Built On Betrayal

She was the crazy girl, the whimsical Ravenclaw blonde that no one stood close to, and he was the dark-skinned tactical Slytherin that had more admirers than bones and organs.

And it shouldn't have happened, really, all things considered. Their circles were so separate, they could have been considered their own galaxy, far away from one another.

But it did. It began with glances across the tables. He would give a nod in her direction as he passed, and she would look after him, knowing he'd never give her enough time to respond. Their first year was one of misunderstandings and forgotten favors, tiny gestures that were forgotten by everyone but each other.

And maybe that was better, really, all things considered. She could continue without swarms of jealousy in her wake, and he didn't have to feel her possible rejections, or the rebuttal that would lie in their wake. Children can be awful cowards.

They were uninterrupted until their sixth year, when she held her wand to his throat, when their worlds began to collide in a spiral of violence and despair.

He had just watched her, brown eyes calm, as she pressed the tip further into his skin. There hadn't been much time to chat. Nothing they could say, either. She had hated this idea of her hurting him, but she chose her friends over him, the same as he had always done to her, in their constant silent exchanges over the years.

When she was gone, he felt her wand's bruise on his neck, and wondered if that was the closest they'd ever get to a hickey. It had been such a ridiculous notion that he had laughed for fifteen minutes straight, and it had taken more than a few looks from Draco to calm him down.

Because it was not happiness he laughed for. It was desperation and hysteria and the knowledge that the delicate strings of his happiness were going to wash away in the coming war. How could he even dream to imagine to hope for peace?

When the war came, and she was captured, he paced the floor over her dungeon and could feel the waves of madness beginning to settle inside him.

Underneath him, she pictured the expression he had worn when he had seen her being dragged downstairs. The horror that twisted his features had been a stab into her gut. Because she would have let the Order do this to him, if he had been captured. There was no way to end this with their happiness.

What did that word even mean?

Through the rest of the war, they never met. He heard of her escape with a pain that came from knowing she was gone, and knowing that if she had been killed there was a good chance he would never find out. Blaise had a good idea that he would die, soon.

But if he could see her once more-

After the war, they met in the most innocent of places.

The grave of his mother was opposite the grave of her own.

Their backs faced, and eventually leant against one another between the graves in silent support. They did not wipe each other's tears, because it's not done in a relationship built on mutual betrayal. But they could afford one another this touch, through layers of clothes, as they mutually fell apart for parents that had never been able to protect them from the world that had damaged them beyond repair. From the very world that had made them into enemies.

And maybe that was best, all things considered. Maybe it was better that they didn't have to face each other, when they still had so much work to before they could face themselves.

-- The End --

Disclaimer: Harry Potter's world and characters belong to JK Rowling ! I'm simply a-dabbling.

This story can also be found on my FanFiction account (Lilentorio).