Lemon Grass and Sleep

A SECRET MEETING

"Thomas," Fred said, out of breath as he entered in the room. "So glad I could catch you."

"Are you, now?" I replied, not turning around to look at him.

"Um, yes," he said carefully, "Have I done something bad? Whatever it is, I am completely wrong, and you are right. Let me apologize."

At that, I set down my quill and turned to face him in my seat. He was left standing in the middle of the room, looking at me with a somewhat anxious face.

"Come here," I reached out my hands lazily, watching as he took measured steps toward me, glancing down at my hands curiously. "Give me your hands."

Fred froze up, as if paralyzed by my words in a mere instant. I could see the recognition and fear immediately light up in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

"No," he said quietly, "How about instead-"

"Give me," I said more forcefully, "Your hands."

I watched him swallow nervously, before raising his hands up shakily to lay in my palms. My chest felt a jolt of sadness shoot through it point blank as I saw bumps and lines across the back of his hands. A number of phrases, so muddled I couldn't even really make out what they were supposed to say anymore. Some were fresh, easily identifiable from yesterday, just barely pink.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked softly, running my thumbs lightly over his skin.

"I didn't want you to worry," he mumbled.

"I'm more worried now that I had to find out from other people." Fred pursed his lips, refusing to meet my eye.

"It doesn't even hurt," he laughed nervously, "Really, I'm fine. Just some scratches, I promise."

"You know, you don't have to deflect everything with jokes," I reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me. "It's fine to be upset, a wise man once told me sometimes it's best to cry."

"Wonder who that was," he said lowly, still trying to not look at me despite our faces being right in front of each other.

I didn't say another word, I knew I didn't need to. Fred's hands trembled in mine, and I continued to look at his face softly, waiting for him to be ready. Butterflies in my chest fluttered around my rib cage as he slowly looked up at me with perhaps the most exhausted, distressed expression I had ever seen.

"Come here," I whispered, and Fred obliged, burying his face in my shoulder and silently sobbing almost immediately. His arms wrapped around me and clutched at my robes desperately, I could feel the fabric twisting between his fingers as they dug into my back.

"I'm so frustrated, Thomas," Fred's voice wobbled, muffled by my shoulder as he hiccuped.

"I know," I soothed, rubbing circles into his back with my right hand.

"A few nights ago, me and Fred had to comfort some first year that she'd given detention," he spoke softly. "He was crying, sobbing, even, because of the pain. Black quills are bad enough, but he's a first year--practically a baby--and she still made him use it."

"She's evil," I whispered, "Plain and simple."

"She's more than evil, if I didn't know any better I'd think she was Voldemort himself."

I tucked my head against Fred's neck, continuing to hold him for however long he needed me to. Hearing him sniffle and feeling his body shake in my arms made my chest twist with a certain kind of helplessness I hope I wouldn't have to feel for a while. After a little bit, his breaths stopped hitching and my sweater felt cold.