Disclaimer: This is all JK Rowling's.
Author's note: Never mind, I'm changing my mind. This is NOT part of Every Rose. I apologize to all of you who read it and thought it was, my plot bunnies won't settle down. I've taken this down as Every Rose to avoid confusion, and it's now reposted as While my heart gently weeps, which is presumably what you found it under. So sorry for the confusion, and I will have the REAL Every Rose up ASAP.
While my heart gently weeps
"Wait!"
The black haired boy paused to let the other catch up. His ice blond hair flew out behind him as he ran and, for once, he didn't care. He had to talk with the Gryffindor, had to explain. He couldn't bear the cold look in the other boy's eyes, couldn't stand the hatred that passed across his face as he glanced in the Slytherin's direction.
"What is it?" the Gryffindor snarled, eyeing the panting Slytherin with loathing. "I have no more to say to you."
"Please," the Slytherin pleaded, hearing how close to begging he was and not caring. "I… I need to talk to you."
"No you don't. Your actions speak for you. It's clear that you've chosen your path and now I'm choosing mine. You're nothing to me anymore."
The Slytherin stood there, his heart on his sleeve, his eyes perilously close to filling with tears. This couldn't be happening! They'd promised! They'd promised, when they first realized what was happening, that they wouldn't ever leave. And now… now the Gryffindor was turning his back and walking away, leaving the seventeen-year-old Slytherin to fend for himself.
"Please," he said again. "Please listen to me!"
With an irritated sigh, the Gryffindor glanced around the corridors, checking for his friends, then hissed, "Fine. I'll talk to you tonight. Meet me on the Astronomy Tower and talk."
The Slytherin nodded, relief crossing his features. "Thank you," he whispered.
The Gryffindor scowled and swept away, leaving the blond Slytherin standing alone in the corridor, his eyes still threatening to water and his face arranged in a slight smile. Everything would be all right now. The Gryffindor had accepted to listen to him, and now he would be able to fix the damage his unthinking remark had made. Everything would go back to the way it had been.
"So you're telling me that you didn't mean it when you said you were going to join them?" the Gryffindor asked, leaning against the wall and looking up at the stars. He carefully didn't meet the Slytherin's eyes, and the blond boy knew that he wasn't forgiven. He doubted that the Gryffindor truly believed him, and the black haired boy's skepticism cut deeply.
The Slytherin nodded.
"So why did you say it?" the Gryffindor demanded.
"I… I don't know," the Slytherin admitted. "It just slipped out."
"Just slipped out?" the Gryffindor asked, his hazel eyes cynical, his midnight-colored eyebrows raised.
The Slytherin nodded again.
"Maybe you should be more careful what you let 'slip out,'" the Gryffindor said in disgust. "Half the people in the school heard you, you know. How long do you think it'll be until someone tries to attack you for words that just 'slipped out'?"
Shamefaced, the Slytherin didn't answer.
The Gryffindor waited a beat, then grimaced. "Why am I even trying? I know as well as you do that it won't be long until you do join them."
Outrage filled the Slytherin's gray eyes. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "I'll never join them! How can you even think that of me?!"
The Gryffindor regarded him steadily. "You think I haven't seen the way you perk up whenever someone mentions them?" he asked. "You think I don't know about the books you check out from the library? Stop trying to hide it from me. It's not working."
Helpless, the Slytherin stared at the Gryffindor. The accusations stung hi to the core, but the blank hatred in the other boy's hazel eyes hurt more. He knew that the Gryffindor could never forget him. He'd ruined everything, and now no one could fix it. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be a lie, tried to find words to express his emotions. His brain failed him, and he saw the Gryffindor's face harden. He knew even as the other boy's tanned face closed and his hands clenched that he had ruined his last chance. If only he could have thought of something to say, anything to prove his innocence, then it might have been saved. But there was nothing more he could do. It was over.
"You disgust me," the Gryffindor said icily. "I thought I could trust you. I thought you loved me enough to put aside all of this and do the right thing. I thought you were willing to defy your family for me and give up everything. But I was wrong, wasn't I? Did you ever even love me? Were you just playing with me to further your own ends?" His voice had risen as he spoke, and it broke as he added, "Do I mean anything to you?"
The Slytherin stood, rooted to the spot by the Gryffindor's angry words. He could only stare helplessly as the hazel eyes filled with tears at his silence. With a violent motion, the Gryffindor swept past the Slytherin and stomped down the stairs, the tears spilling over and turning to angry, desperate sobs that he made no effort to quell. The Slytherin couldn't move. Why hadn't he denied it? Why hadn't he insisted that he did love the Gryffindor? It would be the truth. He loved the Gryffindor more than anything, yet he hadn't defended himself, hadn't tried to stop the tears. Why?
He walked down the stairs in his turn, pretending not to notice the Gryffindor's tracks on the slightly dusty floor. Gone were the days when he was welcome. Gone were the days when he could turn a frown to a smile with a single look. He was alone again, and it hurt more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
"Will you swear allegiance to me and only to me?" The dark-haired man's words ran through the former Slytherin's ears. There was only one answer he could give, though the man in front of him was making it into a question.
The blond man – he had not been a boy in years, though he was the youngest of all the people in the room – nodded stiffly.
"Then open yourself to me and allow me to purge your heart."
The blond man gulped at that, but nodded again. He had no choice. He closed his eyes as the dark-haired man cast a spell and slid into the blond's heart. The blond kept his eyes firmly closed as the man who would soon be his master examined every corner of his being, searching for flaws.
The blond knew the exact moment when his master found the Gryffindor. A pain like none he had ever known seared through him, and he fell to his knees, clutching his palms to his chest in an effort to stop the agony. It continued.
"The impurity is seeping from you," his master proclaimed, watching the blond man's pain with satisfaction. "Do not hinder it."
The blond man gasped something in response, still bent over and clutching his heart. A force stronger than he forced his hands away from his chest, and he watched in stunned horror as a tiny ball passed through his skin and floated away. The moment it left him, the pain vanished, leaving him weak-kneed and trembling. The tiny orb hovered in front of him, waiting.
"Take it," his master ordered.
Hesitantly, the blond man reached out and captured the ball, examining it.
"Those are the impurities in your soul," his master proclaimed. "Destroy them."
The blond man stared up at his master, unsure of how to go about destroying parts of his own soul. His master looked down impassively, clearly unwilling to divulge in needed information. The blond man looked back down at the orb in his palm. Suddenly, he knew what had to be done, and he opened his mouth for the first time.
"You are nothing," he whispered to the orb. It trembled slightly, and he knew he was on the right track. "I do not need any of you. I have a master who will replace you a hundredfold. You are unworthy of him and unworthy of me. Vanish." As he spoke, the orb paled until only a miniscule scrap remained. The blond man knew what that scrap was: his love for the Gryffindor. The love that had hurt so much and that would still hurt him. Yet he couldn't bring himself to obliterate it. It was too precious to kill. Glancing up at his master, he made a decision and pressed the fragment into his skin. It oozed back into him, making its way through his body and back into his heart. He felt a moment's pain as it settled in, then only relief. It was right. It should be there, and he felt profoundly grateful that he had not killed it.
His master did not seem to have noticed. "Are you prepared to become one of mine?" he asked, looking at the blond man with approval.
The blond nodded.
"Then hold out your arm."
The blond did as he was bid, and as the pain of branding swept through him, he could only think of one thing: the black-haired Gryffindor he was betraying.
Another author's note: Not Harry and Draco. I promise. Gold star to the person who can guess who it is.