"Are you deaf, boy?"

Harry looked up in a daze. He could hardly think. What did I do now? He racked his brain for answers. He'd done his chores, he made sure of it. I must have forgotten something. Stupid stupid stupid.

"Can't you even follow simple instructions?" The smell of whiskey on Vernon's breath made Harry's eyes water. "Ungrateful brat," he slurred. "Do you know how hard I work to keep you fed?"

Harry dug his nails into his palms. His heart was beating so fast he could hardly hear what his uncle was saying.

"I'm sorry, please -"

"Petunia is too soft with you, you know. Why did I fucking listen to her? I've been too complacent with you these last few weeks and look where that's gotten us."

Complacent? This has been complacent? Harry almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Instead he kept his head down, trying to keep his face blank, emotionless. He was acutely aware he was too close to the stairs, and braced himself for what he knew was about to happen. The shove wasn't even hard, but Harry knew that if he resisted it would only make things worse. He fell backwards and tumbled down the steps. The carpet burned against his skin and he hit the floor at the bottom with a sickening crunch that seemed to come from his ribs. He scrambled quickly to his knees and clutched one hand against his side.

Uncle Vernon frowned. "You can go to bed early," he said from the top of the stairs and slowly started waddling down.

"Thank you," Harry just about managed to blurt out between shallow raspy breaths. His uncle mumbled something under his breath as he stepped over him and walked off out into the kitchen.

Harry waited a few moments before deciding his ribs weren't going to get any better any time soon so he might as well get moving. He took a sharp breath in and the pain almost blinded him. He pulled himself up and was frozen for a second. When he snapped to his senses he gathered the strength to drag himself up the stairs.

When he was finally in the relative safety of his room he collapsed on his bed with a cry of pain. The sheets were cool against his skin, and the darkness of his bedroom helped him calm down. The light from the moon shone down through his window and illuminated his skin. After a few moments of slow but painful breathing he prodded inquisitively at his side, trying to assess the damage. He winced, instinctively sucking in a deep breath which only made the pain worse. Yep, definitely broken . He was lucky that he'd had the forethought to order too much Skele-gro weeks ago.

He bent under his bed. The pain from the movement made him nauseous. He fumbled for a second before grabbing the small bottle, trying to hold back a whimper, then downed the dregs of the potion with a grimace, and prayed that this would be the last broken bone. Or at least the last really painful one. There was no time to order more of this before going back to Hogwarts.

There was a knock on his door and Harry froze, like a deer in the headlights. He gripped at the sheets on his bed, trying to slow his breathing. The door creaked open and a round familiar face peered around the gap. Yellow light streamed through the door into the darkness and Harry squinted.

"Do you mind if I come in?" Dudley asked gently.

Harry let out a sigh of relief; pain radiated down his body at the movement but Harry paid it no mind. Dudley took that as permission and shuffled in. He was holding a couple of blister packs of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"I heard you fall," he said quietly. "So I thought you might want these"

With the door open Harry could hear the TV and his uncle's laughter from downstairs. Dudley threw the pills on the foot of Harry's bed and placed the water beside him. Dudley had been acting strange all summer. Harry wasn't used to this sort of kindness from his cousin. He wanted to feel ashamed - Dudley must have pitied him- but he was just grateful. He had no idea how he would have survived the summer without his cousin sneaking him scraps of food and medicine.

"Thanks," Harry croaked.

Dudley shrugged, standing there awkwardly as if he didn't know what to do with himself. "It's alright," he said, backing away towards the door. "Hope it helps."

Harry nodded and tried to smile at his cousin through the pain. "Thanks Dudley."

The door clicked shut again and Harry collapsed back onto his bed with a groan. Only one more week until he would be back at Hogwarts. That's what Harry kept telling himself. Counting down the days used to be the only thing that kept him going, but as the date grew nearer and nearer he felt nowhere near ready to go back. The thought of being around his friends made him feel sick with worry. He had no idea how was going to pretend to be okay in front of them.

He looked over to his side table. The letters were starting to pile up. He recognised all the handwriting, which only made him feel worse. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Sirius, and now even Remus. It had been just over a week now since he had replied to any of them. He knew he should, he knew they must be worried. Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Since when did writing letters feel this overwhelming?

Harry closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He traced his fingers over his forearms, over the countless scars. It was a soothing reminder sometimes, to know that when things got too much at least he always had this to fall back on. And this summer he really had fallen hard. After Cedric's death, and everything else that had happened at the cemetery that night, it wasn't a surprise that Harry had spiralled. He was disappointed in himself at first - he hadn't self harmed since starting Hogwarts, and had managed to resist the urges for years. But this was different. He couldn't push these things down. He couldn't just ignore them. Every time he closed his eyes it was like he was back there, tied up by Wormtail, or staring down at Cedric's pale face. The memories could come out of nowhere. One minute he would be doing the washing up and the next he would be hyperventilating in a ball on the floor. Cutting was the only thing that helped, even if it was temporary.

His uncle hadn't reacted well to Harry's new change in behaviour. None of the Dursleys knew what had happened, but it was obvious to everyone that something was very wrong. He woke them up with his screaming the first few nights, but learned quickly it was best to sleep with his face in his pillow to try and muffle it. He was a jumpy anxious mess the rest of the time; he'd dropped and broken more plates this summer than he ever had in his whole life combined. Harry figured it only made sense that Vernon was fed up with him, that it was only fair that he took out his anger on him. Now the bruises were worse than ever. His whole ribcage was mottled with purple, yellow and brown. Things had always been bad with the Dursleys, but never anything approaching this level.

Hedwig pecked gently on his window, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He took a couple of seconds to sit up. Sometimes she would peck again impatiently but this time she just stared at him with her large dark eyes. He leant across to open the window and groaned with exertion. Hedwig hopped inside with a gentle flap of her wings and nuzzled her head against his shoulder, pecking gently at his shirt.

"I'm alright, girl," he said, stroking her with a shaking hand, trying to catch his breath. "Don't you worry about me."

Harry took the envelope from her and sighed. Sirius' handwriting. He placed the letter on the side table with the others. He didn't have the mental energy to read it, not now. Hedwig stared at him quizzically for a moment before hopping back out of the window and flying off again.

He looked back over at the pile of letters, his stomach churning with guilt. He knew he would have to do something about them soon. There was no way they weren't worried about him.

Harry grabbed the razor blade from his table. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes; he was in so much pain already, and now he was making it worse? If he tried to think about it logically it made no sense. All he knew was that when the blade bit into his skin he had something new to focus on that made everything else seem fade into the background, at least for a little while.

He was so tired, physically and mentally. He just had to hold on a little bit longer. Things had to be better at Hogwarts. Anything was better than this, right? He was clinging on to that hope with everything that he had.

He rolled up his sleeve and swiped the razorblade over his skin. Small beads of red pooled out from the cut. He stared at the blood for a second. A voice in the back of his head told him to stop, that once was more than enough. But he pushed that voice down and dug the blade in again.

There was a gentle knock on Draco's bedroom door.

"Come in," Draco drawled.

He debated whether he should get up, but remained sprawled back on his bed. He looked up just as the door creaked open and his visitor entered. Theodore Nott stood awkwardly by the door, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. The boy was tall and lanky with dark curly hair that Draco thought was overdue for a cut.

Draco sighed. "Come in then. Just sit wherever," he said. "Or stand. Up to you. I don't really care."

Theo gulped and Draco just about managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Theo and Draco had never really been close, much to both of their fathers' disappointment. Theo had always been too quiet, too hard to read, even for a Slytherin. He kept himself to himself usually, which rarely bothered Draco. Nevertheless, every summer they were both dragged around and forced to make awkward small talk whilst their fathers talked about who knew what. This summer was different than usual though, the visits were more and more frequent - almost daily now. And they both knew why.

Theo shuffled in and shut the door behind him.

"How are you, then?" Draco asked, his tone a little more harsh than he had been intending.

"Fine," Theo replied. "And yourself?"

Draco shrugged. "I've been worse."

Theo walked over to the window and looked out. The early evening moonlight shone against his face, exaggerating his already prominent cheekbones.

"Do you think we'll see him tonight?" Theo asked, his voice piercing the silence, and Draco almost jumped out of his skin.

"What?" he asked, flustered.

"You-know-who," said Theo, his voice wavering slightly. He stepped away from the window and turned to face Draco. "Tonight. He's coming here again. I heard my father talking about it."

Draco made sure his expression was blank. "I expect not. Unless you want to stare out of that window like some gormless idiot all night waiting for him to arrive."

Theo chuckled, and Draco looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Theo asked.

Draco looked away. "Nothing," he said.

"You know," Theo said, after a couple of moments of silence. "I really liked Diggory."

Draco pursed his lips and sat up. There was more silence, and it was almost painful. "I didn't know him," he finally said.

Draco tried to avoid these sorts of conversations as much as he could. His father had told him, with excruciating detail, exactly what had happened that night in the cemetery, as if he expected him to be proud, as if he expected him to be excited about Voldemort's return.

Theo gave him an odd look. "He seemed like a decent guy though, is what I mean."

Draco shrugged. "People seemed to like him," he said evenly.

There was another long silence, and Theo turned back to the window again.

"It was a shame," Theo said. "The whole thing."

Draco clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Was this some sort of test? Was Theo trying to catch him out? "The Dark Lord has returned," he said, almost automatically. "I would hardly call that a shame." The words stung like acid in his mouth.

"Of course, no, of course," Theo blurted out. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to face Draco. His eyes were pleading. "I didn't mean it like that."

Draco relaxed. He almost wanted to take back what he had said, almost wanted to tell Theo how he really felt. He could feel the words bubbling in his throat, like water on the verge of boiling over. But he pushed them down. It was too dangerous to be honest with anyone now. There was no way of knowing if Theo was trying to make him slip up, trying to find a weakness he could use against him and his family.

There were a few more moments of silence, and Draco watched as Theo clenched and unclenched his fists. He finally sat beside Draco on the bed and laid back, amber eyes focused straight up at the ceiling above him. Draco stared at him. He didn't want to worry, especially about someone he barely considered a friend, especially when this whole conversation could have just been an act. But he couldn't help himself.

"What is it, Theo?" he said, exasperated.

Theo gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. His pulse was beating rapidly against his neck. He closed his eyes and a small singular tear ran down his cheek. Draco looked away and pretended he hadn't seen it.

"Has your father spoken to you about taking the dark mark?" Theo finally said, voice hoarse.

Draco took a moment to answer. "My parents have been arguing about it," he said. "But I doubt the Dark Lord would ever let a bunch of idiots like us anywhere near his plans, no matter what our fathers want. At least until we come of age, anyway."

Theo smiled slightly, the silent tears now dried stains on his cheeks. "The Dark Lord has barely been back for two months and it's all my father wants to talk about. Becoming a follower."

"Tell me about it," Draco said. He stood up from the bed. "But come on, there's no point talking about it. Let's go outside and get some quidditch practice before everyone arrives." He tried to smile. "Merlin knows you need it before school starts, Nott."

Theo looked up at him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Speak for yourself, Malfoy."

Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. "Once we're back in Hogwarts things will be better," he said quietly. "More distractions."

Theo nodded. "I know. I'm counting down the hours."

Me too, Theo , Draco thought. Me too .

Harry opened his eyes and could hardly move. His bones ached and his muscles were stiff and sore. It took a little while to stand up but when he did he looked at himself in the mirror; thankfully it wasn't as bad as he had been imagining. The left side of his face was an angry red from the carpet burn, but through some miracle the rest of his face was unscathed. He lifted up his shirt to assess the damage to his ribs and couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips at what he saw. His skin was mottled purple and black. He prodded the bruise and hissed; it was painful, sure, but he could tell the Skele-gro had worked wonders overnight.

He then turned around and twisted slightly to check on the old welts on his back. Once he was satisfied that everything was healing properly he grabbed a t-shirt from the wardrobe and threw it on.

Eyes downcast, still feeling like he was half asleep, he swung open the door and trudged out of his room, running straight into Aunt Petunia's path. She yelped with surprise, and Harry snapped his head up to look at her. She was frowning, staring down at him, at his arms.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She grabbed his forearm with her bony fingers, nails digging into his flesh. "What is this ?" she hissed.

Harry tried to pull his arm back but she wouldn't let go. He felt his chest constrict in panic.

"Nothing," he said. "Please, it's nothing ."

Merlin, I am an idiot. Short sleeves. How stupid can I get?

She frowned. "You stupid boy. What good is that going to do?"

Harry looked away and said nothing. Petunia faltered for a second but then she tutted at him and let his arm go.

"Just don't do anything stupid," she said. Harry thought he almost detected concern in her voice, and guilt fluttered in his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She shook her head at him. "Go and change," she said quietly. "God knows what Vernon would say if he saw you like this."

Harry agreed. His uncle didn't need any more ammunition than he already had. Harry practically ran back into his room and slammed the door shut. He took a couple of seconds to breathe, to get his body back under control. He knew if he didn't give himself a few seconds to breathe he would have a panic attack. After a few deep breaths he grabbed a baggy long sleeved shirt from his wardrobe and chucked it on. He ran his hands through his hair and absently traced a finger across the scar on his forehead. His hands itched to grab his blade again, but he resisted.

Just as he was about to open his door he heard loud voices downstairs. He paused for a second, breath hitched in his throat, ears straining to hear. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. His door flew open and Harry stumbled back.

He stared in confusion at the figure standing in front of him.

"Remus?"

Remus sighed with what seemed like relief. "Harry, thank goodness, are you okay?" There was a pause but Harry just stared. "You haven't written to anyone in - Merlin, what happened to your face?"

Harry adjusted his glasses nervously. "Oh, don't worry about this," he said. "Just a scuffle with Dudley." Remus relaxed visibly even more. "But what are you doing here? I don't go back for another week, right? Unless-"

"You didn't get the letter?" Remus cut in. "From Sirius?"

Harry felt his stomach drop. Hedwig squawked from her cage. He glanced over at his bedside table, at the pile of unopened letters. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

"Oh," he said, trying his best to disguise the panic in his voice. "Yeah. No, I got it last night. I just forgot to open it."

Remus frowned at him. "And you forgot to open the rest of them as well, I'm guessing? Sirius and Hermione have been out of their minds with worry, you know."

Harry looked away.

"No matter, no matter," he said after a second. "As long as you're alright. Pack some things. I thought it would be nice for you to stay with us for the last week. We can always pop back here to pick up anything you forget. I'll . .. I'll go talk with your aunt while I wait."

"Right," Harry said. He looked over again at the letters on his table and the guilt made him almost want to throw up. He knew he should have felt excited to see everyone, but all he felt was dread.

Sirius had obviously been waiting in the hallway for them. Harry could see his shadow through the frosted glass in the front door. Remus hadn't even finished opening the door properly before Sirius barged past him, practically elbowing him out of the way, to wrap Harry in a bone-crushing hug. It should have been expected, but it was still a shock. Harry tried his best not to push him away or yelp at the pain that darted down his side.

"Harry," Sirius said. "You really need to get better at replying to letters. Honestly, Remus was worried sick!" He ruffled Harry's hair with a chuckle.

Harry smiled up at his godfather. "Missed you too, Sirius."

And it was true. Harry hadn't seen him in person for so long. He noticed that Sirius was looking so much healthier than he'd looked the last time Harry had seen him, even though it was only a few months ago. He was still slim, but now he was lean rather than skinny. His skin was warm and rosy rather than sallow and grey.

Sirius pushed him back, hands on Harry's shoulders, eyes narrow. "Harry, what the hell happened to your face?"

Harry attempted to laugh, but even to his own ears it wasn't convincing. "It was just Dudley," he said, trying to keep his voice bright. He felt a pang of guilt over blaming his cousin: the one summer Dudley was actually nice to him and Harry kept dragging him through the dirt. "You know how we fight sometimes."

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed. He didn't look convinced. But before he had a chance to question him any more Remus pulled Harry aside.

"Let me heal that for you," he said, drawing his wand.

Harry had his back pressed against the wall in the hallway, and he was suddenly acutely aware of just how close Remus was. His mind flashed back to the graveyard, to Petttigrew, to when he had tied him against the marble headstone, to when he had dug the knife into his skin. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts. Stop. Stop . He couldn't face remembering the rest. He heard Remus speaking, but his mind couldn't focus. It was like he was underwater, straining to hear what was happening up above the surface.

"Stop," he said shakily. He could hardly hear his own voice. "Please."

Slowly Remus' voice became clearer.

"Harry?" Remus said gently, and Harry could sense he had stepped back from him. "Can you look at me? I'm sorry. I won't hurt you. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Harry opened his eyes, aware of how Remus and his godfather were staring at him with worry, with questions undoubtedly ready on their lips. Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words. Sirius had never looked like this before, not as long as Harry had known him. He looked worried in a way that made Harry feel ashamed of himself, guilty. Tears pricked at Harry's eyes.

"The graveyard," he said finally. The words were barely whispers, but the effort it had taken for him to say those two words left him drained.

Understanding flashed over their faces. Remus smiled sadly, Sirius frowned, and Harry looked down at his shoes, embarrassed. Merlin, this is harder than I thought it would be.

"Of course," Remus said quietly. "Of course. Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Harry's breath shuddered out of him in small gasps. He dug his nails into his palms and looked up again. "It's okay," he managed. "It's fine, really."

Sirius and Remus looked at each other; Harry could sense their concern. They're already feeling sorry for me. It hasn't even been five minutes. Stupid FREAK. Can I not act normal for five fucking minutes?

"How about I show you your room?" Sirius said finally, his voice gravelly and thick in his throat. He went to put his hand on Harry's shoulder then stopped himself, as if he was scared to touch him. "Everyone's eating right now, I don't think they even know you're here yet. Should give you some time to get settled in, at least."

Harry forced a smile at his godfather. "Great, thanks," he said. "Sounds like a good idea."

"I'll bring your bags up in a minute," Remus said. "Maybe the both of you should have a little talk."

Sirius' eyes flashed with panic, and Harry expected he was mirroring his godfather's expression perfectly. But Sirius composed himself quickly.

"Of course," Sirius said. "Come on then, follow me."

He led Harry up the stairs. The air was cold and damp and wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The stairs creaked under them as they made their way up to the second floor. They walked in silence.

Finally they reached a wooden door. Sirius opened it, revealing an ornate bedroom with two twin beds. Harry spotted Ron's clothes strewn about the place, and his stomach dropped. I have to share a room with Ron? His nightmares had woken him up almost every night when he had been at the Dursleys'. The thought of Ron witnessing him like that made him want to shrivel up into a ball and disappear. But maybe things would be better here? Maybe the dreams wouldn't be so bad now that he was with what he considered his real family.

Harry walked in and heard Sirius close the door behind them with a gentle click.

"So," Sirius said, turning to face Harry, his expression indecipherable. "I feel like you haven't been completely honest with me in those letters you've been sending."

Harry's stomach knotted. He looked down at his feet. Of course he had lied in his letters; there was no way he could force himself to write about how he had really been feeling. He had tried a couple of times, but when the pen was in his hand he couldn't make himself write the words. Writing them would have made it real, and it was easier to pretend, most of the time, that it wasn't.

"I should have known," Sirius said quietly. "Merlin, I'm sorry Harry. I just didn't think."

Harry was silent.

"Was that why you haven't been writing this past week?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "It's fine, Sirius. Really. I mean, I'm mostly fine. It's just . . . a lot. A lot to deal with all in one go."

Harry looked up, and Sirius was staring at him with one eyebrow raised, gesturing for Harry to elaborate.

Harry gulped and looked down again. He could feel his cheeks starting to redden. He hated this, hated how fragile he felt. "Just . . . with C-cedric."

"Of course," Sirius said quietly.

Harry almost wanted to talk to Sirius, to be honest, wanted to scream and cry about what had happened. But he was starting to feel hot and cold and sweaty all at once. The words were all there in his mind, but forcing them out of his mouth was another issue entirely.

"And . . . Pettigrew," said Harry, his voice barely a whisper now. He looked up at his godfather.

Sirius' whole body tensed up at that name. Harry hadn't told anyone exactly what had happened that night apart from Dumbledore, and even then he spared most of the details.

Harry gulped. The room felt like it was caving in on him.

"What did Pettigrew do?" Sirius' hands were clenched at his sides.

And now Harry didn't want to say anything. Why am I telling him? It's just going to make him angry. Make him feel sorry for me.

"What did he do?" he said again.

"He killed Cedric," Harry said. It was almost like someone else was speaking, like he was watching from within his own body as somebody else was piloting it. Stop talking. That's enough. He doesn't need to know anything else. "And he…" Harry shook his head. "There was nothing I could do. Or maybe there was. Maybe there should have been. But I couldn't think. I was frozen."

"You did all you could," Sirius said quietly. Harry fought back against the urge to correct him.

"And then . . . I was tied up. I thought he would . . . I didn't know what he was going to do, but at least he seemed human. But with Voldemort. . . When he used the cruciatus curse on me. The imperius curse, I . . . I just -" Have I even told anyone about that apart from Dumbledore? He wasn't sure. He thought he would feel relief, letting this out, but all he felt was an odd tightness in his chest. What is Sirius thinking? That I'm weak? That it's my fault? That I deserved it?

Sirius made an odd sound, but said nothing. His eyes were dark now, glistening with anger.

Harry continued. "I can't forget how it felt. Sometimes it's almost like I can still feel it. And I thought . . ." He dug his nails into his palms. His heart was hammering in his chest. Stop. Stop talking. Make him leave. He can't see me like this. Weak.

"What did you think?" Sirius said softly. There was an unusual undertone to his voice; it was more than softness, more than gentleness. It was caution, as if he was talking to a wild animal that had been cornered.

"I thought," Harry said, voice wavering, tears pricking at his eyes. "I thought that was it. I thought I was going to . . . I was ready to . . . " Die.

Harry didn't need to say the word. Sirius suddenly had his arms wrapped around Harry again, but this time Harry didn't need to resist the urge to flinch away. He hugged his godfather back, burying his face into his robes.

"Shh," Sirius said gently, one hand in Harry's hair. "You're okay. You're safe."

They stood like that for a little while, Harry with his hands gripped at Sirius' robes and Sirius rubbing gentle circles on his back. Then Harry let out a strangled sob and felt his legs wobble. Sirius stepped back from him. He felt himself being guided backwards and sat down on the edge of the bed. Sirius was kneeling in front of him now, holding his hands, telling him to breathe. It took a little while, but eventually Harry's breathing slowed and the world came back into focus. He snatched his hands away, embarrassed.

"God, I'm sorry," Harry said finally. "This is ridiculous, I know. I feel like a child."

Sirius shook his head and sat beside Harry. They were quiet for a moment, but then Sirius spoke. "I shouldn't have let Dumbledore send you back to those muggles. I didn't think - Merlin, I should have thought - I didn't realise how this would affect you."

Harry sighed and placed his head in his hands. "Neither did I."

"But that night, Harry, I had no idea about - about the imperius curse. The cruciatus curse. I can't imagine . . . why didn't you say something? Does Dumbledore know?"

Harry's stomach was doing flips. He felt sick. "He knows," he said after a few seconds.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius said gently.

Harry clenched his fists. "It didn't feel important."

Sirius looked like he wanted to scold Harry for that, but he must have stopped himself because instead he sighed. "Of course it's important."

There was a light knock on the door.

"Come in, Moony," Sirius said, voice loud enough to make Harry wince slightly.

"Got your things here," Remus said. Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage floated in behind him as he walked through the doorway. "How was your talk?"

Harry stared at Sirius pleadingly, but Sirius had his eyes fixed on Remus. "Enlightening," he said, voice strained.

Remus looked towards Harry. "Good," he said. "Very good. Well, Harry, we'll leave you to get unpacked. Sirius and I need to have a little chat, nothing to worry about."

"Wait," Harry said, panicked, trying to think of anything to delay Sirius telling Remus everything. "There's something else."

"Go on," said Remus.

"I . . . Do you remember the potion Madam Pomfrey gave me? The one that helped me sleep? I . . . I don't want to disturb Ron."

Remus nodded, his expression softening. "Dreamless sleep. Of course," he said. "We must have some around here somewhere."

Harry nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes. "That would be great. Thank you."

There was a short silence.

"Right," Remus said, after a little while. "We won't be long. Feel free to go downstairs to see everyone when you're finished packing. They should all be in the dining room."

They left, and not even thirty seconds later Harry heard Sirius shouting. He could only make out a few words, cruciatus being one of them. Harry stayed sitting on the bed, unsure whether there was even any point in unpacking. He figured he could live out of his suitcase; he would only be here for a week, afterall. He dragged his suitcase under his bed and placed Hedwig's cage on top of the chest of drawers.

When they returned they were both composed. But Sirius' eyes were red, and Remus' face was paler than usual. They glanced at each other before Remus gestured for Sirius to speak.

"Ready to go downstairs?" Sirius asked, voice gravelly.

Harry attempted a smile. "Sure."

He wasn't ready for this week, and he definitely wasn't ready for what was to come after it.

The train was already moving, and Draco trudged through the aisles towards the prefect carriage. He pushed past Longbottom and the Weasley girl, who were walking in the opposite direction, seemingly looking for somewhere to sit. Potter trailed behind them.

"Potter," Draco said as he passed him.

Harry stopped, but the rest of the group walked ahead.

"Malfoy," he said curtly.

The sun shone through the trees outside, casting a warm golden light that flickered against Harry's skin and made his black hair shine with streaks of dark red. They were almost touching, cramped in the narrow corridor of the train carriage.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Can't say I'm shocked you weren't made a prefect," he said. "But I'm still not sure who would be worse, you or Weasley."

Potter stared at him, directly at him - almost into him - and Draco's heart skipped a beat. Draco pushed whatever strange feeling he had away as far as he could and stepped back. Potter's green eyes flickered with anger for half a second, but then his face was blank.

"Have a good summer though, Potter?" Draco asked. "How are those muggles of yours? Gave you the royal treatment again this summer, I expect?"

Harry's mouth quirked up with a small sad smile, and his bright green eyes looked almost golden in the light. "Yeah, something like that," he said.

Draco frowned. This didn't seem to be working. It was usually so easy to get a rise out of him, but whatever mindgames Potter was playing, Draco didn't have the energy to figure it out. Potter nodded a silent goodbye and looked down, face expressionless. He walked off after his friends, and Draco was left with more questions than answers and more curiosity than he was comfortable with.

He shook away those thoughts with a shake of his head, and carried on down the train.