Characters and things do NOT belong to me, but to J. K.

The title belongs to the lovely band Blindside.

I own only the plot.

"Harry…?" on any normal occasion I would have laughed at the younger boy standing on my doorstep, but something about his appearance struck an odd chord that kept me from laughing, which for anyone who knows me is quite the feat.

His tall, but skinny frame was shaking slightly in what I would have assumed to be cold, but something in his eyes suggested otherwise. The usually warm, compassionate pools of jade where dead, reflecting my face rather than their usual glowing, inner light. But this strange dead-ness was not only his eyes: everything about him looked extinguished. His saddened eyes where framed by long locks of obsidian colored hair that was plastered to his smooth, pale skin by the cool drops of water clinging to every part of his body. I hadn't even noticed the rain, but now that I saw him standing there, his clothes waterlogged and clinging to his emaciated frame, the downpour surrounding me was suddenly obvious. His teeth were chattering in time to his subtle shaking. Even if I had wanted to laugh then, I couldn't because the look on his face could stop even the highest of wizards from giggling at the wet, scrawny boy. His face was washed over with a crushed sort of sadness, a look of such defeat that I had to hold back the gasp aching to burst though my lips.

The defeat was what scared me. It was such a foreign look on the boys face…it stood out ugly and stark among the depression and confusion so cleanly displayed. Yet somehow, through the mess of defeat, small lines of determination still wound around his face aching to burst through and hide this rare display of raw emotion. The utter sadness of the boy was illuminated by a large, black trunk and empty owl cage sitting abandoned by his feet.

"Hey Fred…" when he spoke it was as if reality came crashing around me in every way. The absurdity of the situation, and the sheer desperation was suddenly so obvious.

As I realized I had been staring dumbstruck at the boy, and properly organized thoughts clicked into place, I did the obvious and pulled him quickly into my flat, flicking my wand at his belongs so that they followed us in. I blushed slightly, feeling foolish for staring at the boy. Still holding tight to the arm I had pulled him in with, I led him over to a pale green couch and gently eased him into the seat. He sat silently, looking at his feet, hands folded in his lap, still shaking despite the fireplace crackling near the end of the couch.

"…Harry?" I asked again. He just shook his head, focusing harder on his trainers. His silence and general dishevelment worried me, I had never seen the boy so exposed or vulnerable. Harry didn't see this though, he just sat there in his soaked clothing, raven hair clinging to his face, oblivious to my obvious fear. The affect was both handsome and haunting at the same time. "Harry, Harry please…" I was pleading now. "Harry, what's wrong?" he didn't move as I kneeled down in front of him, but as I reached my hand out toward him he pulled back. "Don't do this Harry…" I placed my fingers under his chin, his skin shockingly cold against my warm, rain free hands. I lifted his chin, bringing his cool, dead eyes up to meet mine. This time I couldn't help but gasp. The look was that of shattered glass. A splintered and scratched perfection, broken beyond the point of fixing and a part of my couldn't help but want to break with it. To take some of his raw and splintered pain and feed it into myself. I wanted to fix him. To re-light his eyes.

Fred's POV: Written by Emma

Harry's POV: Written by Gracie