Two Feet from the Line

I hate Harry Potter.

It’s as simple as that... or perhaps as complex as that. My contradictions don’t concern me in the least. Within the Malfoy Manor, this sort of hypocrisy is more common than when the sinister form known as Voldemort and one of his favourite puppets, Lucius Malfoy would cast an unforgivable on me.

Is my bitter animosity an obsession? Perhaps, but that doesn’t concern me as well. The bloody Golden Boy never notices anything he doesn’t want to. And I, Draco Malfoy, am all too sure he wouldn’t want to notice my dark obsession.

Especially that one time...

I was wandering about the halls late at night, rather content to walk in the shadows of the castle, knowing my stealth and intelligence would keep myself away from Filch or that bloody cat of his. And then I stumbled. Stumbled straight into a room with the very highly talked about Mirror of Erised. I knew it must be this mirror for when I glanced upon the sleek silver surface, instead of seeing a similar sleek silver that is my eyes staring back I saw vibrant green eyes, laden with a salacious glow, dark glossy hair falling nearly exotically in front of them, the eyes hidden beneath rounds glassed, an impish smile present on the slightly tanned and flushed face.

It was Harry Potter’s reflection;

And oh how I hate Harry Potter.

The reflection in the mirror smirked coyly at me, a flash of sharp white teeth exposed from those luscious lips, taunting and tantalizing. Tiresome, my body absorbed itself in a veil of fatigue, seeing the confident figure of Harry Potter there in that glass couldn’t even elicit the normal rage an image pertaining to Potter usually did. Instead, in a nearly apathetic manner, I left the room and stumble into something heavy and solid, resulting in my usual dignified form falling rather haphazardly unto the cold and uninviting marble floor.

As if from thin air, who else but the Boy Who Lived himself, shimmered to life in front of me, my ever active mind wondered for a moment if he used an invisibility spell on himself yet those foolish thoughts were abandoned the moment I saw a cloak lying at his feet.

“An invisibility cloak, eh Potter?” I asked sneering at him my steady voice betraying the wrenching gesture my insides possessed, “I should have known your far too useless to cast a spell upon yourself.”

He had the indignity to look slight flushed at being discovered as he leaned down to collect his precious cloak. His crimson lips parted slightly as he mumbled something, so close to being comprehended, but just a little too low for my ears to have picked up.

“What was that Potty?”

He glared daggers at me as he walked away. “Nothing Malfoy, because your not worth even a moment of my time, not even a single breath!”

“Oh! Your words hurt me so,” I exclaimed melodramatically at his fleeting form, fluttering my pale lashes and holding a hand over my heart.

My statement held no truth, his words didn’t pain me in the slightest, the only thing that might cause such a fierce shattering into my icy exterior was the look in his eyes.

It was almost the same glint of hate that I carry within my eyes just for Potter.

Almost...

Now Voldemort smirks at me coldly, a single glance in those red venomous eyes is enough to chill my heart, my blood turns slowly to ice as if a dementor is present. Within the shadows of this darkened dungeon, I wouldn’t be surprised if there is one present.

He enjoys testing me, the sadistic bastard gets a kick out of watching me in pain, anyone really, yet the Dark Lord takes a special inkling in seeing his top lap dog’s son yelping in agony as yet another unforgivable curse is cast upon my fragile frame. Sometimes, he finds worst ways of torture to place upon me on this long nights. He never fails to use them.

The room is dark, the air cold and bitter, a few hooded people watch in the corners with crimson smirks and glinting eyes barely visible in the darkened shadows of their cloaks, partaking in witnessing this vicious show.

I taste a bitter and copper substance in my mouth and quickly realize that it is my own blood. I smile in disdain at this and in opening my mouth feel the velvety substance seep from my mouth and down my pale chin. The pain is horrid, enough to make me wanna die, I feel as if it may happen soon. But the Dark Lord would never even allow that. He wouldn’t give me that treat.

I close my eyes as more pain seeps into my already exhausted body. I shut my eyes and see green. Not red, a scarlet resemblance of the blood that pours freely from me, not black, a dark shadow that hangs over me, but a vibrant green, the colour of Harry Potter’s eyes.

I hate Harry Potter.

I repeated these words again and again in my mind. The thoughts much like a heavy cloud of malice blocking all coherency that may have once existed within my mind. The pain is nearly unbearable.

I hate you, Harry Potter. Hate you. Hate you. Hate. Hate. Loath Despise. Desire. Need. Love. I hate you Harry Potter... I wonder if you could ever love me too.