A/N: Okies, this is pretty dark, although to what extent depends on your definition of darkness. But there are adult references, so I wouldn't recommend this for light reading and I'm not sure whether I'm being too lenient with the rating. This is really a bit rubbish to be honest!! I wrote this with Draco and Hermione clearly in mind, although if you want to imagine it as others in the HP books then that could work too. This is pretty weird, it may not all make sense, but that was intended to reflect the character's feelings. It literally just spilled out so the spelling is probably all rubbish. It is very abstract compared to the rest of my stuff, and it is different, so you might hate it, but I don't care as long as you REVIEW and tell me what you think!! Be honest, be harsh as long as you are constructive at the same time. This is an absolute PLEA for reviews, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review me!!!!!

Love to all the wonderful reviewers from my other stories, and to all reviewers! Now I'm going to impulsively post this before I change my mind…

*Serene~

Languor. The word fitted him so perfectly; she rolled it over her tongue, tasting every delicious syllable. He lolled on the grassy knoll by the lake and his reflection darted all over the lake and her eyes as at every ripple his face became more distorted. Yet if she looked at his reflection, as if by reflex her eyes became dreamy and unfocused and that was the point at which his features became the sharpest and she could detect any hint of emotion on his seemingly blank face.

He was so cold it seemed he was carved of ice, and it scared her, she who always had lived in the warmth of her family, of her life…of knowing that she was so much different to him and always would be. It always had given her a slow, guilt-ridden spread of warmth all over her body to know that she was so much better than him…so much different to him.

Yet his differences that had once served as a repellent stronger than anything she had felt before-loathing, disgust, hatred that coursed through her veins like the strongest kind of anger, or fury, or love. It was madness, the intensity of what she felt for him…fleeting bursts of pleasure to be swiftly replaced by utter loathing, both of him and herself as she mentally chastised herself for loving his face. It was sculpted out of the palest kind of marble, which looked like it never touched anything, and it was made of steel so that he never had to feel anything. And she love-NO. If it was possible to glare at oneself, at that moment she would have unleashed the fury of Medusa's snakes, hissing her name in fury… and then his… because she could never think of anything else because she never did think of anything else because she couldn't ever stop.

She knew intimately the exquisite torture that junkies felt when getting high because she knew the feeling well…of becoming dizzy, and flying, high about expectations to a place where nothing else was expected of her, or of him. Then their souls could intertwine and twist into contorted shapes that looked grotesque, but in a way that looked so utterly beautiful to her that it was difficult when she came back to reality not to scream in frustration, because it was a fantasy world. She wanted to drink herself into a stupor, but that was for lesser mortals, like him…and oh how she wanted to be a lesser mortal so she could be dirty and filthy and slash her skin to make herself less perfect, just because she wanted to for him and his sake, and because she could, and because she needed him and if that was how she could find him and be a part of him then that was what she would have to do.

Because as long as she was in this world, and the next…and the next…she could never be separated from him or she would die a fate as bad as a Dementor's Kiss-she would lose her soul, her will to live, even her will to die. She would never want to do anything anymore because he wouldn't be there to sneer at her and make fun at her for all her achievements that meant as little to her as uncarved stone-for his face was carved stone…with little lines…she had memorised every line and crevice on his face and could see it in her mind better than she could her own. But yet it was not enough.

She needed him, not some contorted image that her disturbed mind could create and picture whenever she missed him too much and started hurting herself. Sometimes she wished that she could at least maintain some element of self-control around him, some sort of wounded dignity for all the pain he had willingly and unknowingly caused her over the years, but she merely crumpled like a wilting daisy and all she could hear was a high-pitched sound that she had never before heard in life, that must somehow come from somewhere higher and better than heaven. All she could see was a blinding light that blinded and binded her to all his faults and yet let her fall so easily into his darkness that was an aura that surrounded him wherever he went like a physical replica of his suffering.

And she knew he was afraid of her. So, so afraid. Because he knew that she could see right through all the walls he had constructed out of steel, with a steel heart and mind into his real heart. His tainted, black, withered by lack of love, heart. And he knew that she loved him completely.