Dead Man

H never thought she could ever fall in love with a dead man.

The thought of S's death never crossed her mind.

...?

Yuki and Kagome painting...
Kagome paints ...?

Lists

Hermione had learnt the benefits of list-writing when she was young.

It all began when she was ten. Hermione had decided to take up a couple of projects that she thought she could handle. Her mother had advised her to write everything down, along with the details of her undertakings. Unfortunately, as most ten year olds do, she had blatantly overestimated herself and ignored what her mother said. She was left with a pile of mess that she was stuck with cleaning for the rest of the week.

It would be rather logical then for Hermione to make a list of hypotheses to her current predicament. She took out a piece of paper and transfigured a quill from a comb left lying carelessly around. She was thankful for the privacy that she had. The Dursleys had made a trip to visit their Aunt Marge because of some ‘family emergency’. Ron was taking a walk (“I do hope he doesn’t attempt any magic in front of muggles!”) and Harry was sleeping in his cramped bedroom.

She sat down at the dining table and began writing. The familiar sounds of her quill scratching paper slightly soothed her.

Problem: 1) Harry isn't talking to me.

Hermione had seriously no idea what was going on. Hermione hated not knowing something, feeling out of place – especially when it had something to do with either Harry or Ron.

She, Harry and Ron had gone to Harry's 'relatives' house just the day before. Harry had threatened them with magic, as both Hermione and Ron were already of age. Luckily, Mr. Dursley was completely terrified of them and consented to Harry’s request of letting both Hermione and Ron to stay at the house for the week. Of course, it did not prevent Vernon Dursley to curse colourfully under his breath.

Harry was (rather) deliriously happy.

Hermione had suggested that they went out to the muggle world, much to Ron’s delight – to temporarily forget their worries. After all, they were living on borrowed time as it is. Their days had been rather limited since Voldemort became more ruthless than he already was, killing as many people as his Death Eaters could get their hands on. Pureblood or Muggleborn, Wizard or Muggle – it didn’t really matter, as long as everyone was terrified of him.

And they were.

Hermione had taken them sightseeing. Harry, cooped up in his house every summer and Ron, being a Pureblood wizard who did not see anything muggle other than the Dursleys’ home – enjoyed themselves thoroughly. The day had gone by rather smoothly as there no squabbles between Ron and herself nor there any detectable brooding by Harry.

Which was why Hermione was tearing her hair out (almost) in confusion on why Harry could completely ignore her while chatting cheerfully to an oblivious Ron.

Hypothesis (1):

(a) I have accidentally insulted/degraded/hurt/etc. him in some way which I cannot fathom at the present moment.

(b) Harry just needs some quality ‘bonding time’ with Ron and it is a signal for me to leave them to themselves for a while.

(c) Harry hates me.

Hermione studied her hypothesis slowly. (a) was rather probable, although Harry was more likely to confront her with any misunderstanding that might occur. After all, his maturity had certainly blossomed from his fifth year when he was continuously screaming at his two friends without a chance for them to explain. Near-death experiences tend to be quite reforming. Hermione crossed out hypothesis (a).

(b), on the other hand could be possible – if Harry had not spent the previous days completely with Ron. Harry had called them ‘man to man’ sessions. It would be believable if Hermione considered the both of them men. In her eyes, Harry was still the skinny little boy with cello taped glasses occupying most of his narrow and Ron the tall, lanky boy with dirt on his nose. Even if they were men, (she scoffed at the word) Hermione had been ‘one of the guys’ (according to Ron) to her best friends. Therefore, they would never exclude her out of anything – except for Quidditch and the occasional dorm room confessions. Reasoning to herself, she crossed out (b).

She was left with (c). Hermione shook her head at the impossibility of her hypothesis. After all, Harry had been her friend for six years. There was simply no way Harry could hate her, right? Right?

She was brought back to a quote her mother had once uttered.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Does this mean that Harry hates me? Unless there is some other explanation it must be the truth!

She looked at the parchment anxiously, of which she had unconciously scribbled her worry on it. Hermione closed her eyes in frustration, and began to massage her forehead. She left her list on kitchen table and decided to take a little fresh air to clear her thoughts. After all, she felt rather immature to analyze so thoroughly something that might just been a mood swing. A very long and horrible mood swing, that is.

She was about to walk out the front door when she found out it was locked.

“Honestly…” she muttered, fishing out her wand. She pointed it at the door and whispered an always-handy “Alohomora.”

“Hermione,”

She paused.

Hermione recognized the voice immediately. Unidentifiable joy filled her, as Harry finally spoke to her for the first time in that entire day. She turned to face a blushing Harry Potter.

It was then when Hermione realized how tall he really was, not as tall as Ron was – but tall nonetheless.

Harry was adjusting his glasses nervously, his usual trait whenever he felt uncomfortable. Hermione was suddenly struck at how adorable the man-boy looked at that moment.

After a few moments of staring at her best friend for six years, she finally noticed the piece of rather crumpled paper that Harry was holding.

Her list.

Her blood turned to ice.

“Hermione-” Harry began. He shook his head furiously, as if angry at himself. “I’m really sorry for what I’m going to do to you right now.”

“What do you m-“

Hermione could not continue, even if she wanted to- as she was kissed by Harry Potter.

She felt his soft lips on hers, the tingle of his touch as he pulled her closer. Warmth filled her senses as she noted how comfortable it was to be this close to Harry. Her thoughts fled when Harry deepened the kiss, his tongue softly touching her lips. She kissed back with a passion she had never known. All she needed was to be closer to him. And she was. She wrapped her hands around him tightly, feeling as if she never wanted to let him go. Her body seemed to fit against his perfectly, as if it was made for that sole purpose.

They broke apart.

“Wow.” Hermione first word was.

“Wow.”

Hermione had never felt such a horrible pause of silence in her life.

“I’m really sorry, Hermione.” Harry said anxiously, raking his hand through his messy hair. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why?”

Harry looked up, startled. “You and Ron are meant to be, after all. I should not have done that to you. Let’s forget about it, okay? I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Not with Voldemort rising and-“

“Why did you kiss me?” she interrupted.

“I just couldn’t stand it anymore,” Harry said clenching his fists. “The way you talked, the way you sigh in frustration at me and Ron whenever we don’t do something you want us to, the way you do simple things for me without expecting anything back… I tried to fight it, Hermione; by ignoring you…”

“You don’t hate me, then?” asked Hermione tentatively.

Harry laughed hoarsely.

“What I feel is anything but hatred. I thought by talking to you less I could forget you. And when I saw that list,” he gestured to the ball of paper left forgotten on the floor. “I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hermione, for the brightest witch in Hogwarts – you sure are dense. Did you ever consider (d) Harry Potter might be in love with Hermione Granger?”

At that moment, that sweet, sweet moment, Hermione knew that she was in love with Harry Potter, her best friends of six years.

She pulled him into a kiss.

“I might, I just might consider that.” Hermione said breathlessly, after they broke apart.

---

Love is a decision not an emotion or feeling,
that if made from the heart will outlast anything...

- Raul and Samantha Juarez –

---

:Finite:

In The Well - Chapter 2

Sesshoumaru was in the midst of doing something he thought he would never do. Have a conversation, (though not a very civil one) with a human being - a Miko, but a human nevertheless. He never thought he would sink as low.

Which was why when said human fell unceremoniously on top on him, he was less than pleased. When she started to panic at the sight of something other than the bottom of an old well, he was admittedly irritated. Her flailing arms were, after all; smacking him repeatedly on his face - something that he did not take too well towards.

"I would appreciate it if you would kindly stop screaming and calm down, Miko." Sesshoumaru said; his voice strained with suppressed anger. He could not exactly kill his only hope for escaping from the humiliating barrier the dark Miko had set around him.

The Miko had wide blue-grey eyes and black hair, a rather common trait shared by humans of Japan. Said eyes focused on him once the Miko finally gathered her wits.

"Are you sure you are Youkai?" she asked insiquitively. "You look perfectly human for me. Except for the ears. And the eyes. And the hair. And the claws. And, ooh... The cool tattoos on your face."

Sesshoumaru was outraged, or as outraged as he could allow himself to be through the cold exterior that he had planted around himself. He had never been so insulted before - never been compared to a mere human, when he already despised ordinary Youkai.

"Do not presume such matters just because you have not seen me in my true form." He growled slightly.

"Suuuure..." said the annoying Miko, rolling her eyes; as if not believing him.

Sesshoumaru could feel red bleeding in the white of his eyes, his instincts demanding him to make her regret her words. His Youki flared and he could smell the acidic scent of poison dripping slightly from his claws. The fumes could very well make an ordinary human ill, but a Miko could purify the fumes enough not to be affected by it. In other words, all he wanted to do was to scare the girl a little, intimidate her and let her know her place.

The Miko merely goggled at his eyes.

"So you aren't lying after all."

"This Sesshoumaru, Lord of Western Lands; does not lie!" he said indignantly.

The Miko glared at the barrier around them, as if she could will it to disappear by mere thought. Sesshoumaru watched her, mildly entertained at her determination.

"Of course you don’t… But how am I going to get out of here?" she finally wailed, after a few minutes when the barrier did not dissipate when she stared at it.

"This Sesshoumaru would suggest climbing." He said, pointing to the stone walls surrounding them. He crossed his arms and watched as a horrified expression crossed the Miko's face.

"What if I fall?" she cried, her eyes fixed on him, as if begging him for help.

"Even if you are human, I doubt death would come so easily." said Sesshoumaru dismissively.

"I'm not talking about death, but possibly severe injuries!" she complained, waving her arms about. "Concussions, dislocated spines..."

"And cuts and bruises that would probably take you but a few days to heal." He said, interrupting her rambling impatiently. Despite her animated ranting, he wanted to see whether she could get out of the barrier. He was not exactly pleased at the thought of spending the next few days with her until she finally dies of starvation. He could almost imagine the putrid smell.

"Hmph," pouted the Miko. He felt a flash of unexpected endearment and squashed it down before it could develop into anything else. She began to climb and Sesshoumaru enjoyed the view. He was, after all, male, and being sealed in a well for five hundred years was not much help. He was slightly surprised that she had enough strength to pull herself up, he had thought she was the kind of simpering human female who did nothing but eat and sleep like most of the spoiled Hime that he had met before.

"Oh. It worked." he commented, as he watched her exit the well with relative ease.

"Did you expect it not to?" he could hear her muffled voice from the 'outside' (as he had labelled it).

"I had thought the barrier might have blocked you as if had blocked me." he said truthfully, trying to figure out the complicated curse the damned Dark Miko had put on him.

"What?!" screeched the Miko. Sesshoumaru's ears twinged slightly. "Wouldn't you even care if I had gotten injured?"

"The most the barrier could do was to constrain you, Miko." Sesshoumaru growled slightly. She was taxing on his patience the way no one could. (Which was mostly due to the fact that no one had ever actually dared to annoy him - the penalty was, as they all had known; death or the loss of vital body parts)

"Well, it did not," said the Miko in a huff. She was obviously angry and Sesshoumaru could almost picture her crossing her arms over her chest.

"That is... peculiar," he said, slowly revising the facts he had about the barrier. "It seems that you can escape but I could not."

There was a short pause from the Miko before she began to speak thoughtfully: "I wonder if I can get out of the barrier if I fall in again..."

"Would you risk eternal imprisonment with this Sesshoumaru should you be unable to exit?" he said dryly.

"I don't think that's likely to happen." said the Miko, as she put a leg (a rather nice one, he noted silently) over the well and began climbing down again. "The barrier might reject me from entering in the first place." As each leg crouched lower, closer to the barrier; Sesshoumaru felt anticipation clawing at his nerves. He was barraged by the possibilities of what would happen - and was not disappointed when she landed on her feet next to him.

"Ta-da!" she said triumphantly. Sesshoumaru could only stare at her blankly. When she noticed the lack of enthusiasm, she grumbled something that went like; 'bloody emotionless Youkai' and said: "Now to climb up the well one more time... Seriously, this is more exercise than I have been doing the past week."

Noticing that the comment was directed more to her own self, Sesshoumaru wisely refrained from yet again insulting her intelligence.

A few minutes of waiting later, along with an apparently scraped knee and a few random cuts from the irregular surface of the stone that built the well, the Miko stood outside the well once more.

"Do you think that anyone other than yourself can enter this well, Miko?" Sesshoumaru asked, once the complaints of the slight injuries had ended.

“I-I don’t know,” the Miko admitted. “I might bring Buyo along next time for confirmation.”

“Wh-?” began Sesshoumaru.

“I’ve got to go! I promised to meet Ayame for the double date she set! I’ll be back, soon!”

And she was gone, even before he could ask the meaning of the strange words she had uttered.

‘How uncouth,’ he muttered darkly to himself, wishing that the newfound attraction he had for this odd Miko whose name he didn’t even know would go just away.

-------------

“Where were you?”

A red haired, green haired young woman stood at the door, glaring at Kagome.

“I assumed when you said you would come over, it would be immediately.” She raved. “Do you know I cancelled a prior arrangement with one of my patients just because you were coming?”

“Don’t pretend it was a huge sacrifice on your part,” Kagome laughed. “You and I know you probably cancelled Mrs. Utari’s appointment – the woman you have repeatedly told her that she could easily find the solution to the diminutive problems that she appeared to always have if she merely found the time to mull over them a little. This is also the same person whom you only agree to see because she pays generously.”

“That’s not the point.” Huffed Ayame. “Come in already.”

Kagome entered the cosy three room apartment; a joint place Sango and Ayame had paid for. Kagome had stayed in the cramped apartment she called her home because it was paid for by her distant uncle who lived somewhere in China.

The apartment had a small living room with a kitchen of sorts attached. It branched into two equally small bedrooms that belonged to Sango and Ayame respectively. The two girls had managed to squash a maroon sofa, a quaint coffee table and a television that had been a graduation present from Sango’s parents, despite the miniscule size of the room.

“So, when are we going out with your patient and his friend?” asked Kagome. “I need names to make sure I haven’t seen them on the wanted ads, by the way.”

“Kouga Ookami and his friend’s name is Yeenu something, I can’t remember exactly.” Ayame muttered, shaking her head.

“Yeenu?” asked Kagome dryly. “That sounds interesting. What, is he foreign?”

“No, Japanese.” Ayame replied, biting her lip as she walked towards the fridge, rummaged for a while before grabbing a mauled can of Coke and a bottle of juice. “But I heard he looks… different, slightly exotic I think. I remember Kouga telling me something about him but I can’t quite remember.”

“Er… Sure.” Kagome said, blinking. She caught the bottle of juice with practised ease. “When is this date again?”

“Kagome,” Ayame said, squirming. “Don’t-kill-me-for-this.”

“Why? What are you talking about?” asked a confused Kagome, sipping at the juice as she lounged on the sofa.

“It’s today, at six.”

“Oh okay- What?!” shrieked Kagome. “Whatever possessed you to tell me on the very day itself that I’m supposed to go on a date?”

“Well,” trailed Ayame nervously. “He kind of asked me yesterday, and it’s safer for me to do that so you have less time to change your mind.”

“Great,” cursed Kagome. “So I’m resigned to a horrible day no matter what?”

“I’m sorry, Kagome.” Ayame said apologetically. “But I really was drawn to him by his sincerity and I couldn’t date someone new without a person I know around after…” her voice wavered and she paused, unable to find words to say.

“You know I’ll do it for you, despite all the complaining,” Kagome said reassuringly.

“Wait -why did you come over when we could have easily settled everything through the phone?” asked Ayame all of a sudden, true psychiatrist at heart; always trying to figure out motives behind simple gestures.

“Well, my phone bill had been reaching to extents not known to man.” Kagome said, laughing. It was a half-hearted lie - obvious to Ayame who had been accustomed to Kagome’s pathetic attempts to fib.

“Seriously, Kagome-” Ayame said with a sigh, plopping herself down on the couch as she toyed with a fluffy cushion. “Tell me. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“And have you explain in words I cannot understand about my behavioural patterns?” Kagome asked, frowning slightly as she faced Ayame. “Never mind - I know you would never do that to a friend. It’s nothing.”

“There is never ‘nothing’ when you act like that around me.” Ayame said confrontationally. “I wish Sango were here, and then both of us would force it out of you; whatever’s that’s bothering you.”

“Okay fine… Stop making me feel bad with your ‘concerned friend’ charade.” Kagome complained. Ayame opened her mouth to rebut when Kagome raised a hand. “I know it isn’t a charade. I’m just saying that because – I don’t know. It’s just that I haven’t talked to mum for ages since Akito moved in... Amd I'd really just like to get away from all that.”

“That’s what’s troubling you?” Ayame cried in shock. “You’ve been indifferent on that subject all this while. In fact, I, your best friend;” she said, almost self-importantly. “-didn’t even notice that you were troubled until you came over for a mere thing as setting a date.”

“You, as a normal human being; shouldn’t even realize there was anything bothering me over an innocent act like me visiting you!” Kagome said, rolling her eyes. “As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted…” she said dramatically, with Ayame groaning in response. “I haven’t had a decent conversation with my mother for ages. I feel like a stranger around her, as if I wasn’t her daughter anymore.”

“It’s probably because you weren’t ‘consulted’ when your mother decided to have a man move in the shrine with your grandfather.” Ayame pondered. “Souta’s in Tokyo University, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but let’s not get sidetracked.” Kagome said, nervously remembering the time where a conversation they had veered from the actual content of Kohaku’s (Sango’s younger brother who was aspiring to be the World’s renowned cook) ramen to the colour of Hojo’s underwear. (Kagome’s colleague who had worn extremely low cut jeans that one time) “I want the close knit relationship I had with my mother to return – but Akito seems to be always there when I talk to her, hovering over us.”

“Maybe you should arrange a get-together with her,” suggested Ayame, unravelling one of the threads that was sewn on the cushion case. “It isn’t as complicated as it seems to be.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” replied Kagome with a sad smile. “It never does, at least to the outside observer.”

‘It is not you who feels awkwardness that should not exist between a mother and daughter. It is not you whose mother lives with a man that you do not know. The same man who might be replacing your father, whom you have always adored, in the place in her heart.’ She silently said to herself.

“I guess so…” trailed Ayame. “I’m sorry Kagome.”

“Thanks… Anyway, I have to go,” Kagome said, picking herself up from the sofa. “I have an appointment.”

“An appointment? Whom with?” Ayame managed to ask as Kagome hurriedly put on her slippers.

“The Lord of the Western Lands!”

Ayame smiled at what she thought her friend’s bizarre sense of humour.

-------------

Kagome rushed back to her house, grabbed Buyo, a few random books and headed back to the well – surprised at how easy it was to find it; even with her perfectly lousy sense of direction. She had found her old bicycle in the shed (which she had somehow stupidly forgotten to use when she was rushing to work earlier that morning) and cycled with Buyo perched on the basket.

“You have returned.” Sesshoumaru said, from the well; as soon as her feet touched the grass next to the well.

“Wow,” mused Kagome. “Your auditory and nasal receptors really must be sharp.”

“Hn.” Acknowledged Sesshoumaru, who had appeared to be deep in thought. “Why have you returned, Miko?”

“My name is Kagome, Ka-go-me,” emphasized said person, her hands on her waist. “I came back because I’m curious I guess. And I don’t really want to leave you to rot to death just from a lousy spell.”

“Hn.” Said Sesshoumaru again. “You have brought a cat. I assume that is Buto.”

“Buyo,” Kagome corrected, stroking Buyo’s head gently. “I’m trying to see if other living beings aside from myself can enter the well. I don’t think you would exactly appreciate it if I brought another human.”

There was no response. Kagome took it as a silent agreement and jumped down the well with her arms wrapped around her cat and the books she brought in the satchel on her back.

Her feet touched the ground and she once again stood in front of Sesshoumaru. She looked in her arms to see nothing but air.

“It appears that only you can enter.” He said calmly. “But it seems like your possessions can penetrate the barrier as well.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re inanimate objects?” Was Kagome’s hypothesis.

“Maybe.”

There was silence as they both stared at each other wordlessly.

-

-

-

It was soon interrupted by a disgruntled meow.

“That’s my cue to go,” joked Kagome feebly. “I’ll be back soon but I won’t be here most of the times so I brought these books to accompany you. Or at least temporarily satiate your curiosity.

Sesshoumaru said nothing, merely staring at her. It perplexed her, after all; he had been so talkative earlier that day. She faced the wall and began to climb.

“Wait,” he added out of the blue. “Thank you, Kagome.”

A smile spread across her face. “You’re welcome, Sesshoumaru.”

-------------

“Ayame!” Kagome shouted, knocking Ayame’s bedroom door. “What’s taking you so long? They’re going to be here any minute now!”

“Just a minute, I’m doing my hair!” said Ayame’s muffled voice.

The door bell rang through the air, as if emphasizing the truth of Kagome’s words. Kagome smoothed her white sundress and opened the door casually, slightly dissatisfied at finally meeting her date whose name was Yeenu.

When Kagome saw Kouga Ookami, she realized the true reason Ayame had accepted his offer for a date, despite their anonymity.

“Hello, I’m Kouga Ookami.” A grinning black haired man said at Ayame’s doorstep. “You must be Kagome.”

“I am,” Kagome said with a smile and a polite nod of a head. “I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

‘Sincerity, my ass,’ she thought with a smirk, as she appraised the good looking man standing in front of her. ‘Anyone with half a brain could see that it was anything but!’

“Kouga’s here already?” Kagome heard a squeal from Ayame’s room. A few seconds later, she rushed out and wrapped her hand around her date’s proffered arm.

“Kagome,” Ayame said with a secretive smile, as if unveiling a great surprise – which in a way it was, if this Yeenu guy did not bore Kagome to deepest depths of hell. (She had a suspicion that Ayame already found out the exact name of her date but was keeping it a secret) “Meet your date, Inuyasha Taisho!”

And Kagome came face to face with a man with golden eyes and midnight black hair.

In The Well - Chapter 1

Being late was rather out of the norm.

Perfection was something she always strived for. By default, that particular goal had included being punctual. Unfortunately, being late was something quite impossible to avoid due to a little ball of energy normally addressed as Shippo, Mrs. Takamura's son - and her ward the previous night.

Bane of babysitters (and kind neighbours) all over Tokyo, the boy had managed to 'redecorate' her house so thoroughly it resembled one of which had been ransacked. Damage control took time, and sleeping hours were inevitably reduced.

The inevitable result was tardiness. Car currently indisposed and in repair until the following week; her only alternative was to put her legs to use. She ran as fast as she could, trying to avoid slamming into innocent passerby's.

She was about to turn into a corner when her cell phone rang. Finding it hard to ignore the cheesy ring tone, she stopped with an annoyed sigh; flipped the device open and leaned against a lamp post, ignoring the incredulous stares from the people around her.

"Hello?"

"Kagome?" asked a woman's voice. It was deep and slightly hoarse, suggesting the owner had many hours of talking; no doubt a side-effect of being a psychiatrist. "Why do you sound as if you've been working out? You aren't, are you? I told you, you're not fa-"

"Ayame." Kagome interrupted, frustrated at her friend's rambling. "I need to get to work. Is there anything important?"

"Not really..." Ayame began. "Wait, isn't it your day off today?"

"It can't be- Damn," cursed Kagome exasperatedly, slapping her hand to her forehead. "I completely forgot! All that for nothing... So, what was it you called me for?"

"Erm, there's sort of a new friend I made at work a few days ago," trailed Ayame. "And he asked me out. Not knowing him very well, I asked him to make it a double date instead; and..."

"You need me to come along. I understand," said Kagome, biting her lip before a thought suddenly struck her. "Wait - Ayame, what have I told you about dating your patients?""

"My patients are only what they are because they are mentally or emotionally disturbed. And those with such problems are not suitable dating material. Correspondences should be restricted to appointments and paychecks." Ayame recited faithfully. "I know, but I'd like to give him a chance, he seems so sincere."

"Okay, sure..." Kagome said, giving in to her long time friend - subtly not bringing up the fact that the previous statement had been used to describe her previous dates of which had been anything but sincere. "Why didn't you ask Sango? You know how I feel about these kinds of things."

"She said she's going to Kyoto." Ayame replied automatically, as if expecting the question. "I think she mentioned something about meeting a perverted family friend - Mikuro or something. She wasn't too happy about it, but she said it was a family obligation..." Kagome could almost hear her shrug. "And you know how seriously she takes 'family obligations'."

"Yeah..." agreed Kagome, thinking of the many times she had met Sango's - as she secretly referred to; narrow-minded father (Sango had preferred the term 'traditional' herself). I'll come by later for the details and everything, okay?"

"Thanks, Kagome! I owe you one. Bye!'

"Bye."

Sighing heavily, she wandered away from the sidewalk. She paid little attention to where she was going, her feet somehow working on its own. Her mind was full of thoughts ranging from her unpaid rent to what she was about to have for lunch.

When Kagome finally took in her surroundings, she found herself in what seemed a natural clearing with a somewhat weathered well as its centre. The air was fresh, the grass was beautifully green and Kagome realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was

It seemed unlikely that she was in Tokyo, with the lack of pollution and all. However, it seemed even more unlikely that she was anywhere else, considering that she had been walking for merely a few minutes.

Kagome backtracked and looked around her. Not recognizing any of the streets nearby, she decidedly declared herself lost and went back to the intriguing piece of untouched nature.

She sat down, leaning against the well, clearing her mind of her thoughts and took in the pleasant scent of clean nature. She felt a sense of belonging, as if she was meant to be there. Even the well seemed welcome her, or at least as welcoming as an inanimate object was supposed to be.

The slight breeze caressed her face soothingly and Kagome found herself growing drowsy. The entire atmosphere of the placed made her feel as if she was engulfed with thick, warm blankets. She closed her eyes and-

"Miko."

Her eyes snapped open immediately as she sprung on her feet, scanning the area. Unable to see anything suspicious, she categorized the sound she heard as temporal delusion due to weariness and breathed a sigh of relief. She sat down again and stretched her arms-

"Miko." The word was emphasized loudly, the owner of the voice clearly annoyed at being ignored.

Kagome blinked. She then conducted a simple examination of her senses -which included pinching her cheek and snapping her fingers near her ears to test her hearing. They worked. The voice seemed to originate from the well, she thought. She stood up nervously and peered into the well, biting her lip.

It was empty, with the exception of overgrown weeds and assorted plants she doubted had the ability to speak.

The voice that she heard was probably a side-effect of the expired milk she had forced herself to chug down, she summarized. After all, voices don't come from wells - and even if there was actually someone, it was unlikely that they were addressing her. She was no priestess. It all made very little sense. She never had such a violent reaction to bad milk before. Kagome willed herself to believe her speculation.

Her success was brief.

"Miko." The voice sounded more irritated than it previously was.

Kagome was about to childishly stuff her fingers into her ears, ignore the voice and go her merry way (if she managed to find her way home) when her curiosity beat her common sense.

"W-who are you?" she managed to ask, her throat strangely thick.

"Who I am is none of your concern." The reply came in a form of a cold, clipped voice.

"Excuse me!" Kagome retorted, annoyed, all fear of the unearthly voice she had been hearing suddenly gone. "What do you mean by that!"

"Exactly as I have said." said the emotionless voice again.

She blinked.

"Are you some sort of ghost?" she asked, staring at the air above the well, as if expecting something to materialize after she had made her guess.

"No."

Kagome blew air into her cheeks and crossed her arms, looking every bit like a sulking child, unsatisfied by the answer she had been given.

"At least," Kagome began, "Tell me where you are. So I won't look like a fool, talking to myself."

"There is no one around. And I will only answer if the information you bring contents me."

Kagome frowned, about to refuse the 'voice's' egoistical request when she decided to hear this mysterious 'person' before jumping to conclusions.

"And...?" asked Kagome, with an impatient tint on her voice.

"What has become of Japan?" There was a muffled note of curiosity in the 'voice' that Kagome had managed to catch.

"What has changed recently, you mean?"

"That would depend if your definition of your word extends to the past few centuries"

"That's a ridiculous question," Kagome cried, throwing her hands on her hips - now convinced that the voice was merely a prank that a few teenagers with severe mental disabilities had pulled on her. "You can see what's going on for yourself. Even if that was a valid question, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyway."

"I could see, I would not have asked for your help, Miko. You are more of an imbecile than I thought you were." said the voice with barely repressed annoyance. "I am restricted to smelling the changes and I have just awoken - something that I gather is what you are responsible for."

"Smell? How? I can't smell anything..." Pondered Kagome, before reality struck her and she realized that the entire situation was a little too surreal to be true. "Wait - you kids can't just find something constructive to do, can't you? Entertainment centers practically flooding the town and you decide to play a low rate joke on the local doctor."

"Miko, what are you talking about?" demanded the 'voice'. "I am no 'kid'. I am Youkai and I am getting rather irked at you constantly skirting my question."

"Y-youkai?" stammered Kagome, her heart racing at the word. "I thou- No, Youkai do not exist, whoever you are."

"You try my patience." The voice said, as if she was one of the few who had the doubtful honor to do so. Kagome could almost swear she heard a hint of gritting teeth. "I am Youkai and I am breathing. Your nose is inferior and cannot sense what I can. Now answer my question."

Kagome huffed silently, slightly incensed at being bossed about by a voice that apparently came from a disembodied Youkai.

"You really are an arrogant prick."

"Now that we have established that, answer the question."

"Japan has been a place of great prestige, with technology rivaling western countries and trade well-known throughout the world." Kagome droned, feeling as if she was reciting a textbook. "Our culture is constantly studied by people from other parts of the world due to its uniqueness.

There was a snort from the Youkai.

"If this is so," it drawled. "Then why do I smell the world slowly dying?"

Kagome flinched.

"Many forests are cleared for progress - and pollution is a constant battle," she explained slowly. "But more people are realizing that progress does not necessary mean the depletion of the Earth's natural resources and more ways to preserve and conserve what the Earth has left to offer is practiced.

"That does not sound very convincing, Miko."

"It isn't," said Kagome defensively. "But we are trying. Now that I have answered your question, it is your turn to answer mine."

The 'voice' growled, apparently not pleased.

"I will not degrade myself to break my word just to spite a wench who thinks too highly of herself." the Youkai said. "Ask."

Kagome decided to ignore the insult hurled at her and instead focused on satiating her curiosity. "Who are you?"

"I am Sesshoumaru, son of Inutaishou."

Very specific, thought Kagome dryly. It did, however, feel a lot better knowing the name of the person she was conversing is - even if the name was quite strange. "Okay, Sesshoumaru." she said patiently. "Where are you? Why can't I see you?"

"I have answered one question in exchange for the single question I have asked." Sesshoumaru replied arrogantly. "It is my turn, I believe - to ask another question... What have become of all Youkai?"

Kagome bit her lip at the sudden change of topic. "Well," she began. "As you must have noticed, I don't think there are any Youkai in this time apart from you...?"

"You are untruthful." accused Sesshoumaru. "I can smell Youkai, only masked."

"If there are Youkai left," Kagome said irritably, "They must have come up with some sort of technique to hide themselves so that humans, like me," she spat. "Do not know of their existence. There's no point in me lying to a something I can't even see anyway."

"If you say so." The words were said with the air of someone who could not care less.

"So... Where are you?" asked Kagome, excitement clear in her voice. "Why can't I see you? And these questions are somewhat linked to each other, so don't even think of wiggling out of this one. Spill!"

Sesshoumaru sputtered. "Wiggle? This Sesshoumaru does not wiggle. Nor does this Sesshoumaru spill. You are making absolutely no sense, Miko."

Kagome barely managed to contained a giggle as she struggled to reply the Youkai with as much composure as she could gather. "It's just a manner of speech. You really are from a long time ago, aren't you?"

"I did nothing to suggest otherwise. A Dark Miko of whom I supposedly refused one too many times placed this spell on me."

"Spell..." Kagome stated disbelievingly. "Right. The second part of the question...?"

"From what I can observe, the spell has contained me inside this infernal well. I am not able to see outside this barrier. Apparently, creatures outside the barrier are unable to sense its presence."

"Oh." Kagome managed. She had a slight feeling that the 'creature' he was referring to was her but determinedly ignored it. "Wait - a Miko propositioned you? A Youkai?"

"She was a Dark Miko." said Sesshoumaru, unexpected sulkiness lacing his voice. "You are Miko, are you not?"

"Er, I used to live in a shrine. And Grandpa used to give me a little Shinto training - not that he was very good in the first place." Kagome said nervously, twiddling her thumbs. "Does that help?"

"Irrelevant." Sesshoumaru uttered. "You have enough spiritual power, albeit untrained. Can you break the spell?"

"No kissing right?" Kagome joked, despite her uneasiness. She paused realizing that Sesshoumaru would probably not recognize the culture references anyway. "Okay, scratch that. I'll try - Wait, will you answer more questions if I do?"

"You dare use my freedom as a bargaining chip?" asked Sesshoumaru with deadly calm. He paused, as if in thought and continued. "It does not matter. Incessant questions or no, there is no doubt that you will attempt to break this spell anyway."

"How would you know?" asked Kagome, pouting.

"Curiosity is radiating from every pore of your body."

"Fine," Kagome replied, feeling a little resentful. She scooted closer to the well and kneed before it. "What do I have to do?"

"Place your hands on the rim of the well."

Kagome did as she was told, feeling as if ants were running on the length of her arms. Goose bumps began to form.

"Eyes closed, concentrate only on the well."

By then, she could barely hear what Sesshoumaru was talking - there was nothing but the strange aura that emnated from the odd well and the slight jolts of electricity that coursed through her arms. It seemed to twine around her, snaking around her entire body. Her pulse was thundering in her ears. Something inside her was repulsed by the energy as it retracted before snapping - unwinding the spell from around her and the well.

The energy was unlike anything that she had ever felt. A glow of hear inside her chest warmed her as the spell began to fade.

It took several minutes for Kagome to be able to breathe regularly again.

"What did you do?" demanded an irate Youkai that apparently was still stuck in the well.

“I… I don’t know.” Kagome stammered, shivering slightly from the effects of the power she had felt.

“I am still unable to get out of this infernal barrier.” Sesshoumaru grumbled. “But something seemed to have changed.”

Kagome leant against the well, still dizzy from the earlier show of power (of which she had thought never existed just the previous day) –

And fell into the well.

No one could exactly blame her for screaming when she came face to face with a figure with long silver hair.

Jealousy

It was a well-known fact that Uchiha Sasuke was probably the most sought after bachelor in the whole of Konoha - despite his tender age of 16. He also supposedly as the largest unisex fan base since the departure of the late Fourth Hokage. After all, Uchiha Sasuke was dark, handsome and had a sad, emotionally scarring past - in other words, he was irresistible.

It was also commonly known that any belongings of Uchiha Sasuke (especially undergarments) that were not guarded with extremely complicated seals would be looted immediately and brought to auction to the highest bidder, usually at the Uchiha Sasuke Fan Club.

This was why it was practically unthinkable for said bachelor to be jealous of Rock Lee, who had, the previous day incidentally passed by Ichiraku and asked Haruno Sakura on a date. By some strange chance, Sakura had miraculously agreed to his proposition. Sasuke almost had to physically restrain himself for searching the skies for flying pigs.

It was also impossible for him to feel even the slightest envy towards Rock Lee when he did not, at the very least; harbour any feelings for Sakura. After all, Sakura was just another annoying member of the female species whose full-time interests had only probably included boys and the condition of her hair.

However, Sasuke did secretly acknowledge Sakura's competence at being a medic-nin despite previously showing nothing but nonchalance towards her abilities. She had also surpassed a surprising number of chuunin of her age in terms on genjutsu and her outstanding chakra control; despite her lack of any bloodline limits.

On the other hand, what had grated Sasuke's nerves the most was her ability to latch upon his arm or give him excessive physical contact for extensive periods. It admittedly had lessened, only appearing occasionally during the sporadic emotional bursts. Sakura had somehow begun to treat him as she had any of her male friends. It had somewhat caused him some unexplainable irritation.

Besides, everyone knew that Sasuke was a complete sucker for girls with long hair. Sasuke, in other words, thought that girls with long hair were reasonably more tolerable in comparison with those with shorter hair. In short (no pun intended), there was no way Sasuke would like Sakura.

In fact, even if he did like Sakura, no one with any dignity would feel jealous of the creature known as Rock Lee. In green spandex, a bowl cut hairstyle (which was painfully inferior to his own), beady eyes and blinding white teeth - Sasuke had no idea why Sakura had even agreed to grace him a few moments of her company.

His uneasiness was, of course, due to platonic concern towards Sakura as a fellow member of Team 7. After all, Rock Lee could be trying to take advantage of Sakura by drugging her or using a genjutsu technique on her. In addition, if Sakura were taken advantage of; Sasuke's conscience (or what remained of it) would make him feel guilt - which in turn would affect his prearranged plan of vengeance towards the other living person who shared the Uchiha blood.

Besides, he hated Rock Lee. It was all because of his... haircut... right. Its ugliness had repeatedly offended him.

Justified, Sasuke decided to trail Sakura and Lee. After all, Naruto was shockingly, not bothered about Sakura's date. Although Sasuke understood that Naruto's childish crush had passed and he was having a relationship of sorts with the Hyuuga girl, he expected an undying pledge to save her from Rock Lee - or at the very least, a punch to said person's face.

He had been thoroughly disappointed when all he received was a non-committed, mumbled response in between humongous bites of ramen on how it was 'about time she gave up on him'.

Sasuke was regrettably, forced to act alone

With the perfect disguise (unspiked hair); Sasuke proceeded to go to Sakura's house, where Lee had said to plan to pick her up.

Squashing himself behind a bush, a place where afforded him a rather reasonable view of the front door - Sasuke managed to acquire a reasonable dislike towards mosquitoes and other six limbed creatures that roamed the earth. As his patience wore thin, he decided to eliminate the insects discreetly.

However, his fireball was not as subtle as he hoped, as it managed to catch a few dead leaves nearby on fire. The fire then proceeded to happily spread towards the very bushes he had manage to take cover in and was about to convert itself into a miniature bonfire before Sasuke managed to put it out.

His respect towards Shino for his contract with the insects; though, had somewhat dwindled.

Barely a few minutes after he extinguished the fire and disposed of the smoke and ashes in the surrounding area, he could see a flash of black and white. It soon turned out to be Lee, wearing a casual white shirt and black slacks as he pressed the doorbell with an insanely wide grin pasted on his face.

Sakura’s father (who had the trademark Haruno pink hair) soon greeted Lee. Despite that, he had succeeded looking rather masculine - although it could be because he was at an impressive height of six feet six and had a build that surpassed Morino Ibiki. It was no wonder her father was not a ninja. With his size, he could barely manage any sort of stealth. His size, however, was rather effective in intimidating any suitors his beloved daughter may have. In this case, said suitor was an almost-trembling Rock Lee.

Sasuke silently approved at the glare he gave Lee but was soon disappointed when Sakura appeared and began chiding her father gently at the treatment of her... friend.

He silently noted that Sakura looked rather pleasant in the pale green dress with a hint of floral print that she wore. It, however, was too low-cut for his tastes. The dress might give Lee insinuations that Sakura herself failed to notice, being the almost stupidly naive kunoichi she was. Sasuke privately thought to himself that Sakura would have looked a lot better in blue.

After Sakura's father seemed to satisfied that Lee's intentions were entirely honourable, (Which had rather disheartened Sasuke who had thought her father could see through the web of lies and illusions that Lee was weaving around Sakura.) he shook Lee's hand, gave one last glare, bid his daughter goodbye and shut the door.

In a movement that would be thought as suave to some, Lee gently took Sakura's hand and kissed it, causing a colourful blush from the girl. It was soon proven to be rather fatal - towards Lee, of course as Sasuke was seriously considering killing him more and more the longer the evening dragged on.

"May we?" the eyebrow disaster asked idiotically.

Sakura giggled. Sasuke heard a strange growling. It took him a few moments to realise that the he was the origin.

They soon strolled towards their destination, an apparently new restaurant in Konoha. Sasuke was rather annoyed to find out as he followed the pair that he was acquiring rather unwanted information about Lee. Frankly, Sasuke could not have cared less about the many pets and stuffed toys that Lee and his many siblings once owned.

Sakura smiled at Lee. Sasuke's eyebrow twitched - purely in reflex, of course.

Sakura and the creature (it was easier for Sasuke to think him as such) entered the restaurant, after hearing rather obviously false compliments about their compatibility. It was impossible for Sasuke to skulk around the restaurant, trying to listen into their conversation and ensure Sakura would not be molested while remaining inconspicuous.

As a result, he had to pretend to be a normal customer, out to enjoy a nice quiet dinner by his own (although the Sharingan was used quite a few times to overcome the rather trivial matter of reservations) and seated himself to a table hidden from Sakura and the creature's view.

It soon proceeded to the point where Sasuke was trying to decide on the method of death - the messier, the better. After all, his hand was practically touching hers. The Public Display of Affection was completely scandalous. It was a wonder that the manager had not tried to throw them out yet. Worst of all, the evening was far from over, given that they have not even placed their order.

When a waitress approached him, Sasuke braced himself for his next move and... winked. Regardless that the wink seemed more like a grimace than a flirtation, it seemed to have worked as the waitress swayed on her feet slightly before scooting excitedly towards him. Whispering his plan to her, Sasuke silently congratulated himself for his utter brilliance.

---

Sasuke whistled slightly as he leisurely walked back to his apartment. The day had ended in an unexpected, yet welcomed, turn - a disaster; and there seemed to be no other probable dates with Lee in the future, judging by the expression on Sakura’s face. With the almost the entire restaurant in ruins, the staff probably had learned a lesson of utmost importance on the green beast of Konoha; Alcohol must not, under any circumstances, be given to said person in any place with breakable objects in the radius of a hundred metres.

He was so distracted with dignified joy that he almost bumped into a girl with pink hair.

Silently cursing his luck, he pretended not to notice and began to double his pace towards his apartment. Despite his utter brilliance in acting nonchalant, Sakura stood in front of him, blocking his way.

"Er... Hi, Sakura," managed Sasuke, as he tried to avoid the glare aimed at him. "Nice night for a walk, isn’t it?"

"It probably is," said Sakura menacingly, hands on her waist. "But you wouldn't know, would you? After all, you were too busy ruining my date with Lee-kun."

"Of course I wasn't," Sasuke replied, crossing his arms.

And he managed to convince Sakura for a few seconds before his eyebrow twitched.

"Ha! You're lying!" accused Sakura. "Your eyebrow twitched."

"Of course I'm not lying!"

twitch

"You are! Your eyebrow always twitches when you're lying to me!"

"It does not!"

twitch

Sasuke was about to attempt to cover his forehead with his hands when he realised how incredibly childish he was acting and how close Sakura was to unleashing her legendary anger on him. He decided to resign himself to Sakura's wrath, whatever it would be.

"What were you thinking?" Sakura shouted, emphasizing her point with waving arms. Sasuke was suddenly struck on how 'not unattractive' Sakura was. His eyes were drawn to her lips which were probably still berating him on his interference but all he could think of was how soft they looked.

"-You never cared for me more than just a friend and now you're ruining whatever chances I have to be happ-MMF!"

And Sasuke finally shut Sakura up with a kiss.

Sasuke leapt off into the night with a small, out-of-character silly grin on his face, leaving a bewildered Sakura behind.

Perhaps he preferred girls with shorter hair, after all.

Prince Charming

I am his princess and he is my prince charming.

It is just another lie, another game to see who broke first, who would tear down all the webs of deception that we weave around us, knowing it would leave us naked and exposed to the world.

We smile, talk, flirt and play this deadly game with every passing moment. It means nothing yet everything at the same time.

Every though is horrifying and breathtaking, every spoken word is hated yet valued beyond all words. This game - a perfect blend of opposites, is what makes life bearable.

The anticipation of his next move keeps me on my toes. The challenge of extracting sweet revenge is endlessly enticing.

What more do I have to look forward to? All of my family except for my brother is dead, slaughtered brutally by said brother. I can never have dreams of living peacefully to the end of my days as other maidens do. My brother and I will never truly hate each other, as we have a bond that exceeds of many other siblings. I have forgiven him, this is true - after all, he did not do it on his free will and the heinous bastard, Naraku is to blame. But neither can I forget the hollowness in his eyes as he killed his family with a weapon that had been the family heirloom, specially kept for him. Irony plays as its best.

I have no home. There used to be a place that held my heart, built by my great-grandfather's very own hands. It was a small and humble place to live, with each wood carved and set into its place lovingly, but with unskilled hands. Now, completely destroyed by the very youkai my family and I have hunted for as long as I can remember - marking the end of the many generations of tajiya; the name that my family and I had learnt to carry with great honor.

Perhaps I might find a home in some place else, a small village that I might learn to love and defend its peace with my very life. Perhaps I might reflect at my past one day and smile bitterly at how foolish I had been.

But whatever happens, I can only hope that it is not Houshi-sama who wins this game. Because if he does, I might even not hate him for it. And then I will have lost - more than I bargained for.

Satisfaction

I feel the gold gust of wind whipping my hair onto my face. Where once my body of living flesh and blood would have felt the chill of the morning air, my body of clay felt none.

My soul is distressed. It tosses and trashes in my body, clearly unsettled.

It longs to go back to the girl who holds my soul but I would never permit it to do so until my task in the world of living has finally been completed.

I reflect on my reincarnation who has also stolen the heart of my once beloved. I long to hate her with every fiber of my being, to despise her as scorn at her pathetic attempts to reign her power that once belonged to me - but I could not. I simply could not hate a girl who is so alike me and yet so different in many ways. I could not dislike the girl who saved my life, even at the cost of her possible happiness - whose lack of hesitation allowed me to continue my quest on the land of living.

I realize that should the person I used to be had not been burdened with the responsibility of the village priestess, I would almost be identical to her in personality. But that was not my destiny, not the path set for me by the Gods. Who am I to question their actions or decisions?

As I stare at my reincarnation and I think of the people who I once knew comparing her to me, measuring if she fell short and looking at her with a critical eye, I realize that even if the Gods has not been fair to me, They have not denied me the simple joy of satisfaction.

The Final Battle

Harry adjusted his glasses, a habit he had managed to produce after many tiring days of strategizing and training. He felt an uncertain anticipation of finally facing his life-long adversary for the final time, accompanied with pure unadulterated fear. He was no child and had no illusions about the battle. Harry knew that some of the people he knew and loved would not be able to survive through the Final Battle.

Voldemort, after all, was one of the most powerful Wizards in the world. He glanced nervously at his two best friends, Ron and Hermione - the only reason why he was not having an emotional breakdown from all the incessant stress. They smiled reassuringly back at him. Harry felt refreshed slightly, reminded that he was not alone.

Fondly, he fingered his pocket. A phoenix feather from Fawkes rested in it, as a token of luck. He would dearly need it. It was also a reminder of his mentor and surrogate grandfather, Dumbledore. Aside from the most basic of first aid kits, resided only a vial of restoration potion, which he hoped that he would not need.

He looked around, studying the expressions of the people around him. The Weasleys had sacrificed already so much, and it seemed so unfair that they had to give up more. They weren't the only ones; many families have suffered due to Voldemort. Harry felt a surge of hatred running through him as he was thought of all the people he loved who had died by Voldemort’s hand.

"Potter." Began Mad-Eye Moody gruffly.

Harry nodded, biting his lip. It was time.

---

The stench of death was everywhere. Screams filled the air as both sides fought against each other. Some abandoned their wands and resorted to fighting in a primal manner. Teeth, hands, legs, any weapon they had, they used against their opponent. Dignity and pride were deserted - all that mattered was the outcome of the war.

As Harry evaded the occasional stray jets of light, Harry scanned the battlefield for Voldemort. They both seemed to have spied each other at the same time.

“Harry Potter,” he said slowly, with a smirk on his face; as if relishing the moment. “Prepared to meet the same fate as your parents?”

Harry faced Voldemort with grim determination, laced with fury as he opened his mouth -

"KONGOUSHOUHA!"

Shards of what seemed enormous diamonds pierced through Voldemort, only the barest trace of a scream escaping his mouth.

"Ano... Gome- I'm so sorry," the girl in the green and white uniform said sheepishly, bowing apologetically to Harry and then proceeded to climb on the strange man with white hair and – ears...? The man’s attire was a strange red jacket-thing and carried a large sword. The man with white hair then began running after what seemed a strange demonic creature that had passed by unnoticed.

Ron - the first person to regain mobility; stepped towards Voldemort and prodded him with his wand. Many times.

"He's dead." Ron said, awed, as he rightfully should be.

And hell broke loose.

---

Somewhere else...

"(I can't believe Naraku came to this era! I thought you said it was safe here, Kagome!)"

"(I can't help it, it's not like I want him to be here anyway! I didn't even expect that he would go all the way to England if he came to this era!)"

Reflections

I looked through a window and saw a man. He had silver blonde hair, like a Veela and matching grey eyes. It is only by his trademark hair I recognized him. In his disheveled state, I doubt anyone but I would realize it was Draco Malfoy. The hollow look in his eyes had made him a shadow of the once proud man he had been.

He always had an air of arrogance; his family name was, after all prestigious, one of the most important families in the Wizarding World. He was still arrogant as he had always been even after he changed sides before the war. The only difference was the prejudice he had for Muggles and Muggleborns were reduced. He had displayed no emotion when his father had been sentenced to Azkaban. It was after her, that he had changed so drastically. It was practically a timeline, AH. After her. After Hermione Granger.

Everything had started from admiration. He had been admiring how she managed to keep her head high, even after the never-ending insults that seemed to pelt endlessly at her. She even managed to achieve the highest score Hogwarts had ever seen in over a hundred years. A feat that had even impressed his father. In class, a place where practically every student’s mind would drift off, concentrating on things that had seemed many times more important, had left only a meager handful paying attention.

She was one of them.

She absorbed information like a sponge and stored them for later use. She had barely lived for more than seven years in the Wizarding World and already managed to show more intelligence than those who lived in the Wizarding World sine birth.

Of course, it was not for brains alone he admired her; else he would have easily fallen in love with a Ravenclaw. It was for her patience, logic, warmth, understanding... the list that seemed would never end. It was simpler to say he loved everything about her, as corny as it sounded. He knew she had qualities he would never have, and once again, admired her for it. It was not as if she was a paragon of virtues, she had her share of flaws that gnawed at his patience in every opportunity they could. But so did he and he loved her anyway.

He never allowed a single hint escape to make anyone think that he was in love with her. It was always her friends he insulted, never having the heart to insult her after the third year. It was bizarre. Draco Malfoy, someone who did not know love, have never been loved had a crush on one who was constantly surrounded by love. He himself knew that nagging feeling deep inside his heart was more than a crush. He tried many ways to end that feeling that would inevitably cause his destruction. He ignored it, found excuses to hate her, dated many others.

None worked.

Fourth year – The Quidditch World Cup. It was then when he saw his father levitating a few muggles, torturing them and laughing as if it was all just a big joke, as if it didn’t matter; with his friends, the other Death Eaters. It was, to them. He had been terrified, scared, but not for himself. Never for himself, solely for her. It was then when he knew.

A few moments later, in the midst of all the chaos; he saw her run in a thick forest with nothing but her friends for protection. It made his heart lurch nervously. He followed her, with Crabbe and Goyle.

Warning her directly was out of the question. Neither was ignoring the fact that she could be a potential target for the Death Eaters. Finally, he laced his admonition with layers of insults. He pretended to leave and ordered Crabbe and Goyle to go back to their tents. He followed the Gryffindor Trio into the forest with his invisibility cloak.

Just then, Harry Potter had indeed proved himself as a magnet for trouble. He heard a man's voice and something green and silver shot out of a wand. He didn't pay any heed to the man, after all, only Hermione was his main concern. Safely under his invisibility cloak, he saw stunners narrowly missing them, along with a group of adults who worked in the ministry heading towards them.

Thunder roared, attracting his attention. Looking up, he saw the highlight of the entire event – In the air was a carbon copy of Death Eater tattoo he once saw on his father's inner forearm. An icy hand grasped his heart as he saw the horrendous mark, a feeling of dread flooding him. On that moment, he wondered whether power really was worth all the pain and sacrifices he would have to go through.

The fifth year passed easily. He simply restrained all contact with Hermione and avoided the trio as much as he could. In addition to that, everything he said was planned before hand, to ensure nothing would break his illusion of a cold heartless bastard who would love nothing more than to kill Muggles and Muggleborns. Something that the Golden Trio eagerly believed He pretended to help Umbridge and her group of brainless minions. The hunger for power had covered his features had been selfish. It had nothing to do with supporting Voldemort. He had grown up believing power was everything - a belief that had constantly lingered behind, even after his father’s imprisonment.

He knew of all the things they had tried to keep secret but he said nothing.

The Room of Requirement, the thestrals, centaurs, the department of mysteries, classes taught by Potter Potter. He knew every bit of it.

It wasn’t difficult. All one had to be was observant and have copious amounts of money. He had paid handsomely to buy a looking glass that featured Hermione, but only when she was in terrible danger. He was rather amused to find that dueling with Neville Longbottom in the Room of Requirement was considered life threatening. Most of the damage he would inflict had been, after all, to him himself.

It was the sixth year when everything changed. They were both called to meet Dumbledore, the main promoter of inter-house relationships and were assigned to patrol Hogwarts together. He pretended to be outraged when he was secretly delighted. Her face had been carefully masked, betraying no emotion.

Her friends were furious when the found out what happened and had made quite a scene in The Great Hall. His friends, on the other hand, were happy, being Slytherins, they thought it was the perfect opportunity for Draco to provoke Hermione into loosing house points from Gryffindor.

On the first patrol, she agreed to be civil, knowing that it would be easier than arguing heatedly for the next few months over small matters. They had talked about petty things, like what they thought about Arithmacy and other subjects. Even the Hogwarts menu was discussed occasionally. She found out he read Hogwarts, A History. He found out she read a few topics on Dark Arts herself. ("Knowing the curses your enemies are to perform is the only way you can defend yourself against them.")They got closer, and became friends in secret, or rather, whenever they patrol.

He had never known that both of them had so much in common. (Apart from undeniable rivalry, of course) He had hoped they would argue, hate each other, and he would then finally get over her. He didn't. They shared so much about each other that his feelings had grown deeper, more genuine. She knew his reluctance to join Voldemort and he knew her insecurities on her looks. She was his Hope.

It was one fateful day that had resulted the biggest and most sacred change of his life.

-

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione!" said Harry strangely, enthuastically. "Ron and I got something for you."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh, Harry..." she sighed.”You know I don't really like Valentine's Day and all..."

The sound of the clanging of glass abruptly ended their five-second conversation as Professor Dumbledore stood up. The magnificent headmaster was wearing muggle clothing - clothing that thoroughly insulted muggle fashion all over the world. He was wearing a maroon tie with bright pink hearts that blinked. He wore a purple vest and a green shirt underneath, velvet black hair tie for his beard and hair. He also wore checkered blue and brown pants, completed with a yellow and grey hat. Professor Dumbledore looked as if a rainbow had crossed by him and destroyed his clothing by coloring his clothes in almost every color possible. It could have been easily described as looking worse than Dobby in his tea cozy, whom had once seemed impossible to beat.

He beamed at his gob smacked students, who finally noticed their headmaster.

"I would like to wish you all Happy Valentine's Day!" he said, happily. "I hope you don't all end up with a goat like my brother, Aberforth did. Also, I wouldn't recommend checking my old school records... (he looked meaningfully at the Slytherin table) after the spade and the pumpkin accident, I..."

Professor McGonagall blushed.

"Albus, please..."

Professor Dumbledore blinked at the interruption and abruptly changed the subject.

"So please try not damage your ears too much from listening to singing valentines!" he said with a laugh. "Tuck in!"

Food appeared on the table, all complete with red and pink food coloring. As she had expected Ron to dig in the food with unmatched fervor (as food was one of his few passions), she was surprised when he tugged her hand and gave her a dictionary box covered with beautiful, glittery, pink and red wrapping paper. She inwardly sighed as she realized that her best friends probably didn't know she abhorred the color pink.

'Draco would...'

She was snapped back to reality by Harry tapping her shoulder.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She did - she was surprised with box of Dobblegoose's Best Chocolates, one of the most expensive brands of chocolates there was instead of a book she had been continuously expecting. Harry and Ron had apparently remembered her obsession for chocolates despite forgetting her choice in colours. She couldn’t really blame them, though; it wasn’t as if they spent their spare time discussing their favourite colours when Voldemort’s impending threat was so close by.

She thanked them sincerely and gave them each a hug.

-

It was time for patrol. Hermione could barely contain her excitement to meet Draco. She had never felt this way for anyone before. Her heart pleaded desperately, constantly, for even a single glimpse of his face. Even the barest skin contact with him filled her with warmth, bubbling from the depth of her belly. She knew she had to tell him. It was the unevitable.

She met up with him, feeling her nervous and uneasy. She couldn’t deny her feelings for him; it was too overwhelming for it to be kept secret. Yet, she feared his reaction, his possible rejection. She could tell that she would rather be rejected than to keep what she felt for him inside. Too many things were going to happen, their futures were unknown – but at the very least, she could either live or die; knowing that she did not waste her chance on being with him just because she was afraid.

As soon as he reached her, her mouth went dry.

‘It’s now or never.’ She told herself, summoning all the courage she could find.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Draco blinked.

"Of course, you do. Who wouldn’t?" he joked cautiously; as if he could not bring himself believe what she had just said. It was reasonable; even she could hardly believe it herself.

"I meant it. I really did, Draco." She said, tears welling up in her eyes. She chided herself for crying, she already expected his rejected, but Merlin, it hurts… "I'm sorry, Draco... I’m sure you probably have someone else in mind. Someone better, prettier an-"

She was interrupted with a kiss.

Just then, she knew.

-

They perused a relationship only known to a select few, even then; their knowledge was limited. It was a difficult time, where Voldemort was stronger and wiser than before yet still as ruthless at he has one been.

He was never thoroughly accepted by Hermione’s friends. ‘It’s just a phase; Hermione will soon grow out of it.’ They had thought. Nevertheless, they trusted him minimally and tolerated him as much as they could as a favor to Hermione. He did not care; Hermione was all that mattered. She was his obsession, his one reason of survival. He did not provoke her friends, even sometimes amazing himself at his restraint, mainly because he did not want to fall from her good graces. He joined her and her friends to fight against the abomination that threatened to enslave the Wizarding World.

He was no martyr. He never claimed to be. His reason for fighting was selfish. He needed to prove to his father that he was nothing like him. He wanted to let him see that he would never lower himself like a dog, begging for a little of its master’s food; groveling just for the sake of power that brought no honor.

The day before they were to act, a Death Eater had ambushed Hermione when she was on a visit to her parent’s house. She was wandless, and therefore at a great disadvantage. A barrier surrounded her house, separating him from her; making him powerless. As the barrier crumbled, he found her on the ground, on the brink of death. She made him promise to live and defeat Voldemort. Her last words. Hope died.

It was the last straw.

They attacked, unleashing everything they could. Aurors could be seen dueling with Death Eaters. Stray jets of light flew in all directions. In the middle of all the chaos stood Voldemort. Potter, Weasley, his sister and Draco threw spells, curses, jinxes, the Avada Kedavra, everything they could think of; at him. Voldemort survived, simply absorbing everything with a self-satisfied smirk.

The fact the Voldemort did not attack them did not occur them as suspicious. They were blinded by hatred and anger at the loss of loosing someone they loved dearly. Their emotions merely fueled Voldemort, who was supported by negative energy. Soon, Voldemort used the energy he absorbed and repelled them from him, in a gigantic force. As they remained in their fetal positions, Voldemort finally pointed his wand at them, intending to perform the Avada Kedavra curse on each of them. Potter suddenly remembered a key to Voldemort’s defeat; a single sentence that Dumbledore had used to say; "It is love that conquers all."

And it was. Potter channeled his remaining strength and focused on the emotion; love. The rest of them caught on and they used one final spell to attack Voldemort. A blinding white light filled the entire place and a scream so terrible it made a banshee pale in comparison was heard. Voldemort was finally gone.

Peace returned slowly, but surely to the wizarding world. Everything was finally over. His relationship with Hermione was finally made known. He had felt distraught, during that time, remembering how much Hermione wanted to keep their relationship out on the open. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were soon mixing with each other. Everyone started his or her new lives, leaving the chaos behind. All of the Death Eaters that weren't killed were in Azkaban, his father among them, now heavily guarded with Gryffins and dragons, courtesy of Charlie Weasley.

Every time I look through this window and see his miserable face, I pity him. Everyone else had moved on, accepting Hermione’s death. He did not. He could not live without her. His drive to live was gone, leaving him with only the promise he made to Hermione. And he’d be damned if he broke his last promise to her.

He tries his best to live, even if it seemed like hell to him. He does not speak a word of his pain, merely masking it up with a fake cheer. To others, he seems to go on with his life as if nothing had changed, starting businesses, opening chains of shops…

How do I know all this and understand him so well, you ask?

Because the window I was looking through was actually a mirror.

And Draco Malfoy is me.

The Bow

Matt looked at the contents in the pink box curiously. He scrutinized it thoroughly, pacing around the box as if to see how it looked from each angle. From his stare, he might as well be studying a particularly interesting specimen from the biology lab; like Mrs. Kamiya's special chocolate-coated spaghetti.

"Well?" I asked impatiently, crossing my arms. I peered at the box. There was nothing particularly unusual that I could see.

"What is that?" Matt asked, scandalized. His voice reminded me of the time I watched a random episode of a soap opera mom was watching. It held the same tone a man had used on a gangster who had kidnapped his daughter, raped her, dunked her into an aquarium filled with sharks and mailed her remains to her family through an envelope. (And not necessary in that order.)

"It's a bow!" I replied, frustrated at my brother's rather acute sense of observance. "What else could it be?"

Matt raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know," he said calmly. “If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

“I see your incredible logic, oh mighty brother mine,” I said sarcastically. “Maybe I should just buy you an extensive picture dictionary for Christmas and highlight and underline the word ‘bow’ repeatedly.”

“You don’t have to, TK. You would probably highlight the wrong word.”

I was getting more irritated with each passing second.

“Fine,” I finally said. It took me massive amounts of self-control not to snap back at him. “Do you think that I should give this to a girl?”

“You mean Kari?” he asked with a slight smirk on his face.

I did the most predictable thing I could do – I blushed.

“Who said it was for Kari?” I retorted hastily – perhaps even too quickly. “It could be for Yolei or for that cute new girl in my class.”

“It could be,” Matt said, with a knowing grin. “But it isn’t, is it? Besides, her birthday is coming up. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken… it’s tomorrow.”

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the telltale red that loomed on my cheeks. I really hate it when I get this way. I would blush, get flustered and sometimes even stammer.

“Anyway, if you value your life and sanity – don’t give this to Kari.”

“What?” I asked, shocked. “Why not? Okay, say I’m giving this to Kari. I’m not admitting to anything! It’s pink and white – her favourite colours, and it’s pretty; in a weird, mutated sort of way – so it's unique. Girls love unique stuff, I should know; Yolei goes on and on about that weird-looking necklace from the mall like there's no tomorrow about how it was 'one-of-a-kind' in a pointless attempt to make Ken buy it for her... Then why can’t I give it to her?”

Matt rolled his eyes and gave me the long-suffering look older siblings always give us poor, pitiful, sadly mistreated, younger ones.

“Have you ever – in your entire life of fifteen years; ever seen Kari Kamiya wear a bow?” He asked, rolling his eyes. “Well, even if she did; that ‘bow’ is hideous and deserves to be incinerated.”

“I’ve never said it was for Kari,” I said, frustrated. (Still blushing slightly) “Besides, this bow is perfectly fine.”

Matt eyed the bow in distaste before raising an eyebrow at me.

I grabbed the box, tied it with the pink ribbon that had earlier been a beautiful decoration (but now a pathetic excuse of a knot) and marched out of the apartment. After all, I didn’t really need his advice anyway. It wasn’t as if he was an expert on girls - even if they were somehow strangely crazy about him. As I slammed the door, I saw Matt snickering to himself. Seriously, that person is mentally addled.

I walked to the playground, thinking about the gift that I had bought. It was rather expensive (and exquisitely beautiful – according to the sales girl, although she giggled for the entire duration I had agreed to buy it) for such a small accessory like that. I honestly can’t imagine how Yamato manages to buy so many gifts for Sora with the skimpy allowance I know dad gives. Mom, however, is slightly more understanding and gives me some extra money for snacks whenever I feel peckish. Slightly.

There on one of the swings was Yolei, reading a strange looking book that seemed to be just a few pages wrapped together with cello tape.

"Hey, Teek."

I flinched. Yolei was in the phase of calling people degrading nicknames for no reason other than for the sake her own amusement. Teek was mine, Mattee was Matt's, Dais'ke was Daisuke's while the most ridiculous of all; Kenny-boy belonged to Ken. I really pity the poor guy. However, offering my deepest sympathies would barely help Ken bear his undignified and rather disgraceful nickname. I was fortunate that Yolei didn't decide to call me TKay-ee-boy or something equally stupid. Teek was painful enough. Kari managed to escape without any tarnish on her name. Lucky girl.

"Hi."

"What's up?" Came the normal greeting that we exchanged for no other reason than to keep a perfectly pointless conversation going.

“Nothing really much,” I shrugged. I wasn’t going to talk about The Bow yet. I changed the subject to save myself some embarrassment. “What are you reading?”

“It’s the ‘Phantom of the Opera’, a western play,” Yolei said, gesturing at the poor excuse of a book she was holding. “I photocopied Satsuki’s copy… Actually, she helped me photocopy her copy,” she said in defense, noticing my look at the object she was holding.

I understood at once. Satsuki, known for her untidiness, seemed to have a strange, permanent resolve to complete everything as quickly as she could in anyway possible.

“So you’re going to join the play?” I asked teasingly. I knew Yolei would never join a school activity like that. She had often said that school dramas were conspired by the school boards to watch students embarrass themselves on stage as a form of entertainment. In fact, she had once gone so far to print flyers about this particular subject causing her a temporary suspension. (She soon wriggled out of it for some reason I was not able to find out)

This was why I lapsed into temporary catatonia when she said, “Yes."

"Well," she reasoned, waving her 'book' in front of me, "I needed to find more material, in other words; proof, to go against the production of plays and stuff... And I thought; what better way than to join the drama myself? So far I already have a few; traumas caused by fear of memory loss, fear of embarrassment on stage, stage fright, fear of stage fright, peer pressure and excessive stress."

I could only blink. One could never guess where Yolei got her ideas but could only cross their fingers and hope they were not involved – which was exactly what I did.

“Anyway,” I managed to say, “Can you take a look at a gift I bought for-“

“Kari?” she interrupted rather rudely, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “What did you get her?”

“I never said I was getting anything for Kari!” I retorted - whoa, déjà vu. Seriously, it was getting annoying. It wasn’t as if they were wrong, it was just that it seemed as if I was completely predictable. Which I’m not. At least I hope I’m not.

“It’s her birthday tomorrow after a - Let me see that,” Yolei said, finally spying the pink box I put behind my back. (Pink boxes after all, should never be seen with men, especially pink boxes like these.) I handed it to her dutifully. “And if you didn’t buy her a gift - or forgot, you’d be a rather lousy best friend. Besides, you would never buy gifts for any girl except Kari. You’re too stingy with your money.”

“Am not,” I said automatically, childishly.

“Whatever,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She winced at the hasty knot I tied around the box and opened it carefully. She blinked at it, as if expecting it to blink back. “It isn’t half-bad, I guess - though the colour is a little off, the design a little complicated; the material a little… squishy?”

“Why didn’t you just outright say it was horrible?” I asked, squinting at the bow, trying to determine how the design looked complicated.

“Because it isn’t… exactly hideous.” Yolei said holding the box at arms length for a few moments before tying the ribbon around it into an elegant little knot. “Now, if you wanted something more tasteful, you should have bought that bead necklace I was telling Ken abou-“

“No.”

And that was that, so far Matt and Yolei both said it was repulsive. Yolei was about to open her mouth to retort when Ken’s sudden arrival startled her.

“Hey, Kenny-boy.”

I could almost hear the wince that formed on Ken’s face. Before they could exchange any kind of physical greeting or the usual, “What’s up?” I quickly excused myself, leaving Ken to try to explain to Yolei why he shouldn’t buy the necklace she was so obsessed about that did not include the sentence: “That bloody thing is ridiculous.”

I headed to the Takenouchi flower shop next, hoping that Sora would give me a proper opinion of my present to Kari. I could have just given it to Kari and spared myself the fuss of being insulted by both relatives and friends but I really wanted Kari to like what I would give her – which was why I needed to see Sora and hope she would think that it wasn’t completely hideous. I just couldn’t bear it if Kari had to pretend to like my gift.

Just before I entered, I saw Sora locking up the shop.

“Hey, Sora.” I greeted. “What’s with the locks?”

“I’m going out soon and mother is busy so we decided to temporarily close the shop.” She said pleasantly, as she always did.

“Er.. Okay...” I said, uneasily. “Hold on, before you go; can you give me your thoughts on something I bought for a girl?”

“Kari?” she asked. I didn’t even have the willpower to deny everything anymore and nodded. “Sure.”

Sora grimaced when she saw the butchered ribbon and untied it gently, opened the box and stared at the bow. She blinked once. Then twice.

“TK… I don’t know how to put this,” she began. “But it isn’t really something you should give Kari. That’s just my point of view, of course. If you really want to, go ahead.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Er, okay. Thanks. See you around.”

“Wait a moment...” She suddenly said. Retrieving the box from me, she took the ribbon and tied it elegantly, slowly enough that I could copy her if I had to. “There, all done. Doesn’t it look so much better than strangling the material? Well, I got to go. See you.”

I walked from the Takenouchi flower shop, with a sigh. It seemed that the gift I bought wasn’t exactly as good as I thought it was. I felt like I needed to head home and get a nice, long nap before I actually thought of what to do next. I would have bought her something else but my funds were completely exhausted. (The bow wasn’t cheap!) I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I bumped into a brown-haired person with spiked hair and Tai’s goggles™.

Motomiya Davis.

And he didn’t look particularly happy.

“What-did-you-get-Kari-for-her-birthday-I-completely-forgot-and-didn’t-get-her-anything!” I could practically see the words tumbling out from his mouth in his haze of panic.

It was then when I got an idea.

“What about this?” I asked, producing the pink box behind my back.

“A box?” he asked me skeptically. Well, nobody ever said Davis was the brightest of the lot…

“Of course not,” I said, slightly annoyed. “I meant this.” I unveiled the contents of the box, watching Davis’ expression carefully for any signs of disgust. He held the box carefully, stared at the bow and made his decision.

“Okay, I guess chicks dig this kind of stuff…” He said uncertainly. “Can I pay you for it later? I don’t really have much cash on me now.” He emptied his pockets, as if it proved his point. (Where I discovered a ball of lint, a few assorted pieces of chewing gum wrappers and other unidentified junk)

My eyes watered slightly. It was the most positive comment (though it wasn’t exactly one) that I had received all day for the present that I bought for Kari. I nodded, re-tied the knot exactly as Sora showed me and handed it to Davis. We shook hands. (It was, after all; a business arrangement)

It was when I finally collapsed on the couch at home when I remembered that I did not have anything to give Kari and had no cash whatsoever.

Sighing, I picked up the phone, deciding to make the choice that would cost me financially for the next month or so. Talk about selling my soul.

“Matt, I need a loan.”

---

So with the painfully obtained money, I chose to buy chocolates. It is a well-known fact that all women love chocolate. Even lactose-intolerant females adore them. It wasn’t exactly an original present but at the very least, it was something I was sure she would like. She would probably hate Davis’ gift, my initial present - as many of the other Digidestinied did. Another pro to my growing list.

I pressed the doorbell to her home, and proceeded to wait impatiently as someone opened the door. I was soon greeted by Kari in a ‘dress’. A ‘dress’ covered in lace, ribbons and every other thing feminine in the world. It stung my eyes. Nevertheless, I managed to note that Kari still looked very pretty in that dress-of-horror.

“Hey, Happy-Early-Birthday!” I said, with all the enthusiasm I could muster.

“Thank you!” she said, sincerely. Another trait I liked about her, always genuine. She accepted the gift with a wide smile.

“Er… Do you think you can open it now?” I asked nervously, referring to the wrapping paper clad present she held. “I just want to see whether you like it. It’s not a strange request is it?”

“Of course not. Davis and a few others already asked me to open theirs,” she said, with a reassuring smile. “Besides, I’ll like it no matter what you bought me, be it a chicken suit.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not a chicken suit.”

“Darn, I wanted to get one for years,” she replied, laughing.

As she opened the wrapping paper carefully, so as not to tear it, I studied her expression cautiously. I knew she couldn’t hide anything from me. She was that bad a liar.

“Chocolates!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t eaten a good box in ages! I love it.”

“Great,” I said I relief. “What else did you already get for your birthday?”

“Well, this…”

Kari twirled in front of me, giving me a full view of her ‘dress’.

“So what do you think of the dress my mother bought for me?” she asked earnestly, with a smile.

I scrambled for an answer. Honestly, I think girls ask this question mainly to torture guys. It’s completely and utterly unfair. After all, you don’t see guys posing in front of mirrors to ask their friends/ girlfriends whether ‘this particular pair of pants’ make their butts look fat or their hips bigger than they usually are.

I had three options:

Option (a): It looks great! You look completely gorgeous in it – the only thing that you would look better in is your birthday suit.

Option (b): It looks fantastic on you! The colour completely matches your complextio- No! Wait! I’m a guy!

Option (c): I don’t know! God, please ask someone else!

Since I didn’t want to give the wrong impression or embarrass myself, I went with option (d), talk before you think; you make fewer mistakes that way. It is, after all one of the oldest advice known possible to man. Or was it to think before you talk...?

“Erm… Well... It looks very girly,” I stumbled. Seeing a slight frown on her face, I realized that I had said the wrong thing. “Very feminine,” Frown still there… I panicked, finally adding; “Not that it’s a bad thing! It’s great for a girl to look feminine.” Worse. I was in deep shit. “I mean, you look very pretty and feminine! Yes, that’s it! Pretty and feminine.” The frown finally disappeared in the place of a broad smile.

“I thought so too,” replied Kari. “Don’t you think that my mother had the greatest sense of fashion? It’s so different from her cooking.”

“Yeah… Er, very unique.”

“Exactly.”

“Erm.. Yeah.” I stammered, not being able to find anything to say without insulting her or her mother in result being kicked out of her apartment followed by days of wallowing in self-pity.

“Anyway, there was this fantastic coincidence today!” she said excitedly. “I saw this great accessory in the shopping mall nearby but I couldn’t afford it. Don’t you think I’m lucky to get it as a birthday present?”

She turned around, gesturing at her recently obtained gift. It was only then when I noticed the pink and white object nestled in her hair.

The bow.

:End:

Human

T

he rusty metal axe met wood with a dull thud.

He threw the cut pieces of wood into a growing pile behind him, noticing the subtle rays of orange creeping across the sky, a sure sign of approaching dusk. The black haired man gathered all of his gains for the day and tied them. They were then thrown on his back as he began to long and weary hike home.

It was times like these when Inuyasha loathed being human the most. Things that he could once do simply in a few seconds took him hours to actually complete. A swipe of his claws would have once easily sliced a tree into pieces. It now took ages just to cut a tree down. It wasn't as if his human form, or rather, his current state, was weak. In fact, he was one of the stronger men in his village. He could not, however; compare to the strength he once had - at times was even surprised at how weak he could be.

As he trampled across the rocky trail, surrounded by trees, Inuyasha realized that he - the man who was once a demon, craved the thrill of the hunt. It was a nagging feeling, deep within his skin, tugging at his heart - the faint reminder of what he once had. The excitement of battling with his all against an opponent, testing new skills and stretching the very limits of his strength - life threatening moments that boiled his blood, where every wrong move could have easily cost his life.

Where he could once run so quickly that many demons had envied him, he was replaced with heavy feet that he needed to rest every few minutes. He always pushed himself to do better, trained himself often but his improvements have always been subtle. His ears and nose, once reaching out to places impossible to see. A time where every scent could tell a tale of its own, weaving a story with its intricate depths – things he would not allow himself to forget, despite how painful it was to think of the many great things he could have done if he was not caged in the human body as he was.

Inuyasha stopped walking. He had reached a small house surrounded by its brothers – other houses fashioned exactly like the one he stood before. Smoke poured out of quaint little chimneys, children played outside, men entering their homes; expecting a warm dinner after a hard day’s work. Inuyasha was slightly disgusted to be one of them. He never really wanted to be human; all he wanted was to make Kikyo happy. He had managed to, at the expense of his own. It wasn’t as if he was not happy. He was – but there were times he felt restless and annoyed, never at ease.

“Inuyasha?” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Come in.”

Inuyasha stared at the black haired woman in front of him, as though dazed. “Kikyo…”

Kikyo smiled. It warmed his heart, he dully noted. “Why don’t you put your things down,” she referred to the firewood he had slung on his back, “And let us eat.”

He did as he was told, mind still deep in thought.

As he settled down on the wooden chair that he himself had carved, he faced Kikyo; who was humming to himself. She was content, he realized. She should be, he thought. After all, she had the life she had always dreamed of. The normal life granted to every woman, a life that was denied to her, the woman who was born a priestess – destined to serve her people and only them, laying their needs before her own. She could not stand a life as such. She was secretly selfish. As was he, he thought. They were truly the same.

“What is wrong?” Kikyo asked, her brows furrowing; eyes set on the man in front of her.

“What do you mean?”

“You have been…” she trailed off, as if finding the correct word. “Unnaturally silent these days.”

“It’s nothing,” Inuyasha mumbled, rubbing his human eyes. “I’m just… tired.”

She was silent. For a moment, there was only the sound of the clay spoon clinking against the plate.

“You do not,” Kikyo hesitantly began, a nervous look on her face. A look he had rarely seen; one he would not care to see again. “… Regret your decision, do you?”

His head whipped up in surprise. “Of course not,” he said firmly, with all the determination he could muster. He realized wryly that he had sounded more confident that he felt.

“Good,” Kikyo said, lowering her eyes. “Good,” she said again. She looked up. “I love you, Inuyasha.”

“I love you too.” Inuyasha replied truthfully.

And as their lips met, Inuyasha couldn’t help but wonder what went wrong.

---

It was late at night, perhaps even early in the morning – he was not sure. He knew that Kikyo was in deep sleep. A full day’s worth of chores could do that to someone. Standing in the heart of the forest, he took a deep breath.

He was tense. He knew that the restlessness he had in the past week had been constantly building up in his body, bubbling in the pit of his stomach, ready to explode at any time.

Inuyasha tightened his fist, biting his lip so hard it drew blood; he punched the tree in front of him. Leaves rained down on him, as if mocking him. If he had been a hanyou at that moment, the tree would have ceased to exist. He wasn’t and it was all that had mattered. He punched the tree again, barely biting into the bark. He growled and punched it again, channeling all his anger and hatred.

Again.

He wondered if he had ever resented Kikyo for wanting him to be a human.

Again.

He wondered if she had actually cared for him rather than just wanting a way out of being a priestess.

Again.

Blood trickled down his fist but he paid it no heed. He breathed heavily, tears pooled in his eyes. Leaning against the battered tree, he let out a scream of frustration, pouring out every fiber of his very being.

---

He opened his eyes hours later to find that the sun was already high up in the sky.

Kikyo must be worried, was his first thought.

His eyes glazed over, remembering what had happened the previous night. He looked at his injured hand, realizing it had remained as it was, injured. He was still human.

He knew he loved Kikyo. He and Kikyo could live a peaceful life without his demon blood and her responsibility as a priestess.

But somehow, that just wasn’t enough.

Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t change anything.

Inuyasha nursed his hand and journeyed home, where Kikyo would be waiting for him.