Harry would be just shy of his fifteenth birthday when he'd see Steve again. It had been an unnaturally hot summer in Little Whinging and he'd taken to spending the majority of it as far away from Privet Drive as he could. The sun had set a few hours before but Harry had been in no rush to return to a place that was more a prison than a home to him. He dug the toe of his worn sneaker into the dirt, watching as he upended a small beetle that went scurrying off in search of another place in which to burrow. He thought the bug to be the luckiest creature alive.

At least it has the option to bugger off.

Harry released an unhappy sigh into the unmoving air and lifted his head to stare out over the night shrouded drive. There was a hollow ache in the middle of his chest and a loneliness weighing more than a corner stone pressing down upon him. It'd been a while since he'd last heard from anybody-Steve, Hagrid, Sirius, Lupin, Hermoine or Ron. His being forced to return to the Dursley's for the summer, being isolated from the only world where he felt he belonged and the lack of communication from his friends had all started to take a serious toll upon Harry mentally. He'd barely been holding things together since Cedric's murder at the hands of Voldemort. He felt like a simmering volcano that was about to explode at that moment.

"You look like a fella with the weight of the world on his shoulders," he heard a familiar voice say from behind him.

Harry flipped his head around so fast that it knocked his glasses askew. He righted them before focusing upon the man standing there. Steve hadn't changed one bit. He still wore that worn leather jacket, still smelled like bay rum, still had the same warm look in those aqua colored eyes. There was some sort of ancient looking Gladiator shield strapped to his back, and Harry saw that beneath the bomber jacket he wore a navy blue uniform of sorts with a white star in the middle of his chest, but those were the only differences between the Steve of today and the one he'd met nine years ago.

"Care to talk about what's troubling you?" he asked kindly as he settled himself in the swing next to him. Harry stared at him for a few moments, not sure whether he wanted to tell him to sod off or demand to know why he'd stopped writing to him.

Curiosity eventually won out.

"I thought you had forgotten about me," he muttered crossly.

"I've never forgotten about you, Harry Potter," Steve replied in a soft, but firm voice. "In fact, I have thought of you often over the last few years. Especially after what you wrote me in your last letter."

"Why didn't you reply to my letter if you actually read it?" Harry knew he was being petulant, and quite selfish. Steve was a busy man and said he'd only try to write him as often as he could. However, there was a monster inside his head telling him how he hadn't replied because he found Harry as pathetic as everybody else did.

Steve looked taken aback at the hurt and anger that crackled in Harry's voice. "Harry, I did reply to your letter," he spoke gently and laid a comforting hand upon his quivering shoulder. "I said I was going to be in London for a few days and planned to stop in and see you, in fact. Didn't you receive it?"

"Obviously not."

And Harry knew why he hadn't received that letter. Or any other letters for that matter. Uncle Vernon and Dudley resented whenever Harry received a letter from any of the "freaks" that he tended to attract. Anger coursed through Harry. His fingers clenched upon the chain, hard enough that he could hear his bones cracking. Steve squeezed his shoulder again.

"Harry," he said quietly. "I never forgot about you. I will never forget about you. And," he added when Harry flicked eyes that felt like they were melting in their sockets to him, "I promise to write you everyday from now on. That way you will hopefully get at least one of my letters and know that I haven't forgotten about you."

And Steve would prove to be as good as his word.