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?


1. Chapter 1



I sit in the small side closet allotted as my bedroom. It's not much, with just a few pictures of my English friends and Mum hanging at the head of a rough cot, which is covered with a scratchy, hand-sewn quilt. Though uncomfortable, stuffy, and very claustrophobic, it keeps me safe at night.


Small images of my friends stare at my as I take them off of my wall, memorizing their faces and saying each of their names and origins in my head. Liam Payne, England, 17. Niall Horan, Irish in England, 17. The boys that I had to leave behind when we moved to Germany, back before all this Nazi stuff.




Mum's voice jars me back into reality, and I bolt from my "room" and into our small kitchen. She's sitting at the table, two plates of thick, cheesy lasagna sitting in front of her. My mouth waters as I sit down, reaching for the rim of the plate nearest to me. A drop of drool drips onto the table, and Mum laughs.


"A little hungry, eh, Harold?," she questions, slowly eating her piece of the delicious pasta.


I blush and grab a wooden fork, shoveling the heavenly noodles into my mouth. I quickly finish the food, even licking the sauce off of the plate. It's not until my plate and fork are clean, and my stomach is groaning in protest that a question pops into my mind.


"Mum," I mumble, leaning back, "why are we having such a great meal. And, in more important terms, how did you get the ingredients?!"


She simply wipes her mouth and folds the old, raggedy, cloth napkin into a neat square. Her soft eyes gaze into mine, and she smiles slightly, laying her hand over my own.


"We're moving again, Harry. They've noticed us going to services, and I'm worried they're coming for us. Tonight is our last night here. Now, it's time for bed."


Tears pool in my eyes as I get up and hug her, kissing her cheek and sobbing softly into her shoulder.


"I'm scared, Mum," I tell her, and she pulls back to face me.


"Don't be. You're my strong, brave, 16-year-old hero. A hero that needs sleep before the train ride tomorrow. Go to bed now."


She kisses my forehead and moves to do the dishes, ushering me out at the same time. I change into some night clothes, curling under my quilt and closing my eyes. I drift off slowly, pictures of Liam, Niall, and Mum dancing behind my eyelids.


*Third Person*


Anne Cox lays her wooden dishes out on the counter, letting them dry before putting them in the cabinet with her glass dinner set. After about twenty minutes, she goes to check up on her son. Seeing him curled up, his curls strayed out and his lips slightly pouted, brings a pang to the woman's heart, for she knows that it will be interrupted in a matter of minutes. She leans to kiss his forehead, a sorrowful smile on her lips.


"I love you, Harold," she whispers.


Sitting in the kitchen, guilt grips her. She lied to her son. They weren't moving. She knew they were coming tonight. And almost exactly when. But, she doesn't want them taking her Harry, so she told him to sleep, sending him to the small closet where he'd be safe. A loud knock interrupts her thoughts, and her heartbeat picks up. Tears spring in her eyes as she hears shouts.


"Open this door! We know what you are, and your kind does not belong here!"


She breathes heavily as she grips the handle. She mutters apologies to her son before swinging open the door.


Harry, having been awoken by the yelling, peeks out of his door just in time to see his mother's dinner set being smashed, their table being ripped apart, and his mother being dragged out, a bloody gash on her forehead. His heart breaks as he waits for them to leave, knowing Anne wouldn't want him to risk himself. After he's sure they've left, he grabs a bag and gathers his few belongings. Soon, he's walking through the night, following the tracks towards Auschwitz. Towards his mum.




I stare at the three, shining scars on my back, a frown settled on my features. For five years I've had these. Now, I've come to confront the maker. I pull a shirt and jacket on, ignoring the memories flooding my mind. After striding onto the street, I run down to the train station. The man at the booth looks bored.


"Name and destination?"


I square my shoulders, certain that it's too late to turn back.


"Ashton Nicole. Central Germany."


Here I come, Zayn Malik. You'd better be ready.


(A/N: Please tell me what you think??)

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...