DISCLAIMER: NOPE.

A/N: I've been off in "real life" for a while, and I'm quite glad to be back! :)

I'd had plenty of time to watch Harry Potter over the years, and I'd gathered quite the plethora of observations. One that stood out disturbingly clear was his response to any physical contact. When my mother hugged him, he stood stiff as though there were a knife in his spine, preventing any movement for fear of pain.

At first I was confused, and then I realized - it was for fear of pain. Everything he could remember of touch was pain. The snap of his uncle's belt as it inflicted searing wounds across his back, the sharp slap of his aunt's hand across his cheekbone, the crackof bone breaking as his cousin's fist collided with his nose.

I saw he was most uncomfortable with any man other than perhaps Sirius touching him. My father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Harry steeled himself, waiting for the blow to fall.

It never did, yet his reaction remained over the same all through the years. Now, he was eighteen, I was seventeen, and we would leave for our final year at Hogwarts in just under a week. Though his reluctance to touch anyone did not really extend to our relationship, he was still...careful.Cautious. I knew it hurt Hermione when she tried to hug her friend and got no more than an awkward pat on the back, I knew Ron didn't understand Harry's winced when he slapped him on the back playfully. I knew Mum hardly noticed. Dad probably was the only other person who perceived it. It hurt to watch. I couldn't let it just sit.

We sat on the couch next to each other, close. Our thighs pressed together, my pale, freckled arm lay across his tan one, our hands entwined. It wasn't often that we achieved this level of physical contact.

Cautious.

Nobody else was in the room. The timing of my family was, for once, perfect. My thumb slid over his knuckles in a casual gesture. I felt him start. My toes brushed his calf, and he relaxed slightly. Ever so slightly.

My free hand stroked his side, acutely aware of the forest green tee covering his torso. The cotton was soft and warm, and smelled like him. I knew. It was this shirt that I liked to nick for the day. I could feel the tension return to his body, so I leaned in to nuzzle his shoulder. Harry sighed, his arm winding slowly around my waist to gather me close.

"Why do you flinch?" I asked, though I already knew.

Harry drew in a sharp breath and I could see his dark green eyes slide out of focus. I stayed perfectly still waiting, waiting, for a response I didn't think would ever come.

"You know," he replied abruptly and quietly.

I nodded. "I know, but I want you to tell me."

Tentatively, I reached up to brush through his fringe with my fingers. Harry shivered.

"He hit me," Harry breathed, so softly that for a moment I might have imagined it was simply part of the storm toiling outside the windows. "My uncle. And Dudley...he and his gang liked nothing more than to cause me pain. Petunia...she was a little better. She'd slap me sometimes, but not often...she'd never intervene, though. Not once did anyone hug me or comfort me - nothing."

I swallowed the intrusive lump in my throat and pressed my lips to his chin. I watched his eyes flutter closed, the black eyelashes tracing a crescent on his cheekbones. My lips moved to his, and he let me hold him.

Not once that night did he flinch at my touch.

A/N: So, lately, I've been feeling like a lot of my stories haven't been quite as up to par as I would've liked them to be. I hope this one is. I've actually been focusing a lot on my original story, called The Eternals: The Shadows' Mark. Its been in the works for about a year, and its going really well. I actually hope to get it published, and it'd be an absolute dream come true to see my name in print. So, I'll be focusing on that, plus the odd poem or ghost story that comes to mind, but I'm not simply abandoning my fanfiction. I like it too much! However, things might go...slower. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, let me know!

~Ari