A dark figure slipped carefully, quietly, through the moonlit corridors. He carried no light, but he needed none to travel the familiar paths of his school… his true home. The darkness was a friend to the boy; it allowed him to hide. Usually it provided cover for pranks, exploration and other childish adventures, but that night it disguised something more.
Despite the castle's familiarity, it does not do to rely solely on instinct, the castle constantly changing just enough to trip the unwary. Lost in thought, the boy missed the last step, the jolt sending a frisson of pain through his body, lingering in his injuries. He scowled as his attention was drawn back to the marks; a farewell gift from his family for his return to school. While magic allowed for more… creative punishments, his father found muggle methods perfectly effective. That is what he got for being unable to be the son his father wanted, while his mother did not care enough to intercede.
Resolutely he pushed the thoughts from his mind. He was safe now, at Hogwarts… home. He just needed to complete that night's task, then he could forget all about them for the months until he next has to see his so-called family.
The hospital wing doors stood before him and he slipped inside. The large room was quiet, empty, all of the other students safely tucked away in their dorms. He hurried silently past the rows of beds, focused on his target at the far end of the room; the potions cupboard. Almost there, he froze as a movement caught his eye. It appeared that he was not the only one sneaking potions tonight.
Crouched before the cabinet was the dark shadow of another student. He must have made a sound of surprise, for the boy straightened and spun to face him, a grimace of pain sliding from his features just a moment too late. His own back throbbed in sympathy.
It was like looking into a mirror, opposites: red and gold over fine robes facing green and silver over second-hand.
It was like looking into a mirror, identical: wary eyes framed by dark hair, surrounded by puffy purple bruising.
A long moment passed as their eyes locked; wary, assessing. Neither one wiling to move first. They said nothing out loud, but knowledge passed through their gaze. An understanding of posture, expression; what it meant that they bore the same marks, what it meant that they were both in the Hospital Wing in the dark of the first night back – home.
The boy before the cupboard stepped to one side, silent permission for the other to approach. Keeping a cautious eye on him, he accepted, and stepped forward to take a vial from a shelf. He paused a moment, then turned to pass a matching vial to the other boy, only to receive a jar in return. This repeated several times; jars, vials and bandages being passed silently between the pair. Occasionally one of the students would shake his head, the potion unneeded or already obtained, but more often the contents were drunk or the supplies stashed in a pocket.
Fifteen minutes later, the Hospital Wing was empty once more. The boys having crept back through the doors and parted to return to their respective dormitories. As each boy walked, a shadow in the moonlight, he hoped he would not meet another awake that night. He couldn't bear for his friends to know his weakness. His enemy saw, but that was different somehow. After all, it was a weakness he now knew they shared. It did not change anything between them, but they knew; they understood.
Not a word passed between the two boys in the shadowy Hospital Wing that night. Not a word about the meeting was mentioned later. But for the next week, and after ever holiday, there was an unspoken truce. They did not seek each other out, to trade insults or hexes; they did not target them for pranks or other attacks. That was a time for healing.