Genre: Dark, Romance (in a roundabout way)

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Summary: Fate doesn't take sides.

Disclaimer: Property of Rowling and assorted large corporations, who don't have time to sue li'l old me. I hope.

AN: Another fic without names, but I think the H/D is pretty much a given. However, it is still pretty obscure. If anyone can give me tips on how to write coherently, my e-mail addy's just a click away... ^_~ Also, I want to thank Scottygirl for sacrificing a minute of maths class to beta this and HD & DK for their supportive exclamations of 'Get that disgusting slash out of our notebook right now!' What would I do without you guys?

You hate him.

Really, really hate him.

Just seeing his face makes you sick to your stomach, and when he looks at you, you want to poke out those sickly green eyes with his precious sword of Gryffindor, just because you can.

You will break him. You know you won't be beaten, because Fate has decided to intervene on your behalf. Sweet, wonderful Fate, in whom you would never admit to believing, has ordered her weavers to spin a complex cloth for you, in which the colours silver and green dominate over all others and red and gold are stifled by coldness.

He loves you.

What a beatiful, bitter irony that is. As he opens his mouth and says this, you resist the urge to grimace at the sound of his grating whisper, and instead rejoice at the way he is playing right into your hand.

After all, you're going to crush him, and a scalding shower will purge your skin of any remnants of him. Besides, he's a good fuck.

But what you don't know is that is doing just the same; smirking at his dishevelled reflection, knowing that, in the end, you will be the first to break.