Okay, I didn't feel like putting a disclaimer on the last one, so I shall put it here. JK's books are not mine, and none of her characters are mine. Sprout, for example, is not mine. More depressingly, Ginny is not mine, even though she is my one true love. No one else is mine either.

And this is, like Ravens and Doves, not literally slash. It is about two gay people angsting out about their crushes. Therefore, if you don't like slash, you probably won't like this either. (swats all homophobes with a large fly swatter) Out! Out! Out, brief candle! Life is but a poor player, strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage-

I read too much Shakespeare.
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For a moment, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley stood there, barely able to see each other's faces, but wearing identical expressions of hatred.

"What're you doing here?" he said, casting a spell to start the fire up again. "You're not allowed to be out this late."

"Neither are you."

"I'm enitled."

"Oh?"

"I had to go to the hospital wing, if you *must* know."

"This room isn't anywhere near the hospital wing, Malfoy."

"I saw there was a fire, for your information, Weasley. What is this room, anyway?"

"An unused classroom- I found it last week.. It suited my purpose. Now, Malfoy, if you don't mind, why don't you go away and get whatever it is you need from Madam Pomfrey?"

"No, Weasley," he spat, "I think I'll decline. I'd like very much to know what you are doing here in the middle of the night, and if you don't tell me, I'm going straight to Filch."

"I don't care if you go to Filch, Malfoy. In fact," Ginny slid the knife out of the sleeve of her nightgown, "with any luck I'll be dead before he gets back."

"I don't believe this," Draco said, laughing. "Here I thought you actually had a reason- and you're just playing at killing yourself. Potter'll be sorry now, won't he, that he didn't ask you out? Your mum and dad that they didn't have a big house like mine?"

Ginny glared at him, dark eyes under bright hair combining to a strangely frightening end. "How d'you know I'm not serious, Malfoy?"

"How do I *know*, Weasley? What have you got to be serious *about*? You haven't got any *idea* why anyone would want to die."

"How sure are you?" she said, pressing the knife gently to her wrist, then harder. Blood trickled out and onto the hearth. "How's that for not serious?"

Draco stared. "I don't believe it," he said, almost to himself. "What is it, then?"

"Why should I tell you, Malfoy?"

"Because- because you're making a mistake, all right? And if you've got any sense you'll put that thing away before you do yourself any damage."

"I'm not putting it away."

"You're going to kill yourself, then."

"Quick, are you?"

"If you're going to do it no matter what I say," he whispered, knowing he was taking a risk, "why don't you just tell me? It won't matter."

She studied him for a minute, her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said, sitting back down on the hearth. "Close the door, would you?"

He close the door.

"It's like this, Malfoy," she whispered, signing the note. "I'm in love with Hermione Granger."