A/N: This kept me up all night. I actually officially have all of this planned out, scene for scene, but the prompts might kill it. Dear, dear.

I don't go to mythical places with strange women. So, Heaven does exist, because that's where Daphne's brought me. Nowhere else could anyone look so beautiful.

There's no mirror in the house elf living quarters; the help doesn't need to primp. I don't think it really matters; house elves don't wear clothes anyhow. Still, it means that I'm the one telling Daph how she looks.

She's been trying on her new clothes and is now wearing the dress robes we decided she should wear to Slughorn's party in a week. I'd never seen her in dress robes before—she skipped the Yule Ball—and I can't stop staring.

They're deep, deep green, not something that catches the eye on the hanger but I thought might look nice. And they do. They bring out the flush in her cheeks, the contrast of her pale skin against dark hair. She looks positively ruffled, and it's a really lovely look for her.

"OI! BLAISE! How do I look?"

She's really so beautiful. So I do what logic tells me to do and sweep her into my arms, my lips on hers.

It's not until we've started that I realize this is the first time I've ever kissed a girl. We never used to do anything like this back in the days of actually getting horizontal. Her lips are surprisingly soft, softer than the lips of anyone I've kissed, which doesn't seem to suit her personality. They taste like warm milk, bread, vanilla, and sugar. She kisses me back, but it's so gentle it's like kissing a butterfly. And then it's over, and she breathes, makes a noise in the back of her throat. "That was nice."

But when she smiles, her lips point at her jaw, not her ears, and her eyes don't seem to agree.

* * *

The next morning, Pansy and I walk the grounds, regardless of the biting wind that forces itself on unprotected piece of skin like leeches in a pond. She's rambling now, something about Parvati Patil and her "big fat mouth." She and the Patil sisters used to get on (actually, they all have very similar personalities), but when they came to Hogwarts and were sorted into different houses, the bond broke.

Why do Slytherins do this? We alienate ourselves from every other house and don't trust anyone in ours. It's always us, alone, independent. Maybe I can understand the enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor. That competition dates back centuries. But why should Pansy have to end her friendship with Padma? Why is everything we do based on how others might take it?

I don't know. I'm just trying to make it through the next few paces before we manage to sneak into the Quidditch dressing rooms.

She's not babbling about Parvati anymore. Now we're back to her favourite subject: Why Draco isn't paying attention to her. He's been spending more and more nights and breaks disappearing, and they haven't had a good . . . well, you know . . . in ages. This is a development that I suspected but still never wanted to hear from Pansy's mouth.

Eventually, she trickles off. Usually, Pansy likes to talk about herself. It's what makes our friendship so easy; I don't like to open up, so I can just pretend to listen to her. But now . . .

"Blaise?"

"Mm?"

"Are you still going with Daphne Greengrass?"

I consider it. I suppose last night is probably a way of saying that yes, I am still "going with" Daphne Greengrass, and so I nod.

"Are you in love with her?"

I think about Daphne then, about how she squeals when she thinks something's hilarious and then tries to cover it up with a low-pitched cough. I think about bread and warm milk and forbidden Honkeyduke's chocolate, about her vulgar mouth and how soft her lips felt against mine. I think about a long, dark thread on crisp white sheets and lovely, if imperfect, eyebrows.

It's then that I realize I love her, but I can't remember what colour her eyes are.

"No, Pansy." I look my best friend in the eye. "I'm not in love with Daphne."

She looks like she doesn't know what to do with this information, and I wonder if the next thing I'm going to say will break her heart. I hope not.

"I'm not in love with Daphne because I'm not in love with any woman. I'm gay, Pansy."

And so she leaves me disgustedly, and then I'm completely alone in a tiny, barely used room. And I feel completely alone everywhere else, too.

* * *

I'm running through a wooded area—the Forbidden Forest? There's no trail and I trip over roots and brambles, but I know that if I slow down, I'll be caught by the something behind me. I can see the shadow now, and I've got to escape.

I see Daphne, then, trapped in the mud just close enough to be in sight, and I know that if I don't pull her out she'll die. Do I run away from the monster or try to save her?

I run to her, offer my hand. But she smiles a polite smile that doesn't quite match her eyes, and pulls herself out with ease. Disappears with a wave and a wink. And now I'm trapped, and I can't escape. I ask Pansy to be here with me and hold my head up when I die so that I won't disappear into the mud.

She won't look at me and runs in the opposite direction.

So I struggle, but the more I struggle I sink, and I can't turn around to see who my attacker is. But the shadow gets shorter and shorter, and then I can't breathe. The monster twists me around, and I hear rather than feel my spine break in half.

And those eyes are so blue, those eyebrows so perfect.

I wake up in a pile of crumpled bedding and tears.