Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Love of His Quill ❯ The Words That You Hiss ( Chapter 2 )

Love Of His Quill

Chapter Two: The Words That You Hiss

By Kitsune Yarisha

 

Potter stood up quickly and rushed out of the Great Hall, his face bright red. At the Slytherin table, Blaise grinned as Draco walked over and sat down in an empty chair next to him and asked, “What did you give him?”

 

Blaise turned his attention back to blonde haired friend and smiled again. Draco's silver eyes narrowed in suspicion as Blaise answered, “I gave him your poems.”

 

Draco's eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a long moment. “You… How dare you?” He hissed in rage as he regained his composure.

 

“Draco, I know you don't understand my motive, but I assure you that I didn't do this to humiliate you,” Blaise replied, his voice trembling slightly in fear at the murderous look Draco was giving him.

 

Dropping his arms to his side and placing his head on the table, Draco muttered dejectedly, “Potter will hate me even more.”

 

“You don't know that, Draco! He may…uh, he may find it attractive,” Blaise managed as his face turned a light shade of pink.

 

Draco lifted his head to glare at him momentarily before sighing and muttering, “I suppose we will just have to see what happens, and pray I get to live to see my eighteenth birthday.” Blaise nodded and breathed a sigh of relief as Draco began to eat calmly. He found himself wondering where Potter had gone to and if he was going to read the letter Blaise had written this morning. He also, to his own shock, found himself hoping Harry would return Draco's feelings. His friend was important to him and so was this matter.

 

 

Twenty minutes was barely enough time for Harry to read all of the parchments from Malfoy, but he was going to have to get in as much as possible. He rushed into the library and avoided the librarian hovering by the shelves as he took a table in the far corner of the main sitting area.

 

He placed the bag on the floor and pulled out the letter and parchments, pausing only to briefly inhale the wonderful fragrance of the red rose in the bag. He turned back to the letter and opened it careful, pulled out a single page before reading over the fine print:

 

Dear Harry Potter,

 

If you are reading this letter it means I have successfully managed to give you Draco's secret parchments. Let us take a moment to applaud my great talent. While we are at it, let us take another moment to applaud my great number of abilities. Back to the point of this letter, I have discovered these poems (and more) in a red folder that Draco holds in his room. You may be very surprised by their contents since they center on yourself. By now I have probably confessed my actions to my friend and have begged forgiveness. However, I still do wish you to read over the parchments (and carefully at that, Potter!) and think over their meanings. Now, I must go, but I leave you with my own poem to give you a hint of what you will see.

 

Love of His Quill

Love of his life

The object of his affection

The object of his strife,

Though you may not see

Though you may not hear

His love for you

Is what keeps him here,

Body, mind, and soul

He loves every part of you

Now that you know

What will you do?

Laugh or cry?

Or will you run away?

Will you never come out

And once again play?

Love Of His Quill

Love of his life

You're the object of his affection

And the object of his undying strife.

 

Sincerely,

Blaise Zabini of Slytherian House.

 

Harry's brow furrowed together as he read over the poem again and again, not believing its meaning. He placed it back into the envelope and untied the blood red ribbon that held together the parchments Blaise had managed to steal from Malfoy and send him.

 

He flipped through them and counted at least five poems with small thoughts under them. He pulled out the first one and blushed darkly as he realized it was a description of himself. He pushed it aside and grabbed wildly for the next one as he struggled to regain control of his breathing.

 

He grabbed the parchment and inhaled deeply before reading it closely. It was a short poem but it held many conflicting emotions. Harry guessed that perhaps this one was one of the first Malfoy had written about him.

 

He smiled at the ending of it fondly as it mentioned his friends in a less then insulting light. Perhaps Malfoy really had under gone a change of heart, literally in a sense. He had to admit that Malfoy was very attractive and even when he was being an evil prat he enjoyed being around the blonde haired annoyance.

 

Harry picked up the next piece of parchment, noting he had only three minutes before he had to return to the common room for the Valentine's Day party they were holding. He shifted in his seat and read over the tan paper with interest:

 

Make me smile

Make me grin

Show me the man

That I wish to win,

Give me a reason

Give me a life

Show me a world

Without all this strife,

Hand over my mind

Hand over my heart

Show me why with you

I never wish to depart.

 

Harry choked back the sob that threatened to spill over his trembling lips, mentally cursing himself from reacting to a simple poem like a girl. “Damn, I didn't know Malfoy had all of this pinned up. I…” He started but was cut across as the leave bell.

 

He gathered up everything and placed in back in the bag and walked out of the library. He sighed as he walked passed the Great Hall, which was now empty expect for the house elves cleaning up the vast space. Harry moved on, eager to get back to the Gryffindor tower so he could forget about these poems and Draco Malfoy.

 

 

“Oh no!” Ron groaned. He turned in his chair as Professor Snape grinned evilly. “You believe this, mate? Partners he says!”

 

Harry smiled nervously at his red haired friend before he turned his attention back onto Snape.

 

“The pairings will be as follows: Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe and Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Thomas Arkansan, Adrian Robinson and Neville Longbottom, Lavender Brown and Samantha Zabini, Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Anthony Maize. If you have any questions ask me directly. Find your partner and take your new seat,” Snape ordered as he swept back behind his desk and wrote out the pairs on the chalkboard.

 

Harry sighed in relief as he walked past Malfoy and sat next to Blaise. With an approving up and down scan of Harry's body, Blaise nodded and smiled as he said, “Well, Potter, how are you today?”

 

Harry went red as Blaise shifted in his chair, so his back was to the wall, and glanced at Malfoy. “I…I, uh…I'm well,” Harry stuttered lamely as he busied himself with rearranging his notebooks.

 

Blaise laughed from beside him and shot a knowing grin at Malfoy before turning in his seat to see Snape.

 

“You will be working together on an essay.” The class groaned in unison and behind him Harry could hear Malfoy's frustrated sigh. “Yes, yes. I know how much you all hate those, except Ms. Granger of course. Any way, I expect a ten page essay from you and your partner on love potions compared to actual love,” Snape finished with a disgusted sneer directed at Harry as he shout for every one to start on their projects.

 

Blaise twisted his long hair around a long, pale finger as he muttered to Harry, “Love compared to Love Potions, eh? I don't even know how to put anything I'm thinking into words! Any ideas, Potter?”

 

Harry shook his head and glanced at Hermione's table, noting she and Pansy had already written three pages.

 

“Whoa!” Blaise's shock whispered turned his attention back to the Slytherin boy. He was peered over his seat at Malfoy's parchments. “You've already done five papers, Draco? Anthony, stop staring! Aren't you supposed to be helping?”

 

Anthony sputtered incoherently as he stared at Malfoy's elegant writing and then at the sixth page he had just finished.

 

Harry blinked in surprise, his eyes scanning the elegant scrawl on the parchment barely reading it. `…The emotion of love is expressed by both parties while in a potion the emotion is forced by one person on another. The first person, the receiver, may not feel the emotion till fed the potion while the second, the giver, most likely already has the pull of attraction…'

 

Anthony glanced up at Blaise with a pleading look. Blaise ignored him as he watched Harry mouth the words on the parchment, following and predicting the next couple of words exactly as Malfoy started writing them.

 

Blaise chuckled and tugged at Harry's robes as he turned around back to start their own essay.

 

With a slightly distracted mind, Harry turned and began to help Blaise write the essay.

 

 

“'Mione?” Harry called tentatively up into the girls' dormitory.

 

“One minute!” Came as a muffled response, which made Harry surprisingly less nervous. He could always talk to Hermione, always.

 

She came bustling down the stairs, her curly, brown hair bouncing everywhere.

 

“Oh, Harry! You look worried. What is it, then?” She questioned immediately before grabbing his hand and leading him to the chairs in front of the fireplace.

 

“Uh, Hermione?” He started out as he took a seat, avoiding her eyes as he gazed absently into the burning fire.

 

Her voice rang out clearly beside him, the concerning easily detected as she repeated, “What is it, Harry? What's wrong?”

 

He took a deep breath before he reached into his pocket and produced the poems from Malfoy and handed it to her. Hermione stared at them for a long moment before her brain processed what her friend was doing. She reached out and took the parchments and shrugged, “So?”

 

“Read them.” He commended. And so she did. She flipped rapidly to the next one in surprise and continued on. He watched the expression on her face change from concentration to mild understanding to modest shock.

 

“Oh, Harry! These are wonderful! Who are they from?” She said as she handed back the parchments.

 

He stared at them as he pulled them into his hand, flipping to the last one and looking over the four-line poem, he read, “Show me hate, show me spite, as long as you acknowledge me, I'll be alright. Really, `Mione, who do you think it is?”

 

She shrugged in an indecisive way as she counted off names on her finger, “Let's see, then. Cho, Ginny, Susan, Jenny, Jamie, Christy, or Pansy! Did I miss anyone?” She smiled smugly as Harry stared at her.

 

He set his mouth into a grim line and said darkly, “Do those girls ever write poetry?”

 

“Well not particularly any of them that I know of. Except for Ginny a…”

 

“A boy sent me these!”

 

“A boy?”

 

“Yes, a boy!” Harry yelled in annoyance before he pocketed the parchments. “Can you guess who sent them now?”

 

She sat quietly for a moment, pondering over all the boys she knew that Harry had met. Her eyes lit up in realization only a moment later. She whispered, “Draco?”

 

He turned to look in her eyes finally, the grim look in his eyes answering even before he said, “Yeah. Blaise took these parchments from Malfoy's room and gave them to me yesterday.” He stared at her for a long moment before whispering quietly, “Well, what do you think?”

 

“Well, Harry, I don't know what to think, but I do know that no one is capable of writing such poems without the actual emotion. Harry, you need to talk to Draco and soon,” she told him. Her expression remained steady as he got up.

 

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” he told her. He disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

 

 

“Draco?” Blaise called as he opened the door to the blonde boy's room. He poked his head through the door before opening it all the way. He smiled as he saw the familiar mop of silver-blonde hair by the bed.

 

“Blaise?” The other boy called out shakily. His body trembling as he tried to steady himself against the desk in front of him.

 

“Draco! What's wrong?” Blaise asked as he rushed to Draco's side and held him steady in a loss embrace. Draco, still trembling slightly, held out a piece of parchment his owl had brought in this morning.

 

Blaise took it from his hands and read it, smiling despite Draco's unnerved scowl at him. “I'm surprised it responded. I'm even more surprised he writes poetry!” Blaise chuckled quietly as he read aloud:

 

“Though I have trouble believing

What you say is true

Maybe if I hear it from your lips

I will believe you

But if you don't come out and

Write to me today

I may not ever want to hear

What ever it is you have to say.”

 

 

To be continued.