тwelve

It was precisely two weeks later that Callum heard the familiar knock on the door, and he raced down the stairs to open it and let Harry in. He took some time to take in his appearance, looking for any potential injuries or anything that might signify danger, but he looked okay enough. Or as okay as he could look with his eyes sunken and cheeks hollow, Dudley's shirt now looking twice as big on him than it did before. The initial relief that had flooded him was now replaced with fear.

He took his hands and led him in, taking him upstairs to his room. Harry didn't speak and simply let him pull him up the stairs, before he sank down on the floor and rested his head back on the bed. Callum swallowed his worry and looked at him. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry didn't reply, his eyes remained unfocused and stared at the ceiling, though Callum doubted he was seeing anything. When he had decided that he wouldn't answer and was about to ask him again, he spoke.

"Do you remember what I told you about my godfather?" he asked, voice sounding as hollow as his face looked.

"Yes?" Callum replied uncertainly. "The mass murderer. Sirius Black."

Harry nodded. "He was killed in battle."

Callum's mouth opened, but he was unable to find anything to say. What could he? He had never lost anyone. His parents had left him, but he was too small at the time to register his loss, and by the time he was old enough to understand, he had already grown a coldness toward them, the bits and pieces of memories telling him exactly why he had been abandoned.

Thus he reached out his hand and drew Harry's closer to him, staring at the back. The words in faint red, I must not tell lies stared back at him, though they have faded considerably. He shifted so that they were sitting side by side, and Harry's head dropped to rest on his shoulder. He heard him sniff.

"Were you there?" he asked finally. "At the battle?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice quite steady and giving no evidence of his vulnerable state. "There was this matter of a prophecy, and it turns out that I am the Chosen One, and that I must be the one to defeat Voldemort. And speaking of Voldemort, he was there too. The Minister saw him, and now everyone has accepted that he is back." He paused. "At least one good thing has come out of this."

Callum frowned, before shifting slightly so that he could look at Harry's face. "Harry," he called softly, and the boy looked at him. His hair was long and tangled, and caged his face. He reached out and pushed it out of his forehead. "Just because you have defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one, doesn't mean you always have to act strong. You can be vulnerable, you can show how you are feeling. No one will judge you."

Harry looked taken aback at his suggestion, but he sunk lower, lying down on the ground with his head rested atop Callum's legs. He wasn't crying. But he looked to be on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Callum said after several minutes of silence. One of his hands held Harry's, fingers brushing over the faint scars, the callused skin, while his other hand played with his hair. He felt Harry nod, only slightly.

"What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"When are you going to the Weasley's?" Callum asked, peering over to look at him.

"Dumbledore wrote to me and said that he'd be taking me somewhere," he answered. Callum felt relieved to see that he wasn't crying. He wouldn't know what to do if he were. "He'll come tomorrow."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed.

Harry rose to sitting position and turned to face him. His round glasses rested askew on his nose and his raven hair was stuck up mesiily above his head, but his green eyes shone - with what, Callum didn't know. "I'll come again, don't worry."

He gave a small, pressed lipped smile in reply, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "What happened to that woman? Umbridge?"

A tiny smile rose to Harry's face and he once again sat beside Callum, both facing the wall. "She got carried away by a horde of angry centaurs because she called them filthy half breeds. I don't think she'll step inside Hogwarts for another decade or so."

Callum didn't question the validity of the statement.

Half an hour later, they were sitting on the floor of Callum's room, eating from a pile of scones he had brought from the kitchen while a teapot sat atop a tray beside them. Harry had told him bits and pieces of the adventures he had gone through throughout the year, and noted how different these were from the ones he had had in his first three years – far more dangerous, far more fatal, far less a matter of rescuing and more of the imminent war that was hanging over them like an invisible cloud. Callum was slightly amused at the idea of Harry teaching Defence to a large group of students in secret, though Harry had pointed out, rather forcefully, that this wasn't simply a playful act of rebellion.

"Alright, I get it, it's a serious matter," he held up his hands defensively, laughing, "but it still plants a strange image in my head. I can't imagine you giving lectures to thirty people at once. You can't even talk to me properly."

Harry looked highly annoyed.

After they had finished eating, Callum asked Harry, despite knowing it wouldn't happen, to clean up the mess by using magic. Harry, of course, refused, saying that he would be expelled if he used magic outside of school. He had been given warnings twice already. This brought a confused look up to Callum's face. "But why would they expel you? Wouldn't that mean you can no longer learn to control your magic, and that will only increase your chances of causing potential harm?"

Harry shrugged. "I have given up trying to figure out the rules of the wizarding world." He sighed, looking rather thoughtful, and leaned sideways to rest himself over his side. Callum, who was busy trying to gather up the plates and cups, was suddenly distracted by the feel of Harry's hair against his cheek.

"Uh, Harry?" he called, his voice coming out hardly audible.

"Hm?"

"Your hair –" he cleared his throat. "Your hair is tickling my face."

"Oh, sorry," he said and moved away, a faint splash of pink on his cheeks. Callum opened his mouth, but closed it again, remembering what Dudley had called him the other day, and something hard gripped his insides tightly, making him feel sick. He licked his lips which had suddenly turned dry, his heart beating dully inside his chest as he watched Harry help him gather up the plates.

He let his mind wander, and pondered over what Harry would think of him if he came clean. He was raised by the Dursleys, whether he liked it or not, and there was a chance that their beliefs had been passed onto him. He remained silent for the remainder of the time Harry stayed there, and listened to him with his mind everywhere but at the conservation.

When there was a small knock at the door, Harry stood up, brushing the front of his legs, and peered into Callum's face. He avoided his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" he asked softly. "You were awfully quiet."

"No, just a headache." He was still looking down at the ground, not letting them meet their eyes in the fear that it would open up his mind like a book for Harry to read. But Harry cupped his hand around his jaw and forced his head upward.

"I will come again," said he, "after I go to the Weasley's. I'll bring you some Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products if I can."

"What's that?" he asked with a weak smile, but Harry merely gave a shrug.

"You'll see."

Callum had once again turned to stare at the tiled floor of his bedroom, which was now scattered with crumbs from their food, so he didn't notice and jumped in shock when Harry leaned toward him and pressed his lips over his cheek, lingering there for a moment too long. When he pulled away, Callum's face was burning, and as he noticed, so was Harry's, which had turned a deep shade of red. He wanted to smile, hold his uncertain face in his hands, let him know that it was okay, that he didn't mind, but all he could manage to do was stare at him.

"Uh, bye Callum," said Harry finally, and after a brief, flitting glance at him, he turned and left the room, leaving Callum to reach his hand and heart out fruitlessly to call for him. The spot where Harry had kissed him was tingling, and in the end, he touched it, admonishing himself silently for being so foolish.

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wow, another update.

btw, the book is going to end soon. just so you know.