BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

50

Tuesday 08/10/1995

Numb, I rise from my place on the sofa, ripping my gaze free from Dracos with force. Searching for someone, something, really anything there could be other than him.

I glance at Daphne, reading engrossed, and Tracey, still wrapped in Adrian's arms, at the door and, unhindered, at Draco yet again.

Hardly a sound reaches my ears, although I see them all turning back to what they were doing, chatting and working on homework.

Draco's lips move too, briefly, merely fleeting. Finally, he starts to move, in my direction. Towards me. And I, I know I should better be leaving now.

Skirting the sofa, I focus on my feet and my escape. Don't fall, don't get distracted and especially don't stop moving.

Outside the common room, Theo won't leave my mind.

Should I look for him? Would he want that, would he want to see me now? Am I not why he's so upset?

Hesitantly, but driven by Draco who might follow me, I roam through the dungeons more or less aimlessly. Unsure whether to try and find Theo or just wait until everyone goes to sleep and return to my dorm.

Contemplating, I stumble into a narrow side corridor and gold out in the darkness. I'm starting, I notice. Did I eat anything today? I don't know. Breakfast seems a distant blur in my memory. Fuck was this day shit.

I peel myself out of the small space of the corridor back into a bigger one and continue to walk, following an invisible lead mindlessly.

So deep in the dungeon's maze, I can hear more rustling noises by the minute. Rats, mice, what else could be down here? No matter what and whether there really is something here or if perhaps my sense of hearing's just going crazy, I feel alone in either case. Discontented. Used up with failure.

I fasten my steps and heighten my attention. But why?

What keeps me from turning around, going back to my dorm, to my bed? From finally satiate my stinging hunger with some dinner?

I know what Theo searched for coming here. The quiet and the calm. Comfort.

The quiet he surely found. But the calm, comfort even, no. Didn't I search for the same things coming here? Am I still searching? Just like him?

Just like him, I failed to find them. But I, after all, did not fail to find him.

I look up at the sight of him leaning against the rough stone wall. This day is unreal. Not in a good way.

Its coincidences are unbelievable.

"Were you searching for me?" He asks, quietly.

"No," I lie into his face.

"Does that mean I found you?" The steps he makes toward me sound dull on the floor, heavy. What I do is stand and stare, breathe and persevere.

He's reached me now. With all this murk it may be hard to make out his face exactly. But his smell enfolds me, hugs me tight. He's everywhere but still not touching me. I long for him to touch me, to allow me to sink into his arms, bury my face in his chest.

A sigh empties my lungs and my skin trembles over my bones with realisation. So this is it? Is this what it boils down to? An ugly end? A pretty one? If only I knew. "My answer, do you want to hear it?"

"Of course," he assures, without any hesitation. What does he need me to say? What would fix his precious heart?

A long silence thickens the air between us.

What if I'm not brave enough for this? I know I'm not. To admit things I wish could stay hidden, to myself, to anyone, that's harder than anything.

"I can't," I gulp, "Can't give it to you, what you ask of me. I can't give you what you deserve to get."

I know it's nothing new for him. He knew, every second of my hesitance and resistance. He knew that it couldn't be with us. He knew long before I did.

"But I still love you," I mumble, "you're the one. I love you with all I am."

I need to give him more. Something he can actually believe.

"And I'm so tired of that." His words cause my stomach to cramp up. "I am tired of loving you unconditionally. Just like that. How the hell does that work?"

"I don't know," I croak.

"No you don't. You don't know and you don't understand anything about the severity of the position I'm in. It's so damn hard to do the right thing sometimes."

"I know what position you're in," I claim, "I know how you feel. I know how much I love you."

"And how much do you love him? More?" He jibes, frustrated. "You don't have to defend yourself, you don't have to try to persuade me."

"Persuade you of what, I'm not persuading you of anything!" I refuse his accusations.

"You're wanting to make me believe you love me as you love him when that's not the truth." Theo takes a step back. "At this point what is this other than a sad attempt of you to save yourself? I tried so hard not to push you to do anything you didn't want. You didn't hear me, you chose not to."

"Don't leave me," I beg, my breath stolen by hurt. "I'm scared alone."

"You're the one leaving me," he turns the tables, "I'm scared too, you know. I wanted to forget everything, about Malfoy and you, all of that. And I'm disappointed in myself, so disappointed. Didn't I want to win you over? Didn't I always use to say I wouldn't give up on you? What happened to that? I failed."

Ashamed, I cry. Tear after tear strolls down my face uncontrollably. This is my mess. I am his sorrow and his trouble.

"Kiss me? Kiss me and never talk to me again?" He suggests, sighing and stroking a few all-time untamable strands of hair out of his face.

"No," I shake my head vigorously. "I'll kiss you and kiss you again anytime. I'll talk to you when I need you and you'll do the same, Theo. I refuse to do this."

"Kiss me?" He asks again, stepping closer as well. His hands place on my hips gently as he draws me closer carefully. "Please."

My lips lay on his without further resistance. His breath's warm and smells like everything else on him. Like the Theo I've technically known for so long yet practically only so briefly. Like the Theo I value and love. Like my Theo.

The kiss goes on tasting salty with tears, mine or his, or both, I can't tell. Then it's over before I know it. He removes my hands out of his hair and his own from my hips.

"Goodbye Y/n." He whispers under his breath and is gone without another word.

. . .