The plant's dead.

The leaves should be bright and green; instead they're brown and crumbling. It should have grown, but it hasn't.

They said it would be easy to look after. Just water it once and day and it'll take care of itself. You watered it once a day, but it died.

Because of you. You're poison. You killed that plant, as surely as if you'd cursed it.

Are you surprised? No. Why would you be? You knew, the second that little plant pot was placed in your hand that the plant would be dead by the end of the week. You killed it within four days.

Impressive, you think dryly. If they gave awards for the lousiest plant...keeper...you'd win. Hands down. Could anyone else have killed it so fast?

Ha. Of course not. You're the poison prince, and no one is a good as you. Or as bad. Should it be bad? As bad as you...? You think on that for a moment, before deciding you don't care either way.

The Poison Prince.

Ha. You like that. Mother always said you were her little prince. Or her angel.

Dark Angel.

You could be a damn good super-villian with these names. Only, you'd probably fail at that. You're useless, remember?

The Worst Death Eater Ever.

Nah, you prefer Poison Prince. Royalty. You're royalty. Father always said you came from the purest blood line. That if the wizarding world allowed royalty, you would be it. Your family would reign over the land.

You laugh dryly at that. You, in charge of the country? We'd all be dead within weeks.

Ask the plant. The plant knows you're poison, useless.

If you can't keep a little plant alive, how could you manage a country? Honestly, father's just delusional.

What should you do with the plant? Bury it? Do you bury plants? Don't they decompose and...something. You don't really remember, although you're sure someone explained it to you, once upon a time. Isn't it good for plants to decompose in the ground?

You snigger a little at the thought of having a little plant-funeral. Imagine, your best black robes, and mother sniffling, and father looking all sombre as you bid the dead leaves goodbye.

It's a strange image, and for one moment you wonder if you're going mad. Probably. Just another reason to stay away from Astoria.

You should tell her you're going mad. Then she won't be so convinced that the two of you could make it work. You should tell her you're poison. She'll stay away then. Give her the plant as proof.

If I killed a plant, I'd destroy you.

You don't want to hurt her. God, you're terrified you'll hurt her. The second you realised you loved her you had to end it. You love her to much to risk breaking her.

Why doesn't she understand? You tried to tell her, to explain, but she just smiled softly, in that way she does, and said you were sweet, but she's a big girl. Can take care of herself.

Not from you. There's no protection from you.

You'll give her the plant. Give her the plant, tell her you're poison, and get the hell away from her before she dies like that damn plant.

The plant's dead, because you're poison. The relationship - the only thing in your life worth anything - is dead, because you're poison. You won't let Astoria end up dead because you're poison.

Poison. It's all you are, all you'll ever be.

Just poison.