Harry couldn't stop seeing it. That lost look.
That lost look in Colin's eyes when they'd gotten out of the tub. The sight of bubbles that still stubbornly clung to his skin ordinarily brought out merriment in Harry, but that look...
What had he done?
He'd apologized, he'd cried. And Colin had loved him still. Had told him it was okay.
But that look. That lost look in his eyes.
The guilt was too much to bear. How could he add on more guilt to the pile he carried around and still walk upright? He was responsible for it all - everything that had happened. He was responsible for it all, the past, the present, the future.
All those people who had lost their lives fighting because of him - his fault. If he'd never been born, they wouldn't have died. Bill, sitting lifeless in his hospital room, unable to move, to fully come back to himself - his fault. Why couldn't he help him wake up? That time his Aunt had screamed at him and his Uncle had shoved him in the cupboard for two days - his fault. He'd left a spot of bacon grease on the counter. That lost look in Colin's eyes - his fault. If he only knew how to make Colin happy, Colin wouldn't have to look at him that way. He was trying, didn't Colin know that? And that missing women - Jane Jones - his fault. Why couldn't he find her? Why were his skills not enough? What if she was in trouble and he couldn't help and something awful happened? And that time - and that time - and that time...his fault. All his fault. Why couldn't he be perfect?
"What's wrong with me," he asked Liza as he sat rigidly on her couch. The mind healer simply looked at him, her expression not giving Harry any indication of her thoughts, and he repeated the words, hurled them at her. "What's wrong with me?"
"Why do you think something is wrong with you?" she asked him calmly.
"Because there is!" Harry said, frustrated.
"Name one thing."
Harry stared at her for long seconds. "One thing? ONE thing? I'll give you a million of them! I wasn't there for them, any of them! I couldn't be there, I couldn't help, and now I can't help any of the people I need to now, and if I can't do that I can't help any of the people in the future, and if I can't be perfect they'll hate me, they'll leave me, and I'll be left with nothing, I'll BE NOTHING."
Liza calmly watched him, and Harry was furious at her. How could she just sit there while he was clearly in so much pain? Why wouldn't she fix him? Why did he come here still? This wasn't helping, nothing was helping. He was nothing.
The only solace he seemed to find was in the diary of Officer Bellingtine. Sometimes he could swear he was happy, in those moments when he was lost in the thoughts of this stranger. This stranger who would never realize that his thoughts, no matter how grim or gruesome, were the only thing keeping Harry sane, grounding him.
Harry would read aloud to Bill when he visited, and took comfort in the thought that this was helping Bill. Because it had to be helping, right? Each time Harry would read aloud from the diary, Bill would make some progress - he'd twitch a finger, or blink, or cry silent tears. Harry didn't know what to make of it, but he needed Bill to wake up, needed to know that he could still help people, still be useful to them, still be perfect...
And so he'd read, and Bill would cry, and all was well, right?
No prints found. No DNA. Nothing. Nothing to learn at the strip joint she worked at, other than that gut feeling that the monster works there. He's a charming man, I'll admit. God is he ever charming, and a fit body to boot. Not that I - just an observation, mind you.
Found a judge who gave us some leeway on our flimsy evidence. Granted us a search warrant. May have embellished it a bit, but who will ever know? Still turned up empty. This guy is good.
Started hanging around the bar. The monster's serving me drinks and smooth talking me, and he knows that I know, I know that he knows, we're on equal footing here. Or so he thinks. I'm going to catch him. Whatever it takes.
There's no way this is the monster's first time. He's too careful. There's too little evidence. This isn't a novice, just getting wings. No, this is a real opponent, someone who's been around the block a time or two.
A letter was delivered to the prescient. I don't quite know what to make of it. His mind is - dare I say it - fascinating. Perhaps I'm as sick as he is, and isn't that exactly what he wants? He says I'm worthy of respect. I see him for who he is. If this letter was meant to throw me off his trail, it's backfired. His words, how he writes - god it's the same way the monster talks, when we chat in the bar. Every fibre of my being tells me that this man - this man is exactly who I think he is.
It's hard to know if he's telling the truth or if he's simply mad, but he seems to genuinely believe that he is the direct descendant of Jack the Ripper, carrying on in his footsteps. It matters little if this is true. He believes it is true, and so it is. He seems to desire to cast me in the role of his arch-nemesis. He calls me his 'dear Inspector Abberline' and somehow I know that he's been waiting for me.
I went to the bar again. God this man is toying with me, I can feel it. There's this look in his eyes I recognize. I know what it is. I know what he wants. I think I know how to catch him. I did say I'd do anything, didn't I?
I suppose on some level, it should worry me that I have no qualms about the lengths I will go to catch this man. But life's a game and we are all merely players. And this game makes me feel more alive than I've felt in years.
I'm as sick as he is. And I don't care.
Harry paused to clear his throat. His pulse raced. Is he too, as sick as this monster that the stranger keeps mentioning? Why does this make him feel so - alive? He looked over at Bill. A finger gently tapped the side of the bed, where Bill's hands rested. It's working. It's working. He turned the page of the notebook.
I convinced Captain Keller to let me bring him in for questioning. We have circumstantial evidence. A warrant or two has turned up nothing. But if we can make him talk, I argued, we'd have a case. Something to build on.
I sat across from him. I stared him down. And he wasn't fazed at all. Talked to me the same way he talks in the bar. It was like the white walls and sparely furnished room was the same as the shadowed cosy atmosphere at the bar. He came close to telling on me, hinted at our conversations at the bar - no one knows about those but Captain Keller, who shouldn't even know anything about this case since he had to recue himself, given that the victim is his daughter. But it's like he didn't want to get me in trouble. Toy with me, yes; play with my emotions, yes; but I got the feeling that I play too much a part in his fantasy. He doesn't want anything to jeopardize my role in our game. And so I'm safe.
I'm being protected by this man. This should scare me.
We had to let him go, of course. He didn't say anything incriminating, as perhaps I should have realized before I let my impatience get the best of me.
And now - it's been weeks. I see him everywhere. He's following me, I think. He's started showing up randomly. In the mornings when I have my coffee. In the evenings when I run through the drive through on my way home. I could stop getting coffee in the morning. I could start cooking at home in the evenings. But then he'd know that he's won. And I won't give him that. And so I pretend not to notice as he watches. He's never there long. Just enough to let me know he's around, waiting.
And still I come around the bar. I talk to him, as though I don't know what he's doing. What I'm doing. But we both know. We're both dancing around the subject.
God I feel alive.
Harry paused again to glance over at Bill. Two fingers were tapping now. "Do you want me to go on?"
The tapping continued. Harry could swear it was slightly faster than before. He turned to the next page.
The letters come fairly regularly now. He's taunting us. No, taunting me. It's me he targeting. He says I understand him. I think he feels alone. I know how he feels. I'm alone too. I suppose I shouldn't say that. I don't live alone, after all. My dear Mother lives with me, but I might as well be alone. Thank god she is wheelchair bound and cannot walk up these stairs to my room. I shouldn't say that. I shouldn't have said that. She's done her best to raise me, after all. I only meant to explain why I too, feel alone.
I may understand this man. But that does not mean that he can continue to do this to me, whatever this is. He's everywhere now. Everywhere. Or is he really? Am I simply in a nightmare? Will I wake up and find this has just been a dream, a bad dream - I'm ready to wake up.
I grow weary of this game. There are no breaks.
A small grunt came from the direction of the bed, and Harry looked up in surprise. The noise had to have come from Bill. The tapping had stopped, but Bill was blinking rapidly now, and Harry looked back down at the diary. The next entry's date was several days later.
I've spent the last week reaching out to other police departments in other states. Like I said, there's no way this is the monster's first time. I got nowhere until today. A retired detective in some semi-small town I've never heard of halfway across the country contacted me. He'd been on a case, a few years ago. Suspected the husband had killed his wife for the money. Something was off about the husband. But he never could prove any wrongdoing. The suspect had stalked him awhile. But the detective had never been able to prove that either. He'd looked into this man. Looked into his whole life. The suspect had a history of dark deeds covered up by protective parents throughout his time in school and beyond. Something the former detective said stuck with me. "Either stop now sonny boy or take him head on. This ain't something you can half-ass." I have been unable to get those words out of my head.
I have decided I will not be a victim to this game. I have felt - helpless - in the past. I will not be helpless here. Not now. I will fight back the only way I know how. I will turn the tables on this man. I will not be the prey. I am an officer of the law, for Christ's sakes. I am not prey. I am the hunter. This is my game. It's time to play by my rules, Canice.
A knock at the door startled Harry, and he quickly closed the notebook.
"Sorry to interrupt, but it's time for your meds, Bill." A nurse stepped into the room with a smile, and Harry felt a wave of irritation - he'd been so close, Bill might have woken up -
But Bill sat unmoving once more, and Harry couldn't bear to stay any longer. He said his goodbyes and left, walking quickly away from yet another failure.
"Harry, wait up!"
Harry turned around to see Luke walking toward him. He almost turned back, not in the mood to see Luke after his odd outburst last time they'd spoken, but Luke caught up to him too quickly.
"Yes?" Harry asked.
"I wanted to apologize," Luke said. "I didn't mean to upset you, before."
Harry gave a soft sigh. He was so tired. He didn't want to fight this fight right now. "Look, you hit a nerve, alright? Let's just call it water under the bridge."
"Alright lad. Are we good?"
"We're good," Harry said. "How's Bill seem lately, any improvement that you've noticed?"
Luke brightened up. "He's tapping his fingers every now and then. I think you're really helping him, Harry. He hadn't made any progress, and then you show up and he's tapping his fingers. It's a miracle, lad, a miracle."
Harry accepted Luke's gratitude, but privately he didn't think it was a miracle. He didn't think it had anything to do with magic, even. He was missing a piece to this puzzle, he could bet his life on it. Or maybe it was simply sheer dumb luck.
Whatever it was, wondering about the unknowable gave him a headache.
The morning seemed to drag on, and time stood still, the way it did when one doesn't get enough sleep. Draco had lain awake for hours after another nightmare. He'd remembered this one, which hadn't happened before. He'd been running from something, some unknown fear. But Astoria had been there, running next to him, encouraging him to keep going, just a little further...and Colin had been there, his voice telling him to keep running while he held it off, and Draco was so scared, his mind screaming at Colin to run away but no words would come and Colin's voice slowly disappeared...
By the time lunch came, Draco needed a break from the same four walls of his Gringotts office. He strolled along Diagon Alley, grabbed a bite to eat from a nearby vender, and let the warm sun soak into his skin. He found a bench where he could observe the comings and goings of others and sank onto it gratefully.
He watched as a child dropped their ice cream cone and cried. He watched a group of witches walk past, laughing at some joke shared. He watched a young child with a camera take a photo and then yell out did I do it right? and Draco nearly gasped aloud as he recognized his son, and a little ways behind him was - his breath caught - Colin. Draco's eyes darted around, looking for Astoria, and there she was, nearby watching, as Colin and Scorpius took photos.
Thankful that he'd chosen a bench that was partially obscured by trees, Draco watched, and a myriad of emotions wormed through him quickly. Curiosity won out in the end and he stayed where he was, afraid to watch but more afraid to leave. Colin was - good at this, Draco begrudgingly thought. Something bubbled up within and he couldn't push it away. His eyes drank in the sight of Colin, and his breathing became quick, shallow - bloody hell he hated this part of himself but no, he wasn't thinking about it, remember?
Except he was thinking about it. But then he watched as Astoria came into view, well behind Colin and Scorpius but still there, allowing them space for their lesson, and he felt ashamed for his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a minute. Why couldn't he stop obsessing over someone who he shouldn't even be thinking about in the first place?
He opened his eyes. Astoria was talking to Colin now, and Scorpius was circling their feet, his camera pointing at something on the ground that Draco couldn't make out. The lesson appeared to be over: Draco watched as Astoria and Scorpius walked away, his son waving at Colin; watched as Colin waved back and then walked away; watched Colin as he moved before realizing that Colin was headed this way, and if he didn't leave the other man would walk right by him -
But he couldn't make himself go.
Colin's steps came ever closer, and Draco couldn't look away. He saw the moment Colin noticed him, saw the indecision in his face, but then Colin stood in front of him and even though Draco had fantasized about this conversation he had no idea what to say, how to start. Or even if he should. But Colin spoke first.
"I don't want it to be like this, between us."
"Like what?" Draco managed to say, uncertain of how to respond.
Colin sighed. "Can I sit with you a moment?"
"You're free to do what you want," Draco said, and the bitterness in his voice surprised him. Colin eyed him for a moment as though unsure what to make of him, but sat down at the end of the bench nonetheless.
"I don't want it to be awkward every time we happen to run into each other," Colin said. "And this seems to be happening more often now, us running into each other. I don't know what to say to you to make this not be awkward, to be honest. This isn't easy for me."
Draco couldn't look at the other man. "This isn't - easy for me either," he finally acknowledged.
"No shit, Draco, that's the understatement of the year," Colin said, and Draco looked at him then, shocked and a little bit angry, but the teasing laughter and hesitant smile on Colin's face melted his irritation away. He gave a snort of laughter and looked away again.
"I'm not here to make things harder for you," Colin said. "I've left you alone all these years. I followed your lead, with that, even though at first it was...difficult. I'm only here now because of your son. And since you have allowed your son to have these lessons with me, I assume that you don't hate me enough to tell me to go away?"
Draco could hear the vulnerability in Colin's question. His chest was pounding with nerves. He looked over at Colin. The other man sat, his hands in his lap, his eyes down.
"I don't hate you," he said, and Colin's gaze jumped up, met his. "I don't hate you," Draco repeated.
"You don't?"
Draco looked away. "I should, I suppose. I don't even know anymore. Everything I was taught, everything I believe - I should hate you. But I just don't. And I don't know how to feel about that."
A long silence followed, and Draco couldn't believe that he'd said that. He hadn't even known that he'd felt like that. The words had just - come out, seemingly of their own volition. What was it about Colin that could make him say things he'd never said out loud before?
"You've done well for yourself, Draco," Colin said at last. "You have the life you said you wanted. Are you...happy?"
Draco heard the curiosity in Colin's tone, knew that he was genuinely asking, but somehow the words made him irrationally annoyed. He took a few breaths to calm himself, afraid of what he would say otherwise. "What is happiness?" he asked instead.
"Everyone has to find their own definition," Colin said softly. "Mine - for me, happiness is loving and being loved in return. Family. Friends. A lover. Or lovers, if that's what floats your boat. I don't judge."
"Are you happy?" Draco asked, and until the words left his mouth he hadn't recognized how badly he wanted to know the answer.
Colin looked at him. "Yes," he said simply. "I love my family. My friends. I love Harry. And they love me. And that's happiness to me."
"By your definition, I'm happy too," Draco said quietly.
"But?" Colin prompted.
"But I'm still haunted by the mistakes I made," Draco said without thinking. He clapped a hand to his mouth, horrified. Why had he said that?
"Hey, Draco, it's okay," Colin said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hand reach toward him, as though to touch his shoulder, but the hand pulled back like Colin had thought better of it. "Some things are not easy to leave in the past."
Draco turned his head and looked right at Colin. Time slowed and he could see that this was the moment to say it. "I'm sorry."
Colin just looked at him, and maybe he was encouraging him to continue, and so he did. "I was cruel to you, back then. I hurt you. I hurt a lot of people. I almost killed people, Colin. I'm not sure I will ever - deserve the happiness that you speak of."
"But you do, don't you see?" Colin said. "You do. You deserve love, and happiness, and forgiveness. And I do. Forgive you. We were children, Draco. Unable to look past all that we knew to see all that we could be. We were children, caught up in an unforgiving war that didn't care that we had no idea how to deal with the scars it would leave."
Draco didn't say anything. His throat felt tight.
"I've long since forgiven you," Colin said softly. "It's time you forgave yourself. You deserve happiness Draco. Whatever that looks like for you."
It was too much. Too much. The emotions threatened to overwhelm him and he covered his face with his hands. Afraid to let Colin see him cry even though Colin had seen him before. Fuck, what was it about Colin that lowered his defences, made him feel so -
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and that's what did it. He let out a half gasp, half sob, and surrendered. Colin didn't move, didn't say anything, but his hand stayed where it was, rested on his shoulder in quiet consolation, and Draco hadn't understood until this minute how badly he'd needed this, needed Colin's forgiveness. Some part of himself hated how weak he was, that he could fall apart so easily with just a few words. But damn, he was so tired. Tired of pretending he wasn't lost, and hurting, and scared. We were children, Colin had said. He wasn't a child anymore.
But inside, he still felt like one.
The nightly nightmares had disappeared. Draco was relieved not to be woken with his heart pounding in the dark, but mortified that he'd broken down the way he had in front of Colin. That conversation hadn't gone at all the way he'd thought of, after all those weeks of visualizing what he'd like to say.
He didn't know how she knew, but somehow Astoria had guessed that he'd spoken with Colin.
"You've stopped having the dreams," she commented one morning while she poured him a cup of tea.
"I have," Draco responded. He hadn't elaborated, and she hadn't asked, but he knew she knew.
His intuition was proved correct a few weeks later, when Astoria asked him if he'd be okay with Scorpius' next photography lesson being held at their home. "Why ask me?" he said.
"I have a new client that asked to meet that day, and it happens to be the same time as his lesson. I will cancel if you're not comfortable being around for it, but I don't have another free day until the week after next."
Draco thought it over. He preferred to avoid the man, given his embarrassment, but he didn't want to be the coward. He could do this, right? It's not like he had to talk to Colin, right? He agreed to keep the appointment. Astoria's smile was worth it.
When the day arrived, however, he wasn't so confidant. Thankful that Scorpius kept him entertained, he threw himself into the task. But at the sound of the doorbell, his nerves hit him full force. "I'll get it!" Scorpius said.
And then Colin was there, standing in front of him, with Scorpius between them. He greeted him, smiled politely, dutifully forced out a few lines of small talk, and then Scorpius dragged Colin out into the garden for some outdoor photos. Draco watched them go before he turned and practically ran away. Bloody hell. What was this feeling? He didn't think he wanted to know.
He walked blindly through the house, room after room, unable to settle down. Astoria had told him that the lessons were normally about an hour, so he had some time, but he didn't think he could focus on anything. After about ten minutes he found himself in their gym. He threw aside his outer robes and jumped on the first piece of equipment that he saw. His muscles burned after awhile, his tight T-shirt soaked with sweat, but anything was better than this strange emotion that threatened to consume him.
Scorpius burst into the room some time later, just as Draco finished his cool down routine, a towel slung across his neck. "Daddy look, look at the photo I took!"
Draco looked at the picture that his son held out, suddenly self-conscious as he spotted Colin leaning against the doorway. "Well done, Scorp, you've really got a knack for this," he said. And it was true: The photo taken of a butterfly on a leaf was artfully done. Even to Draco's untrained eye, he could see vast improvement from the photos that Scorpius took when he first started.
Scorpius beamed. "I want to show Minnie!" He bounded off, calling "thanks Mr. Colin!" as he went.
"He's not talking about Professor McGonagall, right?" Colin said laughing.
Draco laughed too. "No, Minnie is his favourite house elf. She's always doted on him."
"Good, I'm not sure our old Professor would take to being called 'Minnie', even by a child," Colin said with a grin.
"Probably not," Draco agreed. His eyes travelled the length of Colin's frame before he caught himself and looked away. His heart thumped loudly in his throat. "Can I offer you a drink?"
There was silence. He looked back at Colin who was regarding him carefully. "Is that really what you're asking?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Draco said. Something about the way Colin was looking at him made him breathless, made him lightheaded. "I'm nothing if not a gracious host."
"Draco."
And something in Colin's tone made Draco's teasing smile fade, and something filled the space between them, that unnamed elephant, and he didn't know what to say.
"I just wanted for us to be able to get past the awkwardness," Colin said. "But it can't be more than that, Draco. We can't be friends."
He took a step forward. "And why not, Colin?"
"You know why," Colin said.
Draco didn't know what he was doing. Something in the air was charged, and it made him reckless. "Are you afraid of this? Afraid to finish what we started?" He walked forward until he was standing just inches away, just inches and Colin smelled so familiar, so good...and Draco could see the battle that raged in Colin's eyes, could see how much he wanted this, and so he waited where he was, waited to see what Colin would do.
But the silence stretched on, an infinite age of torture, and Draco whispered brokenly, "I miss you."
Something in Colin seemed to ignite at that. "But do you miss me enough?"
"Meaning what?" Draco folded his arms, the damp sweat that clung to his thin shirt cool and slightly sticky.
"I may have forgiven you for what you said to me that day, but I've never forgotten," Colin said. "You told me that you could never love another man, especially not a muggle born. Has this changed?"
Draco took a step back. "I - don't know."
Colin nodded. "You have a wife, a child. Are you willing to turn your back on them? For a muggle born man?"
"I don't know!" Draco said. He turned away, unable to look at Colin in the eye.
"Then you don't miss me enough," Colin said.
And Draco turned back at that, because he couldn't live with that, that finality in Colin's tone, as if there was nothing more to say, when there was so much...
"But we could - " he started, unable to finish, the words stuck somehow.
"Could what?" Colin asked. "Start an affair? Draco, I respect your family too much to be a part of that. I respect myself too much to be a part of that. And I love Harry too much to be a part of that."
Draco could see it, see the decision in Colin's eyes, knew there was no going back. "I've lost you, haven't I?" he whispered.
"It's not me you've lost," Colin said. "You've lost yourself, Draco. I can't be the one to put you back together. Not this time. You've got to learn how to do that on your own."
Draco stared at him, at a total loss at how to respond to that. And Colin reached out, his hands grabbing the ends of the towel still wrapped around Draco's neck, and his eyes searched Draco's desperately, and it was all Draco could do to look back. "Do you like what you see?" he asked.
"No," Colin answered, and Draco knew it was a lie, could see the truth staring right at him.
But it didn't matter. Colin let him go, his hands falling to his sides. He turned away. "Goodbye and good luck, Draco," he said.
And Draco staggered at that, his weight falling against the doorframe with a soft thud, but Colin didn't look back, and Draco was left with the echo of an old memory for company.