Moon in the Water

by Amadea

The moon is in the water, just beneath the surface. He thinks if he could touch it, it would feel like ice if he held it long enough, his hand would turn numb, his fingers nonexistent.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe, I do not. I just play in her world, but the words are mine.

Author's Note: This may seem random. Approach it as a metaphor for larger things: Draco knows what he wants, yet doesn't really know how to go about getting them. Are his desires even attainable?

- - -

Moon in the Water

"The moon, the moon, so silver and cold."

-Thomas Hood

The moon is in the water, just beneath the surface. He thinks if he could touch it, it would feel like ice; if he held it long enough, his hand would turn numb, his fingers non-existent.

His pale hand, pale like the moon, brushes the surface of the lake, an eye in the earth and the moon is just out of reach. The water is cool on his skin, cold, but not icy, like the moon would be. Not the frigid breath that would chill his spine and send glitter to his eyes.

How do they know the one in the sky is the real one, and the one in the water the reflection? Couldn't it be the other way round, and they spent their entire lives praying to an image, when they were already so close to holding it?

His hand sweeps through the water again, thin fingers reaching to brush the silver drop of sky, inches away; mere inches. His breath, icy in its own right, leaves a puff of fog before his face.

He sweeps his pale hair from his forehead with a dripping hand, droplets from the water – perhaps, even, the moon – tracing down his temple, quivering on his chin, falling to the earth beneath his knees.

He wonders if he's gone mad, Oh what would Mother say? Her son, searching for the moon and forever, it is mere inches from his grasp.

The night air is brisk and fresh on his face, an underlying hint of smoke from the fires in the castle adding a certain comfort. Not the same comfort of the moon, numbing his hand, his arm, the ice – so frigid, so cold – his heart is racing at the thought of the silvery globe. Just for a moment – just enough to be aware it happened, just to hold it for an instant and have the chill go down his spine. Oh, how he wants it; the moon in the water.

- - -

Fin.