ѕιхтeen

The beginning of a new school year brought with it the rush of meeting old friends at the café and hanging out with them after school, laughing and rejoicing at meeting despite having spoken several times during the break, for the school setting itself provided a special touch to the moment, despite how despicable it might be for most students.

Callum, however, felt no such thing, for no one would bother to run over to him and pull him into a hug, saying how much he had been missed. He was used to this, but now that he had spent nearly the whole summer with Harry, or at least, writing to Harry, the loneliness grasped him like a vice, and he had to walk into the school premises with his eyes determinedly focused on his shoes, in an attempt to not look at the people hugging each other and talking animatedly of the events of their summer.

So engrossed was he on examining the worn out laces of his shoes, that he did not notice the finger tapping on his shoulder, and the figure that was hurrying to catch up with him, panting heavily for he wasn't used to running. He stopped when Aiden called out his name loudly, and startled, he turned around, only to find the boy bent over, trying to catch his breath.

"What – what were you – dreaming – about?" he managed to utter between each puff of breath, and Callum went over and rubbed his hand over his back to help him breathe easy. "I have – bee–been – calling –" His stutter had increased, Callum noticed, and he seemed to be having difficulty speaking, so he quickly interrupted him.

"I was lost in thought, sorry." Aiden finally straightened to look up at him. He was still breathing heavily, and his plump cheeks had turned a deep shade of pink. "What were you calling me for?"

He sent him a weird look. "It's the first day of sch–school. I came to see you."

"Oh, right."

"Anything in part–particular you were thinking of?" asked Aiden, as they climbed up the stairs, rather slowly much to Callum's annoyance, to prevent the other boy from getting short of breath again.

"No, nothing in particular."

Truth be told, he was thinking of his brother, trying to remember what he looked like. He was only six the last time he had seen him. Was he blond like him? Yes, he was blond. A few vague images of a four year old child flashed painfully in his mind every now and then, and he wondered whether by pure chance like in novels, he would ever meet him. If they did, would his brother recognise him? Callum probably would, but he had the strange suspicion that his brother would pretend not to know him even if he did discover who he was.

Harry had never mentioned anyone with his brother's surname, but then again, he had never mentioned any student other than the Weasleys and Hermione. He wasn't sure why he wasn't keen on knowing about his brother, and the idea that Harry might recognise someone as his brother, maybe by a similarity in their features, terrified him.

He did not want anything to do with his biological parents at all.

"How was your sum–summer?"

Callum's mind went back to Harry, to the soft, awkward kisses they had shared, to the messy black hair clutched between his fingers, to the faint taste of vanilla in his mouth, to the smell of chocolate and sunlight and everything good, the flashes of scarlet and violet that erupted in him every time their hands touched, and an involuntary smile found its way to his lips. "It was good," he said, while Aiden looked in confusion at the goofy smile that had formed on his face.

When they entered their classroom, the teacher still wasn't there yet, and Callum took the opportunity to sink his face into the material of his bag which he kept on the table. Aiden came to sit beside him, before he hesitated. "You don't – don't mind if I sit here, do you?"

"As long as you don't talk."

The two usually walked home together after school, though Aiden sometimes hesitated. It was probably in the boy's nature to feel uncomfortable around people, thinking that he was unwanted, that people would make fun of his stutter. Callum invited him to walk with him today as well, but he declined and left quickly.

At home, he took his bag off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor, before flopping down on his bed. A small stack of Harry's letters was kept under his pillow, which he brought out, selecting one letter randomly to read. He wasn't aware that it was possible to miss someone so much, but he missed Harry to the point that he occupied his mind nearly every passing second. Inside a pouch that was kept somewhere inside the drawer of his table, were several chocolates and sweets Harry had sent to him, and this was only adding to how much he craved for Harry's company.

There was a ruffling sound, and in the next moment, he found that Four had climbed onto his bed and found his way to him. He nudged his face lightly with his nose and lay down beside him, wagging his tail slowly. His hand went out to stroke the dog's head.

"You are fun and cute to have around, you know," said Callum and Four looked up at him, "but you are so lazy and useless. Harry's owl can carry letters all the way across the country, and I couldn't even teach you to carry a newspaper up the stairs."

Four gave a low whine, and Callum laughed before pulling him into a hug. "Now don't get at all mad at me. It was only a joke." He put him down beside him. Four sniffed around on the bed, and it took him quite a while to find a comfortable position. "Are you missing Harry?"

The dog cocked his head, a gesture that Callum took as a yes.

"I miss him too."

He frowned suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. "Do you think I'll be able to write a howler? I think I'll send him one," he mused, to no one in particular, but Four responded with an enthusiastic bark. He smiled. "I'll ask Harry to buy me a few – no, that's just silly. He wouldn't buy it just so I could send it to him."

Four finally got bored of his company and left the room. With a sigh, Callum rose to his feet and changed to light clothes, before marching down the stairs, hoping to take Four out on a walk. He could already tell this was going to be a long year.