ғιve

As the teacher's voice droned on and on about how the moon affected the tides of the sea, Callum doodled on the corner of the pages, his right hand resting near his pencil to hide what he was doing. His mind was on Harry, and on the letter that was tucked carefully in between the pages of his geography book. It had arrived a week before the start of term, and it was quite long - Harry saying that he wasn't going to be expelled and apologising that he couldn't visit. There was a secret Order or something which he was a part of, an organisation built to defeat Voldemort and his death eaters. He hadn't said much about it but Callum could tell that it was highly secret.

He sighed softly before pulling the letter out and hiding it beneath his desk, rereading it for the umpteenth time. It was folded now, but the numerous creases all over the surface of the parchment showed that it had been crumpled into a ball at one point.

The beginning of the letter said useless things about how Harry was sorry and how happy he was that he would be able to return to Hogwarts. It was common courtesy, saying the stuff as a way of politeness, and it didn't interest Callum much. What interested him were the words written at the end of the letter.

. . . Anyway, I really am sorry that I can't visit, but enclosed in the envelope is a quill. I figured you were interested in it by what you wrote in the last letter, so I decided to send you one.

Remember the mass murderer who happens to be my godfather? We're living in his house right now. There are all types of people gathering here and there's a woman, Tonks, who is a metamorphmagus, meaning she can change her appearance at will. She has pink hair. I wish you could see her making pig snouts and penguin faces.

Weird stuff aside, I feel very different now. It's hard to explain, but I feel like Cedric's death has made me grow up ten years in just a few weeks. And it looks like my surroundings have changed too. I don't see everything the way I used to. The light has decreased and has been replaced by darkness around me.

I guess I'm boring you with my philosophical talk so I'll stop now. But I want you to know that I feel comfortable telling you the things I can't tell my friends. I hope you don't mind.

I'll have to go now because Mrs Weasley is calling me to help her clean up the house.

Write to me soon.

Love, Harry.

Callum crumpled the letter again and thumped his head on the desk. He had written and sent the reply as soon as he had finished reading the letter, but over a month was gone and he still hasn't heard from harry. He was at Hogwarts now, and they were allowed to send letters. So why wasn't he writing?

The bell rang to signal the end of school, and as the other students scrambled to their feet and scurried out of the class, Callum slowly put the crumpled letter in his pocket and packed the books into his bag. Once he left the school compound and began to walk home, he suddenly felt an odd sense of betrayal.

Harry had only spoken to him and came to hang out with him because he felt lonely with the Dursleys. He had to deal with the death of the boy he had witnessed, and obviously the Dursleys weren't good people to give him a comforting talk. Callum had asked him why he didn't go to the Weasleys directly, and he answered that he had to stay there under the headmaster's orders. Callum wasn't sure why he would force him to stay with his abusive relatives, but he had let the matter go.

But the fact remained that Harry was lonely, and he had found comfort with Callum. But now that he had returned to his best friends and school, he didn't need him anymore. He drew the letter out of his pocket and read the last part again. I really am sorry. But he didn't sound like it. He had gone on to describe the number of people he was meeting, the woman who could change her appearance at will, and it sounded to Callum that he was enjoying his time with his godfather.

. . . telling you the things I can't tell my friends. So that was why Harry had spoken to him, told him about how crushed he was by Cedric's death, how the hat had considered putting him in Slytherin, how pressured he felt due to the wizarding community treating him like a celebrity. He couldn't tell such things to his friends, or Mrs Weasley, because they all expected great things from him. But Callum was just a random boy he met who knew nothing about magic or Hogwarts or Voldemort and who wouldn't judge Harry for feeling down or depressed.

Harry didn't need him. Why would he? He was just a squib with no magical blood in him. People like him were shunned in the wizarding community, but Harry had only needed him for a short while in order to escape from the Dursleys.

With an irritated groan, he crumpled the letter again and shoved it into his pockets, before stomping home.

_/_/_/

"You keep reading that letter."

Callum looked up from the heavily creased and dogeared parchment to look at his father, Hayden Thomson, who had just arrived. He sat down beside him and took the remote control from his hands, before changing the channel on the TV. Callum didn't protest. He wasn't watching it anyway.

"Yeah, it's from Harry," he muttered and put the letter back in his pocket, in case his father wanted to read it. But Hayden had his eyes focused on the screen that currently aired some news about a dolphin having been found dead on a coast.

"Hmm, do you know what school he attends?" Hayden asked, and Callum remained quiet for a few seconds trying to think up the best way to answer that.

"He goes to a boarding school of sorts."

"Do you know the name of that school?" Callum looked at him cautiously, wondering why he was being interrogated like that. Did his father know something? When he didn't answer, he continued speaking. "He goes to St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal boys."

"No he doesn't," he answered quickly. "He goes to -" he began, but his voice faded, because he couldn't tell Hayden that Harry was a wizard who went to Hogwarts. He looked at his father, biting on his lips in anticipation. He could guess what the conversation was going to be about.

"What did he tell you?" Hayden asked, not unkindly. He placed a hand over his shoulder in what he probably thought was a comforting gesture, but Callum wanted to move away from him and go back to his room. "I met his uncle today, and he told me."

Well, he was lying. The words almost left his mouth but he held himself. He used to hate Harry's relatives when he had told him about them, but now he absolutely loathed them. Telling people that their nephew was a criminal was a low move, and Callum wanted nothing better than to smack their faces.

"Listen," Hayden continued to speak. "He is off to his school now. But when he returns for Christmas or summer, I don't want you to hang out with him."

Callum opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered the letter. Harry didn't need him. He closed his mouth and chewed on his lips, while his father gazed at him with a worried look. Finally he nodded, looking up at Hayden, who exhaled in relief.

"Okay. I won't."