The practise meeting went well, with even Cedric Diggory -captain of the Hufflepuff team- complimenting him on his speed when he joined them to oversee their practise.

"I'm a wicket, or well, batter-" he pointed at his chest, eyes following the batter, a Gryffindor fourth year, running from one wicket to the other, "-But I know a good runner when I see one. Are you good at catching?"

"Never really tried it," Harry lied, tugging at the grass.

Diggory stood up and lifted a spare ball in his hand, getting ready to throw it, "One way to find out. Run, Patel, run!"

And so he ran, drenched in sweat by the time he and Justin made it back to dinner.

"You two look like you enjoyed yourselves an awful lot," Megan said, her voice monotone, sliding a plate towards her and Susan, "Any hopes of making the team?"

"Diggory had some doubts about me bowling," Justin said tiredly, thanking Ernie for the third cup of water, "Was very pleased when I got it through, wasn't he, Ali?"

"Isn't he always pleased?" said Harry over his plate, chuckling when Justin hit him on the arm.

"And what about the diary?" Professor Patel asked during their 'talk' after dinner, sliding the empty journal back towards her, "Aren't you going to continue it?"

"I think I found the problem, Professor Patel," Harry said, rummaging in his backpack for the book, "I wasn't busy enough. The more busy I am, the less I remember and the less… weird I become."

"These 'weird events, in your words…" she slid a finger between the journal, ruffling the pages, "How much distress do they cause you? On a scale?"

Harry slid open his own book, wincing at the horrible writing that met him, "There are a few. The biggest one feels like… like war. Like I'm burning at first... And I can't do anything about it."

"And do they happen randomly?"

"I think so…" Harry mumbled, flipping the pages, "I tried to remember the times they happened, but they make no sense. They aren't even similar."

Professor Patel stood up. She walked around the table, standing beside Harry with a hand on his shoulder, "When was the last time it happened?"

Harry stopped flipping the pages, "On the train."

"Then let's start with that one. If we understand what's caused it-"

"But I don't want to talk about it," Harry stopped her, shrugging her arm off, "I don't want to talk about it, because it won't help."

"Because you think it will cause another one?"

No words were spoken, the clock's ticking interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Ali, I won't push you to talk if you don't want to."

"But?"

She sighed, kneeling in front of him, making eye contact and following him with her gaze, "I know for a fact keeping yourself busy isn't a working strategy. Are you caught up with school work?"

Harry nodded.

"Homework?"

Another nod.

"After school lessons?"

With hesitance, another nod, "I'm making a lot of progress, especially with Professor Lupin."

"...And are you still studying?"

Professor Patel's hand brushed his hair at Harry's silence, "It won't work forever."

"I don't need it to work forever," Harry mumbled, wiping his almost dry eyes, "I just want a solution. A medicine. Snape has so many herbs in his store, will none of them help me?"

She turned to look at him, with an odd expression on her face, "I don't wish to scare you, but I haven't read a book about your experiences."

Harry's stomach plummeted.

"But I have seen people who have experienced similar things, and on first account know what happens when you settle for short term solutions. Ali-" this time, she met his eyes with a strong gaze, "- I don't want that for you. There are options, difficult options, but with small steps will carry further than temporary solutions will take you. Won't you give it a try, one step at a time?"

Harry looked down.

"You won't be alone."

Warmth spread to Harry's cheeks like a candle in the cold. Harry nodded, trying to match the soft smile on Professor Patel's lips as she leaned back, "We won't talk about anything else. So what exactly made you feel like a 'war' is happening in your head?"

Harry left the office with an empty journal in hand and a promise to use it.

So, he didn't end up using it very much. His overall emotions were on a steady decline, and the diary helped him remember, whereas even the exhaustingly boring lessons with Professor Binns were enough to make him tired enough to ignore the thoughts occupying his head. The thoughts intruded out of his control, triggering a reaction from someone casually mentioning their uncle and aunt. It was a wonder how a careless string of words could connect itself to a memory, to a negative emotion all the way up to sleeping troubles, and the constant imaginary threat looming above his shoulder.

So Harry studied, forced himself to stay with people whenever he felt the need to be occupied - as a new strategy - and answered when Professor Lupin attempted to make small talk before their lessons twice a week, though he still couldn't understand why he was attempting to do so.

And on Sunday, he still didn't have an answer.

"So, Harry," Professor Lupin asked, pouring him a cup of tea Harry had agreed to out of politeness, "What do you think of Moby Dick so far?"

"Not much," Harry said, accepting tea, hoping Lupin wasn't one to put ginger in it, "I didn't know someone could love the ocean that much. I think it sounds terrifying. I asked Professor Sinistra about it, and she told me it stretched miles and miles away from the shore," he blew on the tea cup, taking a small sip, "I don't think I know how to swim, either."

"Not many places to learn to swim, in London," Professor Lupin sat down with his own tea, picking up their book and turning to the page Harry had left off, "Nonetheless, are you understanding the text, I must ask. Any particular problems you're experiencing?"

"I would have preferred to have more full stops."

Professor Lupin laughed, moving his chair closer to Harry's and handing him the book, "I find that's the aesthetic of the novel, long and speaking to the soul."

Harry picked up the book, brushing a hand over the page, "How does a book speak to the soul?"

"Do you have an idea?"

"Only that it must feel… comfortable and safe, if I had to give it a word."

"Curious choice of words," Professor Lupin said, taking another sip. He tapped the book with a finger, and leaned closer, "Now, lets see what Ishmael has to say this time, about the sea that touches his soul."

On Monday the next day, Hufflepuff had chemistry with Slytherin, which Harry would rather not participate in at all. He had been successfully avoiding Snape after his previous performance of 'almost blowing up the class', and being in close proximity with him and Malfoy both sounded no more appealing than taking a dive in the rapidly cooling water of the lake.

After breakfast (where he ate little and talked even less) and History he and the rest of the third years helped Susan and her wheelchair down as usual, cursing the amount of stairs in the castle and walking down the dungeon corridor, the perfect place for a classroom to be in. Little light, little sound.

The collective sound of shuffling feet came not much later, the group of Slytherins - with the injured Malfoy in the center - filed beside them outside of the classroom, talking in hushed voices. But at exactly nine, the classroom door was thrown open, and Snape stepped wordlessly aside, cutting short any conversation the Slytherins were having with his appearance alone. When every student entered, the door was closed behind them, and Snape swept towards the front of the classroom, turning the blackboard for the class to see.

"After valuable experience from last week, where not one, not two but three students managed to break something or other in class — " Snape put down the registry, clasping his hands behind his back. Harry, knowing exactly who was among the list, sank into his seat ignoring Susan who patted his arm awkwardly, " — almost causing a health hazard, I have brought together a list of safety rules, which I have regrettably discovered cannot be concluded by logic alone in the masses. Rules which, for my peace of mind, I will be quizzing you on."

Ignoring the collective groaning, Snape stepped closer to the blackboard, pointing at the first of the list, written in small, sharp handwriting, "Mr Zabini, explain to me why exactly it is not appropriate to bring into the classroom any form of edibles or water."

The rest of the class, Snape walked them through the rules, and then used the second period to revise what they had previously learned of chemistry without relying on any equipment from the storage room, which from now on would be locked at all times.

"For homework, I am expecting an extensive essay on putting out fires caused by chemicals by the second lesson. Mr Patel — " Harry paused mid-packing, slowly lifting his eyes to meet Snape's cold, dark ones, " — Stay after class."

Susan again patted him awkwardly on the arm, pushing herself forward. Harry watched her leave, wishing he could mingle in the group of students and escape as well. Snape was keeping a very close eye on him, however, and beckoned him forward when all the students left the classroom.

"How are your classes faring?" Snape asked, stacking the papers on his desk and taking a seat behind it, "Any difficulties?"

Blinking, Harry mutely shook his head, rubbing his arm, "No, sir."

"And the after school sessions?"

"The teachers are very helpful. I don't think I'm enjoying history a lot though."

"You misunderstood me," Snape said, motioning him to sit down, but not insisting when Harry shook his head, "The sessions with Professor Patel. Have you made any progress?"

"I fail to see how that, or anything about my classes, are of business to you, Professor," Harry answered, a sudden spike of anger piercing him, "What's between Professor Patel and I is nothing I want to share with others."

Snape raised a brow, but again, didn't insist, "I won't pry, but do let me remind you of the position I stand in."

"As you involuntarily stand in."

"You're making this more difficult for the both of us, Patel," Snape said, picking up some more papers.

Harry clenched his fists, "I never asked for you to become my guardian."

No answer. Harry tilted his head, frowning, "Well?"

"Well what?" Snape said, glancing at him from above his papers.

"Aren't you going to answer with how you never asked to be my guardian, either?"

A long moment, in which doubt settled in Harry's chest faster than fear, passed between them. Snape, for once, looked mildly conflicted, before he scoffed, dropping his papers and his gaze, "You won't bait me into arguing with you anymore, Patel."

"I'm not trying to bait you."

"Tut tut, I've seen enough," Snape said, stacking the final heap of papers, then pushing his seat back and rifling through the drawers of the table. When he lifted his head, a small paper packet stood between him and Harry, sitting neatly on top of the oak.

"What is that?" Harry asked without taking it, pushing his glasses up.

"I had a promise to fulfill, Professor Sprout was kind enough to lend me the means."

Harry bit down on his lip, the brown paper sitting peacefully on the table like, looking like an unachievable dream, "I can't plant them without a pot, Professor."

"Hagrid, or even Professor Sprout can equip you with one."

"Professor."

"Responsibility, Potter," Snape said, rising from his seat, picking up the packet and holding it up for him, "Better get to it before winter settles, and take this before lunch ends."

Harry took the packet, thanking him with a subtle nod, adjusting his bag strap and leaving the classroom, the door getting smaller and smaller with each step he took in the dungeon corridor.

The next day, fifteenth of September, the seeds still sat snugly in his bag, which he brought to cricket practise with him. As the Gryffindor team was practising on the one side of the field, Cedric had decided not to join for this practice, not wanting to incite hostility between the teams. That wasn't an issue for Harry, as he watched two very strong batters from the team while he waited for his turn — twins, by the look of things with mighty red hair — clap their hands each time they crossed each other while they ran, driving Wood (the captain) mad each time.

"This is our last chance —my last chance — to win the Cup," he shouted loud enough for Harry to hear, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it.

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye, "We've got three superb fielders. Unbeatable batters — "

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said the twins together, pretending to blush.

"And me," Wood added as an afterthought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said one twin

"Spanking good bowler," said the other.

"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since I've always thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing…"

Wood spoke so dejectedly that even the twins looked sympathetic.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said the other twin

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said another player, this time a girl.

Full of determination, the team picked up their training sessions. Wood had just bowled mighty fast, giving the batter a hard time hitting it, the ball skewing off course and coming towards the direction of Harry's group. Harry watched it without mind until he noticed how it would fall right into the middle of the group.

He jumped. His eyes were pinned to the fall. And so it fell. Fast and a blur. Whirling forward and meeting Harry's outstretched hands.

Harry only realised his hands burned when he let go of the ball, groaning while the rest of the people on the field stilled, watching him squeeze his bruised hands under his armpits.

"Oi!" he heard one of the twins shouting above him, "Did he catch that without gloves?"

"He caught that before it hit the ground!"

"Not the time, Oliver!"

Harry wrenched his hand back, standing up from where he was crouched and pushing his way out of the group encircling him, wishing he had some water to cool the burning in his hand, and something to wipe the watering in his eye.

"I think we should get him to the hospital wing," one twin said, while the other thankfully pushed a way through the crowd. Harry nodded for Ernie and Justin to stay behind, walking between the twins towards the school.

"You really shouldn't have caught that, Patel," one of them said, pushing the entrance door open, "Didn't anyone tell you about gloves?"

"I suppose not, considering," Harry bit out, squeezing his eyes, wishing the pain would subdue already, "You know my name?"

"I think most people do, at this point," said one twin, opening the door to the infirmary, "Not many teachers have families they talk about."

"Or bring to school. Hello Madam Pomfrey, we brought you the second patient of the year.

Madam Pomfrey, not pleased, smeared a bit too much balm for Harry's liking when she concluded nothing was broken, wrapping both hands — but especially his left — with a good amount of bandages, telling him to not strain both his hands

"Say," Harry said when they left the hospital wing, "are you two related to Ron Weasley?"

"That poor chap? Couldn't be, right, George?"

"Funny how you're the twentieth person to ask us that, eh, Fred?"

Harry chuckled, flexing the parts of his hands and fingers he could move, "Well, uh, thanks for, um, bringing me here. I'll just head to my dormitory, now," Harry waved nervously, walking in the direction of the dorms. The pain had finally started to subdue to the occasional throb or itch under the bandages. Once in the dorm, however, Harry quickly realised he wouldn't be able to hold a pencil to do homework, or pick up anything without a clumsy hold.

He sighed dramatically, shaking his hands. Trouble always found a way to keep it's hold on him, didn't it?

Collecting his bag to the best of his abilities, Harry stuffed it with any reading materials he had, going through his books to make sure there wasn't any homework he was missing. That's when his eye caught the packet of lily seeds, the paper crumpled, a small rip on the side. He picked it up, almost dropping it, sighing as he turned it over in his hand.

So what if he had them now? He put it back inside of his trunk, closing it shut forcefully, angrily heaving his bag on his shoulder.

And yet, he still paused at the door, eyeing the trunk in his peripheral. He almost took a step towards it, too, that lonely trunk at the foot of the bed, a name that wasn't his written black and large on the side.

That lonely trunk, still lonely when he walked out the dormitory, dead set on making it towards the library which held few students, one of which was Hermione studying by herself. Seeing no one else he knew, Harry tread lightly on the floor towards her, nodding when Madam Prince gave the usual warning of a finger against her lips.

Hermione looked up when Harry pulled out a chair from her table, her eyes opened wide.

"What happened?" she whispered in surprise, her finger caught between the pages she was reading.

"Caught a ball, I'll explain later. Can you open my books for me, if you don't mind?"

Books now in front of him, Harry pulled his chair forward, skidding the foot on the floor by accident, ducking when the other students and Madam Prince lifted their heads. He had history today, and Professor Binns had asked him to read through a chapter to quiz him on, and Professor Lupin was expecting him to read over the first chapter by himself as well.

Until dinner, he and Hermione both stayed like this. Sometimes Harry asked her a question, and sometimes Hermione pointed out a word he was pronouncing wrong. Unlike the dreaded hours spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room with heavy smells, making him too sleepy to concentrate on the lecture or the art he was meant to be drawing, Harry enjoyed this silence far more. Who wouldn't, given the way Professor Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him? He couldn't like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by some of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunch times, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn't. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Harry, as though he were on his deathbed.

Harry just didn't understand what art had to do with telling his future, and he was very close to quitting the class soon.

"It's dinner time, Ali," Hermione interrupted his thoughts, closing her books. Harry stood up, successfully managing to place his bookmark in the middle of chapter one, and closing the books without giving it a crease. Hermione helped him stuff the books inside the bag, the two walking out the library together.

"Do you study in the library a lot?"

"Just the hours before dinner," she said, readjusting her heavy bag, "There are less people about, then."

"So no study groups, then?"

Hermione shrugged, entering the hall first, "I used to, but they fell apart quickly after the… after last year."

Harry didn't press, and waved her off when they were inside. Hermione caught him by the shoulder, though, startling Harry enough to send him into a jump.

Hermione retracted her hand like it had been burned.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Harry dropped his gaze, ears burning, "W-were you going to say something?"

"Just that you can join me anytime, b-before dinner," she said, the last of her sentence added as an afterthought, "We can, ah, help each other study."

"You mean you can help me study," Harry said, chuckling, "I don't think you need my help."

"I'm sure you have things you can share, with an aunt like Professor Patel," she said the last part rather dreamily, glancing at the teacher's table, "Oh, how I wish I had a relative on the staff. Such wonderful, knowledgeable women. Inspirational. Oh how I wish I could learn everything they know."

"Oh, yes," Harry said, understanding very little, "Yes. Yes. Uh, did Ron tell you anything about me and Professor Snape, by any chance?"

"He did!" she clapped her hands, her unruly hair flying around her, "I need to know everything about what you've learnt while studying under him. Tomorrow, alright?"

Without giving Harry a chance to argue, she left, a skip to her step. Defeated, Harry approached the Hufflepuff table, putting his bag down and taking the empty spot.

He hadn't even pulled a plate forward, though, when he felt a pair of hands turn him around. A pair of strong hands belonging to a very worried, very concerned, borderline frantic, Cedric Diggory.

"Why would you catch a ball without gloves?" he shouted, shaking Harry while he did so, spreading a surge of alarm through Harry, "You could have broken a hand!"

"Diggory, let go, please!" Harry shouted back, pulling himself from his hands, heaving over and trying to get some air into his lungs. A few gulps of air later, he lifted his head to find the whole Hufflepuff table looking at him, some students pausing on the way to their respective seats.

Harry's ears burned for the third time that day.

"I'm fine, Di- Cedric. Just hurt my hands," he lifted up for him to see, regretting it when it gained a gasp from him, "Madam Pomfrey said I just shouldn't strain them — No I don't need a hug — Diggory no — "

Harry hid his face the more Diggory pulled him closer to his chest, feeling like a child as he soothed him like one would with a toddler. Some laughed, but Justin was quick to shut them up with a nasty collection of words, which cost him a few points from Professor Flitwick as he passed the table.

The stares weren't why he was embarrassed, though.

It was because he actually liked the small comfort, the warm affection that was Diggory's arms around him, speaking in a warmer voice.

"I think you can let him go, now. The teachers are looking," said Megan, and Diggory slid his arms off, a shimmer of a tear on the corner of his eye.

"Don't do that again."

"I won't. Oh, yes I promise Cedric," Harry assured him, and he finally left, stealing glances above his shoulder warningly, as though Harry would pick up a knife and jab his hand with it. Rolling his eyes, he turned around to face the others.

"Yeah, so…" he pulled his hands up again, "I think I'll be needing gloves next time we play."

"Get well soon, Harry," Susan said, leaning her elbows on the table, "I caught my hand in a trap once, I still have the mark, see?" and she delightfully showed her hand with jagged marks running around its length like one would with a prized artifact.

Harry would have loved to spend the second last day with the Hufflepuffs, huddled in the common room and chatting idly. Malfoy had to ruin it though, pulling him by the arm as he was walking out the hall, making Harry jump in surprise.

"Why is everyone in the habit of scaring me?"

"Might be because you scare easily, only a guess," Malfoy said, waving at Ron and Hermione, "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Oh, so you didn't. It must be because you share little lessons with us, Slytherin, or Gryffindor. Though I did take you to be the kind of person that — "

"Malfoy," Harry lifted both hands, distracting Malfoy enough for him to stop fiddling with his hair, "Get to it."

"If you're so very sure," he took him by the arm, and Harry, given up, followed; frowning in question and nodding towards Malfoy when Ron and Hermione started to follow them, "Hufflepuffs don't gossip much?"

"Malfoy, I can still use my hands," Harry said through his teeth, trying to shake his arm free from Malfoy's iron grip, "Can you just tell me what happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened, and I'll make it better. That Lupin, the teacher everyone seems to love, you know what he did? He humiliated Uncle Sev in front of the whole class, and now the whole school will know!"

Harry turned to look at Hermione and Ron, "I don't understand."

"Malfoy's exaggerating, a little," Ron said, crossing his arms and glaring, "Just because Neville — "

"He only chose him after a single lesson!" Malfoy shouted, his tone vindictive, hand tightening around Harry, "He had no right to share with a class the sick way he assumed another Professor lived, giving Longbottom the idea of dressing him in women's clothes. Women's clothes, honestly! Do you two have no issue with that?"

"I'm sure it had more to do with Professor Snape wearing lengthy, loose robes than an effort to humiliate him. They're both Professors," Hermione said, sounding on the edge of desperation, "They're on the same staff."

"Does asking — " Malfoy looked around, leaning closer and then hissing the rest of his words, "Does asking a student to imagine a teacher they're intimidated by in their grandmother's clothes emulate any sort of positive attribution to you, Granger? How about you, Weasley? And don't tell me you don't think there's nothing wrong with that, Patel."

Even Ron looked like he was questioning it. But he still shook his head a second later, standing his ground, "I still think you're exaggerating."

Malfoy went pink in the face.

Hermione cleared his throat, "Maybe if we give it some time — "

"Even I managed to get passed the house rivalry, are you really considering taking Lupin's side because he's so blatantly a Gryffindor? He even favors you!"

"Who's to say you won't because Snape is Slytherin?" Ron argued back, and the two shared a glare, "And don't tell me Snape doesn't favor you!"

"He does what no other teacher in the school ever will!" Malfoy shouted, his voice rising and rising, "I shouldn't have come here. Even though you're the ones that preached about how house discrimination is wrong, you won't take a page out of your own book."

"That's not fair, Draco," Hermione said harshly but Malfoy had already left, fuming. The remaining three exchanged a glance, and then they too separated, Ron and Hermione in one direction, while Harry awkwardly walked up to Professor Binns class, hoping he wouldn't

involuntary nap and not be able to fall asleep later that night.

The quiz did keep him from slipping off, and as soon as it was done, Harry took off, yawning as he walked down the corridor. The sun had long set, and a chill had settled into the castle. Harry reminded himself to get a coat next time as he entered the dormitory, almost empty except for Susan, who was reading by herself with a single candle.

"How was the lesson?" she asked after the turn of the lock, the ruffling pages shaking the candle light, "Did you fall asleep again?"

"Not this time," Harry yawned, crumpling down onto a cushion beside Susan, leaning against the wheelchair after she nodded in permission, sighing, "I'm so tired."

"You didn't sleep again last night?"

"I wish I could," Harry said, stiffening when Susan's fingers brushed his hair, dropping his shoulder after she started to gently play with it.

"What kept you up this time? Other than snoring," she asked, chuckling, putting the book on the table beside her.

"I don't know," Harry said tiredly, squaring his shoulders when Susan's hand got too close to his nape, "I wish I did."

"Have you talked to your aunt?"

"I have, but all she's doing is to write what I observe. How is that going to help?"

"If you're writing what you're just looking for — or looking at — though, I don't think that will help."

Harry turned around, "What do you mean?"

Susan placed her hands on her lap, the light bouncing off her skin, casting a shadow over a portion of her face, "You're looking for a reason, yes? For the things you are feeling. But I think you're not very happy with the answers."

"Can you… explain more?"

"I think it's like the time when I didn't want my father to build a wheelchair for me," she said, a hand settling on the armrest, "When he asked me why, I told him that I don't know. If you just write that down without anything else, you'll be frustrated and confused."

"But I hate writing it down," Harry said, looking down at his hand, "I have to write every single day, and during after school lessons. And homework, and assignments. I'm already slow and need more time to catch up - so slow that by the time I finish my work, my wrist hurts too much to write."

"And let me guess, you haven't told this to your aunt?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but closed it soon after, defeated. Point made, Susan picked up her book again, keeping it on her lap.

"And you won't talk either, will you."

The fire flickered, and outside, the wind blew. Harry suddenly wished he had read more books to describe how he felt, and how many more words should have existed that defined who he was. So instead, he looked down, dropping his head and mumbling.

"I'm scared, Susan. Of everything. I'm scared of- of my… past, and who I am and how I feel, and I'm terrified of what's going to happen with each passing day, when all I can see is…"

"...Is?"

He shook his head, "I'm so tired, you know? Of having so many thoughts and ideas and memories speaking at once…"

"I'm not a teacher, Ali. I probably won't be able to, either. And I know little of the world besides school and the people I've met. But in this small amount of years I lived — " she leaned back, tilting her head, a smile to her voice when she spoke, " — I did know why I didn't want a wheelchair. I didn't want it, because I was afraid as well. Afraid of change, how I would manage."

"You're not afraid anymore?"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of anything," she said bluntly, shrugging, "Only rarely. My father says I ought to, whenever he finds me doing anything that would scare any normal folk. That's how I almost lost a hand to foxes when I was seven."

Harry let out a stiff laugh, the smile staying on his face when the laugh was over.

"Or how I had to cut my hair after I fell in the swamp while looking for frogs when I was nine."

"Next thing I know you're going to tell me you used to clean chimneys," Harry said, laıghing harder at the confusion on Susan's face, "Thanks, Susan. I feel a bit better."

"You'll speak to your aunt about what we talked about, though, yes?"

"Agreed," Harry said, yawning again while he stood up, "You coming?"

"I'll be here a bit more," she said, opening her book again. Sleep well, Ali."

"Good night, Susan," he picked up his bag, heading towards the boys' dormitories. But then, he paused, looking over his shoulder, "Uh, Susan?"

Susan glanced up.

"Thank you. For being a friend."

And though he slept late once again, it was with an ease he hadn't felt in a long time.