#1 in harrypotterromance
Harry Potter couldn't hate Draco Malfoy more.
Day after day, the blonde haired Slytherin teases him, bullies him, and does his very best to drive Harry mad.
One day, though, after a dramatic crash into Malfoy that left both...
Harry's fist landed on the table with a such a loud thump, his best friend and witching genius, Hermione Granger, nearly toppled from her seat. "Goodness, Harry!" She exclaimed, frowning grumpily at him as she replaced herself on her chair. "No need to abuse the poor table with your hatred."
"Oh, lay off it, Hermione! He's only expressing himself. We hate Snape too, mate." Ron Weasley, Harry's other best friend and a total idiot, said cheerily. He gave The Chosen One a pat on the back, nodding sympathetically.
"I wasn't talking about Snape." Harry grumbled, giving Hermione a half hearted apology for nearly making her fall from her seat. She was still mildly miffed, but she accepted the apology.
The trio was seated in the Great Hall, feasting on breakfast, which consisted of bacon, toast freshly topped with butter, and sausages, as well as mashed potatoes.
Harry's plate was empty; he was too annoyed to eat.
"Well then, who were you talking about, Harry?" Hermione queried, trying to reach a plate full of sausages. "Pass the sausages, please, Ron."
"Malfoy." Harry said shortly.
Ron and Hermione sighed in harmony. "Harry, we know you dislike him...but me and Ron are rather...how to say it..." Hermione paused, searching for the right word.
"Tired of it." Ron finished. Hermione nodded in agreement. "Tired of it," she repeated.
"We hate the bloke just as much as you, Harry, but there are other things to talk about." Ron explained, shoveling potatoes into his mouth.
Harry sighed, knowing his friends did indeed have a point. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "It's just...Malfoy has been acting so suspicious, and-"
"Harry, shut up."
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Draco Malfoy's lips were turned up in a sneer as his eyes locked on the messy head of hair seated by the Gryffindor table.
Blaise Zabini, one of Draco's closest friend and select few who could tease him, glanced over his shoulder, trying to see what had caught Draco's eye.
"You looking at that blasted Potter again?" Pansy Parkinson's high voice came from Draco's right as she took a spot beside him.
Pansy was Draco's other best friend and, like Blaise, part of the little amount of people whom Draco allowed to tease him.
Draco scowled, taking a furious bite from his bacon. "Look at him, sitting all high and mighty with the stupid prat Weasley and that Granger."
"She is pretty, isn't she..." Pansy murmured, but Draco was too busy glaring to hear. Blaise sighed, shoving Draco's side.
"If you keep talking about him, I'm going to start thinking you're in love with the boy." Blaise said, eyebrow raised and his mouth slightly upturned in the beginnings of a smirk.
"Shut up." Draco hissed, his cheeks pink.
"Whoah, whoah. Calm down there, cowboy! I was only kidding." Blaise raised his hands in the air as a sign of surrender.
"I'd never love someone like Potter." Draco said, trying to sound like he meant it.
There was less conviction in his voice than he liked, and Blaise knew it. He didn't say anything though, only casually leaning forward to raise a knowing eyebrow at Pansy.
"I mean, he's such a prat! How could I ever like anyone like him? I don't even like boys." But Draco knew his words were too shaky; there wasn't enough certainty in his voice than he was comfortable with.
"Mmhmm. Anyway, did you finish that essay for History of Magic class? I think I've done terribly." Pansy griped, refilling her glass with juice.
Draco swallowed a spoonful of potato as he reluctantly turned his attention away from Harry Potter.
"I think I've done fine." Blaise said, scratching his chin decisively. "Yes, I'm quite sure I've done well."
"No need to brag," Pansy told him, her voice dripping with annoyance.
Draco watched his two friends argue for a moment, his mind filtering out their words.
He suddenly reached into his school bag, his hands closing around a familiar leather bound book. It was worn from the amount of times his thin fingers had secured themselves around it.
"Oi, we'd better get going, Malfoy." Blaise said, patting Draco on the shoulder.
Startled, Draco dropped the book, letting it fall the the bottom of his bag. "A-alright." He smiled, trying to cover up his alarm.
"Let's go."
DRACO MALFOY'S DIARY
Dear Diary,
Sometimes, I ask myself a question.
It's usually one question, but sometimes it comes out different. But it's always one question, and no matter how it comes out, it always means one thing.
Where did I go wrong?
What wrong turn did I make in my life? Which step fell fowl? When did my feet stray from the path I wanted to head down?
I often wonder if it started in the beginning. Maybe it started when Father started to rain his fists upon my back, if it was when Mother turned a blind eye on the abuse, if it was when the first time I hit Dobby, revenge for the hurt being placed on my shoulders.
But truly, I wonder if it began when Harry Potter refused my handshake.
I think when that happened, a hardening took place in my heart. For so many times I had been refused by so many people, but to be rejected by the king of the wizarding world...
I knew then that there must be something terribly wrong with me.
I swore to myself from that day forward, I would never treat Harry with the respect I knew he deserved. I taught myself not to stare in amazement, not to treat him like royalty.
I was so tempted, whenever he tripped or fell, to help him up. Because all that I knew, from what surrounded me, was that he was important.
He was the royalty I would never be.
And as I grow older, I know things are wrong with me. Men...the shiny hair, the muscular chests, the powerful jawline and the sweet, soft lips...
They call to me far more than a women's breast, curves, and female energy.
I call for something more...male.
And I know that is wrong. I cannot love men, my father taught me this as his hands beat down into my back, my stomach, my legs.
Men are for women, women are for men. And that is all that can ever be.
