretend I don't notice him watching me. I pretend that I'm not glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. No, there's nothing there. No love, no hate, no fear, no understanding. We could never connect. We've both been hurt too much to let anyone ever get near either of us.

I know he was on trial. I know his father was sentenced to Azkaban. I know he's only free because someone spoke in his favor. He's distant now, not bragging about anything. It's a nice change, but it doesn't mean anything.

I know I'm different. I saw too much death, I felt too much pain. I can't let anyone ever get close again. I can't risk feeling like that again, like I have something to lose. I know the war is over, that everyone says we're safe now, but for how long? How long until there is a new threat and suddenly anyone I care about is a target? I lost too much in this war to even think about letting him, anyone in. There is no love or hate, there is only numbness.

Walls are made to keep things in, keep things out. It's easier to wall up my feelings, all up everything. It's easier to pretend that I'm not watching him, waiting to see what he does. I want to know he feels something, want to know he feels the same pain, the same numbness. How could he not? How could the war have not affect him as it did me? I know it's unrealistic, but part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe he might understand. Why do I even care?

We're outside, by the greenhouses. Herbology is a calming subject, a simple subject. The fresh air and warmth feel better than the memories haunting the castle. A flash of blond hair. Him? Why would he be out here? I follow. I should know better, but I don't care. He's sitting by a tree, arms wrapped around his legs. He's staring at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. Could they be the same as mine? I take a step, a twig snapping beneath my feet. He raises his head.

"Why?" he asked, looking at me.

"Why what?" I ask. I know the answer. I know what he wants, he wants to know why I care, why I'm out here.

"Why me?"

"I need to know," I answered. "Are you... like me, broken?" My own voice sounds foreign admitting it, saying the word.

"Yes," he says, rising to his feet. He cups my face in his hands. "I'm like you, Hermione, broken, watching, hoping that maybe, I'm not alone," he whispers before pressing his lips to mine. He releases me.

"I still hate you," he says softly. "I just needed you to... know that," he adds before leaving me standing there, the feel of his lips on mine.

There's a thin line between love and hate. I don't know what this is, love, hate, that blurred line that defies definition. But a part of me, a small part of me, hopes these walls crumble and I can let someone, him, in once again.