Summary: She just loves diving into a good book. He hates every kind of book with a fiery vengeance.
Notes/ Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
I hate damn books.
I hate the smell of pure evil that wafts up your nostrils as you open one that should've been burned in the Middle Ages.
I hate how they creak like an old bed spring, or, even worse, the lid of a coffin opening to swallow you up in its horrors.
I hate how it costs a gazillion Galleons for two tiny volumes that, let's face it, I won't read anyway.
I hate how my parents get me ones called 'How to be a Respectable Young Man: A Gentleman's Handbook' as a Christmas present when all I really wanted was a new broomstick.
I hate ones that use words like 'aficionados' and 'perfidious' just to sound clever.
I hate how I get detention if I even think about doodling 'JP4LE' in one I've been forced to borrow from the Library.
I hate how she loves them so much, and hates me.
I hate that every time I look at her, her head is buried in one and I can barely see her forehead, let alone my favourite part, her eyes.
I hate how they give her the power to smirk at me and quote 'brilliant' wizards and supposedly 'witty' observations.
I hate how she spends so much time in the Library with them and runs away whenever I'm within a five foot radius of her.
But most of all, I hate how I'm jealous of a damn book.
I just love a good book.
I love the smell of a new one as you open it for the first time; crisp, clean, ripe for the reading.
I love how an old one will crack deliciously as you open it, full of dust, rich with memories, like an old friend welcoming you home.
I love how much I enjoy digging for hours through old shops and market stalls, to find hidden gems that can be yours for just a few sickles.
I love how my parents somehow know the perfect ones to get me for Christmas, and how I spend the day being swept away into another world.
I love the beautiful words like 'masquerade' and 'vivacity', that cover your mind like a warm, loving blanket of images.
I love how they give me the power to raise my hand in every class, and get every question correct.
I love how he hates them so much, and tries really hard not to hold it against me.
I love how I can hide behind the large, heavy ones that cover up my entire embarrassed face when I can feel him staring at me.
I love how they give me the power to quote Shakespeare and Austen at him, just to perplex the Hell out of him, and make me feel vastly superior.
But, most of all, I love how they allow me to tell myself that he's just an illiterate fool, and pretend that he could never replace precious books in my heart, when he already, unwittingly, has.
A/N: This was just a drabble that I wrote for hpficcontest over at live journal, for a challenge based on a love/hate relationship. The results came in today for the competition and I didn't even place in the top 3 so I was a bit gutted and thought I'd post it up here to see what people think of it. I know its not very long but I really loved writing it. What do you think?