Stay with me, don't let me go
Cause I can't be without you
Stay with me and hold me close
Because I built my world around you
And I don't want to know what it's like without you
Stay with me, stay with me
I'm trying and hoping for the day
When my touch is enough to take the pain away
Cause I've searched for so long
The answer is clear
We'll be okay if we don't let it disappear

"Stay with Me" by Danity Kane

I let my brow naturally furrow as I woke up, my head situated on Oliver's chest as I contemplated what had happened. I was… horrified. Horrified of myself and horrified of Oliver, an the combination resulted in a horribly degree of uncertainty. I couldn't bring myself to wake him up; instead, I was hoping that he'd stay asleep forever, so I'd never have to get up and face the world.

That doesn't make sense at all, but I don't need things to make sense; I need to forget what I did and who the man I'm cuddling with is. I gulped, trying to repeat William Blake's words to comfort me. I whispered them, nearly certain that I was getting the wording wrong, "Those who suppress their desires only do so because their desires are weak enough to be suppressed."

I'm accepting that as the entirety of the reason as to why I acted the way I did last night. My desires just kind of… overflowed, and Oliver happened to be the closest subject to one of those desires. Even if that didn't exactly make sense, it explains why I did it, and that alone comforts me. Really, what else do I need but the approval of William Blake?

Oliver moaned, "Are you going to keep saying that all morning?"

I froze; he's… awake? I spent all morning denying that he's able to be conscious and he's listened to my borderline insane mumblings this entire time? That's… not polite! Who does… Oh God. I have to deal with this.

My stomach jumped up and down, a very contradictory feeling to how still my heart, in addition to the rest of my body, was, "Oliver?"

"Yeah, love?" His voice was tired, and he smacked his lips as he started to rub at his eyes.

"Uh, I think we need to… talk. About…" Say it, Aly; two words. Death. Eater. Oliver's a… I know I can say it. I've said it before; in my nightmares, when I'm running from He-who-must-not-be-named. It might not be ideal circumstances, but I can say it now.

"I know we do; just let me get on some shorts, aye? Where'd they get to…"

I watched as Oliver shimmied out from under me, altogether shocked. He seemed so… casual about it. About everything. 'Let me get my boxer shorts, then I'll tell you why I'm the epitome of everything you decided to dedicate your life fighting against.' It just… How can he do that? The past week has been such hell for me, and he's trying to figure out where I threw his boxers last night while I was forgetting that the man that I'm in love with has a complete opposite moral standing.

Almost like he'd never left, Oliver shifted back under me, sighing, "Now, I'm going to have to ask that you don't interrupt me; you still will, and I understand that, but try to keep it to a minimum?"

In an attempt to comfort myself, I grabbed a hold of Oliver's hand. I'm assuming that I won't like this at all; not one bit of it. What part of this could offer me any bit of happiness? Still, I have to listen; I have to know. Then I can decide what I'm going to do, whether or not I can find some way to work through this with him. Maybe it's just a phase…

"It all started when I was about… twelve."

Or maybe not.

"No, before that."

Definitely not.

"When I was seven, I was given my first broom." Oh God I'm getting a full autobiography. "And I fell… absolutely in love." And so far, I could have predicted everything. "But I kind lived with… Have you ever imagined what it was like to grow up with Lucius Malfoy for a father?" Am I supposed to answer that? "You know, completely dedicated to the Dark Lord, mentally abused and essentially expected to be perfect?"

"Uh… I guess."

"Well, that was essentially how I grew up; my father was convinced that he-who-must-not-be-named would come back, eventually, even if he never actually… expressed his sentiments." Oliver took a breath, obviously trying to gather his bearings, "He, uh, we're from old, old blood. Pure in the most stuck-up way. To become a Death Eater was… it was like second nature to my father, but I just… didn't care."

That… was both expected and unexpected.

"I've always had a one-track mind, and since I got my first broom when I was seven, my eyes were set towards the skies. I just didn't care about blood or wars or fighting spells; the first thing I asked when I met people was what position they played in Quidditch. I was… obsessed, and my father hated me for it."

Of course, at that second, I was reminded of Ginny, and how she'd described meeting Oliver's father. He hadn't even looked at his son. But… I feel like the pieces are about to come together, and if I wasn't so horrified of the outcome I would've put it together already.

"When I graduated he gave me a choice: either never speak to him again or become a Death Eater. But I'd met too many great muggle-borns, and so I said no. It killed me - even if my father wasn't very supportive or loving, he was still my father, right? And it wasn't just my father, it was my mother too, and all my cousins - it was like losing a part of me. And then, at the end of last season, my father approached me; he said my useless talents might finally help. The Dark Lord needed someone to get into Hogwarts, and the only position opening up was the flying teacher's."

Alright, now this is all starting to make a lot of sense. And, as wrong as it is, I think I love Oliver even more now, if for no other reason than because I actually know something about him now.

"I… it was wrong. But… I was given a mission, and… and my father wasn't calling me a useless bag of hay." Oliver gulped, and I finally chanced a glance up at his face. He looked… like anyone who was reliving their past would; only his eyes were a bit more focused than I would've expected. He wasn't looking at me, though, and that was key. "I accepted, and here I am, now. My Lord-"

I flinched, fighting the urge to throw up when Oliver called him that. It was so wrong, so horrible. Nothing was alright about it. I reached towards my hair but Oliver, obviously on automatic pilot, reached up and intercepted it, lacing his fingers with mine. I worked with what I had and used my thumb to nervously start petting his hand. It worked, slightly.

"He never made me actually torture anyway, for whatever reason. He was really quite pleasant at the beginning, I think because he figured he'd get what he wanted from me more quickly that way."

I took a deep breath in, trying to think if anything had been left unexplained, "And… and before that you were in the Order?"

"Yes." That's… I can work with that.

"And you don't agree with what he-who-must-not-be-named is proposing, right?"

"Not at all."

"But you're here because you're craving acceptance from your family?"

"If you want to get psychological, yes." Oliver sighed, obviously hoping the questioning was done and I would pass my judgment. But I still have one more thing I'd like to know.

"And what was the mission they gave you?"

Oliver sucked in the breath he'd just let out, and I caught myself nearly throwing myself off his chest just to see his face. His eyes were slightly widened, but he was looking right at me. It was the equivalent of a deer caught in the headlights, and my mind immediately jumped to all sorts of horrible conclusions. He was going to kill McGonagal now? He was about to head an attack on Hogwarts?

"They sent me here to find out who the person is whose animagus was a falcon, and…" My heart stopped - he was sent here for me? Immediately, Oliver's voice broke when he saw what was probably unadulterated horror in my eyes.

"And what," I prompted, "Kill me? Track me?"

"Recruit you."

In that moment, time stopped, and I began to question my surroundings. Recruit me? As in convince me to be a Death Eater and work for Voldemort? How could he do that? By making me fall in love with him; a stereotypical teenage girl would follow her first love anywhere.

"Darling, I didn't know it was you-" Oliver used both his hands, one of which had found its way to my waist, to pull me closer to him, but he was too late; I was out of bed and collecting my things. Oliver reacted to my actions by sounding panicked - was he panicked because I was leaving and he wanted me to stay or because I still didn't have a pretty tattoo on my arm yet? "No, Aly, please, I've been completely honest with yo-"

"Completely honest?" I turned on him suddenly, only in my PJ top and underpants, "What about when you told me you were on Harry's side, all the times that we joked about how ridiculous your-" I meant to say 'Lord,' but I couldn't physically form the words, "Your Dark… person-" That was obvious, "how ridiculous his arguments were!"

"I do think he arguments are ridiculous! And-" Oliver's voice fell, and he was very obviously ashamed of himself, "And I never actually said I was on Harry's side."

And at that moment, the anger started to bubble up inside of me; before I hurt, scared and confused; now I'm like a cornered animal about to fight back, "You fed me such bullshit, and all to try and turn me?"

"It wasn't bullshit, Aly; I didn't even know it was you! Not until you told me; and I… I got so scared that I broke up with you. I don't want you to have this life, Aly; I'd do anything to keep you out of it!"

Finally fully dressed and heading for the bathroom door, I turned on my heel towards him, "Oh really? Then why'd you come here to force it on me!?" Apparently this is how a cornered animal fights back.

"I wasn't lying about anything else! I really did see you for the first time over in Diagon Alley with-"

"Just shut up, Wood," I spat back, quite sure that I didn't want to hear what he had to say. I was confused enough. "I… I have to go think."

"I would ne-" I was through the door, trying to force myself to calm down.

He was here for me; he wanted me on his side of the war. But he said he didn't. I shook my head, my hands knotted in my hair and my arms flaying to either side of me. It didn't make sense, not logically; there was no real way for me to be certain of what Wood was lying about, and what he was telling the truth about.

As soon as I got to my room, I realized that just being in my room wasn't enough; I had to get out, I had to get away from Hogwarts, from anything that would remind me of Wood. For the split second that I was flying out my window, my arms were stretched and I felt like I was going to die.

It was dangerous for me to be morphing, but there was no reason for the school not to know; the Death Eaters know who I am, anyway. I heard people screaming - Lord knows why there was even anyone outside, but it's understandable for them to be screaming. After all, they're watching their Head Girl jump out at a height that would kill her.

Enough of my body changed mid-way through that I started to glide diagonally away from the castle, letting the wind currents take me away.

Above everything else I heard as I was falling, one thing stood out, and it killed me; for whatever reason, Oliver saw me falling; I know it was him. He was the only one at the school with a Scottish accent anymore. And he saw me fall, and he was screaming for me. But what got to me was that he sounded so… scared.