Handprints

“Curiosity killed the cat, eh, Malfoy?”

He doesn’t turn from his spot in front of the window, but you can see his reflection gazing at you through the glass. There is resentment in his eyes and you feel a stab of pain go straight through your heart. You didn’t want to intrude upon his sanctuary but someone had to do it. Someone had to bring him back to reality and make him realize that, as much as he wants to, he cannot hide in the shadows forever. And who better for the job than you? The one he trusts, the one he loves. That is if he does love.

The truth is he’s never said the words, though you’ve professed them a thousand times. And every time he looks at you, you can see the conflicting emotions there. It’s as if some days the hate and anger are so overpowering, he can do nothing but lash out at you. It scares you and you know you should run, but you don’t. You never could. You never will.

Today is one of those days.

“What is it you want, Malfoy, because the saying ‘misery loves company’ does not apply to me.”

He turns to speak and you can see the dark shadows under his eyes. The rest of his body shows signs of exhaustion too and as if you’re seeing him again for the first time, it shocks you at how thin he’s gotten. True, his eating habits aren’t healthy, but you never thought it’d get to this.

He stares at you for a moment then turns back to the glass. The room becomes awkwardly silent and you contemplate leaving, but then he speaks again, so softly you can’t tell whether he is speaking to himself or to you.

“All good things must come to an end.”

He places a hand against the windowpane and after a moment removes it. The heat from his skin has left a hand print on the pane and you both watch as it cools and disappears from sight. He repeats the action, but this time reaches out before it fades, in a way saving it, and you think that the action mirrors the two of you perfectly. How Harry is the hand print on the pane and you the hand and how if you give up now, stop reaching out, he’ll fade away just as his hand print did. You know you have to say something, anything, to keep him from fading so you blurt out the one thing on your mind.

“If you want peace, you must prepare for war. No pain, no gain, right?”

He whips around to face you and you will your body not to flinch as he moves closer. You curse yourself inwardly. Of all the stupid, insensitive things to say, it had to be that.

“Never advise anyone to go to war, Draco because you haven’t seen half the things I have,” he snarls.

“Pain is inevitable, Potter; suffering, on the other hand, is optional and it’s as if you enjoy suffering, what, with the way you do nothing but wallow in your own self-pity most of the time.”

You don’t know what made you retort with such a scathing remark but something tells you it’s true. The suffering is like a comfort to him and you wonder what happened to the strong, brave Gryffindor he had always been. But before you can say anything else, he grabs you by the collar and pulls you close, so close that his lips are only a breath’s away from yours. He raises his right hand, no doubt, to hit you but your words stop him mid-movement.

“Men in rage strike those that wish them best, Harry, and that’s all I want for you – the best.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper and you curse yourself at the pleading undertone in the sentence. He releases you from his grip but you don’t move. You refuse to retreat now. You will break this bubble of self-pity and loathing he has ensconced himself in and you will break it now.

You both stand as still as statues in the darkness, eyes firmly fixed on the other. Finally, he blinks and you know something has happened, something inside of him has broken and you can see the plea for forgiveness in his eyes. You brush a hand against his cheek and are surprised when a hot tear rolls over your fingers. His eyes are fixed on yours even as the rest of the tears begin to fall and it pains you to look at him in such a state that you find yourself wrapping him up in your arms so you don’t have to see all the fear in his eyes.

“All we can do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst,” you murmur into his unkempt hair as he tries unsuccessfully to muffle his sobs in your chest. And pray that we all survive, you add silently as your own tears begin to fall.