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The guest room erupted into a series of meows and barks when Callum stepped in with the injured kitten on his arms. There were, specifically, three cats and one dog already, that he had found injured or lost over the years. His foster parents had allowed him to keep them in the guest room as long as they did not disturb the peace of the house. And considering they stayed outside most of the time, that wasn't a problem.

He placed the wounded kitten gently over a table and examined its paw. It wasn't bleeding, but it had a nasty burn on the side. He picked up a soft blanket and folded it to form a comfortable bed, on which he kept the kitten. It didn't protest but settled down easily.

Callum brought a bowl of cold water and washed the kitten's paw. Then when he had applied an ointment over it, the little creature crawled over to him with clumsy steps and nuzzled his hand, bringing a smile to his face.

Eventually, the kitten fell asleep and he lay down on the bed with a tired sigh, resting his head over his hands. The mention of Hogwarts from Harry has stirred his nerves and the old questions of what may have happened if he was born with magical blood, played around in his head.

He would still live with his parents and little brother, he would go to Hogwarts every year and come home for Christmas or summer. He would learn some magical subjects instead of Arithmetic and Chemistry.

But Callum was not a child anymore. He was fifteen and he understood the matters of love and family. If his family had really loved him, would they abandon him in an orphanage at the age of six? Wouldn't they accept him for who he was? Was family honour more important than family?

He heaved a sigh and hid his face on the pillow, wondering whether it was better this way - away from the people who loved him but only as long as he obeyed some set conditions, and living with a family that wasn't the best family in the world, but loved him and provided him with everything he needed.

Callum did not leave home next day at all, or the next. But the day after, he walked over to the park and found Harry sitting on the swing, looking gloomy. He went over and joined him.

"So what's happening at Hogwarts?" he asked as he sat down on the rusty old swing. Harry didn't look at Callum, but continued to gaze into the distance.

"What do you mean?" he asked after a while.

"You said something about hiding from everything that's been happening at Hogwarts."

Harry remained silent for a moment. "Well, things have been happening every year since I started going to Hogwarts." He paused. "There was a Triwizard Tournament this year. And one of the participants have been killed by - by Voldemort."

From the vague memories of his parents, Callum remembered something about Voldemort. He was the one who had tried to kill Harry, but instead got killed himself. Now that he thought about it, it seemed rather hilarious to him. How would a one year old child defeat the darkest wizard of all time?

"I thought Voldemort was dead."

"He returned," said Harry simply. His hands were curled in his lap, and Callum noticed how vulnerable he looked. His green eyes that were hidden behind his glasses looked dull and empty, and he ran his fingers through his raven hair. "I was there," he said in a pleading tone, as though trying to convince him that Voldemort had really returned. "He killed Cedric right in front of me. But no one believes me. The Ministry says I'm making things up."

"Ministry?" Callum inquired with a frown and Harry looked over at him in confusion.

"You don't know what the Ministry is?"

He shrugged in reply. "My parents left me in an orphanage when I was six because I am a squib. I was raised by my foster parents, who are muggles."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said with an awkward tone, running his hands over his jeans which, Callum believed, was a nervous gesture. He was still curious about the Triwizard Tournament and the Ministry and Voldemort, but he didn't question further, knowing that the subject of Hogwarts would only lead to sleepless nights and fantasies of an alternate universe where he was a wizard, and the more he knew about the school, the more he would fantasize about it. And he thought it wouldn't be healthy for him. So instead, he questioned Harry about his family. He was aware that his parents have been killed by Voldemort, but he didn't know who took him in.

"My mum's sister and her family," answered Harry when he asked him. "She has an awful son, Dudley, who enjoys bullying and picking on kids."

"Dudley Dursley is your cousin?" Callum exclaimed in surprise. "Now I understand why you annoyed me so much when I first met you."

Harry scoffed, though he had a smile on his face. "There he is. I was wondering whether Dudley had punched your mean self out of your body."

"I'm not mean," Callum replied in a flat tone. "I just have zero tolerance to nonsense."

This made Harry laugh, and he ran his fingers through his hair once again, making it stick out in every possible direction. "How's your kitten?" he asked.

"He sleeps all day," Callum answered as he looked down at his shirt, which was covered in fur. He plucked them disinterestedly. "I also have three other cats and a dog."

Harry looked at him with curiosity and wonder. "Do you have a shop or something?" he asked with a short laugh.

"Yeah, a shop the collects helpless animals from the streets," Callum answered. "Just like I have zero tolerance to nonsense, I also have zero tolerance to animal abuse." He looked over at Harry. "Do you have any pets?" he asked.

"I have an owl. I call her Hedwig."

"Owl?" Callum's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why would you want to keep an owl?"

"Wizards use owls to send letters," Harry answered in a tone that sounded like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and that Callum was silly for not knowing it.

Callum opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. His brows furrowed together and he stared down at the ground as an old, never ending dream replayed in his mind. "I used to dream of owls," he said slowly, a short while later. "Owls knocking on my window, carrying a rolled paper in its leg." He turned his head toward Harry. "I thought it was just a weird dream. But I guess it was a memory of my old life."

Harry nodded his head, pressing his lips together. He glanced over at the horizon where the sun was sinking, sending an orange glow into the sky. "Um," he began as he rose to his feet. "I have to go now, Callum. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, whatever," he said, but he wasn't really listening to him. His mind was drifting back to the dreams he used to have after coming to live with his foster parents. They were all strange, nonsensical dreams, making no sense half the time, filled with odd colours that rarely had any significance in the real world.

He wondered how many of them were actually memories that his subconscious mind had repressed in order to keep his abandoned self from feeling too much grief.

_/_/_/

thoughts so far?