You're ashamed of me.

"I am not."

I am not.

"Then how come you turn the lights out, every time we fuck?" He looks at me expectantly, as if I know something he doesn't.

"What does that matter?" I ask. "I am not ashamed of you. Don't you understand, I am not ashamed."

"No," he says, tilting his head. I can see the light hairs on his chest, spread out. He's always had that pale, angelic appearance. He emits a white glow that I can't resist. I've never been able to. His silver strands are covering his eyes, which are unreadable and cold. His gray pools, that sometimes I need to drown into.

He comes toward me, clutching me by my chin.

"Potter," he snarls. My breathing gets heavier, along with my heartbeat. My pulse quickens, and I can feel his fingertips tapping against my chin, but now his fingers are pondering my bare chest. He moves gracefully, exploring every inch of skin that I have, moving across my nipples, and kissing my lips while he does.

I am not ashamed.

I am not.

And yet I feel so insecure. We're out in the open, we shouldn't be doing this. Even if nobody is around, the light is still beaming on us, and I feel exposed. Exposed of something that I take pleasure in, but feel guilty afterwards. It's my biggest secret. My biggest secret. I can't let it go. But I am doing something wrong. Something unnatural. Something abnormal.

When we're finished, we're slick with sweat, against each other in heat waves. But then, I pull back, and make the mistake of turning off the light. I can't stand to see his happy face glowering at me, as if what we did is nice and right. It's not right. No matter how long I convince myself, it's not right.

"You're fucked up," he snaps. "You're fucked up, you know that?"

"Malfoy..." I start, but he's already gathering his cloak on again.

"You weren't lying," he says. "You aren't ashamed of me."

I look at him, dumbfounded, not knowing whether he's being sarcastic or not.

"You're ashamed of yourself."

And then he leaves. There are several moments that I seem to recall the moments we've spent together so far, moving against each other, him panting against me, his chest against mine, and I know he'd feel my heartbeat, so I pulled away awkwardly. I look into the bathroom mirror, the darkness blocking my face. I cannot see myself.

I put the light once more, and it shines in my eyes, blinding me for a moment.

I sigh, closing my eyes in the intensity surrounding me.

You're ashamed of yourself.

I could stop it, I could stop trying to pretend I am not who I am, and let my secret out. I could do the right thing and let my friends know what I am.

But I can't.

I can't.

I turn the light out, so my reflection does not show...

So that I don't face myself yet.