AN: Um, my friend Kate wanted me to write something like this. So I did.
Disclaimer: Not mine!

You hate the distasteful look in her eyes. The one that screams, I'm better than you. You're almost certain that it's been etched since she had first laid eyes on you, then taking to reserving the look just for these certain special occasions.

"Why did you do it?" she whispers, looking vulnerable, child-like . . . scared. Scared of what? You? This was new. She'd had great loathe, great caution but never fear.

"I didn't," you hiss with a surprising amount of vigor. "I just– I couldn't.

She intakes one shaky breath. "Why not?"

You rest two of your fingers on your temple and nearly cry out with frustration. "I don't know, okay? Is that the answer you're searching for? It was too hard."

"Of course it was," comes her reply, sickeningly sympathetic and sweet. "It's Headmaster Dumbledore. It'd be impossible to do so."

"But I could of!" I growl. "I had the chance, I had the old man right where he needed to be. . ." you shake your head, replaying the nonsensical moment continuously in your head. "But I faltered. I fucking– I gave up, okay? I am a lot of things, Granger."

"A git, an arse, an egotistical prat?" she suggested with a wry, bitter smile.

"Among other of my best traits," you scoff, dismissing the comment. "But I am not a killer."

"You wanted to be a Death Eater!" she spat. "What did you think they did, sing happy little rhymes?"

Your voice lowers an octave. "I knew what they did. I just never quite figured that my–"

"–choices were as stupid as they truly are?"

"–conscience would attack.

"You have no idea what it's like to be in my shoes. To be standing there, wand in hand ready to utter the words but you can't. Hesitant, dropping. Showing signs of weakness. Having to be the one to kill Dumbledore. No one quite understands." A tortured look overtook his eyes. "No one really will ever understand," you find yourself saying, hating your voice for breaking, detesting your eyes for giving your feelings away.

"I don't know quite what to say."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're just fucking perfect. No bonds to Voldemort that risk your life. Not having to live with this damned mark." You can't bring yourself to look at it.

"I am not perfect," she whispers in a hurt little girl voice.

"Right," you retort, sarcasm leaping from your voice.

She looks up at you, annoying wounded look still traced among her eye. In a swift moment, you quickly you didn't even see it coming, she leans up and kisses you so lightly on the lips you can barely feel it.

"I understand more than you know."

This changes nothing. You still bear the dark mark, will still pay for your choices; your mistakes. She understands nothing, of course. It's all utter shite.

But just for a few minutes it can't hurt to pretend, you figure, and so you give in and kiss her. But this time, you can both feel it.