English isn't really my native language. Sorry for any mistakes; characters are probably OOC.

"I can't love you."

"I know."

"Do you care?"

"I should."

His dad doesn't like you—no, like doesn't quite capture the burning passion he feels; it's a bit closer to despise. You don't take it too personally, because he hates all of your kind. Muggleborns.

You used to take personal offense to that statement, enough to make you cry; but you've been through a war and you've watched many of your friends die, so a few ugly words isn't enough to rile you up anymore. The world is an unjust place and groundless hatred will exist wherever you go.

The war maybe over, but prejudice will never die.

He's the pureblood Slytherin prince, so it's to be expected that he marries a pureblood Slytherin princess that is more fitting for his social standards and will produce equally fitting heirs.

You, you're just a Gryffindor muggleborn, one of the Boy-Who-Lived's best friends. You're part of the Light, and he's somewhat more belonging to the Dark. You two are as opposite as they come; a place where you belong with him doesn't exist in this universe.

The future is already mapped out and planned for every single one of you. He'll get married to a pretty young girl from a rich and prestigious background and you—you'll probably marry a man who's lively and happy and more your friend than your lover.

It's the way things are, and there's nothing you can do to change it.

You both have too many ties to this world to just let it all go. Families to take care of, people to please, expectations to meet, duties to fulfill. You can't just abandon everything and run away; as romantic as that sounds, you are both realists at heart.

There are some things in life that are beyond your control, and you're dead tired of struggling against fate.

On the day of his wedding, you are there as one of his many, many guests. You wear your best pink dress that's been worn hundreds of times in other weddings and formal occasions. You look pretty, but today's not about you so it doesn't matter.

You sit there and watch them exchange vows and a kiss. The wedding is spectacular, the food is great, and the bride is perfect. She's a smart and beautiful young lady, and you know that one day he will come to truly love her. You'll clap and smile with the rest of them, and your heart won't break because it can't.

Before he leaves for his honeymoon, he singles you out in the crowd and you two talk about everything that is and everything that can't be. It's the final goodbye, and it doesn't sting as nearly as much as you think it should.

"In another world where things are different, do you think we would've had a chance?"

"Yeah," he says. "I probably would've loved you."

You smile—it's bitterly, heartbreakingly sad, but it's genuine and that's all he'll get.

You'll always sort-of-maybe-maybe-not love him, and he'll always wish that he could love you.

In a twisted, sadistic sort of way, it's kind of sweet. (Although it's not, not really.)