Middle of the Ocean

The moment I laid eyes on him, I could not help but hate him. He was everything I was not, and so much more. What else could I do, but hate him with all my heart? I am a man, a man who throws everything he has into his relationships. I can never simply "hate," and stop right there. I transcend all boundaries in my rush to overwhelm. I am a wave, a wave that cannot be dammed. But I can be fought against. And that is where he comes in.

He glares at me with those icy grey eyes, those windows into his soul. It's a dark, twisted soul, one that devotes all of it's time into hating me. He is like me, but at the same time, not. Where I am weak, he is strong. And where I am strong, he is weak. But it's the middle ground that matters. The middle of the ocean, where we meet, where these waves swell and crash and collide until one overwhelms the other. It is all in the middle of the ocean, where we are caught together in an eternal battle.

I meet his cold slate eyes glare for glare. As always, it is emerald versus silver; light versus dark; Gryffindor versus Slytherin; Harry Potter... versus Draco Malfoy.

The lights and sounds of the Great Hall wane away until nothing remains but him and me, locked together in our battle of wills. All I can feel is the blood pounding in my ears, begging me to listen. My heart is rattling against my ribcage, begging to be released. Tears begin to gather in my eyes, until finally, finally, I blink.

He smirks; he thinks he has won. But my heart has been freed, and I am finally willing to listen. A brilliant smile flows across my lips. His smirk falters, his eyebrows snapping together in a frown. This was not the way I was supposed to act. I was supposed to act angry and frustrated that I had lost. But I thought to myself with a satisfied vengeance, to hell with acting.

I stand abruptly, unaware of the eyes upon me, the whispers that follow me. I can never escape them, so I have learned to ignore them. I stride towards him. His eyes widen, afraid of the smile that graces my lips, the dangerous glint in my eye. Afraid of what I will, what I can, do to him. I see him instinctively draw closer to his cronies, those stupid apes, Crabbe and Goyle. He had always been a coward. Will he always be one? That is what I am about to find out.

I drop into the seat next to him, ignoring Parkinson's squeals of indignation. I look at Draco, still smiling. He blinks, once, twice, thrice. Then his smirk comes back full force; he finally understands. Our lips crash together, in the middle of the ocean. It is all in the middle of the ocean. Finally, finally, we realize that no wave prevails.