I hated him. I did! I wouldn't admit to anything else. I hate that he had me trapped here. That we argued constantly, and that every time we did, I was crushed!
He knew so much more than I did, he's so much more powerful than I am. We try to talk things out, I try to tell him how stupid he's being, how the order will come for me, and even if they don't, my friends will; Just like they did for the department of mysteries.
He tells me I'm delusional, and that if they were going to come, they would have been here already.
I try to find out what's going on with the war, what's going on outside these walls. He ignores me, treats me like a child, and tells me nothing. He always seems to know exactly what to say or do to rub salt on my wounds, causing the pain to ignite, no matter how old the wounds are.
As time goes on, there are times I wonder where he's sat, and soon wondering about my friends' health turns into worrying about his health. I miss our arguments, I miss the fondness he looks he used to give me. As he leaves me more and more, the more I start to realize things that I hadn't before.
He was gone for a week when I woke up suddenly in the night. Unable to sleep, I took a walk, like I usually did. He understood my restlessness and so allowed it with the full knowledge there was no escape for me.
Tonight was different though. I found him slumped against the wall with a hand to his side in a puddle of blood.
I rushed to him in the dim light of the moonlit hallway before falling to my knees next to him.
"You're injured," I murmured pathetically.
He chuckled darkly before coughing, blood fell from his lips.
"Why won't you heal yourself?" I asked stupidly.
His other hand raised slightly off his body, and my magic suddenly rushed into being as his yew wand was place in my hand. I looked down at it, almost enraptured before I spun it in my hand and pointed it towards him. He closed his eyes and expelled his breathe.
"Eskipey." I muttered.
He opened his eyes in surprise, his brow furrowing as he rubbed his hand against the healing scar that was slowly disappearing under his touch.
"Why?" He murmured quietly, looking up at me with a confused yet awe inspired expression.
I leaned in towards him, placing one of my hands on his thigh as I moved as closer than I'd ever been to him before, even in the grave yard of Little Hangleton. "Only I am allowed to add injury to your insult."
"Don't you mean 'insult to injury?'"
"Does it matter?"
"I suppose not," he murmured, as the hand that had put his life in my hand twined into my hair, pulling me closer still as he kissed me. His red eyes still seemed to pierce through my soul, even though I had my own closed.