It seems like everyday's the same

And I'm left to discover on my own

It seems like everything is gray

And there's no color to behold


The next day, as promised, I return to her cell.

She is seated Indian style on the floor. Does she ever get up from there?

I crouch down to meet her eyes, only to discover that they are vacant.


"Damn it, Weasley! Can't you stay on earth like the rest of us?"


I begin to walk away, a scowl on my face.


"Tut, tut, such language."


I freeze in my tracks as the distinctly female voice cuts through the air. Weasley? No, she doesn't sound like that. But who else could it be?


I turn and stride back to the cell door. Sure enough, she is staring back at me with a twisted smile on her face. It really does not fit her.

I open my mouth to tell her so, and she stops me before I begin.


"And how would you know what fits me and what doesn't, Mister Malfoy?"


My eyes widen, then narrow. Her eyes are no longer brown, but as red as her hair, as the blood smeared across her cheek.


Bloody hell! What is going on?


She arches one eyebrow.


Gods! Can you read my mind?


She nods, her wicked smile broadening.


I can stop you, you know.


Another nod.


I close my eyes and block off my thoughts.


She stands and saunters forward, her hips swaying in a way I definitely do not recall from school. She wraps her long fingers around the bars and fixes her vermillion eyes on mine.


"You're no fun at all," she says, pressing her cherry colored lips into a pout. So much red.


"I can be fun when I want to be," I reply.


Her blood red eyes sparkle and she smiles evilly.


Before I know what is happening, I am opening the door, using the key I stole from my father's night stand.

I am inside with her, and she is leaning against the wall with her lips curved into that deliciously malicious smile.

I stride over to her, placing my arms on either side of her to hold her in place. I push myself against her. It is as if a magnetic force pulls me to her.

She looks up at me through thick lashes and I feel something inside of me ignite.

My lips crash down to hers, and I am kissing her.

Barely aware of the weight of her arms around my neck, of her nails digging into my skin through my robes.

I can practically taste her power.

I explore every inch of her mouth, my hands moving over her body.

She tastes of darkness and chocolate and a faint trace of blood.


And then it is over. She pulls away and laughs.


"You're right. That was fun," she says.


She stands before me, her eyes shining with amusement, and I know at once that it was a trick.


"Weasley, if you ever do that again, I swear I will have you tortured and murdered before you can say Quidditch!"


"Draco, dear, you are mistaken. I did not do anything wrong. This is what you wanted and we both know it. Did it feel good? To feel my power coursing through you? Even for an instant? Power. That's what Slytherins are all about. You scheme and plot to make that power yours. Yet not many of you have it. And--"


"Shut up," I hiss. "I don't want to hear your theories on why I am the way that I am. And yes, if you must know, it did feel good. All that darkness. Weasley, you must be pretty screwed up."


She shrugs. "I suppose I am."


There is silence for a few heartbeats.


"I am bored now," she says, yawning to emphasize her point.


"Who the hell cares, Weasley?"


"Well, I'm just saying that you might want to leave before I lose my temper."


"Like I'm scared of you."


"Perhaps you should be."


I think of the strength she had over me only minutes before. Of how her eyes are the color of the sky that night.


And I want to be away from her.


So without another word, I walk away.


It is not until much later that I realize I never got the chance to ask her anything.