Disclamer: Every character used in this story belongs to the fabulous (if slow) J.K.Rowling and I place no claim upon them.

AN: This is one of my older fics, I just decided to change some things.

...And the Masquerade Continues

Draco Malfoy.

I sit here again, like I do almost every night, staring into his cold grey eyes. And why? We share no love for one another, and yet this masquerade continues. Is it wrong? Of course, and when we kiss he mutters words of hatred into my ear. I do the same. It's lust. It eats away at you.

I'll always remember his blond hair. You can pick him out of a crowd looking for it. In my mind it is his frailty. It rules over him, consuming. His fear? Love.

So now he looks at me, and he smiles that cruel, insincere smile. I send a cold stare back toward him. He snickers, untouched. It hurts.

Can you love someone, and hate him at the same time?

Yes, I suppose you can. I know that love can be hatred, but this is different. Pure and undiluted hatred, passed on from generation to generation. Weasleys hate Malfoys.

So why do we play our twisted games? Is it to be rebelious? No, I have a feeling for him I cannot comprehend. Not love. Not hatred.

So as I ask myself why I do it, he runs his slender fingers through my curly red hair, and mutters, "Ginny, I hate you," and he presses his lips against mine with so much passion that I melt into his arms.

Oh yeah... that's why.