Purge

It was in that moment as I watched in horror as he bent over the toilet, retching, his hair falling in his eyes, that I knew I loved him. There was something about the way his pale flesh blended in with the tiles on the floor, the way his hands gripped the porcelain of the bowl, the way his stomach heaved as he purged his dinner. He was all at once so very real and ghost-like. He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, not bothering to hide his pain behind his mask. And suddenly I hated him more than I ever had in my life. I hated him because he made me feel. I didn't want to feel; not for him. I wanted to go on living in the black and white world I had created, where people were placed in boxes I had labelled either 'good' or 'evil'. It gave me a headache to think in terms of grey, but here I was, standing in the Prefects bathroom with Draco, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. I couldn't ignore him.

'What are you doing?' I asked, with a curious resignation.

Draco pulled himself to his feet and leant heavily against the wall, his eyes on the floor.

'What the hell does it look like I am doing, Potter?' was his weary reply.

I recoiled from his words. They were lacking their usual scornful bite, and in their place was a sad empty ringing that forced me to come to the realisation that Draco was flesh and blood and so very real. His ice had melted in the heat of war, and all that was left was the stark white of a bone-core.

'Why were you being sick? Do you need to see Pomfrey?' I asked, my eyes on his hands; long elegant fingers shredding tissue.

'No. She can't heal me.'

He glanced up then, looking deep into my eyes. He was pleading for secrecy. I never knew how open and sore he could look. I never thought I would be the one to discover a hidden depth that sang out to the part of me that I had tried to repress; to bury away to allow myself to continue fighting towards my destiny. I couldn't examine my weaknesses, my bitten desire to love and be loved in return, the horrible bile of the knowledge I would always be just a saviour, just a hero, never Harry. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat for doing this to me. I wanted to kill him and I wanted to kiss him.

I turned to leave and suddenly there he was, his face an inch from mine. He was searching my eyes hungrily, looking for something I could not fathom. I tried to look away but his heat held me, burning a hole through my cleverly constructed defences. A tiny smile played out across his lips, and I swallowed thickly. He leant closer, his breath brushing against my ear.

'We are the same, you and I,' he whispered, his voice light and melodic.

I shook my head, desperately trying to rid myself of the onslaught of emotions that flashed through my skull like lightening. The last person I expected, the last person I wanted to stumble across my insecurities, was Draco. I backed away and reached for the door handle. His hand grabbed mine, his palm brushing against my hand as his fingers encircled my wrist. I studied the contrast between our hands, the silent delicate assurance of his bringing out the strength of mine. He rubbed his thumb across my pulse point, caressing my life as if it was the most natural thing to do.

I shot a glance at him and saw that he was studying our hands too. His face was twisted in concentration as his eyes flickered over my wrist then back down again to my fingertips. He pulled my hand up towards his mouth and I watched mesmerised as he gently kissed each of my fingers in turn. He kissed the centre of my palm and folded my hand into a fist before pressing it against the left side of his chest above his heart.

'I love you and I hate you,' he said, before walking out of the room, the door a faint click behind him.

I strode across the tiles and prayed to the porcelain goddess as I emptied the contents of my stomach along with the contents of my mind.