The sky became ours.

Mine and Draco Malfoy's. We claimed it. We ruled over it. Or at least, that's what he told me. I know we didn't. The sky to us was nothing more than a land of fallen dreams and nightmares. You can't rule over a dream. It rules over you. It plays with your mind and, once it has had enough, turns into a nightmare.

The night became ours too.

We shared it like some cursed treasure. We stalked and ravaged the night together. We wore it's stars like crowns. He'd push me down on the ground and then act surprised when the crown tumbled off.

Ginny was never like that. Light weaves in and out of her hair like school girl's ribbons.

She's so happy and carefree and part of me was drawn to that. She thought of me as a hero. Lots of people do, I guess, but it was different for her. I had saved her personally. I had rescued her from Riddle. There was a need for a knight and I fit perfectly into the shining armor.

I had been feeling kind of useless too. So much was going on in the world, outside of Hogwarts walls. I could practically feel it. Alliances being made, Voldemort growing stronger. The world was getting dark again but there was still light shining at Hogwarts. Any fool could tell this light was not natural, was something artificial and manufactured, in the same way that lamplight feels different from sunlight when it touches your skin. There's a difference and you can sense it.

Ginny's light was real though, and pure and untouched by darkness. It isn't that she's some epitome of innocence. It's that I thought she knew what true lightness and darkness was and still she chose lightness. She had been there, with Voldemort, caught in his spell. She came out of that experience filled to the brim with golden light that spilled from her eyes. I, on the other hand, always felt darker, heavier after coming one on one with Voldemort. I didn't want that. I wanted to slip out of a fight full of the righteous energy that Ginny always seemed to carry.

Another, more simple reason for choosing Ginny, was that everyone expected it. Ginny's pretty, fellow Hogwarts students told me, she likes you, Ron's told you he's all right with it, and still you're just standing there dully as if you don't notice because you're too busy chasing after the Snitch and Cho Chang and worrying over beating Draco Malfoy at Quidditch and look what's right in front of you, dimwit!

I did notice Ginny, though. I noticed there was a light in her and I noticed that I wanted it for myself. I'm selfish like that.

Ginny and I became an "item" a few months into my fifth year. We were happy, too. You might think, no, he must have been unhappy to stray from someone like Ginny to someone like Draco Malfoy. That's not true. I was not unhappy. Humanity is convinced that happiness is enough. That's the eternal goal, we think, happiness. I have to do this to be happy. I have to be with this person to be happy. I have to be wealthy, I have to have power, I have to be loved to be happy.

Happiness is not the driving force behind existence.

Sometimes happiness isn't enough. Sometimes, happiness is just an idealized emotion that you think you should be feeling and so you tell yourself you are.

And sometimes, happiness is so fleeting that you think you're still feeling it long after it has left you.

I felt stronger when I was with Ginny, felt my many flaws melt until, in her eyes, I became the ideal hero. . .

It was never like that with him. In his eyes I was flawed. My imperfections were picked apart and analyzed. His eyes are so clear that looking into them you know there can be no illusions. Water blurs the reflection but ice shows the crisp lines and shadows.

I was not adored in his eyes. I was hated. I was not admired. I was envied.

Yet still he wanted me. He saw everything in me, and he wanted me.

Ginny does not see everything in me. She has a blind spot to darkness. After all, when the sun itself so easily wraps around you, darkness cannot be.

I thought so anyway. I thought that if Ginny shone her light on me, the shadows inside me would go away. The darkness would run from the light.

Doesn't work like that.

~~~

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry stood collectively in front of the Hogwarts Express. They had said their goodbyes and thank you's to the rest of the Weasleys and were a little surprised to have found the summer over. Ron looked especially woebegone.

"Here we are again," he said sadly.

"I, for one," Hermione said, "am glad. I missed school."

"You would," Ron muttered, giving a meaningful look to the badge Hermione was proudly wearing. "Ms. Prefect."

"Are you going to ride in a car with the other prefects?" Ginny asked.

"I don't really care to," Hermione admitted. "I don't know any of them very well. I suspect I'll say hello but join all of you before long."

"Good," Ron said. He sent a glare to a few passing prefects, upset that they would be depriving him and Hermione from a good deal of reading.

"You could've been a prefect too, you know," Hermione retorted. "If you and Harry had only broken a few less rules! And of course if you'd been more careful about minding your grades..."

"Looks like we can board now," Ron said quickly, in an attempt to save himself from a lecture.

They all watched silently for a few moments, as the train began to load.

"Feels odd without Fred and George," Harry said.

They all agreed it did. Fred and George's presence was clearly lacking. They had always filled the silence with an ease that ensured the school year began with laughter. Harry could've used a laugh right then. He was full of feelings of fear, worry, and most disturbingly, anticipation.

He scanned the sea of bodies filling platform nine and three quarters. He spotted Malfoy, all the way on the other end of the platform but Malfoy either did not see Harry, or simply didn't bother to catch his eye.

Despite, or perhaps in part of, Ginny's presence Harry grew more anxious as he stepped onto the train. Malfoy, he reminded himself, had never actually agreed to meet him.

In fact Harry had no idea whatsoever about what Malfoy thought or hoped for, or if Malfoy had even agreed to Harry's request (or was it a command?).

And that was Harry's own fault really. After all, he had been too afraid to send the letter sooner and Malfoy had had no time to reply.

"I hate it. I hate you Potter."

Harry's heart had raced upon reading those words. His eyes ran over and slowly registered them. The parchment he held felt unreal to his touch. The words, in Malfoy's crisp handwriting, began winking daringly at him.

Yes, there it was, straightforward as only Malfoy could be. The words were underlined in a raging fit which surprised Harry, as it contrasted greatly with the icy cool persona Malfoy worked so hard to keep up. The heated passion behind the words was so apparent, so strong, that it made Harry's blood freeze in his veins, gave him chills when he repeated the words in his head, yet burnt his hands before he could reach out to crumple the parchment nonchalantly, as he usually did. His pulse quickened yet still deliciously cool chills ran through Harry as he held the letter in his hand. It was, Harry told himself sternly, nothing more than a bold declaration of hate. And yet...

If this was hatred it was pure loveliness.

~~~

"Shit," Draco muttered as he spotted the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle lumbering in his direction. He slunk casually into the shadows, then ducked and ran behind a large group of fifth years, standing next to the Hogwarts Express. He waited a few moments and then dove into the train.

From a window he saw confusion register on the faces of Crabbe and Goyle.

Well. Two very large obstacles out of the way for now. Draco had known he would never reach the luggage car if Crabbe and Goyle had spotted him.

Although it often seemed Draco had Crabbe and Goyle with him all the time for protection, this was not entirely true. Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco aimlessly, no matter where he was headed. Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle the sense of direction they needed. He served as the brains (of which they severely lacked) to their brawn (of which they had in abundance).

It wasn't that he regretted having them around, Draco thought, slipping silently through compartments in the train and making his way to the very back, where the luggage compartment was. They often proved quite useful to him, cold as that might sound. And they were fiercely loyal, a trait highly valued, especially to a Malfoy.

Holding his wand ready, Draco kicked open the door of the luggage compartment. The intended drama of this gesture was slightly reduced when the door refused to budge. Realizing it was a sliding door, and feeling a bit embarrassed, Draco slid the door open.

He was not, Draco thought scanning the filled luggage compartment slowly, avoiding Crabbe and Goyle out of spite. It was simply that at the moment they were the very last peop