Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warning: Will contain slash (boy/boy lovin')

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I updated pretty fast if I do say so myself ;) But don't get used to the one day updates; I was sick today so I had time to write.I hope you guys like this chapter. I tried to make this one longer than the last one.

Oh, I need abeta (at the suggestion of a wonderful reviewer) So if you are willing please email me. I've never posted a story before or anything so you'll have to tell me how that whole thing works.

"Oh shit!" Harry exclaimed, quickly sitting up in his bed. He just realized that he had forgotten about the letter he wrote. He wiped a thin layer of sweat of his forehead with the back up his handand threw the tangled covers off of himself. He hastily got out of bed and began going threw his discarded robes that he had thrown unceremoniously in a pile on the floor. He almost immediately found that the letter was missing. As he threw on a pair of trousers, he glanced out of the window; it was still dark, meaning it was sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

"Whatchu doin'?" Harry heard a sleepy Ron mumble from across the room.

"Nothing, Ron. Go back to sleep," he replied in an innocent voice.

He was about to step out the door when he heard Ron again. "Harry, where you doing?" Damn it. He sounded much more awake than before.

"Nowhere, just go back to bed," he replied, trying to mask his frustration.

Ron, not anywhere near sleep anymore, got out of bed, walked to the door, and leaned against the frame.

"What's up with you, mate? You've been acting off lately and you're always sneaking out. Me and Hermione are worried about you. Mum was in a right state all during break. It seems like you never want to hang out anymore..." Ron finished with a hint of a blush grazing his cheeks. He was never one to talk about feelings and such; Hermione evidently put him up to having this talk with Harry.

"I'm fine. Except it would be nice to be able to get some sleep," Harry said curtly, throwing himself back on his bed.

"Don't you play that!" Ron said angrily. "I know you were about to leave so don't even try to lie about it. Where the hell do you have to be atthree A.M.?" He yelled, forgetting that he was supposed to being polite and caring.

Harry, also getting worked up, was tired of everyone pretending like they care. All they want is to make sure their little hero is safe so I can save their asses once again, he thought bitterly. He was thoroughly frustrated with the entire situation with Ron and wanted out. He got up and walked to the door.

"Get out of my way."

"No," Ron stated simply.

"I said get the fuck out of my way!"

"No," he repeated stubbornly.

Before Harry realized what he was doing, he shoved Ron roughly, taking out his bottled up frustration on him. Ron, not one to take insults lightly, immediately shoved Harry back, just as hard. Harry raised his right fist and punched Ron in his large nose.Ron automatically brought his hand up to his face and wiped his nose lightly. He winced as he looked at the red, sticky substance that now covered his hands. He face grew a deep red and he launched himself at Harry, looking much like a lion as he did so. His arms flew everywhere punching whatever he could. Harry, the stronger of the two, held his own and fought back fiercely.

The two men were roughly pulled apart by Dean and Neville, who were awoken by the argument preceding the fight.

Harry saw that Ron sported two black eyes and by the look of it, a broken nose. Harry thought he had a busted lip, which was confirmed by the gooey, iron-tasting liquid that filled his mouth. He had also taken a blow to the head, resulting in the head-splitting migraine he was now experiencing.

"Ger off me," Harry mumbled to Dean, attempting to push his hand off his shoulders while wheezing heavily. Dean quickly backed off.

"I'm outta here," he said and shut the door with a slam.

Harry walked to the seventh floor taking huge strides. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Hot tears began to stain his flushed cheeks. He didn't cry because he wasphysically hurt or in anyway sad... he was just pissed off. What makes him think he could tell me whatto do like that? Who the hell does he think he is?

When the anger eventually subsidedhe began to fill a bit ashamed. He didn't exactly regret punching him, but he now didn't think it was the best idea either. Ron didn't really do much to deserve it... He just said the wrongs things at the wrong time. Harry began to dread the next time he would have to face him.

Harry was too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay attention to where he was. He entered the corridor before he even realized it. His quarrel with Ron was temporarily forgotten as the letter drifted back into his mind.

"Lumos" he whispered, hoping that Filch wasn't out.

Harry thoroughly searched the corridor. Every time he saw a piece of parchment his hope soared, only to come crashing down to find that it wasn't what he was looking for. He leaned against the stone wall and slid down until he was sitting firmly upon the floor. What if someone else found it? he thought. The thought horrified him to no end. As he sat there fatigue rushed over him. Against his will, he drifted off then and there.

Harry woke a few hours later. He immediately shut his eyes after he opened them. The sun's bright light poured through the large windows, burning Harry's eyes. After a few moments of repetitive blinking he became used to the light. He realized that sometime during his sleep he must've fallen over because he was lying in a fetal position. Because of the way he was sitting, he could see into a small niche that he didn't notice in the dark. A piece of parchment was in the alcove. He smiled. That has to be it. He scrambled up quickly and picked it up.

He cursed the parchment for not being what he wanted it to be and cursed himself for actually thinking it was. He started at the blank parchment, as if his gaze would somehow magically change it into his personal confessions.

"Please," he begged out of pure desperation, not expecting anything to happen.

Suddenly, emerald ink lines began to spread. They joined together forming words in a slanted, neat writing.

It read: What are the magic words?

Harry, dumbfounded, immediately thought back to the Marauder's Map and Snape. He pulled out his wand and lightly touched the parchment while saying, "reveal your secret."

As if being soaked up, the words faded and new ones formed,looking likean invisible hand was writing them. Harry was shocked. The words formed sentences, which formed paragraphs, which formed an entire letter -- for him. It wasn't addressed to him by name, but it was for him nevertheless.

He read the story of a scared man, similar to himself, that had come across his own letter. I guess someone finding it wasn't so bad, he thought.

Harry heard voices,bringing him back to reality, and automatically got and went to the nearest boys' restroom. He removed his glasses, revealing an indent on the bridge of his nose from sleeping in them face down. He washed his face with freezing water, scrupulously scrubbing the dried blood. After a quick teeth-cleaning charmand a fruitless attempt at flattening his unruly hair, he headed to Gryffindor Tower to get his books.

Harry, along with his books, entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He didn't meet Ron in the dorm but his luck seemed to have ran out there. He saw the man's flaming-red hair as soon as he looked at the table. As Harry neared him he noticed that he was injury-free, tired, and had a pissy look on his face. What I expect? For him to be positively glowing? Wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak, he sat down beside Hermione. Throughout breakfast Ron ignored him defiantly. Hermione forced polite conversation, trying to trick them into conversing with each other.

"Oh this is ridiculous!" she finally cried. She stood up and marched elsewhere.

Harry tapped his quill impatiently, ignoring the glares he received from his classmates. He watched the clock in the back of the classroom, not listening to a word Flitwick said. Every class seemed to go by excruciatingly slow. All he wanted to do was read the letter again and reply.

The thought that somebody read his intimate confessions still horrified him, but he became used to the idea. He was almost happy that they did. He now had a personal confident that he could tell anything to. It's queer how youhide things from yourclosest friends but spillare willing to spillyour heart out to a complete stranger. Maybe it is because of the fact that they don't know you so they can't judge you... Butthen again,they are the onlyones that really do know you.

As the bell rang signaling dinner, Harry quickly stood up and walked to the Astronomy Tower. He would surely get some privacy there.

Harry leaned against the thick, stone guard-rail. He was sucking on the end of his quill as he stared at the letter, wondering what he should write in his reply.This is hard for me to do because I was always taught not to feel,the strangers replyread. Harry could almost not comprehend it. He, on the other hand, had so many things he wanted to say. He also could not understand how someone could be taught not to feel. Ever since he had entered the Wizarding World, he had always had people to love and to give love (or maybe it was just adoration)in return. He felt pity for the stranger. Harry almost wished he could hold the man (or at least he thought it was a man).

Harry watched the last rays of sunlight fade away as he tucked his reply in his bag and reread the letter one last time, memorizing every word. He was still awed at the fact that somebody had written back. The words he read still echoing in his mind...

Nobody is going to play the violin when I die; I act like it doesn't bother me, but it does.

A/N: Don't forget to review!