First and foremost, people don’t know. It’s for our safety as much as for our pride. If Ron Weasley found out, I’d be in for a beating. If either Ginny Weasley or Pansy found out, we’d both be. If any of the teachers found out, well, I don’t want to know what would happen. Snape hates Harry, and all the others hate me. Some of them might keep it concealed for his sake, but if they thought of a way around that-I wouldn’t put it past Harry to accuse me of rape-I’d probably end up in Azkaban for ten years at least.
That’s the second rule-we don’t assume anything. We don’t assume the other won’t suddenly turn around and accuse us of terrible crimes. We simply take that risk along with all the others. We don’t even assume the other will be there. I’ve spent countless nights waiting in some classroom for him, but I’m never surprised when he doesn’t show up. He’s done the same, of course. I deliberately arrange a rendevous, then I don’t show.
Trouble is, I don’t sleep when I do that. I try my hardest. But counting puffskeins never helps me sleep anymore. And though I think of the most peaceful scenes I can, my most peaceful memory is that of curling up behind the sofa in my father’s study, in the years before he starting tell me I was too old to curl up behind sofas anymore, and listening to him and his visitors. Thoughts of my father and thoughts of Harry in close proximity to each other makes me feel too guilty for sleep.
I hate feeling guilty. The third rule is supposed to be that we don’t feel guilty. I hope he breaks it too. If I have to suffer, at least he should suffer with me. Especially because I’m supposed to be the Slytherin, not him. In fact, I really hope he doesn’t sleep either, on the nights when he stands me up. If I have a class with him the day after he’s stood me up, I always look for signs of exhaustion. But he always looks tired these days, so I can’t tell whether or not he’s slept that particular night.
Still, I think he doesn’t sleep. I don’t assume it, I just think it. There’s a difference.
One wonders if we can really say we have that as a rule if we break it, especially because its one of the unspoken ones. But we’ve both struggled so much not to, or at least I have, and I’m almost sure he has (if it wasn’t for the second rule I would be completely sure), that we might as well call it a rule.
But the fourth rule, which is related to the third rule, we do keep. We don’t make any attempts to change the other’s loyalties. We both know better. If he’s not going to change, neither am I. Best to instead not remember that we’re on opposite sides when we’re together. We have enough personal animosity to deal with without dragging the rest of the world into it.
Besides, I like forgetting about the war for a bit. Because the truth is, I don’t think it’s going to turn out well for me. Sure, it looks like we’re winning right now. But something tells me in the end Harry’s going to win. It may be some time and a lot of Muggles and Mudbloods and others will die, but then...well, I might die. Even if we win, there’s no guarantee I’ll live to see it. And I really have the growing feeling I won't.
One would think if I really believed that, I ought to switch sides to save my skin. I’m not sure why I don’t. No wait, it could only really be one thing, because it isn’t loyalty to the Dark Lord himself. That’s what you’d assume it would be, but it isn’t. It’s because I’m not going to be on the same side as Harry. I just won’t be.
And there’s the fifth rule. We hate each other. In fact, we have to hate each other more than we used to. Our hatred is unbreakable, and time will do nothing but strengthen it.
I sure hope he follows that rule. I hope he wants to kill me. And then I hope he doesn’t get the satisfaction. If I have to be killed during this war, let me at least not provide him with triumph and elation.
Especially because I know better than to think I’ll be the one to kill him. In this picture, he’s much bigger than I am, and I know that.
I sure would like to be the one to kill him. What a sight he’d be, going down in front of my wand. What frustrated feeling there would be in his face. I think if I could have the privilege of killing him, in exchange to falling myself a moment later, I’d accept the trade. Even the person to kill me would be his Mudblood, or one of the Weasleys.
I’m going to kill one of them. I don’t care which one. Obviously his best friend would work the best, but then I suppose Harry would get to kill me. Unless the Mudblood beat him to it. I suppose she might.
There’s one final thing I wish could be a rule, but I’m not sure he’d agree to even attempting it. And that is this: we don’t forget each other. If either of us survive this war, neither of us will ever, ever forget the other. Of course, I would prefer to forget him, and he would prefer to forget me, so that rule would have to be forced on both of us. But since I know I’d never forget him, I sure hope I haunt Harry Potter for the rest of his natural-born life.
Whatever else I endure for this, that would make it worth it.