I notice the little things you do.
Like the way you nearly fall in the corridor outside of the Transfiguration classroom as your step turns into a skid when your foot hits the newly-waxed, shining floor and how you stiffen, afraid that you are about to fall. You don't. You turn your head slightly to glance behind you, a blush creeping up the sides of your neck, to make sure that no one has seen your near-spill. You sigh with relief, not seeing anyone, and most certainly not seeing me, hidden in the shadows behind you.
Or like when you bite the outside of your lip, the part closest to the corner of your mouth, when you concentrate on a Potions test, your forehead creased with worry and eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. I know that you had to ace it, that your grade was abysmal in Potions at the time.
Or how when an explosion erupted from Longbottom's cauldron last Tuesday, you immediately reached for your wand, ready to shoot off a spell at the drop of a hat towards the offender. I saw the panic in your eyes when you thought that it was a Death-Eater, or even Voldemort himself, who had created the blast on the opposite side of the room.
I notice how much it hurts you when anyone keeps something important from you, especially Weasley and Granger. You hate feeling like they're talking about you behind your back; you hate feeling like a freak.
I notice how much it hurts you when Draco attacks you. Whenever he calls your mum a mudblood or tells you that you aren't good enough.
I've heard you crying in the boys' room by the library every evening. The other two thirds of the Golden Trio probably don't even know that you're gone. They don't know the pain you're going through. I do. I understand.
It makes me want to gather you in my arms and tell you that I'm there for you, I always was.
And I always will be.
Harry's back hit the bathroom wall. As he sank down to the floor, sobs bubbled up from his chest. He cried.
Unbeknownst to him, a dark-skinned boy stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him.
Harry rubbed his eyes and looked up from his hands, emerald orbs bleary. Something shimmered at him from the mirror, but when he turned to look, nothing was there.
It wasn't until he was leaving the bathroom that he noticed a folded piece of parchment lying on the floor.
Short, I know. But this really is just a prologue in actuality. If you like it I'll write more.
This ficlet (because if I do finish it, it will be no more than five chapters at most) is dedicated to violeteyedkitten. I know you wanted a Draco/Harry, L, but it just morphed into a Blaise/Harry. I found Draco becoming uncharacteristically soft.
Hope I didn't disappoint.
Review if you'd like.