Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, yadda yadda yadda.

When Harry was a kid, he thought he had magic.

He was ten at the time, and the Dursleys had been forced to take him to the zoo with them because his usual nanny, elderly Mrs. Figg had died the day before and they couldn't find a replacement at such short notice. Not going to the zoo hadn't even been an option, because Dudley had been threatening to have a tantrum both Petunia and Vernon Dursley were both eager to prevent. So off they went, Harry quietly trailing behind them, trying to be unassuming as much as he could.

They were in the lizard section, Dudley making faces at the boa snake, and Harry could tell that it was getting more and more irritated with how louder its hissing got. Dudley was leaning on the glass and Harry had the single thought - what would happen if the glass disappeared? - and then the next thing he knew, the glass did indeed disappear and his cousin had fallen in screaming bloody murder, his aunt and uncle frantic and trying to pull him back, shouting for the guards to help them, people panicking.

Meanwhile, the snake had slowly slithered out, turning its long body towards him, and hissed its thanks before slithering off.

He hadn't told his aunt and uncle about it, never did, because he couldn't believe it himself, and he'd have been branded a liar and a freak by them if he had. He couldn't bring himself to give them more ammo to bring him down even more.

Since then, he had dreams about a giant taking him away, a boat ride to a castle, floating candles, old men with long grey beards, talking paintings, merpeople, warm happy Christmases spent in front of fires, flying horses, werewolves and magic.

About being happy.

He still thinks about it sometimes, on slow days, on sleepless nights. Of strange words he thinks he should know by heart, of histories he read on a quiet room lit by a fireplace, of little creatures squeaking out his name, of laughter shared over breakfasts, of feeling the wind rush against his face and the thrill of the chase, of feeling the rightness of home.

Sometimes he feels it, a tingle in his right hand, and when he curls his hand he feels something missing.

#

It was raining.

Harry sat inside the bookshop in one of the comfortable armchairs placed right in front of the shop's single window, idly munching on one of Sherry's promised raisin cookies. He was on his break, he'd been in the shop all day because it was Wednesday and he didn't have any class on Wednesdays. Clara was manning the counter, chatting with one of the customers who Harry thought might be in one of her classes and who obviously liked her. He glanced at them, smiling slightly as he watched Clara beam at the guy. He might've asked her on a date. The guy - Jake? - had been coming to the shop for weeks, idling in the aisles and sneaking glances at Clara, randomly picking books to buy when she was on the counter for the chance to speak with her, if only for a minute. Harry could sympathize.

He had been watching them circle around each other for those weeks Jake had been here and he was relieved that the guy finally got his act together. Good, he thought, turning back to the window and finishing his cookie, Clara deserves to be happy after that prat of a boyfriend of hers, who'd cheated on her numerous times in the month that they'd been together before Clara decided she couldn't take it anymore and broke up with him.

He absentmindedly sipped at his tea, feeling ridiculously British. He never really understood the Americans' obsession with coffee and Starbucks, and sometimes he liked to remember and wallow on the comforts of England.

The bell above the door tinkled with the entrance of more customers. He drank the rest of his tea.

#

Harry smiled at Hermione as he headed towards where she was seated in the classroom. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she had reserved a seat for him beside her, removing her bag from its place on the seat and gesturing for him to sit. He did, placing his bag beside hers on the floor. They had compared schedules after their US History class last Friday and discovered they had two more classes with each other, English Lit and a Politics course. He still remembered the pleased smile on Hermione's face and felt his own widening.

Today was their Politics class (Nietzsche and the 20th Century), and he knew Hermione was really looking forward to the discussion (I made a paper about him years ago, he was a fascinating man) so he knew he mustn't disturb her. He wasn't much of a conversationalist anyway, so it worked out alright.

She nudged him gently with her elbow. He turned to look at her, and she offered him a kisses chocolate, popping one into her mouth with a grin. He took it and put it into his own mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness in his tongue with a grin of his own.

#

"So Clara," He saw her perk up from where she had been nearly dozing behind the counter. He smirked from his place at the travel aisle, checking if the books were in their right order. "How was your date last night?"

Clara immediately beamed, cheeks nearly as red as her hair and gray eyes smiling.

"It was great! Jake took me to that movie I really wanted to see, and then we walked around Central Park for awhile, just talking. He was so sweet, and thoughtful and funny and really shy. It was cute. We're gonna go on another date tomorrow night." She gushed at him, practically vibrating with glee.

He grinned at her excitement.

"That's good. I'm glad he seems to be a decent bloke. I might've had to whack him with one of our heavier books if he hadn't."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Ah, but I don't think Sherry would've liked that. She might have whacked you, if you had."

He shrugged, plopping down on one of the armchairs by the counter.

"But seriously, thanks a lot, Harry. For being worried." She stated, patting his shoulder gently. "It means a lot."

He glanced at the pale scar in her arm, peeking through her long-sleeved shirt, and could see in his mind's eye how painful it would have been as an open wound, and how it still must hurt to see everyday, as a reminder. He rubbed at his side gingerly, and gave her a smile.

Sherry did like to take in strays.

#

Harry was on his way to his dorm, looking forward to an hour nap before he had to go to the bookshop, when he saw Hermione. She was sitting on one of the stairs in front of the library, a book open in her lap. It wasn't unusual, but she wasn't reading at all. He paused, debating whether or not he should go and speak to her. She looked like she was in another place, eyes distant and blank. He looked at his watch and sighed. He wasn't really all that tired anyway.

As he was nearing, he saw her clutching a piece of paper - maybe a letter? - in her hand. He realised she was shaking and pale.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting down beside her. There was no response.

He hesitated for a moment, before placing a hand on her arm and gently shaking her.

"Hermione?"

She jumped, head whipping around to stare at him, eyes wide.

"H-harry? What...what is it?" she asked, voice slightly hoarse. She stuffed the letter in her bag and closed the book in her lap before sliding it inside as well. The sound of her zipping her bag was uncharacteristically loud.

"I was passing by and I noticed you looked a bit pale. Are you okay?" he asked, watching her with concern.

She nodded, twisting the strap of her bag in her fingers nervously. She didn't look at him.

"Yes, I'm alright. Had a bit of a cold yesterday, that's all. I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" he prodded. She still looked a little pale, but her shaking had stopped.

Hermione sighed, smoothing away the stray hairs on her face. She glanced at him and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm okay, really."

Harry doubted it, but knew his concern wouldn't be much appreciated if he kept prodding her, so he let it go. He opened his bag and took one of the numerous receipts littering inside. He took out his pen from a side pocket and scribbled his dorm's telephone number on the paper. He hesitated before writing the shop's number down as well, with his name under. He handed it to her, eyes averted, and mumbled,

"Here. Call me if you want to talk. The one on top is for my dorm, the bottom is for the shop. I don't have a cellphone, sorry."

She took it, reading it silently, contemplatively. She looked at him again, eyes bright and curious, with wariness creeping around the edges.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked quietly. "I won't have sex with you, if that's what you're after."

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock, face turning crimson. He spluttered, hurt and a little angry,

"What? What're you talking about? Of course not! I don't expect you to - Where would you even get that idea? I'm not like that, god. I would never do that. I - I thought you could use a friend. I just. I just wanted to help."

He stood up, wringing his hands. It hurt, because he'd thought they were friends. Guess not. He should've known better, really.

"Look, if you don't want to call me, that's fine. Throw the paper away or whatever. Sorry to have bothered you.

He stalked away, ignoring the twinge in his heart. It's fine, he thought, it's fine.

Ugh, so I realised the link I provided in the last chapter is whacked, so I'll edit it again and see if this site doesn't ruin it again.

Also, I hate the random tense changes! It's like, my brain can't decide if I want the words to be present or past tense. And then I don't change some of them because I really like how the sentence is structured. *throws up hands* Whatever, I'll try to not do that in the future.

Whooo, here's a bit of angst! Didja guys like it?

Thanks for reading!