Radiate

In the mirror, she is all midnight eyes. The sort of eyes that beckon you to stay forever. Arrogant, sultry eyes redeemed by misery.

She does not know I love her, and I want to keep it that way. I can have her reflection and she will never have to realize what I am, who I am.

"Move," I say. I look over her shoulder into her soul. Her image before me, her soul, mine.

She laughs. She is not done yet. Not done smoothing the length of her silky black hair into utter perfection. I wonder how many hours it will take this morning. I hope it is at least five.

"Millicent," she protests. Her dark pupils expand, rush into me from the mirror. "How about I brush your hair this morning? You would look absolutely delightful if you made an effort."

"I would hate that," I say. If only she would touch me without wanting to change me. I sit behind her, on her bed. The brush runs through her hair with mechanical precision.

"Darling, you would love it." She turns around playfully to reach for me.

She reaches to take my heart away, so I grab her wrist. My thumb and forefinger meet around her delicate bones, and I smile. It is a wolfish sort of pleasure, to feel her heart flutter through my palms. But she is not even afraid, and when I see her laughing face I feel disgusted. I have made an error in letting her trust me. How can I tell her I never wanted a friend? I never needed one.

I want her to let me hide within her black, in the still inside her eyes. I want her to let me disappear, want her to give herself to me.

She thinks she already has. She thinks I am satisfied, just devouring her in the mirrors and feeling her pulse quicken under my fingers. I live in a house of mirrors, terrified of fragility.

It is her fault, the girl I hold now in the pre-dawn darkness. I remember something Draco told me once. I had caught him staring at Potter with more intensity than usual and delivered a rather sharp elbow to his side. His eyes had blazed and he had said, "Millcent, you don't understand. Love your hate."

And I do. I love her. I love her when I hate her and when I do not. I love hating her and loving her. When she leaves a room the colors all drain into grey. Even the stately blue of the sky through the windows bleeds its passion into her. She takes everything from me. I wonder how much longer I can go without telling her, or betraying myself in my actions.

My hands are still around her wrist as I think. I press harder, trying to imagine my fingerprints on her skin, my claim on her life. She does not fight me, and I am surprised.

"Pansy," I say, not really sure of what else to do. I am drunk from feeling the path of her blood beneath her skin.

She turns around so the two of us are staring into the mirror. I wonder if she sees something there, something I have tired to hide from her all her life. All I can see is her eyes. I think she has seen something, because she falls into me. Her whole slight frame collapsing into my lap and for once I see fear in her.

Her fear makes me bold. She sits in my arms, and I use my free hand to guide her chin. I look at her truly, no mirrors, no reflections. She makes no move, she might have been an extension of myself. As our lips touch, I feel everything that we are radiate. We fill the darkness of the room, we fill the world.

In the mirror, she is all midnight eyes. In reality, she is all mine.