Oh God, I'm hooked on this song 'The Little Things' these days, and I set it in a loop when I write. Though it's hard because I can't work well with music… But this song gives me a lot of emotion which gives me inspiration. It's a difficult balance to keep, y'know.

To be honest, I'm bad at writing (not abysmal, but let's face it, there's much better). I often start stories, but never get past 30.000 words. And that's why I've blown my own mind that I've already gotten over 100.000 words down on this one. But I had to work so **** hard on it, because I'm so slow sometimes I only write 500 words an hour.

I have the stuff in my mind, the emotions, the ideas, the characters and how I want them to be. But getting it down on paper is next to impossible. And it's FRUSTRATING!

BUT! I've got my teeth into Nevar and I'm NOT LETTING GO, GRRRRR! I want to keep writing, I want to get better at it even if it takes me another 1000 hours to get there. Because it's what I want to do with my life. It's really one of the few things I'm passionate about, and the only thing I feel capable of.

So, as they say in Japanese: "please, take care of me."

Chapter 31.

Harry's Tenth Christmas

It was that time again: the winter holidays. Christmas was upon St-James' College, and about three quarters of the student population had gone home to celebrate with family, and that included Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

And Harry had done it again: he'd lied. He'd lied to his friends and had said that his uncle and aunt would come and pick him up a day late because of some problem at his uncle's work. It just would've been awkward if he hadn't told that story. Because with the cold war still going on between them and Draco, his two friends wouldn't have been comfortable with leaving him behind at school, all alone.

Normally, Harry would have gone to Draco's home. It was simply assumed, because it had been that way the previous years, ever since that night he'd run to Mrs. Malfoy with his dislocated shoulder after having fallen from the stairs. But now that they hadn't exchanged a word, things seemed to have changed.

The raven knew that Hermione and Ron would've felt bad if they'd known he was left at school, and they would've insisted that he come with one of them to celebrate with their families. But he also knew that they sometimes needed some time apart. They stuck together all year long, and sometimes…well…Harry needed to breathe.

He needed to think about things that were unpleasant, and he needed the liberty to be depressed or even cry if he felt like it without a fuss being made about it. He wanted to revisit old memories and grieve for what he had lost in peace and quiet. James and Lily's faces had continued to fade slowly from his mind, details slipping from his memory. And despite the fact that he'd come to accept that that was just how memories worked, how time erased some things, Harry hated himself for it. It felt like he wasn't grateful to them, like he was forgetting where he came from, like he was forgetting part of who he was.

Things like that were impossible to explain to anyone who hadn't lived through the same. Such conflicting emotions were impossible to put into words for the raven, and he didn't want to talk about it with anyone. His only wish was to be alone for two weeks and have long walks on the frozen grass and paths of the school grounds, and sit on the icy benches everyday with Hedwig by his side. Hedwig was a beautiful sight to behold in the snow. The snow was where he had first found her, precisely at a time when he'd been falling apart because of his parents.

In a way, Hedwig had become a substitute of sorts for the love of his parents. A connection had been made in Harry's mind between the bird and the loss he felt, and when he was with her, he was reminded of the feather-like kisses his mother gave him, and his father's strong hands that had patted his head.

The dorms were much quieter. There were barely one or two pupils in each room, and many were empty. All of Harry's roommates were gone, and since he had no one to visit at night, he always stayed in his own bed.

There were still gatherings and parties sometimes among the students whose parents were too busy to welcome them home, but they were always far from room 310, and he felt far from compelled to join them. Instead he now had the liberty of letting Hedwig into his room for short periods of time, after Filch had made his round for the evening. It was all he needed.

The thoughts of his parents and memories from long lost times that crowded his mind by day made him prone to dream about them by night. It happened that the snowy mountain dream returned, but it had changed a lot, evolved to become much less scary and much more saddening. It left the raven waking up in the morning with his eyelids glued together from dried tears.

During the first few days, Harry never left his bed before eleven in the morning. The sky was always cloudy, the light filtering through the windows was dreary, and it was so dreadfully cold. And he wasn't in the mood to eat alone among all the noisy kids. He was the youngest of all, but sometimes he really felt like they were the children, with their laughing and their games and their massing around. While he was staring off in the distance, trying to remember each of Mrs. Figg's cats, and wondering if the old lady was still alive. He hadn't seen her since the day his mother died on her doorstep. Poor Mrs. Figg must've been just as shocked as he was.

After finally dragging himself out of bed and to the dining hall for lunch, Harry would wander aimlessly, looking for Hedwig when she hadn't flown back to Hagrid's in Surrey.

Five days after Christmas, just before New Year's, he ended up at the edge of the football pitch. The sight had startled him out of his trance-like state. Football wasn't something that belonged in his old memories. His parents had never let him have a hobby or play in clubs. They'd never left him alone anywhere but at school and Mrs. Figg. He'd never played any sports back then. That was an entirely new part of his life.

The raven stepped over the white lines painted onto the fake grass and slowly reached the middle of the field.

It was so quiet here, he thought. None of the players had stayed at school, so no one was practising. The field was just by the tree line, rather isolated from the bustle of the school dorms and buildings. Harry could even hear the rustle of the birds who'd stayed for winter in the trees. Poor birds had barely anything to eat. Harry thought of how Hagrid always set out some food for them in the forest and in his garden during the winter months, and wondered whether he could find a way to do the same here.

"Are you that impatient to start practice again?"

Harry practically jumped three feet into the air and whirled around. His eyes widened when he saw who was walking his way from the changing rooms at the school.

"Uh…no…well…of course I want to play but…" He stammered, not wanting to disappoint Oliver for whom spirit and motivation were always so vital.

"Don't worry, Harry." The team captain chuckled. "This isn't practice, so I'm not your team captain at the moment. I'm just your dorm head." He smiled reassuringly.

"Oh…okay." Harry untangled his fingers and forced them back into his pockets. "I thought you'd gone home." He frowned in confusion.

"Just for Christmas. My parents are flying to Brazil for New Year." Harry nodded in understanding. "What about you? I thought Ron said you'd be going home too."

Harry tried not to wince. This was a problem. His lie would be discovered if he didn't come up quickly with another lie, and that was how the snowball got rolling.

"Yeah…things are a bit complicated at home at the moment. It wouldn't be very festive anyways, so I'm fine staying here, really." He shrugged and kicked at the fake grass. It was frozen and it scrunched under his shoes.

"I was just going to warm up a little." Oliver said as he looked at the ball he was holding under his left arm. "But if you'd like, we can talk instead."

"Talk?" The first year looked up. He didn't like the sound of that. He'd left his explanation vague on purpose, he didn't want to go into detail, or he would have to lie his arse off.

"I'm your dorm head. You can always come to me about your troubles and I won't tell anyone." Oliver said kindly. His blue eyes sparkled warmly.

"Uh…well…I'm actually in the mood for playing a little too." Harry said awkwardly, trying to avoid the conversation.

Oliver jumped on that opportunity, and that obvious show of team spirit and enthusiasm for football and was thrilled to play a few one on one games with Harry.

They played for most of the afternoon, forgetting the biting cold as they sweated in their clothes, soon casting off their thick coats. It revived Harry and took his mind off of depressing thoughts at once, and made him feel alive again for the first time since Draco had stopped talking to him. Panting and smiling, he followed Oliver back to the dorms where they showered and changed and went to the dining hall together for dinner.

"Eat up!" The dark-blonde sixth year clapped his hands together in delight at their plates of spaghetti. "I need you fit and well-fed for the team, so make sure you clean up your plate."

The raven rolled his eyes at the relentless enthusiasm for the school team, but their afternoon play in the cold had made him very hungry so he dug in without complaint.

"I haven't heard one complaint from you." Oliver began when they'd swallowed their first few bites to still the raging hunger.

"And that's…wrong?" Harry wondered aloud, feeling that this bothered his captain.

"No, of course not." The sixth year snorted. "But I've heard complaints from every single first year since I became dorm head. It's normal. It's a great adaptation. So either you adapt quicker than anyone here, or you refuse to come talk to me about your troubles. Am I that scary?" He wriggled his eyebrows comically, and it immediately put the dark-haired boy at ease.

"No." Harry retorted. But he wasn't sure he meant it. Oliver wasn't scary in a mean way, but he was tall and muscled and active and popular. Not to mention he was a sixth year. He was intimidating if nothing else.

"Then what's the problem?"

Harry shrugged as he swirled the spaghetti around his fork, struggling not to take too much at once. "If there's a problem, I solve it. I don't see why I'd waste my and your time talking about it."

"Are you telling me you can deal with everything on your own?" The dorm head raised his eyebrows sceptically.

"Not on my own. I have friends." Harry said proudly.

"Good. You and Ron should stick together." Oliver nodded approvingly. "Don't let the team take advantage of you, okay?"

It was Harry's turn to nod.

After having filled their bellies with pasta, the boys returned to the dormitory. Oliver went for the gaming console to play with a few of his mates in seventh year. It was always the oldest who played. The youngest never dared to ask for a turn. But even though the kind captain invited him to join them for a little Assassin's Creed, Harry had other things in mind and he excused himself to go sit at one of the computers.

Since the common room was much less crowded, it was much easier to gain access to one of the machines, and Harry was thankful for it. The internet had proven very useful to him.

The force of habit brought him to his e-mail inbox, even though he hadn't received mails from Draco since they attended St-James together. This time however, his heart leapt into his throat, for there was one new message.

Eyes wide and hopeful, Harry clicked on it to open it.

Hey

One word. Just that one word. But it was from Draco, and that meant everything to the raven.

Hey

He replied. He didn't want to ignore the first step that Draco had taken to talk to him again, but he also didn't want to sound too nice. He still didn't think he'd done anything wrong, and that Draco was the one who was exaggerating this whole Oliver-hating thing.

Surely, a girl wasn't worth all this trouble, even the famous Camille.

Harry wandered around the web for a while, reading interesting articles on Wikipedia, reading online versions of classic works of literature, or watching documentaries if he could keep the sound low enough and still hear what was said. It wasn't very practical though. A pair of headphones like he'd seen others use would be nice. But he didn't even have money to buy his friends Christmas presents, so he could forget about the headphones. The money from his parents that Rebecca managed for him was only meant for paying the tuition fees and other school material. It wasn't pocket money. Rebecca was still under the impression that the Drusleys gave him that.

After a half hour of this, his curiosity began to build up again, and he wanted to check his mail, even if it was ridiculous to already expect a response.

Are you back in Surrey now?

A smile stretched over the raven's face. This was an entire sentence! Draco was definitely talking to him again. A heaviness that had settled on his lungs started to glide away.

But…the question was a difficult one. Oh how he hated those bloody lies! He never knew which story to keep to! What had he told Oliver again?

No, there was a problem at home, and Ron and Hermione were already gone by then, so I'm still at school.

Harry closed the internet window, forced himself to take ten deep breaths, then opened his mail again at lightning speed, having to click three times on his inbox because he missed it the first two in his haste.

Nothing.

His heart plummeted. Damn it, Draco! He was so annoying! Harry was angry at him all over again.

But then he had the sense to refresh the page… and all was forgiven in a nanosecond.

WHAT! YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME YOU IGNORAMUS!

I'm coming to get you tomorrow.

What? Wait…wait…

WHAT?

What on earth was going through Draco's mind? Harry didn't understand one bit. Was it really as they said? Did girls turn boys crazy? Had Draco lost his mind because of Camille?

Harry read the two lines more than a dozen times, trying to find some clever hidden meaning. There had to be one. Because this just didn't make sense. Could he even answer this mail? What could he say? But he had to say something, because usually Draco was true to his word and he would be there tomorrow. It was beyond confusing. It was beyond the beyond, if that even made sense.

The clever ten-year old put his fingers to the keyboard.

I don't appreciate being called a fake Latin word by some imbecile who failed at Latin. If you must use something, use 'stulte'.

Though I'd rather go for 'cucurbita'. It's what a true wizard would use.

His fingers froze. What else? What else could he write?

It was silly, really. He didn't think he was being funny. He almost erased the whole thing, but the realisation that then he would have nothing stopped him from going through with it.

Why was Draco being so weird? It was hard when your friend was growing up and you were still trailing behind, an ignorant child. But Harry was not a child! At least…he didn't think so.

Well, he'd felt like a child with Oliver. But that was different. Oliver was so much older, so much more talented and cool and confident. Anyone would feel like a child next to him. Maybe that was part of the reason why Draco disliked him. Draco was used to being the one everyone looked up to that way. It wasn't easy to give up that spot to anyone else.

Harry sighed. He had to return to the original problem. What to write?

Yes, he wanted to go to Draco's. Obviously! And at the same time, he didn't want to go, for the same reason he'd avoided going home with Ron or Hermione. Before he'd come to St-James, he was alone every evening and night. He could silently contemplate, be alone with his thoughts and with his parents. Since term had started, he hadn't had the opportunity for such reflection.

It was something he had to do, a duty of some sorts to his parents. It was also something he needed, because he couldn't let go of his mum and dad. He wanted to grive and wallow and be depressed, even though it wasn't enjoyable, even though it made him feel miserable.

It's strange…the need to feel miserable. That satisfaction in self-pity and the relief from the guilt when one thought they were paying for their wrongdoings, for their mistakes.

So…what to do?

Well, Draco would come anyway, whether he wanted to or not. The message was loud and clear. Maybe it would be good to just let himself drift along with Draco, let him decide for him and relieve him from the burden of making the choice.

But it felt wrong to just give in, like Draco just had to snap his fingers and Harry would obey. It had never been like that, and he wasn't about to start now.

Okay, he had the solution: an ultimatum. Or something like it. It was a compromise.

I'll come with you on one condition. You have to tell me about Camille.

There. He clicked on 'send' and the damage was done. Internet was a dangerous thing. It was so easy to say things you would regret later. But Harry was counting on that to make Draco confess his feelings and try to get him to be honest about it, so that Harry could begun to try to understand what in the world went on in the mind of boys who ran after girls.

Lots of deep and long breaths had to be taken. Shouts came regularly from the corner where Oliver and his sixth, seventh and eighth year mates were playing Assassin's Creed. Or maybe they'd switched to some other game already. Anything that had a multiplayer.

Then even they went away to their rooms, retreating to do whatever the oldest boys did at this hour. Harry didn't even want to know. The third and fourth years were doing or talking about disgusting things enough. Imagine the seventeen and eighteen-year olds!

The common room emptied little by little, and Harry was looking up some other Latin insults. The ones he'd mentioned in his mail had come from there. Of course they'd ever taught them those in class.

Soon the time would come when Filch would chase everyone to their rooms, even during holidays they weren't allowed there past eleven at night.

At five to eleven he refreshed his inbox page for the googleplex'th time. He was excited, because in movies and books this would exactly be the time when the mail would come. Just at the last moment. And because it was like that in the movies and books, it was never that way in reality. He would be naïve to expect it now.

And still he expected it. And still… it was there.

This time he nearly destroyed the mouse trying to click the message open.

I hope I'm still on time, Filch must be extra annoying. He always is during the holidays. He can't stand all the merriness, I'm sure.

Did Hermione put you up to this? She's making up all these theories in her mind, isn't she? She can be such a girl sometimes.

But FINE! I'll tell you, you barmy. But you OWE me after this! You owe me until the end of the year, next year!

(Btw, before I forget, I'm still more advanced in Latin than you, so if you think I didn't look up those insults two years ago, you're sorely mistaken, mister cucurbita)

I think I like her. She's…well she's…

I don't know. She's Camille. I like her, okay? Is that such a bad thing? Are you going to sell me out to Hermione now? Please don't tell Ron, he'll be even more annoying and moody and I can't TAKE it anymore!

I didn't tell her yet. I'm not going to. Have you seen how all the girls in fourth year flock around her? How am I supposed to get her alone?

You got what you wanted now. I'll be there around 2 tomorrow, that'll give you time for lunch. Pack until the end of the holiday. Don't forget the Tolstoy book I gave you, I'll help you out for Russian.

"Potter! What are you still doing here! It's a quarter past eleven!" Filch's raspy and bitter voice came from the doorway. The common room was dark and deserted, only Harry computer was still casting a light on the floor and was filling the silence with its soft humming.

The raven hurried to turn it off and ran up the stairs to the third floor, to room 310. He let Hedwig in, who had apparently been waiting at the window for his return.

The small boy had a warm feeling in his abdomen. And it was not only because Hedwig was with him tonight. It was because of the e-mail he'd just read.

Draco was so complicated. He could be absolutely infuriating, but he was also Harry's best and closest friend. In a different way than Ron and Hermione. His relationship with the older blonde had always been… different. It wasn't more honest, or more valuable, or deeper. It was just…different. There was no other way of putting it. Did it even matter what it was called?

All night long, the raven anticipated the next day, when he would get away from St-James. (Yes, despite the fact that it was infinitely better than the Dursleys, he still needed some time off from this school. He'd had enough depressing alone time with his imperfect, fading memories.) And having nothing else on his mind, he decided to analyze the content of Draco's message.

Draco's style in writing was different than in speech. There were similarities, but like with most people, there was more honesty when he was writing, less hostility too. Less 'superiority'. That was why Harry was pretty sure his best friend had some kind of feelings for this girl Camille. He didn't understand the feelings. He couldn't fathom that kind of 'like'. What was 'attractiveness'? Was it a physical pull? How did that work? And why a certain person and not another? And what were the things the boys in the dorms kept talking about?

The young boy was only ten-years old, the youngest of the entire school, and no one had ever had 'the conversation' with him. Everyone would've deemed it too early anyway. But no adult had apparently thought about the fact that he would come in contact with these kinds of things despite his young age. Or if they had, they hadn't thought it to be a problem.

The result was that he was left to his own devices when it came to love and sexuality, and even though Harry was very book-smart, this was something that happened to be very difficult to learn trough books.

Sorry for that little rant at the start of the chapter... It was in my head before I started writing this, and I wrote it down and just left it there. It was my way of giving myself some courage :D

So you know a little 'behind the scenes'. How it feels for me to write. Though I'm convinced it must be hard for everyone. Every author has some trouble along the way. If you think about it, all those details that we have to work out in our heads, all the characters and plot developments.

We're doing a great job though here on fanfiction :D It's amazing what we've been able to accumulate in stories just for Harry Potter alone! So if you count everything together... good gracious!

I'll stop my useless mind meanderings and save them for bedtime so that it might keep me awake for a few hours into the night :p

Love you all and "please take care of me." :)