A Fitting Name

A Fitting Name

Lucius Malfoy.

A name like silk; when I whisper it to myself, it slides off my tongue, all vowels and soft consonants.

Lucius Malfoy

His name fits perfectly, for the man also is like silk. He is fluid in a way, and has a natural grace that suggests that he was born for higher things than the rest of us.

Lucius Malfoy does not stumble, does not drop things, does not fall. Doesn't back down, doesn't lose.

Lucius Malfoy always knows the answers.

Lucius Malfoy.

A man carved out of ice, cold and unexpressive. His features are chiseled from white stone. His hair, paler than blonde, flows down his back in a perfect waterfall.

Lucius Malfoy.

The epitome of a Slytherin, for he cares about nothing. A heart of ice cannot love. To Lucius, there is no love. There is no good. There is no evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.

Lucius Malfoy is never weak. Emotions, love, make people weak, and Lucius Malfoy will have nothing to do with any weakness. Therefore, he does not have emotions.

I wonder sometimes what he would say, if he knew. If he knew that his enemy in everything, the person he competes with in Quidditch, in lessons, in the hallways, is infatuated with him.

What would he think if he were to find out that I cannot keep my eyes off of him, cannot keep my thoughts off of him, can't stop obsessing, for reasons that I cannot explain? What makes a heart of ice so compelling? What is it about his intense stare from frigid silver eyes that freezes me in place?

Lucius Malfoy.

Why am I in love with him?

James Potter.

A name like flannel, comforting. Familiar, a name of hard consonants and warm vowels. A name that you cannot say without smiling to yourself.

James Potter.

A fitting name, one that brings to mind images of sports and grass, of loud laughter. A name reeking of boy.

James Potter.

To watch him play Quidditch is to know him. On his broom, he is truly in his element. He flies purely by instinct, all quick movements and reflexes. He exudes happiness and confidence, and the sheer joy of being weightless, of feeling the air rush past him as he dives for the Snitch. It is worth losing a game to see the triumphant grin, one of unadulterated pride, as he stands on the pitch, golden ball clutched tightly in his fist.

James Potter.

Physical appearance means nothing to him, a fact illustrated by his careless way of dressing, his messy mop of hair. He needn't worry about his appearance, for he has the kind of boyish charm that makes him look even more adorable when his hair is sticking up and his shirt is untucked.

James Potter.

He lives big, a full and rich life. He never cheats, never cuts corners. Everything he does, he puts his full heart into. His life is one of huge highs and lows, joys and sorrows, and everything in between.

James Potter is overflowing with love. You can tell, when he's with his friends, that he loves them, the sort of unconditional, nothing held back love that siblings have, or parents and children. This type of love is effortless to him, completely natural. When he is with the people he loves, his eyes are bright, and his laughter heartfelt.

I wonder sometimes what it must be like. I sit in the cold, hard world of the Slytherin common room and wonder how it feels to take part in the raucous games, in the cozy Gryffindor room, floors above.

James Potter

I think how weird it all is. Malfoys do not fall in love... and yet, here I am, seized with urges to hold his hand, to be sappy, and give him flowers. Malfoys do not have tender little sweethearts.

But something about him fills me with the longing to do just that, and it scares me.

James Potter

Why am I in love with him?