35. Light [340]
(It is like the sunlight that reflects off rocks underwater. All bent sideways and deceptive and making things look beautiful.)
Chains suit her, you think as your run your finger down them. Tears don't, but she doesn't have any so that's all right. She's not the sort to cry, your brave girl. No, she's the sort to curse at you and glare through slitted eyes and to kiss you like she's in love though she obviously wants you dead.
(She thinks she's fooling you and she's not. But that's all right as well, because you'll never tell her and you don't mind being used. Not when she goes so far to convince you, kisses you and strokes you and whispers those words in your ear gentle enough to make you break.)
Chains suit her even better when they are falling off her arms slowly, clinking on the floor. She's weak when she rises, swaying sickly, and gorgeous – you catch her about the waist and don't bother to hide your desire to keep her. She sees it and goes paler and whispers to hurry, afraid that you might change your mind.
(She thinks you're insane and you're not. Just in love in a slanted way that's depraved enough for you to use her without regret and just barely right enough for you to let her use you back.)
You don't change your mind of course, but she's not sure of it until the last instant, and in that instant she turns and hugs you with a sentiment far more honest than any other she's expressed all these months. You don't hug her back exactly, but you twist your fingers in her hair and take deep breaths until she pulls back, eyes open.
(It is like the sunlight that reflects off rocks underwater. All illusory and hopeful and just missing the deeper darkness.)
When she disappears with the Portkey, you put your hand in your pocket, three strands of red hair still twisted round your fingers, and do not say goodbye.