Disclaimer: Property of J K Rowlings. The words alone belong to me.

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"Well, why not?"

Why not, he asks, as if it was really that simple, as if with those words everything he is, and I am, would count for nothing. He looks puzzled.

I am hated, loathsome, owned by evil, sometimes used by good. He is strong - has never wavered - and I am not so blind as to call his faith a weakness.

Why not, he asks again, and touches my face, rough hands gentle. I freeze - am frozen - I will not accept and cannot refuse. He does not wait, but simply kisses me, large hands framing my face.

Well, why not?