Go listen to the song 'Breakeven' by The Script; it fits perfectly.

Fun fact: When I first started to post this story, I had the first twelve chapters pre-written. This is good because the week after I posted the first chapter my good friend Oliver, whom I was very close with at the time and who had been dating another good friend on and off all year, admitted that during the last month or so of school, while dating my friend, he'd been actually developing a large crush on me and grew to hate my good friend even more, though he still continued to date her. I got so unreasonably angry at him that I couldn't work on the story for quite a few weeks, and instead just posted what I had.

My skin burned a little as I lay in my bed, my eyes trained on the light blue ceiling of the Head Girl's Room; after Wood's, I'd gone to the Prefect tubs and scrubbed myself until my skin was raw and it hurt just to be wearing clothes. Of course, for fear that Tom would check in on me tonight, or that Oliver might make some sorry attempt at an apology, I put clothes on.

All I could think about was what I should do know; there were so many factors to consider. The students were in danger, which meant that I should have told McGonagal immediately when I got back. I could make up a story about how I found out – I walked in on him in the shower and saw his mark, or I had to talk to him about my quitting the Quidditch team and fell off my broom.

But I was nearly certain that McGonagal would be forced to fire him, and every time I thought about that happening something inside me stung and thrashed around, rejecting the idea fiercely. The truth was that I still loved him; I knew I still loved him, and that was probably a good three-quarters of the reason I feel so dirty, even though it hurts to move too much.

After all, Death Eaters don't have cooties; they may be evil, but they aren't contagious. I'm in Ravenclaw – states of mind don't catch. But I still love him; I love a murderous, evil son of a bitch. And I thought I was a rebel when he was just a teacher.

But no matter how hard I tried to force those adjectives onto him, I couldn't figure out how. If he was anti-muggle, a distinctive trait about Death Eaters, than why had he chosen me? He couldn't have known about my powers, but he must have realized at some point that I' not a pureblood. It's not like I keep it a big secret.

So then why date me for so long? Why be protective and caring and loving and absolutely perfect, except for the occasional foot-in-mouth incidents and twice-a-week fights? Was it just a game while he passed the time here at Hogwarts, waiting for the signal to Floo in Voldemort and attack the school? Why?

I refused to believe that he liked me – it's impossible to like someone whose opinions are so completely and entirely different than your own, it just wouldn't work – there would be no attraction, only repulsion. How could he have even imagined it? Was it all some sick game to him?

These were all things I wanted to scream at him in person, but found myself unable to pull myself from the bed, much less make the angry storm over there. I… I don't know quite why, but I'm pretty certain that if I went and tried to face him tonight, or ever, I just wouldn't make it. I'd get so angry and start to shake and before you know it I'd be flying away from the castle and he'd be lacking eyes.

I noticed that, in the few hours since I'd found out that he was a Death Eater, I thought his name as little as possible. I gave up on trying to not think his name altogether, but only when completely necessary. It made me shiver, and then there were tears in my eyes again. But I won't cry for a Death Eater; he doesn't deserve it. I should be grateful, anyway.

My hands, which were stereotypically tangled in my hair, started to scratch at my scalp, the idea that I wasn't grateful making me feel more disgusting than knowing I loved him.

Oliver's POV

I felt sick as I sat in the dining hall, my eyes trained on Ginny. I had to be careful to keep my eyes on Ginny; McGonagall knew that we'd been friends back when I was in the order. If I was watching her, then I was probably just being protective, or something. I wasn't actually watching Aly, giggling and pinching with Ginny, looking normal. It wasn't even as if she was only slightly back to normal; an entire two weeks had gone by and she didn't even make eye contact in the halls anymore.

It was like I never even existed, which was how it should have been, but it hurt. It hurt a lot and it didn't seem to ever stop. I couldn't use the bathroom anymore, that's for sure. And whenever she starts blaring those Merlin awful American pop bands I can only keep my banging to myself.

But what probably hurts the most is that I didn't even get the chance to explain; I guess in most ways it's good, because if she'd have stayed I probably would've thrown the fact that I'm shamelessly in love with her into the fact, and who knows what that would've done to her. She's the only girl I've ever met who can stand a two year relationship but suddenly develops asthma when someone mentions falling in love.

But she just had no idea why I was who I was, why I did what I did. She had to know it had nothing to do with blood, or at least not the kind of blood she's talking about. It's so much more than that, it's so complicated.

I wonder what she'd think if she knew I was sent here to find her. She'd probably get pissed and throw something at me. And then she'd somehow turn it into something weird about fate or circumstance or awesome detective skills or something. After she was done being angry, of course.

Nervous that I'd be caught staring, I looked down at my plate, half-heartedly sticking my fork into the goop and shoving it in my mouth. I'd been spoiled from having to cook for Aly. I had a reason to stay in the apartment during lunches if she didn't want to come down; now, if anything, I had to be down here. After all, I am a masochistic nut-job, and I just have to teach myself how to look like Aly does right now; not the blonde hair and the short skirt, but the happiness. I have to learn to fake her happiness.

Aly's POV

I gulped passed whatever tears had managed to sneak their way through that night, my eyes concentrating on the blurring ceiling as I tried to imagine what this room would look like if I was in Gryffindor or any of the other houses; blue seemed so calming, I couldn't imagine what the colors would do to my mind if I had to be surrounded by them all the time. Can you imagine coming back to a bright yellow room every day?

Of course, these thoughts were completely ornamental; in the back of my brain, the worst night of my life is being replayed over and over and over, followed by those three blinding, painful words flashing at me. I LOVE HIM. Because I do; I've tried everything I could to stop it, but in this past week a total of nothing has worked.

According to Ginny, Wood and I had a fright and had broken up; I figured she knew enough to realize why we broke up. I didn't want to have to say it aloud – it was scary. To be in love with a Death Eater. I think only my life would work out so imperfectly. It's because I rush things.

Except telling him how I feel, completely. Those thoughts keep rolling over me every now and then; what could I have done to convince Wood to give it all up? If I told him I loved him back in late January, would we still be together? Or would he have just told me sooner? Maybe he would've never told me at all; then I could be ignorant and happy.

I jumped when, through my blurred tears, something moved in my line of vision; the raven. It flew above me, the note spewing from the birds mouth before it flapped back towards my backpack, pinning itself securely to the strap.

My breath was jammed down into my lungs as the note hit me with a dull 'thud.' What was it? Was it from Wood? I mean, I'd have to assume it would be, but why would be he be sending me anything? It just didn't make sense. What did he have to say that had to wait a week?

I felt my muscles twitching as one hand crumpled into a fist around the note, the other knotting in my hair painfully. I managed, using one hand and my teeth, to pull open the note, which was hard to read because my hand was shaking so badly. Luckily, Wood's handwriting continues to be perfect and boxy, despite our breakup.

You can come over whenever you decide you want to hear my explanation.

Something rose up in my chest; wasn't that what I wanted? An explanation? Despite every piece of logic and instinct of self-preservation, my curiosity found itself urging me out of my bed, through the bathroom and into his room.

When the door slammed open, Wood froze. His fists were still crumpled up, suggesting that he hadn't done anything in the last few seconds before I got the note. His face didn't do much to mask his expressions; he was surprised to see me.

"I… I didn't think you'd come so quickly."

My body physically started to freak out when he said those words to me; what was I doing here? An explanation isn't worth the agony that seeing him alone again is already causing me. I don't care why he's a Death Eater – he is one, and that's all that really matters.

"Why?" And that was my voice. I was just as shocked as Wood was to hear me speaking. "Why are you willing to tell me."

"Well, an… interesting man once said that, "the truth brings with it a certain measure of absolution, always." I don't expect you to understand, or if you do understand to change your mind about us, but I figure at this point you mine as well know everything, if you're willing."

Apparently I am. But my nose wrinkled, "William Blake never said that."

Wood shook his head, "Not him, R. D. Laing, that famous wizard who turned muggle psychiatrist." I nodded, mostly unfamiliar with the man's work.

Truth – what an interesting concept. I certainly hadn't been truthful with Oliver about my feelings in reference to the relationship. But I think his lack of truth trumps all. He's a Death Eater.

Suddenly, Oliver's smell overtook me; in my ponderings he had made his way towards me. And in that second, a man's words whom I'd never met and who was not William Blake forced me into action. Truth was absolute; I loved Oliver Wood, and no matter what truth he told me that wouldn't change.

Curiosity and logic were against it, but as Oliver took my hand, probably to lead me to the table so we could sit and talk, and I jumped onto him and attacked. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, and I knew what was going to probably end up happening, but I accepted it. It was kind of poetic in a way.

Oliver's kiss made it very obvious that he knew what I wanted too, and either in shock or anticipation he started to back up towards the bed. He fell back against it, 'oofing' when we made contact. It was… wrong, but I couldn't stop.

Of course, at that moment, Oliver pulled away, his face making it obvious that he was prepared for the worst, "Aly, are you sure about this?"

The question sent a very new kind of shivers down my back; disappointed shivers. I'd always imagined that, when Oliver said those words to me, they'd have a completely meaning to them. More 'I don't want you to regret it because I love you so much' and less, 'Honey, I'm in Love with a Death Eater.' I guess that, if he's telling the truth, than it's already pretty heavy in the first one too.