~*~

"It's over, Malfoy."

I can't help but smirk; this is an old game between us, and I know that you mean exactly the opposite of what you say. You can never let it be over.

And I've learned not to dream.

"You say that, Potter, but you never mean it."

"I just... it's not going to work. Not between us."

"Then why do you keep coming back?" Silence. You never were very articulate.

"You really don't care, do you?" You ask it softly, gently.

"Should I?" I stare at you, watching the flickering candles shadow jade and jaded eyes. I almost wish that you would tell me how it feels. After all, I've always enjoyed hurting others. With a word, I can cause a pain that lasts for weeks... years... it allows me to be in control, knowing that it is my decision and no one else's. How does it feel when you hurt me?

But you won't tell.

And I will never ask.

Instead, I lean close to you, a puppet in the opera you call your life. "You want it over? Fine. It's over."

You blink, and your eyes darken. "How can you be so cold?"

A sneer twists my mouth; how typically Potter. What do you want from me? Do you want me to be a knight on a shining horse, ready to save you from the consequences of being the Boy Who Lived? Do you want me to be the enemy that defeats you, instead of Voldemort? Or something else?

I watch your eyes gleaming at me in the light.

I have it.

To you, I am the lost boy-a Slytherin with a noble heart.

You're so confident that you can save everyone and everything.

I despise you.

"Were you expecting me to argue? To beg you to stay? Go to the Weasel for that, Potter. He's willing to say 'I love you' just because you fuck him." Your fists clench, and I know that as usual I have you figured out. "You are appallingly transparent, Potter."

"Don't talk about Ron." Your cheeks flush and you step closer, the candlelight flickering wildly in a frenzied dance across your skin. You want me to be like the Weasel, don't you? You want me to be daring and courageous, loyal to you and your side, instead of the ambitious traitor that we both know I am and will be.

It doesn't matter who wins; either way I shall be victorious.

"So, it's over." I stare at you impassively as you straighten your shoulders in self-righteous determination. "Goodbye... Harry." I blow out the candles, and this chapter of our relationship ends as it began: in the dark.

Later, you will come to me as the moon begins to rise, and you will whisper apologies against my flesh.

I will tell you I love you.

And we will both sleep comfortably in the bed of lies we've created.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~