Attn. Draco
The dormitory is quiet when Blaise enters. Everyone else are still in class, thankfully. That was one of the good reasons for leaving now, and there is really only one thing he has yet to do. He walks slowly around the bed and takes a book in green leather binding off the bedtable, cradling it fondly in his hands for a moment before putting it down and opening it to scribble a few quick lines on the soft cream paper of one of the first pages. He writes his name, hesitates, and murmurs a spell to dry the ink so that it will not smear and ruin the message. Closing the book carefully, he walks to the neighbouring bed.
He puts the book down by Draco’s pillow, running his fingers lingeringly over the soft leather of the binding. The bed has been made by the houseelves, perfectly so, and no trace remains in the immaculately straightened sheets of the other boy’s familiar presence. For a moment he stands still, fingers still resting lightly on the book, head bowed, caught in sudden, agonising indecision. Then he turns with an almost wrenching movement and walks swiftly out the door, and doesn’t look back.
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Blaise has left Draco his poetry book. It’s a small book, bound in dark green leather binding, the contents hand-written by a scribe. It’s obviously well-worn and well cared for. On the title page, which is otherwise blank, two lines from a poem has been written in Blaise’s slanting, hurried script:
If equal affection cannot be
Let the more loving one be me
The poem in it’s entirety is elsewhere within the book. Carefully tucked between the last pages is an oddly shaped feather which reflects the light with an odd metallic sheen in shades of green and gold.