The Amortentia Trick (Drarry)

Chapter 3- Unlovable

⚠ WARNING: SELF HARM, OFFENSIVE WORDS ⚠

Harry's P.O.V

I stared at him longlingly, no one could ever begin to understand how much this boy -this angel- meant to me.

I can only wish he would drop his facade around me, I see how he acts around his dormmates, and I wished we had that profound of a bond.

He looks up slightly at me, previously he seemed very interested in his french toast, but now he's looked up and caught my gaze.

I slightly panic. My cheeks tint an auburn red, like Ron's hair. We lock eachother with our eyes and I study him, not wanting to miss a thing about his god-like features.

His eyes. The colour of his eyes are to say the least, the most beautiful thing to exist. The colour of his eyes, it's a mixture of the cleanest, most rich silver. It shimmers like Unicorn blood and Mercury exposed the moon's light. and tinted with the iciest of blues. A blue so beautiful the sky of a snowy day would look down upon him in envy.

His emotions are far from apparant in his eyes. But when it comes to my love, anything is possible. In his eyes I sense the emotions of passion, love and....sadness? Fear?

His sculpture. His cheek bones are perfectly thin and noticeable, they go upwards on his face as if they were sculpted by god himself, his nose amazingly pointed enough to exaggerate the rest of his features, making them stand out more than they humanly possible. His pointed, yet round, chin elongating his face to the point of an exact replication of a man's finest artwork.

Finally, his hair. It's sleek and silky, like velvet fabric that had been previously washed, yet floofy, like a french poodle that one can't help but love and admire. It's platinum-silver color shining with being reflected off of my the sun's rays, being spotted from anywhere in the world, he goes noticed.

These may be physical features. But there is no doubt in my mind by looking in his eyes, he is the most perfect inhuman being to exist. Inside and out.

I love him more than life itself.

Draco's P.O.V

I look at Har- Potter. Merlin. His perfection knows no bounds at all. Never in my life have I seen a more astonishing human being. Right now I could list about 1 billion things I love about him, just by taking in one glance of those eyes.

His Eyes

Merlin, his eyes are perfectly defined by his sockets, his eyelashes gilmmer slightly with the sunlight and candle light all in one.

The color of his eyes though. The colour are in no correlation of their shape, they're a completely different, amazing, story.

His green eyes. Dare I call it green, for it is so much more. His eyes shine like emeralds that glisten from the reflection of many other jewels down in the deepest cave. You can sense a small tainted sapphire and diamond, a lingering sense of amethyst and quartz, the burning color of garnets and rubies. The boldness of onyx. His eyes.

The windows to his soul express every one of his emotions extraordinarily, you can see his desire, his passion, love... Name any positive emotion you can think of. It's there. Drowning in the absolute gems that are his eyes.

His sculpt

His face is plump, but still thin. Every one of his facial structures battle eachother in differences. But not a massacre of death and destruction. More of a graceful dance, trying to out-perfect eachother, clashing only to make something even more perfect.

His hair

it's unruly in the best of ways. Sticking up everywhere, falling in his face as if choreographed. It may be everywhere, but you can't help but want to run your hand through it slowly, contently. It's jet black and soft, discriminating into thin strands, as if his hair is a bundle of raven's feathers, only to create his abstract nestle of hair, that flows flamboyantly without volunteering.

Merlin, I love him

But....How could he love me? I'm a sickly pale color, ny hair falls in my face like I just woke up with it. My face is pointed and sharp like knives that do nothing but hurt. My eyes are dull gray, conveying nothing but cold and heartless. Just like I was supposed to be. But I'm a coward, a disgrace, I am nothing. I'm the embodiment of imperfection, the personification of unwanted, the description, representation and example of unlovable. This, and the fact that I am hated everwhere I am known for my forced beliefs and last name, my father never loved me, I was only brought into the world for the sake of working for the Dark Lord and to carry on a legacy. Being abused and neglected when I came out as 'queer' to him. This is the reason I am depressed, have anxiety, self-harm frequently and seem cold.

I quickly leave the hall and head for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Once I head inside, I lock the doors and cast a silenting charm as I start to grossly and loudly sob at myself in the mirror. I am disgusted by what I see before me, so I terminate the mirror into shards and pick up one that is about 5 inches long and squeeze it, already starting to bleed from my fragile skin. I pull up my sleeves only to reveal my arms. They are so scarred and covered in red cuts, old and new, that I should practically be deemed skinned. I carve words into both of my arms. 'disgrace' 'coward' 'weak' 'unworthy' 'unlovable' 'disgusting' 'faggot'. name an offensive or negative word. It was there undoubtedly. I take one last look at my reflection through the bloody shard. I look like a corpse, all the color, if there was any, drained from my face And an ocean of blood beaneath me, on the floor and in the sink. I slink down, ashamed, and sit in the pool of blood. Iron fills the room and my senses, overwhelming me so much it makes me gag while I hiccup in sobs. I drift off into only what I can assume is unconsciousness. Before fully falling off the grid to greet death, my old friend, I carve one last phrase into my skin.

"no one could ever love me"