BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

30

Tuesday, 01/10/1995

Long strides through the aisle, his gaze searching, roaming up and down the rows of books, his hand also searchingly stroking the book spines. 

He doesn't see me. 

His tie is tied wrong, I can see that from back here, his hair is tousled. He must've been in a hurry this morning. 

He doesn't see me. 

"Theo." It's stuck in my throat and won't come out. 

It would be so easy to just wave him over to me or say his name or just call out "hey". It's not easy, not at all. No matter how badly I want to talk, to him, no matter how much I want to plead him, ask him, tell him. Nothing comes out. 

And instead, I watch him, silently from a distance, as he sometimes disappears yet reappears in my field of vision, much further back in my row, still searching. 

He doesn't see me. 

And I wish he would. Because then I'd force myself to talk, he would. "What happened yesterday?" I would say, even though I knew exactly what happened. Our eyes would merge, he would sit down with me and talk, "I know it was wrong" he'd say. Then I would nod and- and? 

It's silly to imagine this conversation. Why can't I open my mouth for once when it's important? My gaze is fixed on him as he searches back there. I'm not sure, but I think I know what he's looking for. He's probably trying to find a book for transfiguration homework. 

He won't find it because I have it. "Partial Vanishment" it's printed in a blood red, with squiggly old letters onto the book that's lying on the table in front of me. It is closed, I look at it, its yellowish cover. It is stitched in the same red as the lettering. The yellow reminds me of summer, it's beautiful. 

Theo, back to Theo. Just as I look up I see him disappear, the last little inch of him turning the corner. That must have been him. Maybe he'll be back in a minute. I lean back my tense body, lightly against the back of my chair. It's too late now anyway. He didn't see me, that's it. Is that it? 

I could go to him right now. Then I'd ask him, "Do you hate him, Theo?" And he'd look at me askance and go "What? Of course I hate him, you know how I feel about you, he could take you away from me". 

And I would shake my head and tell him that it's my fault that he hates him, that it's my fault that he got so involved in my plans. Theo never was and never will be part of my revenge plan. He is part of another plan, a plan designed to keep me distracted. 

Theo is a distraction. If he knew that, he would leave me, run away from me. Hopefully. It would be for his own good. But I need him too much. That's why I wouldn't tell him, never about my plans, never about how filthy I use them both. That isn't something he should ever have to know.

So I would keep quiet about it. Would beg him not to hate Draco anymore, „please don't". 

I'd give it my best shot. But he'd still say, „As long as we're in this state of things I can't make myself not hate him. I just want you to be mine". 

His words would make me happy, the validation, the approval. They'd make me feel wanted, would satisfy what cries inside me for attention. 

That would make me even surer that I need him, I would need him even more. 

I am sure, sure as I could be. 

I'm not going to rid myself of Theodore Nott.