Warning: Long chapter with some talk concerning goblin/magical being philosophy/mythology. For those of you who like to remind me of my story's slow place: I did warn you.


Chapter 16, Part One: Unexpected Visitors

Harry returned from the bathroom, feeling clean again, and stopped dead when he felt a presence in the Infirmary.

The warmth he felt he'd notice anywhere. That didn't make it any less impossible. He pushed open the doors a little more forcefully than necessary and stared.

Char was pacing across the room, clearly unsettled and worried. Much calmer, standing by the bed he occupied, were Natruk and Kertak. Harry took a sharp intake of breath and his brothers whirled around.

A second later, Harry and Char shared a bone-crushing hug.

"You fuckin' scared me, you little bugger," Char whispered, Harry just closed his eyes. It was so good to be near his family again. Once again, he was reminded just how much he missed them.

"What are you doing here?" he mumbled incomprehensibly, feeling confused. Non-magical people couldn't see Hogwarts, at least that was what Hermione told him.

"You got hurt," was the answer as if it explained everything. Harry blinked furiously, when the sudden realisation hit him that, as long as Char (and Kertak) were alive, he'd never be alone in his pain. He let go off Char and hugged his shorter yet older friend in return. Meanwhile, he looked at Natruk and formed the words 'dàio' with his lips. What he received was a kind smile and a bow to indicate his acceptance of Harry's gratitude.

"Who told you about this?"

"The Deputy Headmistress wrote to Sister Augustine," Kertak explained, "Richard was informed immediately as well as the older children at St Mary's. He contacted me as soon as possible and we decided to come and visit you."

"You d…"

"Finish that and I'll make sure to bump that stubborn head of yours some more," Char threatened, a grin forming behind closed lips, which were desperately trying to hide it. Harry rarely saw him so animated. Except for that one time almost exactly one year ago after they'd stolen Sullivan's secret stash and he'd ended up completely pissed while Char just giggled hysterically. Admittedly, it wasn't quite this bad. Nevertheless, to see his brother this happy and relaxed was still a rather new sight to Harry, and he cherished those moments a lot.

Two and a half months hadn't changed much in the young teenager, but it was undeniable that every month away from Hell healed him some more. Right now, he was probably better shielded from those memories than Harry as the underage wizard was continuously being reminded of his past.

"You alright?" – "What is on your mind?"

Only Char and Kertak could read him so well.

"Just… thinking," he answered truthfully. "Quirrell was messing with my head a little. The last week has been hard." He avoided eye-contact.

"I'm sorry… What?" Kertak stuttered. Harry could count the amount of times he'd heard Kertak stutter on one hand (with the exception of that meeting he'd observed between Kertak and Serla, an apparently particular beautiful goblin lady).

"What did the letter the school sent to Sister Augustine say?" Harry asked instead of explaining straight away.

"That you were hurt but not in immediate danger and that she had every right to visit, but would have talk to the Deputy Headmistress first. Apparently… Well, Mr. Natruk said that's because she doesn't know you can do magic and because non-magical folk isn't allowed to visit Hogwarts without magically gifted companions," Char explained.

"Okay. I guess it all began…" Like this, Harry began his story and told of the events occurring after Kertak's departure. He told how Quirrell messed with his mind (causing Char to shudder violently), the fight he'd had with the others as well as their reconciliation, everything happening after he witnessed the meeting between Snape and Quirrell (though he didn't breathe a word concerning Snape's past loyalties) and ended with the story of Peeves bringing his friends into their respective… or not so respective beds.

At least, an ashen white Blaise had told him that he was basically thrown out of the Hufflepuff dorm. Theo landed in Millie's bed (right before he too was pushed out of the dorm by an invisible hand), the Hufflepuff girls in the dorm of the First Year Slytherins boys (apparently, Malfoy's voice sounded very high if startled) and Millicent was giggling the entire morning after watching Blaise's forceful exit. According to her, Blaise was rarely the victim of pranks and she firmly believed he deserved it. Her amusement went as far as to thank Peeves the next time she saw him. None of them got into trouble, though. The poltergeist seemed to repeat this practical joke about once every decade.

Harry was the only one who'd seen the elf-like creatures. He asked nilràu Natruk whether he knew anything about this and for once he received a clear answer.

"Not every elf serves humans, Harry. The culture we know best are what humans call house-elves, but there are many ethnicities, only few of which show themselves to those outside elven kin."

Char wasn't interested in that. He'd remained as silent as possible during Harry's narration, but now he could no longer sit still, "Sir? Can I speak to Harry for a few minutes? Alone?"

"If you intend on scolding him for doing something so foolish as to follow a person he considered dangerous without any acceptable support, there is no need for me to leave. Unless you want him to hear it twice." Harry straightened up, unconsciously backing away until his back touched familiar walls. He didn't fear Natruk, but the tone used wasn't one Harry was well-acquainted with. Natruk sounded strange. Well, Kertak had sounded like that after he'd found him waiting in the freezing cold, but…

"He would have killed Lacius, otherwise," Harry protested, looking at Char instead of Kertak or Natruk.

Char's face darkened, his eyes blazed like shards of ice. The youngest occupant of the room knew what he would say long before the words left his brother's lips.

"Too fuckin' bad."

The eleven-year-old knew Char wasn't completely indifferent to a stranger's death, no matter how callous he sounded. His sympathy was just overshadowed by fear of losing Harry. It caused the younger boy to grab his best friend's right arm and pull him into another hug.

"I didn't go after Quirrell, I was going to reach Lacius before all that. I wasn't fast enough and then there was a scream… Did you really expect me to stand by and do nothing?" Harry knew they were worried, he understood it. He would rip off either of their heads if they did something like that. He just needed them to see…

"sgrafur Taylok. Any other teacher at Hogwarts… You could have gone to them for help," Kertak objected.

"Quirrell just incapacitated one Head of House. One who I have good reason to believe is a trained fighter. I knew Professor McGonagall wasn't in her office and I don't know where the other teachers' offices are with the exception of Professor Sprout's and she would have been torn into shreds!" Harry was aggravated as well as desperate, he needed them to understand.

"Don't gimme that," Char shouted. "You find a needle in a bloody haystack, just like you found Sharon's Mum's necklace in the middle of London! You'd have found a teacher."

Harry looked away. He probably could have, should have. It was just… difficult to give up responsibility like that, to lay someone's life into a near-stranger's hands.

'You do it with doctors; the teachers here care enough… Just do it, you idiot," he chastised himself. 'It's not like you know more than they do, especially when it comes to magic. You could have died.'

"Next time I will," he promised, but he still didn't meet any of their eyes.

Kertak moved forward, Harry knew without looking up, and said, "What you did was brave, foolish and stupid. Brave because you faced something you knew you couldn't beat, especially when you saw what was underneath Quirrell's turban. Foolish because you still faced all that, fully aware it was more likely to die than live. Stupid because it was unnecessary. Do you know how a goblin grieves the loss of their raùn, their given and chosen siblings, their closest bloodkin?"

Harry shook his head and looked up because his curiosity was more powerful than his shame.

"Every day for the rest of their lives every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset, they remember them, their greatest virtues and their biggest follies. You have become my brother, and believe me, that was not the intention the day I called you 'friend'. Now you need to accept a great responsibility you have so far thoroughly ignored…" Harry opened his mouth to protest. He took their brotherhood very seriously. "Your own life. Survive! I don't care if you kill to live, but you must survive for your sake as well as ours! You are the only kin I have. You are the only kin Richard has because the others will always be too young to fully understand the ordeal you went through together. Please, promise me not to repeat another stunt like this!"

Harry could count the days he'd known Kertak. These were the most personal words he ever heard him say. In front of Char and nilràu Natruk no less. He bit his lips to keep them from quivering, but he his breath still hitched and his eyes moistened. Thankfully, Kertak spared him the embarrassment and hugged him tightly.

Harry whispered, "I promise."

He felt Char's hand on his shoulder and smiled a little. It disappeared the second he felt the walls announce someone he couldn't identify drawing closer. Harry tensed, which was enough for the others to detangle from the embrace and take a step back. Kertak was worried, Char alert. Harry lifted his hand when Char was about to fade into the background. The eleven-year-old might not be able to tell who it was, but he was sure that person wasn't a threat.

The doors opened and Professor Snape entered. Harry suddenly regretted his initial reaction: The Potions professor wasn't a threat, but Harry kind of avoided telling his friends what happened in the minutes he'd been unconscious. Additionally, he might not be a threat, but he certainly looked like one. Char's body seemed to freeze almost instantly. Char did have a gift to recognize potential danger, no matter how readily he always dismissed it when the eleven-year-old mentioned it.

"Good afternoon," Snape spoke formally. He inclined his head slightly, giving his respects to the only other adult in the room. Natruk returned the gesture without hesitation.

"I hope you are well, Professor Snape," he said.

For only a second, the wizard's dark eyes glanced at Harry, but before he gave the boy the choice to indicate he'd kept the secret, his eyes were returned towards the honourable goblin.

"I am, thank you, nilràu Natruk," the answer was cool yet it lacked hostility, and Harry was impressed by his teacher's flawless pronunciation of a word in Gobbledegook.

"Is there a special reason you are here, sir?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," it was impossible to interpret the mask appropriately. "I think we should postpone our meeting for a few more days until things have settled down."

"I thought that was our plan in the first place, sir," Harry frowned, ignoring his friends' inquiring looks.

"That is correct, but we only meant to wait for Hogwarts and its inhabitants to calm down. What we now face is the Wizarding World." Again, Snape's voice was cool, but there was a slight softness to it that made Harry uneasy.

"Sir?" he asked, confused and tense.

"Frank Longbottom is a highly skilled Auror, Mr. Potter. He may have isolated his family from the rest of Wizarding Society, but he remained an active Auror. He insisted on an investigation when he heard what happened." Again, there was no way to tell what the wizard felt.

Harry blanched. His head felt light right before it started to pound viciously.

"Invest…" Coppers? 'Get your head together and ask for more information!' "When will they be here?" 'So I won't be.'

"Mr. Potter, you have nothing to fear."

Harry snorted and he didn't care how impolite he sounded. Quite apart from the fact they were talking about coppers here, it was also irritating that Snape not only saw but also acknowledged Harry's poorly concealed panic.

"You didn't do anything wrong, which would…" Snape tried again, but Harry interrupted rudely.

"Ever since when does it matter to law enforcement whether you did anything?" he hissed.

"Harry," Natruk's voice had a steely edge to it. Harry ducked his head. Interruption was considered unacceptable in goblin society. By refusing to let someone have their say, you dismissed their very existence. In old times, doing so apparently led to blood feuds and wars. Centuries of interacting with wizards and witches mellowed traditions, but it was still one of the greatest insults possible. Harry wasn't raised a goblin, though, and he'd forgotten.

"I apologize, sir," he said, looking straight into the tall wizard's eyes before bowing properly. Goblin rules required goblin manners.

"Not only in goblin society is it considered rude to interrupt another being, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly. Harry almost froze. He still didn't know whether to admire Snape for his perception or to run for the hills. Somehow, the other man had realized the ambiguity of his actions: he'd listened to Natruk, but his apology was meant for ignoring rules, not for the individual he'd insulted.

"I am sorry, Professor Snape," he said softly yet sincerely, for once avoiding eye-contact.

"Your reaction was, while not rational, completely understandable. As for what I was trying to say: All you have done is distracting a very dangerous wizard so someone else could take action. That is no crime and considering you didn't use magic to prot…" For some reason, Snape decided to phrase it differently, "Considering you have used words instead of magic to protect yourself and you peer, they might even overlook your participation."

Harry managed to keep his face indifferent even though he'd realized that Snape was misinformed, "So, they're going to do what? Ask Longbottom a couple of questions and then they leave again?"

"First, they will ask the headmaster a few questions before they will investigate the first crime scene, therefore they will be talking to me at first." It didn't matter how good Snape was at hiding it, Harry could hear the reluctance and the apprehension in his teacher's voice.

Adults always said that law enforcement could be trusted; they encouraged you to call coppers if something was out of the ordinary. To see that there was an adult less than thrilled about being interrogated by coppers was strangely comforting. And scary.

"And since they'll be interested in learning how you reached the Infirmary, they'll want to talk to me afterwards," Harry continued. He glanced at Char, who viewed the scene from a safe distance, while remaining close enough to stand by his friend if necessary.

He was surprised to hear the Potions Master exhale sharply, in obvious and bitter amusement, "Assuming those who will come to investigate are the ones I expect, they won't bother finding out how I was brought to the Infirmary, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded in understanding.

Once you were viewed as criminal by coppers, you'd always be.

Not a rule, just a fact of life.

It seemed that Snape knew that lesson very well. Harry briefly wondered if this had to do with Snape being a former follower of Voldemort, or something else entirely.

"Afterwards, they will investigate the second crime scene… I'm guessing after talking to Mr. Longbottom."

"How do they investigate?" Harry inquired, curious and worried at the same time.

"They will cast a spell, which will either result in a rather accurate show cast of shadows representing what happened, or – if concealment spells were used, which is very likely in this case – the spell reveals the amount of magical cores involved. The respective wizards' and witches' wands will be confiscated and examined."

Harry was somewhat relieved. They could check his wand all they wanted. He hadn't used it.

"There are wand-spells capable of measuring core activity?" Natruk inquired, very much intrigued.

"Not as thoroughly as I heard goblin magic is capable of," Snape explained. He stood at a distance that wouldn't force Natruk to strain his neck too much in order to keep eye-contact. It was appreciated, though Natruk didn't comment on it directly. "But there are spells, which allow the caster to see a magical being's core activity."

Kertak looked up at that. Harry knew why. His friend could feel core activity, a common ability for most goblins. It had to be satisfying to hear that wand-carriers were in need of active spells for that. But then, Kertak had seen Harry's core activity when he resorted to his tricks, which would mean…

"In this case, they'll know who used magic after casting that spell?" Harry asked carefully.

The professor regarded him with a penetrating gaze as if he could see right through him.

"They will know how many beings were magically active, nothing more," Snape answered evenly.

"Does whatever Quirrell became count as one or two, sir?" Harry asked, intending to distract his teacher from the real issue. Char's eyebrows were lifted. He'd obviously made out Harry's 'just keep asking questions so you don't need to answer' tactic. Other than his involuntary reaction, Char remained still, inspecting his best friend's teacher with suspicion. Harry had told him that this man knew about Hell and Char still needed to determine just how much of a problem that was.

"Mr. Potter, if the Dark Lord had direct access to his magical core, neither of us would be here to have this conversation." Harry preferred blunt answers, but this one shook him and he had to suppress a shudder.

"He truly has become a dark spirit then, hasn't he?" Natruk asked, and Harry was sure that there was a slight tremble to his voice.

"Dark spirit?" For the first time, Harry had the impression that Snape was clueless what Natruk was talking about.

The goblin remained silent for a long time. It didn't take a genius to note that this conversation about dark spirits was usually reserved for goblins. Harry himself didn't know much with the exception of common phrases such as "Listen away, you dark spirits!" (kranòs-nèm cor halît brîeken), which meant "I keep my fingers crossed". He hadn't known there was a deeper meaning to it, however.

Soon, Natruk had the words he was looking for.

"Humans have the tendency to believe their view on the world is the only one that counts. Some goblins are the same," he added with a small smirk. "Nevertheless, most goblins are aware that the world is more than the eye can see. The more spiritually gifted folks were the ones who first spoke of spirits. Goblins viewed it with suspicion at first. Only one thousand years ago, this belief slowly became part of goblin culture due to the armac sel, the seers. No, Harry," he said at Harry's puzzled expression, "'Nal ke tenî armac sel' means 'You see too much.' You were rightly informed. It is an archaic expression and says in the literal translation 'You who have the Silver Eye'. The silver-eyed ones, while most aren't bothered with politics, belong to the dignitaries of goblin society." Harry bowed instantly, but was at loss for words. When it came to goblin culture, Natruk was vague at best; more and more, he seemed to think that Harry deserved to know. To do so in front of Snape was extraordinary, however.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape was listening patiently. Harry knew he had to be tense given the upcoming presence of coppers. Yet, he took time to wait for Natruk to answer his original question. The goblin greatly approved of it. A graceful bow acknowledged Snape's courtesy.

"While ghosts are mere shells of former witches and wizards, a faded mirror if you will, the spirits of the world hold power." For a moment, he paused, probably to collect his thoughts. "It is said that everything that lives must die. Spirits don't, so they cannot be alive, can they?" Snape frowned almost imperceptibly before he nodded with hesitation. "However, they are aware and most have cause. You harbour a spirit in this very castle." He stopped and looked at the Potions professor expectantly.

The wizard's eyes had an indecipherable expression for a moment before he said quietly, "Peeves? He's a poltergeist."

"Poltergeists are non-harmful, mischievous spirits. Their purpose is chaos, not malice. They are powerful but are by no means the strongest. It is said that some spirits live within the elements and are capable of controlling them, but personally I believe that to be untrue. There is no evidence to suggest that. There is no such thing as a good or a bad spirit either, which is an often made, but unpardonable simplification. They are Other." Harry's and Char's eyes met and they grinned furtively at each other. "They do not care for the dealings of the living unless it is their purpose. Innate dark spirits aren't evil or malicious, they just are. They would never hurt their own, or so the spiritual ones claim. I have never chatted with a dark spirit, so I wouldn't know. We consider them dark because they hurt, even kill the living, but would you call an owl evil because it hunts the mouse?" He didn't bother waiting for answer. The question was rhetorical. "No, because the mouse is an owl's prey. We, the living, are prey to dark spirits. Just like spirits of chaos, dark spirits are therefore dependent on us. Without their prey, they lose power, might even fade away."

"Are there any 'white'spirits?" Char asked out of nowhere and Snape's eyes met the fourteen-year-old boy's for the first time. The only non-magical being in the room looked about ready to bolt.

"In goblin culture, we believe there are: the Atàca."

Harry frowned. He'd heard the expression Atàca-daìo before, he hadn't known there was a deeper meaning to it than "Thank Goodness."

"However, Atàca might as well mean luck, every positive thing that happens without apparent cause. Nobody can say for sure there are spirits involved, and as you probably surmised I am sceptical. Not every bad thing that happens is caused by a dark spirit, not every good thing that happens was caused by Atàca. The living are very well capable of committing crimes of their own doing as well as show kindness when it's unexpected."

Snape remained quiet. Harry was impressed once again by his patience.

"Spirits are neither alive nor dead." Finally, Natruk decided to get to the point. "That is what the one you call Dark Lord seems to be at the moment. Shadow and vapour, both belonging to things that are but don't live. It is said that those who defy death become spirits; in most cases dark ones. It is utterly worrying to think that this wizard became a spirit."

"This I don't understand, I'm afraid," Snape spoke up. "The Dark Lord needed Quirrell to perform magic, reached through him to influence his surroundings magically." The way his face twitched slightly told Harry just how much pain Voldemort had caused by using the tattoo on Snape's arm as weapon. Harry himself didn't show as much restraint and shuddered when he remembered how effortlessly Voldemort had been capable of extorting memories from his mind; he suddenly recalled how much worse the sensation got when Quirrell's head was turned. That made a lot more sense now.

"He shouldn't have been able to do it at all, Professor Snape," Natruk explained severely. "The magical core is dependent on mind, body and soul. The body's centre is right where a mother bears her child. The centre of life remains right there. This is where the magical core lies."

Oh. Now that explained a few things.

"Without a body, it cannot exist. His body was destroyed while mind and soul seemed to have survived. He should have lost his power, but while his power was lessened, it still remained. That is a contradiction to the laws of magic. Like a parasite, he infested that foolish teacher, whom I wish the very worst in the afterlife, and drew from his core… Some dark spirits are said to be capable of that as well. I wouldn't know for certain, but fact remains that Lord Voldemort," Snape flinched a little, "defied death, lost his body yet didn't lose his magic as it would have been expected. Somehow, his magic isn't tied to a body and while the body is the most fragile part of the magical core, it is also the one that ties us to the world of the living. Without it…" he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "I do not wish you to worry," with those words he addressed the boys in the room, "Right now, dark spirit or not, this wizard, while still dangerous, lacks power. Don't let him invade your nightmares."

'Why not? My nightmares are this crowded, he might suffocate if he joins the party,' Harry thought defiantly. He didn't like what Natruk was telling Snape, but he had no reason to doubt it. Voldermort was gone for now, that was all that mattered. He'd long ago learned to enjoy the good moments because you never knew how long they lasted.

"Don' worry 'bou' tha', sir," Char said, with obvious sarcasm. Harry couldn't remember he'd last spoken with such a strong accent. "Ain't nothin' bu' the bloke who killed Harry's old folks, righ'? No fuckin' reason to worry at all, no?"

Harry opened his mouth to admonish his best friend before Kertak resorted to violent action. He felt a bit torn, though; he was loyal to both and he felt bad for taking sides.

"You may not be a student of this school, Mr…." Snape began, his black eyes narrowed.

It appeared that Natruk's little tale managed to freak him out so much, Char forgot about the dangers coming from the adult right in front of him. That and temporary insanity were the only reasons Harry could think of that would explain his brother's next action.

"Ohhh," the fourteen-year-old drawled. "Ain't that a rub? I ain't no little student a yours. Fuck, I don't know no hocus pocus. And there ain't no way I'ma say my name." While he spoke, Harry rose from the bed and stood in between Snape and Char, just in case the Potions Master lost his temper or Char was acting any more stupid than he already did.

"Very well, Mr. Friend of Harry Potter," Snape spoke quietly. He was very controlled as if he had no intention of showing just how annoyed he was. "Please, do me the favour and try not to appear as if you were raised in the gutter by using a manufactured accent when in reality you spent a larger part of your childhood a few miles north of London in a while poor still civil household." Harry gaped at Snape. He could only imagine Char's expression who drew back, completely flustered. Char had changed accents a few months into Hell. He'd had a harder time adjusting than Harry, not only because of what the orphanage was but because the older children were almost altogether street kids or from very troubled families. Char learned quickly, though, and one of his ways to cope had been an artificial accent. It was remarkable that Snape had not only recognized the false accent but guessed Char's true roots.

"What the both of you fail to realize as so many children with similar backgrounds do," Snape said quietly, "is that you aren't the first to experience hardships too young in life. Very few decide to follow the footsteps of Peter Pan, however." He paused and Harry couldn't have talked even if the professor had given him the chance to think of an appropriate response. "There are adults who understand, whether you are willing to accept that or not," he added as an afterthought.

Harry had to admit he preferred not to think of adults who'd seen, done and gone through the same things he did, or something just like it. He knew there had to be, he knew enough stories. Therefore, he was very well aware that Hell soon would be nothing but a memory and with time, would be nothing more than another horror story you told the children so they wouldn't let themselves be caught by coppers. What happened to children like him?

'What will become of me?' Would he just forget in a few years and ignore everything that happened for his own piece of mind? Would he try to help children who suffered the same way? Or would he just learn to live with it and do something only if he stumbled upon situations that called for it?

He wondered which of the last two categories Snape belonged to. It was impossible to say. He was too smooth and too calm for it to be the first time he handled such cases. On the other hand, Harry was sure that, while Snape's childhood hadn't been easy, he wasn't a street kid, or an orphan.

Anyway, the Potions Master understood a lot and had the natural instinct not to handle surprises unwisely. That ability was not only an advantage: He already possessed too much power, who was stupid enough to hand him more weapons?

'I am, obviously,' Harry hated the way his own instincts battled with each other. The respect he couldn't help but feel for his professor and that constant niggling feeling, which told him that Snape could truly hurt him if he decided to do so.

Apparently, he wasn't alone in his musings. Char lowered his gaze and murmured an apology.

"May I know your name?" the tall wizard asked in a stern voice.

"Don…" Char visibly bit his tongue to keep the truth from leaving. "Smith, sir. Richard Smith." Harry remembered the stories they'd invented, so they could stay together. To do so, and to keep Char from being locked up, he had been obliged to give up his name. He'd reclaim it once he turned eighteen.

"I see," Snape spoke quietly. The tone he used had a dangerous edge to it. "You may not be a student of mine, Mr. Smith, but be aware that I detest being lied to. Given the depth of friendship between you and Mr. Potter, I would guess you met at some point in the last four years but before last January. Please do me a favour and be honest with me so I needn't make guesses concerning the timeframe."

Confused, Char frowned. Harry felt his heart rate accelerate. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing while Snape gradually gained information from his best friend.

The bastard didn't even need magic to make you talk; he was intimidating and patient enough to simply wait until you spilled your secrets.

"Sir, forgive me, but I feel exhausted," Harry decided to interfere. He'd given Snape some power by letting him do the examination. He didn't need to know anything else. "May I please talk to my friends before I retire to bed?"

He was given a long, sharp look, but there didn't seem to be any Legilimency involved.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," Snape nodded and took a step back. "Mr. Longbottom's family picked him up this morning together with his brother. Tomorrow, Frank Longbottom and his team will be ready for the investigation. I thought you would prefer to be informed beforehand." Harry inclined his head to indicate that his teacher's assumption had been correct. "Do not fret too much, Mr. Potter. Even if the Aurors decide to talk to you, keep in mind that Frank Longbottom will have no intention to render you uncomfortable."

"Why ever not, sir?" Harry asked.

"Your parents died to save you and his sons," the black-cloaked wizard answered with a slight sneer, as if Harry's cluelessness amused him. "It is not a Wizard's debt in a traditional sense, but close enough to it for him to ensure you won't be confronted with any unnecessary unpleasantness."

Harry's eyebrows were raised in a manner they nearly disappeared behind a patch of unruly hair.

"Is there a problem?"

"What's the matter with the Longbottom family, sir?


"I beg your pardon?" It took the Potions Master a great deal of control not to sound baffled.

"Sir, I've lived in the Wizarding World for nearly three months and I do listen. Neville and Lacius didn't have much contact outside their family circle growing up. Their father works at the Ministry, though, which indicates he has regular contact with other people. How come hardly anybody ever saw his children? On top of all, their father is an Auror, but is friends with Lucius Malfoy. I've met him, sir, I know whose side he was on when my parents were murdered." The lean wizard managed to control his features, but it was very difficult to meet those sharp, emerald eyes without wavering. "And this leads yet to another thing that bothers me: You say they owe my family a life debt, even honour my parents every year on Halloween. Mrs. Longbottom talked to me at King's Cross. She knows who I am. However, in the last three months they've known I'm still alive, how come they haven't inquired after me once?"

Good points.

Dangerous points.

Incredibly perceptive points for an eleven-year-old.

"I wouldn't claim to know the Longbottom family well enough to answer all these questions appropriately."

To Severus' great surprise, Lily's son laughed.

"I see," the boy grinned and looked so much alike his father in that moment, the grown man nearly lost his patience. "Sir, you are most likely the most perceptive person I've ever met. I will be able to discern truth from natural prejudice you are bound to feel for the cop… Auror Longbottom."

Anger vanished.

This was not James Potter. He'd known all along, but now the Potions Master was certain he wouldn't repeat this mistake.

Any time soon, at least.

He wasn't sure whether to be welcoming Harry's… Mr. Potter's apparent sympathy or discourage it. Aurors didn't accept suspicion well. It could do the boy some good to keep his natural wariness around law enforcement in check.

"Mr. Potter, while you weren't wrong assuming that Frank Longbottom and I aren't friends, it has very little to do with him being an Auror." It wasn't even a lie.

"Sir, all I'm asking is a little bit of clarification. I will meet this man tomorrow and I prefer knowing what I'm dealing with."

It was the kind of plea nobody could deny. What to say, though? He didn't know what happened after that fateful night ten years ago. He didn't know why Longbottom no longer sought the headmaster's advice. He didn't know why a lot of things happened.

Well, the boy certainly deserved some answer.

"The Dark Lord's means to dominate the world were fear and the element of surprise. Nobody could predict his next step; even the headmaster was unable to do so. The extent of it is very hard to understand these days. Therefore, it is impossible to comprehend the hysterical feeling of utmost relief when he was defeated. It was very wise of the Longbottoms to avoid all this insanity. Nobody knows where they lived in the first year after the war. The Longbottoms refused contact to the outside world; even their closest friends."

He saw the young boy frown at this. Understandable, if one considered that friends were all this boy had as a family. He'd probably sooner sacrifice a limb than abandon those he cared dearly for.

"When Frank Longbottom returned to active duty, his colleagues and the entire Wizarding World learned not to ask where his family was. By doing so, the Longbottoms received almost legendary status."

"Isn't that the complete opposite of what they wanted?" Mr. Smith (though that was not his real name) spoke up. The teenager seemed rather taken aback by his own courage. "I mean, when he keeps his family and home from everybody including friends, won't people ask even more questions?"

It seemed like not only Har… Potter, Mr. Potter was perceptive.

"They did," nilràu Natruk answered in his stead. "Due to the lack of information Wizarding Society started to invent their answers. The greatest warriors wouldn't have been half as legendary without a sufficient amount of mystery around them. Most battles are decided long before they start."

"Psychological warfare?" the only Muggle in the room asked.

"Not quite," his friend contradicted. "Blade's tactic."

"Blade? That kid who tried to…" At Harr… Mr. Potter's warning glare, he fell silent immediately.

Now this was bound to be interesting.

"Well," the eleven-year-old said after a moment, chuckling almost silently. "Ours too if you think about it, Char."

Char joined whatever joke they were sharing a moment later.

"I can only guess why they didn't inquire after you, which I would prefer not to do," the Potions teacher continued his musings curtly.

Alice Longbottom had been a close friend of Lily's. As she'd never been one of those to ridicule Lily for being friends with him, Severus indulged in some empathy: He could only imagine the painfully terrible and wonderful surprise she must have felt when she'd looked into those eyes. Maybe, she simply didn't want to be reminded of the war.

"Thanks anyway, sir. I'm guessing you won't say anything about the Malfoys and Longbottoms either?"

Slightly surprised by the tone of the boy's voice, a sudden thought came to him, 'None of that, Mr. Potter.'

"Have I so far been less than forthright with you or what have I done that makes you think I'm keeping important information from you?"

To his great surprise, his student flushed at his slight reproach. It was good to see there was a child beneath all that serenity and perception.

"Nothing, sir. I apologize. I could claim it was a reflex, but you didn't deserve that one," he muttered so quietly, Severus very nearly rebutted him for it.

"Do not think of it, Mr Potter."

Without checking the time, he knew it was time for him to leave. He needed to take care of a few things before subjecting himself to Longbottom's squad.

"Nilràu Natruk, it was an honour to speak with you. Let us hope we find an intriguing topic to discuss someday in the future for I have only heard the very best of a goblin's debating skills."

As Filius liked to remind him of, whenever he managed to coax a concession from the Potions Master.

He was met with a graceful bow.

"The pleasure would be mine, Potions Master Snape."

"As I do not know the proper expression to address an underage goblin, young – Kertak it is, isn't it? – rest assured it was good to see you again." Formalities came as easily to him as breathing did to others. Not a natural born ability, but one achieved over many years of hard practice.

"It's Kertak, Professor Snape. That is more than sufficient," the young goblin said with a smile. Severus could all but nod at that.

Instead of replying, he turned to Mr. Potter's other friend.

"Mr. Smith," he just had to put some emphasis on the false name, though he didn't expect the young man to yield, "I do not know whether you have already met another member of the staff. If not, I welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enjoy your stay."

The Muggle boy decided the floor to be the most interesting item in the entire room. Just when he was about to focus on Ha… Mr. Potter, a very quiet voice said, "Thank you, sir."

"Mr. Potter, I will see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Professor. Thank you for answering our questions," the serene boy said.

"There is no need to thank me. Goodnight!" At that, he turned and left rather abruptly.

Once he was outside of the Infirmary, he took a deep breath.

"It isn't easy to say the right thing at all times," a voice spoke behind him. Admittedly, it startled him, but he managed to keep his body reactions in check.

He turned around to look at Natruk.

"Normally, I prefer silence over guessing what the right thing may be, nilràu Natruk," he said tersely. Severus had had a not so abhorrent conversation with the goblin dignitary when he'd last visited Hogwarts and Severus couldn't claim to feel any enmity when it came to the goblin. Yet, there was one thing he couldn't just ignore. "However, it is my impression that too many have done so in the past."

A very cold smile was the answer. Automatically, Severus' hand slipped inside of his black cloak to take a hold of his wand.

"I deserved that reproach," the goblin said, his voice unemotional.

"Why didn't you do anything?" He was glad to notice that the sneer he put into his voice was enough to drown almost all of his genuine ire and disbelief. "When you found out, how could you…" His wand was out and deflected a small pebble that was thrown at him with considerable speed before his mind truly registered that he was being attacked.

The goblin's wrist bent slightly and another pebble fell into his hand.

Carefully, never letting his opponent out of sight, Severus inspected the pebble: it was chalk-white and a tiny rune was carved into it. He knew too little of goblin magic to know what he'd just deflected. Fact remained he was facing a dangerously angry goblin.

'If you have to decide between a dragon's fury and a goblin's pride, head for the dragon. You are more likely to survive.'

That was not theproverb he wanted to remember in situations like this.

"What's going on?" A voice from the door startled them both, but neither showed it with more than a nearly invisible flinch.

Emerald eyes blazed dangerously. Severus understood why Ha… oh, for the love of Merlin… Mr. Potter would be furious with him. After all, he was pointing his wand at the closest thing the boy had for an uncle. However, the boy's glare was no less directed at the goblin.

The child was visibly tense. Right behind him were his friends.

Nilràu Natruk spoke a few words in Gobbledegook, but Severus' vocabulary didn't reach above formal greetings. He was however convinced that the goblin apologized.

It was quite remarkable how quickly the undoubtedly older being regained control over his emotions. The boy answered in apparently flawless Gobbledegook with the exception of certain English fillers. All of a sudden, the younger goblin made a sound of surprise. Mr. Potter wasn't distracted by it and continued.

Slowly, nilràu Natruk nodded. When he was still inspected with scepticism, the goblin said another few words very softly. Whatever he said, it was enough as the boys left without further discussion. Mr. Smith who'd probably understood even less than Severus followed suit.

Once the doors to the Infirmary closed, the goblin turned towards Severus once more.

"Is there any chance for us to speak in private?" he asked with a sigh, his arms were spread with his palms facing the ceiling in a sign of peace.

"Follow me," Severus commanded shortly and they walked into the dungeons and towards his office without exchanging a single word.

Once they entered, he invited the dignitary to take a seat. Unlike he did when he was trying to intimidate his students, Slytherin's Head of House didn't sit behind his desk but conjured a chair and sat opposite to the goblin.

Natruk remained silent for about as long as only minutes before in the hospital wing.

"We knew something was wrong. We knew he was a violent, short-tempered, vile man who didn't meet his charges with kindness. It was enough for Kertak to nearly ignore the law and attack a non-magical human. The entire truth we didn't know until last January. Nevertheless, I should have interfered before. Kertak begged me to." For a short moment, the proud goblin closed his eyes in obvious pain.

"Why didn't you?" Severus snapped relentlessly.

"Why didn't you let him be examined by the mediwitch the minute you found out?"

Because the boy would have run for the hills.

Severus didn't say it, but it wasn't necessary.

"Exactly," the goblin said.

"He wouldn't have fled. Not from you," the tall wizard protested quietly, his intense gaze fixed on the goblin's relentless eyes.

"This is where you are wrong," was the immediate response. "See, I was unsurprised to discover that Harry was in Hufflepuff as he is the most loyal creature I've ever met. You can only be loyal to a few, though. Harry's loyalty consists of circles: The boys who are with him this instant are the ones he's unquestionably loyal to. The next circle consists of a selected few inside of St. Mary's Orphanage as well as well as most he's encountered in his time under the creature's wrath. And so it goes on. Sister Augustine, his guardian," he added for clarification, obviously unaware of what Severus already knew, "and I are the adults he trusts the most and we are no closer than within his fourth circle of loyalty. His loyalty to me isn't strong enough to stay with me when I make a mistake or betray his trust. He would have run. There are a few children he has met here who most likely will enter his inner circles some time in the future."

"When it comes to adults, however…" Severus let the words fade. There was no need to elaborate.

"I don't know a fraction of what Kertak does, and I've known the child for several years. He respects me, make no mistake. All that is useless however if he can't bring himself to trust me. He trusts me not to hurt him or the people he cares about, but he doesn't trust me to take care of him."

"It still doesn't justify your lack of action," Severus countered.

"You are right. It doesn't," Natruk looked away. "I will never be capable of looking into his eyes without the guilt. Worst of all, he knows." The last was spoken in a mere whisper and yet again, Snape was confused. He definitely didn't like the feeling.

"Wizarding Law forbids creatures of near-human intelligence to interact with Muggles. Before you say anything, yes we are considered beings by law, reality looks different. Goblins' communication with non-magical humans only happens through Gringotts. The centaurs did us no favours by their wish to remain as beasts. I have a responsibility to my people, Professor Snape, and no matter how deeply Kertak believed Harry to be a wizard, I couldn't be sure he'd be accepted to Hogwarts. Had I acted on impulse, the consequences would have been terrible."

"Your decision had no less grievous consequences," Snape said quietly, inwardly cursing the Ministry.

"I know. I was aware of many things: That the amount of time he could spend with Kertak was limited significantly in comparison to the past; how quiet he was sometimes. I knew the cretin's temper. I didn't know its entire extent, but I knew enough…" his voice faded.

"Did Ha… the boy mention anything? Why do you think he knew of your refusal to help?"

"'Sir, you protected him. I get that. I would have done the same thing. Let's leave it at that.'"

The quote caused Severus' hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He felt as if the temperature in the room just dropped.

"He never resented me for it. Not once," Natruk continued quietly. "If one would ask for Harry's worst week in the course of his life, the one in which he told me this probably counts among his worst twenty."

"That is hard to believe," the tall wizard said, frowning a little. If everything came to light after the orphanage burned to the ground… The statement was ridiculous.

"He had the ability to leave the place. He stayed there for his friends. At first for the children he let himself be captured in the first place, later because he felt responsible for all who resided there. This one week of terror was the most insecure in his entire life because he had no control whatsoever."

Severus remembered his conversation with the boy a few weeks ago. He remembered the barely suppressed panic.

'I won't be turned in!'

'You think we didn't hear them? 'Dangerous' and 'damaged' children were to be locked up! Everybody would go barmy in a bloody psych wing… So, yes, we lied. Who wouldn't?'

"What do you know of that week?" Severus asked carefully. He certainly wouldn't give away any secrets.

To his surprise, Natruk smiled.

"His assessment of you is correct I see," he said before his face looked serious once more. "Enough to know I would overstep my boundaries by telling you."

The silence that followed couldn't be called comfortable. However, it was tranquil.

"He wasn't my first priority," the goblin dignitary said after a while. "He's forgiving, no doubt, but he won't forget it. He's eleven, but he has a long memory."

"Given what you have said earlier, nilràu, that his time with your ward was limited, I'd dare say their meetings were his personal sanctuary for four years. His glimpse into a life he craved… Like a drowning man grabbing for the wooden plank, he absorbed whatever young Kertak told him."

The goblin laughed, "It is my own cursed fault, then. Or rather, my people's. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Your words, not mine. Personally, I have no objection to his unconventional way of viewing the world. It certainly surpasses most conventional views I have come to know so far."

"Certainly," Natruk smiled. The sadness never left his face. "Potions Master Snape, do not repeat my mistakes. Harry just told us what he's agreed to do." There was another pause before he continued, "He doesn't trust you enough for the examination to go smoothly. His tongue is razor-sharp – goblin-trained if you will – but I beg you, do not cut him in return, no matter what he says."

It was a warning covered as request. There was a steely edge to the shorter being's voice.

"I have no intention to," Severus affirmed.

"I will hold you to it." Again, Natruk paused before he spoke as if weighing his next words. "He can't truly relate to his Head of House and vice versa. Worse actually, Harry's temporary irritability a few days ago has made her apprehensive to the point of outright anxiety around him. Harry noticed and it weighs heavily on his heart. He doesn't return those negative feelings, but if she isn't careful he won't ever come to trust her. Judging by what I heard, Professor Sprout is very popular among her students, which is bound to be painful for his peers won't understand why he'd first turn to the other Heads of House."

"He won't come to me," Severus was sure. The child probably thought Severus knew too much already.

"Not right now. I don't doubt he'll come to you some time in the future… Much sooner than I hoped originally."

"Unless I make a mistake," the wizard reminded the goblin.

"Don't," was the simple answer.


"You don't think so?" Char's words practically drowned in sarcasm.

"Well, I'm quite sure he can read minds, but Snape didn't do that earlier," Harry attempted to explain.

"And you still think it's a good idea to tell him everything?" Char was at loss and he didn't try to hide his confusion.

"Course not!" Harry hissed and Char realized just how tense his brother was. "But, Char, listen, he… knew and I had no idea. He received more information and remained calm. He said he wouldn't turn me in… There is no other adult I could choose." To any other but a former inhabitant of Hell, these disjointed words wouldn't make sense at all, but the fourteen-year-old boy got it.

All too well.

Horror, morbid fascination and, worst of all, pity were emotions you were used to see in an adult's eyes once the truth came to light. Sister Augustine was no exception. To see something else was rare indeed.

"Besides," his friend continued. "I won't tell him anything. He'll just cast a spell that analyzes past injuries."

"All of them?" Char whispered, feeling a sudden rush of sympathy. This wouldn't be easy for any former child under his care, but Harry had carried multiple scars the day they'd met. The fourteen-year-old human knew more than even Kertak about some of the scares, mainly because he'd seen Harry shirtless.

With chattering teeth, an ashen white face and blue lips… Blast it! Would he ever be able to banish that image from his mind?

"He's only interested in Hell so I doubt it," Harry replied.

Then, he looked at his best friend wide-eyed.

"What?"

"You didn't flinch," the young occupant of the room murmured quickly. "It was unexpected."

"We don't see each other every day now. It seems… I don't know, farther away these days than before," Char regretted his words the minute he spoke them, realizing instantly how they sounded.

Harry grimaced a little and nodded.

"That's not what I mean, mate. Don't you dare feel guilty! Without you, who knows what would have happened to me? I'm just saying that your absence had an unexpected advantage."

Now that sounded even worse.

His best friend had to share said sentiment as he laughed outright.

"How did that drawing contest go, by the way?" Harry asked all of a sudden. "You never mentioned it again… Oh, and thanks for writing a little. I can guess well enough what you're trying to tell me through drawings, but reading is much simpler."

"I got into the finals," Char shrugged, trying to hide just how proud he was of that. "The ranking will be announced in ten days." He was silent for a moment before he added, "Besides, writing's not so bad."

"Yes?" Many emotions rang in that single word; curiosity being dominant.

"We have this new teacher. She's really kind and patient…" Not to mention beautiful. The exasperated eye-roll indicated that he didn't need to elaborate. The colour of Char's face could have rivalled Snow White's apple.

And the bugger just managed to distract him.

Again!

One would think he didn't know Harry at all.

"Don't change the subject," he warned seriously.

"What do you want me to say?" the younger boy muttered, his gaze turned sideways. Kertak, who was silent through the entire conversation stepped forward and squeezed his young friend's shoulder. "Am I scared? Yes. Do I really want to do this? No." He bit his lips, a habit Harry only displayed when he was nervous.

"I'm sure you're doing the right thing," Char reassured him.

Harry snorted, obviously not so sure about that.

"Hey," Char spoke up in a very serious manner. "I know you made the right choice. He certainly won't hurt the rest of us. After all, he already knows about the lie concerning the amount of time we spent there and he kept the secret. You are right, by the way. As far as I can see it, he's the best choice you have."

Harry nodded in return.

It was painful for Char to see him so insecure and distressed. Harry had the tendency to handle situations of death and fear with unequalled brilliance. It was impossible to be in this type of danger with Harry by your side and not to count on him fully. It happened instinctively, even to people who hardly knew Harry.

It took Char a long time to see the cracks behind the confident façade, to detect the insecurity as well as vulnerability, the bone-headed stubbornness and recklessness that made Harry a person, not some ideal. Seeing and accepting those traits of his friend were what ultimately built the foundation for their brotherhood. Char was, next to Kertak, the only person that was truly capable of keeping Harry from doing something stupid without having to bodily restrain him.

Not as if that was an easy feat to accomplish.

The thought made Char chuckle and Harry looked at him, confusion mingled with amusement to whatever jest his friend had thought of evident on his face.

"What?"

They were interrupted by Madame Pomfrey, who walked into the room proclaiming that visiting hours were over.

The almost painful grip on his upper arm told him that Harry didn't want him to go.

Reassuringly, he grabbed Harry's hand to tell him he was going nowhere. At the same time, he grimaced to indicate that Harry was about to amputate his arm unless he loosened his fingers a little.

"With your permission, Madame," Char began politely, stumbling over the polite words. "I would like to remain with Harry for the time being. I am aware of your strict rules inside the Infirmary as Harry informed me of them. But surely the events of the other nigh…"

'What am I saying?' he asked himself incredulously. "Blast it! Madame, no disrespect, but I refuse to leave his side. He nearly died and that's bound to have some effect on your rules."

A tiny voice inside of his mind warned him that angering a witch who was most likely capable of turning him into a frog wasn't the best of ideas. His sarcastic side congratulated him on his diplomatic approach and the rest of him screamed to run before he was under the witch's wrath.

To his great surprise, she smiled.

"I agree. I think some company would do Harry some good. I will inform the headmaster that one of his guests will reside in the Infirmary for the time being. As you can see, we have enough empty beds. No," she said firmly when Kertak and Harry opened their mouths, probably to ask if Kertak could stay as well. "One guest. I do not discount your friendship in any way, Master Goblin, but I am only willing to relent so far."

"T'is Kertak, Healer Pomfrey," the goblin answered. Char didn't know much about goblin customs, though he was having regular talks with Kertak. They liked each other, but neither in goblin terms nor in the terms Harry had taught him could their companionship could be called friendship. Anyway, he knew that 'Master Goblin' was a respectful way for any none-goblin to address an unknown goblin. It was a term which wasn't used very often by witches and wizards these days. "I wouldn't ever presume to question your authority within these rooms, Healer Pomfrey. I shall leave within minutes."

Now that sounded by far more polite than his verbal diarrhoea!

Again he was surprised to hear the matron laugh heartily.

"I see the family resemblance," she smiled kindly. "Or at least, I know now who helped Harry develop this kind of eloquence and gentlemanly behaviour."

Harry laughed, his cheeks turning bright red. Char was unable to hold back his giggle.

"Be assured, Healer Pomfrey, that he was very well capable of that when we first met," Kertak objected with a smile.

"I see. Mr. Kertak, while I appreciate your formal address, you should know that mediwitch does not equal healer. A healer's education lasts six years at the very least and most study nearly twice as much in order to specialize. The education of mediwitches and mediwizards doesn't take as long and there are certain spells, procedures and diagnostic means we are not allowed to use without having a healer present."

Kertak nodded, looking abashed and apologized for the wrong address. Never before had Char seen him this disturbed over a trivial matter.

Not that he knew him that well, but every aberration from the goblin's usual coolness was an event. The matter was resolved quickly and it was not ten minutes later that Harry and Char were alone.

Wordlessly, the fourteen-year-old pushed a bed right next to Harry's, and together they entered the small, hidden bathroom next to the Infirmary, which was prepared for injured students who were allowed to leave their beds for a few moments. They brushed their teeth and changed for the night. It was quite obvious how glad Harry was for not being forced to do those things behind closed curtains inside of the Hospital Wing. Once they were back in the Infirmary, they climbed into their respective beds and sighed simultaneously when the soft mattress enveloped them.

"Will you ever get used to that?" Harry murmured.

The fourteen-year-old didn't know how to answer that.

He wasn't Harry. He'd spent as many years under his mother's care as Harry had been alive. While the thought still pierced his heart every time, he also knew how to appreciate the years he'd had with her.

Harry didn't have that.

One of the things which proved this as undeniable fact was the way they rested. Char preferred to sleep alone, more so since his body was going through the natural transformation from adolescence to adulthood.

Harry didn't. As long as he was with people he could trust, he found his most peaceful sleep when he had physical contact with others. Char never pretended to understand that need, but he accepted it.

And vice versa.

Harry was more than happy with their beds respectively mattresses right next to each other.

Char himself wasn't bothered when Harry sought bodily contact as he would grab for a security blanket; Char didn't feel uncomfortable because there wasn't anything to it.

However, he remembered with red-hot embarrassment a night he'd been obliged to share that very same closeness with Sharon. He hadn't known her as well as others from Hell and the girl, who'd been sixteen at the time, was quite beautiful and… Needless to say, he would never ever tell anyone about that and he was more than just a little grateful for Sharon's silence. She hadn't mocked him for his reaction to her proximity, she didn't move, just told him to 'go ahead as long as he didn't bother her 'cause she wanted to sleep.'

In that exact moment, he'd developed his first real crush, which hadn't exactly proven very advantageous for his situation. She'd taken it with the grace of a lady and responded with the mouth of a street cat.

"Char?" Harry's voice brought him back to reality.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't listening. What's up?"

"Sharon again? You haven't mentioned her in while," Harry spoke softly.

Flustered, Char sat up, "How did you…?"

"You started talking about her last year, and were worried about her after… well, after. That's how I figured it out."

Blasted, trice-cursed, too observant little bugger!

His cheeks crimson-red, he turned away.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Char," Harry calmed him. "She's Sharon. Every single one of the older boys developed a crush on her. You should have heard Matt talking about her," Harry grinned.

Within the blink of an eye, Char faced his younger friend again and stared at him.

"Matt?"

He didn't squeak that name. He didn't! His voice simply decided to take a break.

There might have been a small squeal.

Nothing more.

Matt was two years older than Char; Sharon and Matt were both brought to Hell in '85, two years before Harry and Char. They bore their marks on the neck. Matt was street-smart and daring. Everything he wasn't, not even under pretence. Matt's and Sharon's backgrounds were similar and they'd both run away the day Hell had burned to the ground.

He didn't stand a chance.

"What do you mean?" Harry forced him out of his reveries. Had he spoken that last thought aloud? Reluctantly, he voiced his thoughts only to look into a blank face.

This was one of the few things, which brought forth Harry's true age: talks about girls… or boys. The older kids, no matter if in Hell or at St. Mary's always welcomed Harry into their midst. His utter lack of interest in girls had even led to murmurs whether he was, well… Anyway, a few talks made it quite obvious that Harry's interests lay neither here nor there.

Despite all life-experience, he was simply too young.

Due to those talks, Harry's sexual education was rather advanced for a boy his age. But he looked at it clinically… and with an impatient shrug. Char couldn't wait to tease Harry for his first crush as he wanted to return a 'favour'.

Payback for the conversation they were having right this second for example.

"Do you remember whether they left together?" the teenager asked, desperately trying to direct the conversation towards topics that weren't too embarrassing.

Thoughtfully, Harry looked into space, obviously trying to recall who'd left with whom. It always astonished Char how Harry had been able to register everyone's location in the midst of that unholy chaos.

"Sharon waited in the shadows to make sure everyone was safe. She left once the coppers came, but she said goodbye. Matt took along Tina and Jean, but they took the same direction, so they might have agreed to meet somewhere."

Char nodded miserably. He knew he was being selfish, especially considering the fact he hadn't really thought of her in a while. Still, Harry's blunt answer hurt.

"Dennis left as soon as he was out, I saw him leave," Char spoke hoarsely. Dennis was sixteen years old and his stay at Hell had been shorter than a month. He hadn't felt any responsibility for the younger ones, always alone and eager to leave, which was why he'd disappeared the second the doors opened. Char couldn't truly recall that. No matter how much he tried, he was hardly able to remember his last two weeks in Hell. Whatever Dennis had done during that period of time, it was enough for Harry's eyes to blaze angrily whenever the name was mentioned. The eleven-year-old wizard didn't count the other boy as a part of that band of kids, which survived Sullivan.

A year later, Harry still waved his hand in a dismissive manner, discounting Dennis from those who'd suffered.

"Eric left and he said he was going home," Harry recalled, his eyes facing nothing in particular. Eric and Harry both came from London, but they'd occupied different territories.

"Why didn't you? You could have."

Char couldn't say why this was the first time he asked that particular question question.

Probably because he'd been too involved with his own terror before.

Both were staring at the ceiling as they spoke, relishing the moment of utter privacy.

"There was nothing to go home to," Harry whispered, his voice thick as if fighting tears. As much as Char wanted to stand up and hug him, he knew doing so would only result in utter silence.

"What do you mean? I know you miss Neil, but Kyle would have been there, other kids you grew up with…"

"It's been four years, Char," the young boy's voice broke. "The older kids are either in jail, dead or managed to get out of it all, found a job, a home, family… They never come back. If they do, they usually are unable to take in any of us, not to mention the half-grown ones. As for the younger ones, I was the youngest next to Neil, everybody else was either fetched by mobs, coppers, or…" a quiet sob escaped Harry before he was able to suppress it. "Four years are so long, Char… I would have been an Other. I wasn't around you guys."

Tightly, the older boy wrapped his arms around the shivering body of the underage wizard. A deep-rooted fear had kept Harry from returning. It was rather painful to realize that the decision still broke the younger boy's heart, even a year later. A pain so fierce, Harry probably refused to think about it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked.

"Didn't seem important. You are here, Kertak's here. I miss 'em, sure, but not to the point I can't go on without 'em."

There was a slight slur to Harry's voice, which was evidence for his exhaustion and Char decided that enough serious talk had occurred.

"Tell me a story. I wanna sleep," Char said and was delighted to see the frail face brighten.


A/N: At first, I'd like to thank DaiVath for editing this chapter. I'm really glad you help me improving my writing. Your advice is worth a whole lot.

Then, let me thank the 96 people who reviewed. That is absolutely amazing. I haven't mentioned it in a while, but never before have I written a story which received as many responses as this one. It's highly rewarding and keeps me motivated.

I have a little request to the reviewers: I cannot guarantee to answer to your liking, but please, if you have questions then sign in when you write your reviews so I'm able to respond.

To those readers who don't review (every chapter): Thank you for reading my story. I highly appreciate it and I still can't believe that so many people are interested in this story. I'm grateful for every response (apart from flames of course, those are dreaded), though, so if you have time to write a short comment, I'll be very happy. It doesn't have to be a novel, but even a ":-)" makes my day.

That's it for today. I have some final editing to do, but the last part of this chapter (shorter than this one) is already written. An update should therefore follow in foreseeable future.

Sincerely,

Melethril