This is set in Deathly Hallows, a little before Harry and Ron find the sword. It was written just now, while listening to the album 'Ocean Avenue', by Yellowcard. It might be a little choppy, and a little repetitive, but... I like it ). Minor swearing, and strange comparisons. I'm not saying who it is, but the title is a dead give-away. Please R&R.

Maybe, this snow wasn't such a terrible thing. It was cleansing. Oh, God, but not cleansing enough. Her eyes were branded on the insides of his eyelids, and her smell followed him everywhere, haunting his every footstep, driving him to the point where he asked her to reveal herself.

And she never did. She was dead. And it was his fault. He could never even look at her living, breathing body, her head surrounded by a corona of flame, eyes brilliant green staring straight through him. Those eyes skewed his soul, and laid his heart to roast on the barbeque beside that idiot Potter's. But he was dead too. And she had loved him.

So strange, that even here on the top of this lonely hill-top, where so many other memories had happened, she still followed him. His memories did not swirl around his meeting with Dumbledore, his true master, but instead around him and her.

The snow whipped around him, and he willed it to cloak his presence, to hide him from the world. The shame that seeped through his thoughts, cloaked from him.

He wanted to hold her, for the first time. He wanted to taste her, to taste the air that fluttered behind her. Even her scent, stalking him since her death, was growing faint.

"Nearly seventeen bloody years," he swore aloud. He gave a rough grunt, in lieu of laughter. "Bloody indeed."

It was at times like this that he felt sorry for everything he had done wrong. From a failing transfiguration grade at the lowly age of eleven, to the murder of his beloved.

And then, the snow came harder. The world couldn't see him, couldn't jeer at him behind his back. If they truly saw the emotion in his black eyes, they would worship him like the king he so wished to be.

He wanted to go back, so many years to see them again. He wanted the reel in the word he had spat out at her in his fifth year. He wanted to be the man that Potter was, married to his secret passion. She never did know who sent her those flowers.

Oh, God, this bloody snow. It pierced his thick black cloak, and slid into his skin, making a bee-line for his twisted heart. And for a moment, he wished that he could stop its fierce pounding. He wanted to hold it in his hands and wrench it apart. He wanted to feel his blood all over his hands, his own blood. He wanted to hurt himself, for killing her.

But… for that damnable duty, to the one who had her eyes. The same bloody eyes that stared at him, almost accusingly. The same bloody eyes. He would do anything for her eyes.

And then? Then he could rest in the clouds of death, happily drenched in his own blood. Perhaps he would see her, in death. But why ever not? They could have eternity after death. She would see him in a better light that Potter's unbelievable aura.

No. They loved each other. And he would drown in the cold arms of hate again.

The snow blew even harder, and he dully felt the cold handle of the sword in his palm. It was only then that he remembered why he had stopped here. To remember why he made this journey. But how could he forget?

"Expecto Patronum."

And there she was. Standing, white, and beautiful. Her long eyelashes blinked, nearly in sympathy. God, how sad was he? His Patronus was the sexual opposite of Potter's! But all for her.

Yes, anything for her.

And he was gone.

So? Love? Hate? Undecided? Please tell me your thoughts through that lovely little button down left. Construstive criticism appreciated.