Under

I think that I'm sick

But leave me be

While my world is coming down on me

You taste like honey, honey

Tell me can I be your honeybee

Be strong keep telling myself

That it won't be long 'til

I'm free of my disease-Matchbox Twenty

* * *

Great Hall-Breakfast

She's laughing with her friends. Is she telling them of her trickery? But she never glances toward the Slytherin table and ignores me as if that night never happened. I envision her with the soothing dark hair and bright eyes. I picture her in the rose-colored robes. My anger begins to fade. They would look ridiculous on her now.

Then her bright locks glint from the sunlight-enchanted ceiling and I am reminded that she's a symbol of everything I loathe; they are affront to my vision.

The Gryffindor brat saw into my soul. That she showed me hers is of no consequence; she had no right to sully me with her insight.

I am foolish to imagine that I could've found a soul mate in few short hours.

Does she realize that I know who she is? Does she even care? I can't get her words out my head.

She has infected me.

Library-Restricted Section

Snape has given me carte-blanche access to the restricted section, ostentatiously for my final Potions assignment here. Maybe I can find something to help me forget her. I considered asking Snape to obliviate me.

Then I picture the lecture I would get for asking.

Then she comes in with a group of housemates I was rooted to the spot. I catch snatches of conversation:

"Hermione said it wouldn't be too difficult..."

"Gin, we're talking about Hermione here. Honestly, we could probably take her body away and she'd never notice, she's such a brain!"

It was that little fool with a camera talking back at her. I creep closer and eye her between the stacks of books. Potter and his hangers-on enter the library and approach their younger housemates.

"Hiya, Harry!' pipes the little pipsqueak as he snaps a picture.

Did the wonderful, saintly Potter just grimace and roll his eyes? Weasel and the Mudblood look like they were trying to hide grins.

"'Lo, Colin," he responded as he nodded at the other Gryffindors.

Ginny gives the savior a bright smile and her cheeks grow rosy.

My eyes narrow. Flirting with me and with Potter?

"Thought we'd come and help you lot study for your Charms O.W.L. since Gin here is so worried about it."

The brother pats her affectionately on the head. She glares at him. Good girl.

The group assembles at a table farther away, so I cannot hear them clearly. By their gestures and wand demonstrations, I think they talk about how to hex-proof charms and how to get a charm to react certain ways. Basic sixth year stuff. On and on they talk, Ginny and her year-mates hanging onto every word.

The torches flicker. Granger whines something in a dismayed voice. The Weasel laughs and pats her on the back while she tries to shrug away. Potter shakes his head and tells the younger students to gather their things as he motions for them to return to their dorm. He gathers their study items. She is staying behind to help him.

They talk quietly and he says something to make her laugh while gesturing towards his now-bickering and oblivious friends. She put his hand on his arm. She shakes her head and goes over to her brother and his girlfriend and pokes them both. She looks at them sternly and wags her finger at them. Then she smiles her radiant smile. My smile. Harry, with a shall-we-milady flourish, offers Ginny his arm. She curtsies links her arm with his.

That trollop. That hussy. That whore.

They come closer. Listen.

"I can't thank you enough for all your help, Harry." Ginny glances at the couple ahead of them. "You will tell them that, too, won't you?"

"Of course. Good luck on your exams; I hope well helped a bit." He smiles, showing too many teeth, and gallops after his bookends.

She shines for him, any fool could see it. She will pay.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Hmmm? She heard the voice too. Her head snaps 'round, russet tresses flying, eyes wide and searching for the source. She sees me. Her hand goes to her mouth and she looks questioningly at me, like I'm particularly bothersome game of chess. She turns and hurries out of the library.

Gone.

"What!" I snap in my most imperious manner. I turn to find the pinched face of Madame Pince hovering next to me. Ooops.

"Mr. Malfoy. The library is closing. I suggest you gather your research and return to your dormitory now."

Fine.

I close my eyes and see her. Shining and laughing. With Potter. With Mudblood. With Weasel.

She is worth ten of them.

Next Day-Charms Corridor, Late Afternoon

I peek around the corner.

Yes, that stupid school owl delivered it properly. Can never trust one of those buggers to do the job right.

The letter is powder blue with her name on it in a pretty script. Her classmates gather about her "oohing" and "aahing" about a secret admirer. She flushes attractively and tears at the opening with a fingernail. The envelope turns a vile green and snaps open with a hiss.

The letter screeches and screeches at a deafening level.

"HOW DARE YOU! FRAUD! CHEATER!"

On and on it goes. Finally it sizzles acidly and melts into nothing, burning her hands. The Screecher has done its job. Father will be glad to know the missive worked.

The hall was silent. Big fat tears roll down her face. She should be so humiliated. Running footsteps approach from the opposite direction.

Potter and his entourage. How predictable. Sticking their noses where they don't belong as usual.

The Weasel approaches his sister. He notices the welts and scorches on her hands. He turns the color of an overripe tomato. Potter hugs her. The Mudblood whips out her wand and mutters a spell over Ginny's hands. Then as one, they troop towards the hospital wing.

Great Hall-Dinnertime

Potter keeps looking over at our table with suspicion in his eyes. Ginny is next to him looking washed out. Her hands are bandaged to the wrists and she refuses any help with her supper. Stubborn girl.

If only she knew what was good for her, she would leave that table of adventurous boobs and be by my side.

She is a princess among commoners. An empress imprisoned.

Slytherin Dungeons-Boy's Dormitories

Frustration confines me.

Sleep denies me.

Dreams haunt me.

I close my eyes and she is there, my soul within her clutches. She rips it and destroys it and I am left hollow. Her hair blazes around her and she smiles sweetly at me. That's my smile, I think as I reach out for her. She is always just beyond where I can grasp her.

I hear her words: You didn't let it defeat you. But you hid it from those who could break you. . . . I saw this and knew you were just like me, fighting to keep the dark away everyday.

She disappears and I am confronted but the sneering and laughing faces of my Housemates. They surround me. Zabini rips off my silver and green scarf, stomping it into the ground until it vanishes. Parkinson accosts me, kissing and biting and scratching. Crabbe and Goyle grab me and dump me outside the common room entrance. I hear locks turn and snap into place. My passwords no longer works and my demands for re-admittance fall on deaf ears.

I am no longer welcome.

The dreams are the same every night. I stare at the curtains above me but they give no answers.

Darkness threatens to cover me. It would be so easy....

Too easy.

Malfoys are strong. Malfoys don't back down. Malfoys are better.

These edicts, hammered into me over a childhood by cold and distant Father swirl around in my head.

I had to make her learn: Malfoys do not take no for an answer. They are not ignored.

I go to my desk and take out my ink, quill, and parchment.

She will soon know.

Great Hall-Breakfast

She is threatening to suffocate me. Her radiance sears me, heats my cold bones.

She sits amongst her golden friends, gloating like a fat toad that's caught a big, juicy fly.

I think she glances my way.

Her attention is back to her friends and the great triumvirate.

Look at me! Am I part of you?

Mail call. Bloody school owl drops the letter on her plate. She opens it. Her eyes scan the parchment. She pinks up and bites her lip.

Potter questions her. Nosey, nosey, I see a red poesy.

She brushes him away.

Good girl.

Third Floor Corridor-One Hour Later

Together at last.

The music is silent.

We dance together and laugh together. Swirl, tilt, and bob.

She is under my skinweareoneandwearetogether.

Her hair is warmth spread across my pale hands.

But she is cold, so cold now.

FIN.