She hates him. She hates the way he walks, the way he talks, the air he inhales, the air he exhales, she hates absolutely every single cell in his body, every strip of DNA that he is built out of. But most of all, the thing that she hates the most is the way he makes her feel, he makes her violent, he makes her angry, he makes her heartless.
Sometimes, she dreams that he is in pain, that he falls down the stairs and break his nose, his lovely lovely nose. All in all, she hates the way he makes her lose her humanity. And it kills her, because sometimes she wants to kill him.
He smiled at her today, not his usual arrogant smirk, overflowing with his arrogance but a genuine smile. Laced with everything that makes the world beautiful, and for a second she sees rainbows, pots of gold, ice cream, flowers and hearts in his smiles.
She slaps herself, so what he smiled at her? He’s still an arrogant toerag and she hates him. She does, she really does. At least she thinks. And that’s more than enough.
She’s spending more time with him, not because she wants to, she has to. She silently curses the ever present fates for torturing her like this. She wants to rip her hair out, it’s all too much, the responsibility, the competition, the work, the duties, but he grabs her hands, holds them and tells her it’s going to be okay.
She nods, because that’s all she can do.
And she tells herself she still hates him, she swears again and again. He’s still arrogant. He’s still him, so what he can charm a teacher and show he can be a decent human for a moment. It doesn’t change anything. Does it?
She rejoices as she goes home, she’s free. She can unlock herself from him and be free. But once she arrives, she wants to leave. She rather be locked in his iron grasp, than be here with her. She’s a stranger, not a sister. Every look she sends her is vacant, void of emotion and she cracks every time she sees it.
This isn’t sisterhood. She isn’t her sister.
For one of them has wilted and the other has blossomed. And she’s not sure which one she is.
He sent her a Christmas present. It was perfect. It caught the light and refracted it around like the pieces of her cracking heart.
She changed her mind, for in her mind she had always been wrong, she wasn’t too good for him. It was the other way round, maybe it had always been. But what was she going to do about it?
Nothing, for she was undeserving.
It’s funny, she’s excited to get away, to go to school. And though she’ll never admit it (she’s not foolish) she’s almost excited to see him. And that makes her hate him more, that he’s charming and kind, no longer the arrogant boy she wanted to push off the astronomy tower. Don’t get her wrong, she still wants to push him off the tower, it’s just for so many different reasons, because when he’s nearby her stomach shudders and her skin freezes.
It’s still hatred, she’s sure.
But now it’s mixed with dirty teen lust.
And it leaves a vile rancid taste on her tongue.
She asks herself the question finally: Why her? She’s nothing special and she knows it. She’s smart, but there are many smarter. She’s pretty, but there are people who are prettier.
He’s hopelessly infatuated with her for no apparent reason. He doesn’t even know her. She hates him, she really does, so why does he bother?
But this leads to another question: Why does she even care?
It’s raining today, like it rained yesterday, and the day before and in fact, the day before that. She sits on the window ledge looking out, because she isn’t in the mood to talk.
She tilts her head, and catches sight of him. They share a quick intense look, she feels breathless and looks down just as quickly as she looked up. It was just a glance. It was insignificant, she tells herself.
Laughing to herself as she tries to deceive her own mind, she adds one more thing to the mental list of why she hates him: He makes her doubt everything, even herself.
But he isn’t.
Not anymore, anyway.
She writes a letter to her sister for the first time in a year. It’s phrased awkwardly and each syllable is clunky, but maybe she can save this sinking ship. She wants to desperately, she’d give up every star in the misty scottish sky to win her back again, but she can’t. With every ounce of her renowned Gryffindor courage, she drags herself to the owlery and sends it.
And thus begins the wait.
And it continues, and it continues, spiralling round, twisting in and out of time, tangling into eternity and the wait continues, dances and drawls.
And with the same Gryffindor bravery as before, she decides that this letter is one that she’ll never receive a response to. So she cries, and he’s the only one who notices, not her friends, not even her best friend. But him. It’s awful, because she’s in pain and she’s stuck in this godforsaken situation and out of all the people in the world, he somehow understands.
With the keys of understanding, somehow he gets the chance to break into her world. Secretly, in all honesty and she will never admit this, she doesn’t mind that he’s smuggled his way in.
She can no longer describe her feelings for him. It’s no longer hatred, it’s worse. His wonderfulness, his compassion makes her want to like him, but she can’t, so their relationship is a spiraling mess of hatred, friendship, mutual understanding and possibly something else.
And maybe it’s time to stop fight this endless battle and lose. Maybe her friends are right, maybe he’s right, maybe she just needs to give in.
Adamantly, she decides it shan't be today or tomorrow.
He asks her out for the thirty second time and she says yes. He is completely baffled, already anticipating her answer to be ‘no’.
She wastes no time as enough has been wasted, grabs his hand and drags him along as there are things to do, first years to direct and hallways to be patrolled. He smiles at her, she feels nauseous. She still hates that he can do that to her, she hates it dearly but she won’t have it any other way.
And maybe if you asked her, for the first time she might just admit it.
And together they spin, spin ever so quickly, dancing on the edge of insanity, the precipice of delirium until finally they fall.
and she whispers in his ear, "you have extricated me."
A/N: Don't ask me what I just did, I'm not too sure myself, I made myself free write and this mess came out and I cannot extricate myself from it. :p
I am so afraid of writing cannon, yet I just did, I didn't even realize who I was writing about until I started to hint at Petunia. I do hope you were able to figure out who was who, I refused to add names.