𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐗𝐗

"Ron?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Can I ask you something?" I said, a hint of nervousness peaked out through my voice that I had been trying to hide.

"'Course, mate," he said kindly, "Anything."

I paused for a moment, surveying the pieces of Wizard's Chess in which we had just finished with.

"What would you do... if you kissed someone... but you didn't mean to?"

He furrowed his eyebrows with a thoughtful expression.

"I'm not really sure what you're asking," he told me, "How do you accidentally kiss someone?"

I let out a breathy noise, not quite a sigh, but something to show just how exasperated and embarrassed I was by this conversation.

"Like. What if you kissed someone, but it was kind of just a spur of the moment kind of thing? Like you don't actually like them?"

"So, regret?" Ron guessed.

"Yeah," I agreed, "Sorta."

"Are you speaking from experience or..." he trailed off his sentence, letting it rest implied.

"No!" I said insistently, "No, of course not."

He gave me a knowing look, the look that told me that he didn't believe me. But he went along with it anyways.

"Alright. Well, to be honest with you, Harry, I would probably just ignore it and try to move on."

A sigh escaped me. I'd tried that, of course. It didn't really work out in my favour, or Draco's for that matter.

"And if you actually liked them?" I asked, hoping for a different answer. Some sort of helpful advice for this strange predicament of mine.

Ron hummed. "If I liked her, there wouldn't be a problem then, would there?"

"But they don't like you back?" I added.

He looked up to his left towards the ceiling. His eyes travelled along the thirtyish candles lit on the chandelier.

"Umm," he thought, "I think I really wouldn't talk about it, then. Maybe try to win her over if I thought it possible."

I slumped down farther into the leather sofa. It had a slight scent of cinnamon to it. That, and a hint of sweetness.

"Harry, who did you kiss and regret it?" Ron asked intently. I knew he wouldn't believe me.

"What?" I gasped, putting in my best face of surprise, "No one! I just– it was just a question."

"That's an awfully specific question, mate."

Still not believable.

I wasn't going to tell him. Really. I wasn't. Did I want to? Of course I did, Ron was my best friend. My first friend. But he wouldn't understand. He didn't even understand when he thought that I was talking about a girl.

Maybe, if it were a girl, I wouldn't be so confused?

"Harry?"

"What, Ron?"

I noticed that he was looking at me rather concerned. He was leaned over in his seat, as if getting physically closer to me would somehow make this all okay.

"Are you really okay?" he tilted his head sideways. "I know you're going to say that you are, even if it's not true, but you really don't look well. As your best mate, I have to ask."

I nodded my head, hoping that the nonverbal motion would get my message across clear enough.

I was okay.

This was fine.

***

"Is it bad?" I asked Draco.

He nodded his head, strained.

He sat hunched over by the fire, clutching and wildly moving his fingers around his palm.

I'd found him there when I realized I'd forgotten my Astronomy textbook on the table from when I had been speaking with Ron earlier that day.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No."

"What is it, exactly?" I questioned. "The feeling, I mean."

"It just hurts," he mustered out, his voice sounding gruff and unused. "It feels like the Cruciatus all over again."

"Only in your hands?" I tore my eyes away from his fingers and to his face.

"Feet too," mumbled Draco.

I nodded, understanding. Though, I don't think he saw it with his eyes shut in agony.

"Let me take you to your bed," I suggested. Sleep was suppose to solve things like this, no?

He shook his head violently. "No."

"Why not? You look so tired."

"The sheets bother me when it gets this bad, okay?" He didn't look at me. I sort of wanted him to.

"Does it get bad often?"

"Sometimes."

I thought for a moment.

"Does it bother you when people touch you?" I asked.

"Sometimes," he repeated.

"Can I hug you?"

Perhaps, I could try Ron's idea. Win him over?

"Not right now," Draco whispered to my dismay.

I ran my eyes over his wretched frame. Hair tousled, damp with sweat, resting freely just above his eyelashes. The way his black clothing hung loosely off of his body. His shoes untied, the hem of his trousers folded over once.

They way his leg bounced madly with anxiety. How his fingers trembled over one another. The little tiny mole that sat on the underside of his jawline.

I looked at him like one would gaze at a work of art. Like Ophiuchus or Fred, or one of Draco's drawings.

I liked the way he found it easier to draw a big picture of his thoughts rather than write them out painfully in tedious, minuscule letters.

I wanted someone to look at me like that.

I wanted him to look at me like that.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" I asked Draco again, feeling useless just sitting there, watching him.

"No."

The benefits of falling in love with someone who hates you is that they'll see you for exactly who you are.

The only downside is that they won't love you back.

"Just stay with me."