Unthinkable, by epinvisig
Summary: He needed to cope, and coping wasn't loving. -Slash-
--
It was, is, and will always be about coping.
I admit it, I'm not the hero everyone thinks of me. I have learned to cope with my lot in life by ways that no one but one knows. First, as a child, it was the daily abuse supplied most readily by the Dursley's. The physical, the mental, the verbal lashings they gave me made me into something no one ever thought to imagine.
There was, after all, a reason I was almost sorted into Slytherin.
When I was growing up in the only home I had ever known, my dearest Hogwarts, I was taught again to deal with everything, not by Voldemort and Professor Dumbledore as everyone seems to think, but by a blond haired, blue eyed block of ice; the Prince of Slytherin.
At least, that's what he did to occupy his daytime hours of 'complete and utter boredom'. At night...
He was my savior.
Our fights, our battles made up of magic and the worst insults we could possibly think of, were painful for me, but in ways, I still give credit to the eventual downfall of Lord Voldemort to him. He helped to keep my mind sharp and tongue quick; if not for him I wouldn't have been able to keep up with the mad man I had been trying to kill for nigh-on seventeen years.
Now, as an adult, I cope by living for the night.
Night, when I don't have to be "The Great Harry Potter", when I and my perpetual companion strive to make the world disappear for as long as we might be able to manage.
Names, as they were in school, are forbidden; names cement reality and all the pain contained in it.
The only ways we're allowed to address each other is by moans, gasps, and desperate kisses. The breaking of this rule is unthinkable-- to say the other's name is to admit to each other who the other is; to admit that we really are doing this; perhaps even to say 'I love you'.
It would be insanity to even contemplate.
I have been asked by my friends, "But does he really love you?" My response is simply; "Does it matter?"
To many people it seems to. But I... I have learned that to love is to lose. To love is to die inside every time they are hurt, every time they are unhappy... Every time they themselves die.
So, no. I do not love him, and no, he does not love me.
We are each others companions; we are enemies, we are friends, we are lovers, and perhaps we care for one another on some level, and yes, we both know that no one could replace our other half, but love? It's out of the question. Whenever I try to explain this to anyone, they get so confused, say I'm talking in circles, that what I'm saying makes no sense... Perhaps it doesn't, but (correct me if I'm wrong)...
That's your problem, isn't it?
--
A/N: ...With the yeah. Review?