"So," said Bryant, "how long are you here for?"

"I have no clue," said Harry as he threw off his shirt to put on a different shirt to sleep in. He had gotten some second-hand clothes from the hospital that fit better than the Dursley's ever fit.

Bryant gasped. "That's a pretty nasty scar you've got there." He paused. "I believe you."

"What?" asked Harry.

"I believe you. How could you have caused that scar on your back? The one on your foreheads pretty neat, but looks a little red. If it's been bothering you, you should tell Donna or Michelle. They could fix it for you."

"Can't," said Harry, climbing into bed, "I've had it since I was one. Don't remember how I got it. Parents died then, too."

The two laid in silence for a few minutes before Bryant asked, "so, what are you really here for?"

"What?"

"No, what are you here for? I meant what I asked."

Harry sighed and rolled over.

"When my parents were murdered, my aunt and uncle took me in. My cousin is severely over-weight and has an after school hobby of beating up other kids. I'm his punching bag; my uncle's, too. I'm so small because my aunt and uncle starve me. I'll admit to the depression," he said, as much as it hurt him, "because last month I watched my godfather get murdered right before my very eyes. He was the last link to my parents; the last living person who cared about me; and he had to be murdered."

Harry laughed. "Once, I went shopping for my aunt and I saw this boy with a shirt that said, "It's a dog eat dog world out there and I'm wearing milk bone underwear." I think he was a tourist; probably from America." Harry laughed sardonically. "What I would pay to see Tom's face if I called him a dog."

"Who's Tom?"

Donna showed up at the door to scold the two boys for talking after eleven.

"The person who killed my parents; Cedric, this boy at my school; Bertha, a lady with a memory problem; my godfather, Sirius, and a bunch of innocent mug- err, people who never did anything to deserve it."

"What were you going to say?" asked Bryant.

"Huh?"

"Mug- err," he repeated.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Harry said, haughtily, "good night."

"And what do you want, Donna?" he added into his pillow but she was long gone.

"Ah, bloody hell," he murmured, and got comfy for what was going to be another long, quiet, insomniac night.