Fun fact: This story was the result of my realizing two stereotypes that I desperately wanted to break: that all Gryfindors were on Harry's side (hence Wood being a Death Eater) and the fact that in whatever story you read, Wood is nearly always paired with a Quidditch player (hence Aly's hate for Quidditch up until three quarters of the way through, and even then she's not very committed to it.)

Well guys, this killed me to write.

I cringed unwillingly and instinctually whenever someone looked at me; everyone was either in high end fancy robes, attire similar to mine and Woods, or black robes with the hoods up. Not to mention that I was nearly the only girl; there were other girls, but they didn't look… alright. One girl had hair like Einstein, and the other had a glass eye.

The rat-man, whose name was something in… Italian… ish… led the way through the assorted tables full of shady figures that were very interested in me. Oliver's hand was attached to the small of my back, and I felt my body stiffen and relax when he leaned forward, his breath hissing into my ear, "Keep your hair in front of your face."

I didn't question his instruction; it seemed more like common sense, right up there with don't pick hitchhikers or take candy from strangers. I bent my head forward, my hair spilling over my shoulders and obscuring my view of everything. I trusted Oliver's careful pushing and directing of my back to keep me on my feet and off the tables, and it what seemed like the longest few moments ever I felt the hardwood floors of the dining hall exchanged for a plush carpet.

"Thank you, Itings." Itings, Italian, I'm lucky I made out the 'it' I was so freaked out when I first came in here. I shook my hair away from my face, comforted by the fact that, wherever we were, it was at least in a private room.

The room, which was coated in a light tan, airy color, sported a fireplace and, opposite the single, oak door, a large window meant to offer a breathtaking view of the furious winter storm that was happening. If I had to guess, I'd say we were on the top of a mountain, around the edge of a sheer rock wall. Because as far down as I can see, there is no actual ground. Good thing Oliver was always wrong about my fear of heights.

The rat man bowed before he scuttled back out the door, and I could have sworn I'd heard him snicker. What's he so excited about? "Please, sit." My neck snapped; I'd unconsciously made my way towards the edge of the room, but Oliver had spent his time pulling my chair out for me.

I gulped nervously, the night suddenly twenty times more formal. Not that it wasn't formal before, but now there are manners involved. "Some crowd out there, huh?"

Oliver's eyes locked with mine as I brushed passed him to sit in my chair; an almost electric shock ran through my blood, and I got that horrible feeling in my stomach that by the end of tonight, this restaurant would've somehow rubbed off on me in a way that he would know that I love him.

He never said anything about the crowd, so I attempted to fill the awkward silence with another very important topic, "What did you end up doing about Ginny?"

My boyfriend snorted at me, "She's not telling anything; she understands the idea of forbidden love better than most."

"What actually happened?" We have no menus.

"We couldn't stop laughing at you, and then I asked her not to tell because we were in a very serious relationship, even if you had just come down in your PJs looking like a common call girl." I rolled my eyes, knowing better than to take offense; I don't even want to get into a fight with him. Oliver looks really beautiful in a button down shirt with firelight and the snow falling behind him. "You have to talk to her, of course, but she won't tell."

I rolled my eyes, "Of course I have to talk to her; that's part of being a teenager."

Oliver smirked, reaching forward for my hand, "I think she just wants to tease you, if that's any better. I don't think she wants to gush."

I nodded, jumping when the menus popped into place under my elbow. I bit my lip as Oliver's face creased, obviously trying to figure out what had been so scary about the menus coming up. But Oliver, finally exhibiting some common sense, left it alone and let go of my hand in favor of his menu.

I let out a breath as I picked up my own; the entire menu was in French, or something just as strange looking. What is it with this place and different languages? "If you need to, I can turn your menu into English." I nodded bashfully, and Oliver smirked. He whispered a few words, and the menu rearranged itself before my eyes.

I wrinkled my nose, "Did you know there's owl on this menu?" Oliver shrugged, and I ran a hand through my hair, "Maybe I liked it better in French…" Oliver's laugh rang through the room, and it comforted. Slowly, my hand fell from my hair, and I let my eyes scan over the menu until I found something with potatoes, cheese, and under the 'vegetarian' section. I'm not even vegetarian, but seeing owl on a menu scared me away from meat for the night. "Hmm, I think I'll have the Herbes de Provence Potato Gratin."

With a small pop, resulting once again in my jumping, the menu disappeared from my hands. This time, Oliver laughed at my jumpiness, shaking his head and muttering to himself. A few seconds later, his own menu popped away, and in its place on our table was a large salad bowl.

"Jeez, a multi-course meal? What's next, high class firewhiskey?" With another small pop, a bottle of firewhiske was on our table, and Oliver once again took the opportunity to laugh at my surprise.

"No, no, we wouldn't be needing the firewhiskey; something a little more romantic, please." My stomach constricted when Oliver requested romance, and I became even more nervous when a very old looking bottle of wine replaced the firewhiskey. My nervousness must have shown on my face, because Oliver reacted to it, "Do you want something else? Some butterbeer or pumpkin juice?"

"Uh, no." Butterbeer is not what I need right now, and getting pumpkin juice in a restaurant on the top of a mountain in possible-France seems a bit… wrong. Like it'd be an insult to their probably cavernous wine-cellar. "Thanks."

Oliver nodded, pouring both of us drinks, and biting at his lip. I recognized the movement as a universal reaction to being nervous, and I almost started to feel… claustrophobic. What if the reason Oliver brought me here to tonight was to confess his love to me? I mean… I can't… oh God I might be sick.

Oliver's brow furrowed as he released his lip from between his teeth, "Are you sure you're alright, Aly? You look a little sick."

"I'm fine," I lied, the words spilling from my mouth a little too quickly. "How were the rest of the meetings with the Quidditch captains?" Now I can just shove my mouth full of salad and let him talk. No need to be nervous about anything.

Oliver shrugged, "Nothing important happened. Ravenclaw forfeited the House cup, which actually makes my job a lot easier."

I nodded, Hey, look, a cucumber. "Did Ben seem upset by it?"

"Reasonably; he muttered a bit about you being a non-committed something or other, but I didn't pay attention."

"You didn't kill him?" Actually, I'm not surprised; with the exception of our relationship, Oliver actually has very good self-control.

Oliver smirked, "I wanted to, but I forced myself to remember that your being non-committed to him is the reason that you and I are sitting here, right now."

Oh God, there are the walls closing in again. And I thought Quidditch and his job was a safe topic of conversation. How could he work something romantic into that? I shoved another forkful of lettuce and dressing into my mouth and Oliver, obviously giving up on getting me to respond, did the same. The salads, though delicious, were small, and the moment our forks hit our plate once we'd finished them, the main course arrived.

Mine looked good enough, and rather than risk starting another one of those romantic conversations, I took a sip of my wine and then started to dig in with nothing more than a careful smile in Oliver's direction. Some date, but romance is so, so, so scary to me right now. I just… I don't know what I'll do if Oliver tells me he loves me.

Oliver, though, had a different idea. He always has a different idea. "Aly, I've got to be honest and say that I brought you here to tell you something." Oh… oh bugger.

Feeling nothing short of horrified, I looked up at him, his brown eyes glimmering in the dim light of the room and the snowy backdrop looking more sickeningly sweet than ever. "Oh?" I felt some of the cheese sauce drip down my chin, but that's what I get for talking with my mouth ful.

"Yeah, yeah, I did, and I know you're not going to like it." Then why say it? We've got such a great thing going!

"Who knew it would be snowing somewhere in the beginning of March?" Now no one can turn the weather into a confession of love. I mean, how could Oliver even love me?

"Aly," Oliver's voice, mixed with his slightly hardened eyes, proved that he wasn't going to work with the weather and try and change the conversation naturally – he was just going to make it clear that we had a topic and that topic was not the weather. "This is hard enough to tell you without you trying to distract me."

Oh… Merlin.

"I… did you see those men out there?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "And they scared a little, right?" Nod. "Why did they scare you?"

"Because…" With a sick shock, I remembered my date with Ben, when I'd seen the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. "Because they… were creepy. Like… Death Eaters and mugglehaters."

Oliver's face fell, and his gaze turned from me to his arm, which he limply plopped onto the table, starting to tug at his dress shirt's sleeve. Nervous, and not quite sure where any of this was going, I shoved a few bites of my dinner into my mouth. "Well, if you're scared of them, then you mine as well be scared of me, too."

Oliver's sleeve was about halfway up his forearm, but I wasn't looking at what he was trying to show me; I was looking at his face, which was contorted with pain and fear. I'd never seen Oliver looking so… horrible. He looked like he was going to die. "What do you me-"

"Aly, look at my arm." Oliver's eyes met mine, and in that brief moment of eye contact before my eyes started to well up with tears I realized exactly what Oliver was trying to tell me.

I shook my head, pushing myself away from the table when I finally looked down at his arm; the Dark Mark. "No, no-"

"Aly, please, let me explain, it's not who I am-" He was too late; I was already out of my chair and heading very happily towards the door. Suddenly, every bit of me felt dirty. Oliver was a Death Eater, a Death Eater. He was… despicable. He killed Muggles and wanted to eradicate all the wizards who weren't rich and inbred.

He reached out towards me, his hand easily wrapping around my arm, but I shook him and turned on him, my voice much louder than was probably appropriate, even if this was a private room, "NO!" Oliver physically flinched, but I took the extra moment to make everything very clear; this wasn't alright, this wasn't not a big deal. "You lied to me!" His hand fell away, but the words were all tumbling out too quickly for me to register what he was doing until after it'd been done, "Don't touch me."

With a powerful sniff and my hands easily slipping into my hair, I turned and ran towards the fireplace, wanting nothing more than to stand in the middle of the room, full of Death Eaters and murderers, and scream at them what they'd done; what they'd done to me, and what they'd done to the wizarding world. I wanted to show them the crying mothers, the dead fathers, the damage and pain they left wherever they went in those stupid masks.

But more than that I didn't want Oliver to see me. I can't stand the thought of being seen by him.

By my side, you'll never be; by my side, you'll never be
Cause I'm fake at the seams, I'm lost in my dreams
And I, I want you to know that I, I can't let you go
And you're never coming home again
And you're never coming home again
By my side, you'll never be; by my side, you'll never be, you'll never be
I wanted to tell you I'd changed
I wanted to tell you that things would be different this time
I see you, you see me differently
I see you, you see me differently
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again

"Swans" by Unkle Bob

This song describes this chapter and the next so perfectly it's upsetting.