When Hate Turns To Love

Harry Styles is a 16-year-old Jew. He lives with his mother, Anne, and they've managed to hide from the Nazis for quite a while. But, one night, while Harry is asleep in a little side closet, a group of German soldiers come in and steal his mum away. Heartbroken, Harry packs up his few belongings and heads to Auschwitz, hoping that he'll be able to save her.

Louis Tomlinson is an 18-year-old Nazi, and he sees Jews as the scum of the earth. He's doing night patrol when he sees a curly haired boy speaking with a Jewish woman through the fence. Disgusted, he drags the Jew back to his house, planning to use him as his personal slave. But, when his friends bring over another Jew, mistreating both young boys, Louis feels protective, jealous, and guilty. What will happen when Louis' hate for Harry turns to love? Will They be able to hide it long enough to go to America? Or will it all end on a battlefield?


6. Chapter 6

"Oh, Hazza," a blue-eyed boy laughs, shaking his head as he wipes flour off of my face. "The powdered sugar goes on top of the squares. Not you."
His smile is contagious, and I feel a grin spreading across my face as I slip my hand into the bag behind me. 
"I know, BooBear. I'm the one that can cook, remember?"
He laughs, his eyes sparkle in happiness. They slip closed as he lets out a happy sigh, and I take that as the perfect signal. I let the white powder in my hand fly, and he stands there, gasping as I dodge around him.
"The powdered sugar doesn't go on you, Lou!," I taunt him, laughing as he slowly walks to the fridge.
I quickly grab a rag and wipe my face, ridding it of the flour. My smirk quickly falls when I see what he grabbed. A whole carton of eggs.
"Okay, love, let's put the eggs down...," I say, inching my way towards the cooling chocolate. "We don't want anything to get out of control..."
He just shakes his head, suddenly throwing eggs my way. I get hit on top of the head, in the chest, and on my left leg. I stare at him for a second before quickly whipping chocolate onto his chest. Pretty soon, our little game turns into a every-man-for-himself food fight.
Chocolate, powdered sugar, eggs, flour, and lemon squares - well, really lemon crumblies - cover both the floor and us, and I'm  chasing the offending "food monster" around the kitchen. He trips on the leg of a stool, and ends up sprawled out on his back, and I trip and land on him.
"Surrender yet, Harriett?"
"Not a chance, Louise," I respond.
We both crack up at the girl names we use, huge smiles on our faces. After a few moments, our eyes meet, and loud laughs turn into soft chuckles. I look towards his lips before slowly leaning down. Our eyes stay connected until our noses brush. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans up to me. I feel the brush of his lips, and then-

I jolt awake, trying to sit up but yelping at the pain in my arms. The ropes are digging into my wrists, my shoulders are stiff, and my neck is cramped like no other. I try to move into a more comfortable position, only to yelp in pain as the ropes tighten, drawing blood.
"Ouch, pain, hurting, ouch!," I gasp, tears welling up in my eyes. "Gah, this hurts so bad!"
Suddenly the door opens and Louis walks in.
"What are you going on about?!," he scowls angrily, stopping short as he sees the ruby liquid rolling down my arms.
I stand in front of the master bathroom's mirror, running my hands through my already dishevled hair. I look awful. My eyes are red and puffy from crying last night, and my stubble is sharp and dark. My hands move to my hair again, fisting it as if I'm going to pull it out.
"Ugh!," I exclaim, shaking my head violently.
Images from the dream are stuck in my head, and I just want them out. I don't want to think of how beautiful Harold's laugh was, or how his eyes twinkled when he threw the chocolate at me. How badly my dream-self wanted his lips on mine...
"No! That will not happen! Louis, you are a Nazi, and that boy is a no good, worthless Jew. It can't happen. And it won't. And you don't want it to...," I tell myself, putting my hair into an acceptable position.
A loud yelp and murmurings nearly makes me jump out of my skin, and I find myself striding down the hall to the room Harold is in, extremely annoyed. After retrieving the key and unlocking the door, I swing it open.
"What are you going on about?!," I exclaim, about to roll my eyes before I see the cause for his cries.
His bonds are soaked through with blood, and excess is making it's way down his arms, heading towards his shirt. And my linen sheets.
And this messed up day just got worse, I think to myself.
(A/N: Hi everyone! How are you?! I hope you like this update! I just felt the need to write something for my amazing readers! A quick thanks to DharmaForever [on Movellas] for the amazing comments. On that topic, I really need to know what you guys think of this! Reading your thoughts in the comments makes me so happy. I don't care if it's criticism, or things you think could make the story better. I love you all! Have a wonderful weekend!)
P.S. 7+ comments for the next chapter!

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