A/N: Chapter 5, actually on time!... despite the fact that I fell asleep before dinner and only just woke up. Whoops! Here we go. By the way, I know my chapter breaks are a little random sometimes, but I don't write in 'chapters'. I just write huge random blocks at different times and then have to find somewhere to put the chapter break later *shrug* Sorry if it seems inorganic, but I do try to place them as logically as possible.
A small group of boys Harry didn't know were playing cards on the bench in the centre of the locker room, and hurried to move them when Mr Schuester walked in. The teacher shot them a disappointed look and sighed, "I suppose you didn't hear the lunch bell ring, right?"
"No, sir. Did that - uh, did it ring a-already? We didn't hear it," one of the boys stammered, exchanging a guilty glance with one of his friends. As Harry wandered over to his locker to grab his soap bag, Mr Schuester nodded sagely.
"It did. You'd better get to class before you're even later."
"Yeah, Mr Schuester. Thanks," another boy muttered, and the boys scurried out of the room. Mr Schuester shook his head and looked over to Harry with a wry smile of his own.
"You know, it's somehow comforting to know that whatever happens, some things just don't change," the teacher commented, sitting on the bench in the centre. "Grass is green, rain is wet, and teenagers try to cut class."
"Considering how much class I've been missing in the past few days I feel I can't talk," Harry quipped, opening Kurt's locker with one hand and grabbing a clean long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of jeans with the hand he had wiped on his own. "Though mine has been less 'cutting' and more 'fleeing-before-I- pass-out'."
Mr Schuester made a sympathetic noise, "The teacher's are aware of... your attacks. It won't be held against you."
"I hope not," Harry murmured. He looked at the bag and clothes in his hand and furrowed his brow. "Mr Schue? Would you mind holding these clothes until after my shower? I don't want to leave them on the bench."
At the teacher's raised eyebrow he shrugged, "They're Kurt's. He would probably kill me if I left whatever these are - Calvin Klein, I think - on a dirty bench in the boy's locker room."
"Sure," Mr Schuester agreed with an easy smile, taking the clothes out of Harry's arms and resting them on his lap. Harry smiled back a little before grabbing his towel and soap and disappearing into a shower stall.
He pulled off his bloodstained clothes with a sigh, leaving them hanging over the wall of the stall. He kicked his shoes outside and dumped his belt and scarf on top of them, before turning the water on hot. He took a moment to stand under the hot water gratefully, feeling some residual anxious energy draining away with the sweat and blood. After a moment Harry grabbed his soap and scrubbed himself down, very aware of Mr Schuester waiting for him.
He really wants to protect me, a small part of Harry marvelled, and for a moment the wizard felt a little trickle of warmth blossom in his chest. He forced it away; it wasn't worth how disappointed he'd be when the teacher lost interest. I'm just another student. He's just doing his job. Get over it, Potter.
As soon as the last of the sweat was gone from his skin he turned the water off. Harry did his best to dry himself off in the shower stall, and pulled his boxers back on in there as well. While five years in a dormitory had pretty much relieved him of any modesty, he figured he might as well try and no make the teacher any more uncomfortable than he already was. Harry wrapped the towel around his waist and grabbed his clothes, shoving them into the plastic bag with his soap. That can be dealt with later.
Mr Schuester was staring idly at the clock when Harry wandered out, and the man turned to smile at the wizard. The smile froze on his face when he caught sight of Harry's scarred torso, and Harry blushed.
"Yeah, the scars aren't only facial," he mumbled, dropping the plastic bag on the bench with his shoes. "It's not pretty."
"That - must have been painful," Mr Schuester raised his eyes from the series of gouges just below Harry's ribs. The wizard shrugged.
"Yeah. Turns out shrapnel is pointy. And melty," Harry ran a finger along a shiny burn scar on his left side. His mind started drifting back to how he got the scars - just keep running, screams, fire, pain- and he forced his mind back to the present. Mr Schuester's eyes were full of sympathy, and the boy ducked his head. "Can I have the clothes now?"
"Oh! Right," Mr Schuester handed Harry the shirt and jeans, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I had forgotten I was holding them."
"S'okay," Harry muttered, turning to walk back out of the way. Mr Schuester's sharp intake of breath when he could see Harry's back made the teenager wince. Don't ask don't ask don't ask don't ask...
Harry kept up his mental mantra as he walked behind the teacher to tug the too-long jeans over his hips (having to keep them up with his belt and fold them at the hem several times to keep them up) and at first it seemed to work. Mr Schuester remained quiet until after Harry had pulled the shirt over his wet hair and come to sit next to him to pull on his boots. It was only then he brought it up.
"Harry," he began delicately, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Some of the scars on your back..."
"Hmm," Harry made a non-committal noise, hoping that if he didn't react the teacher would drop it. He wasn't that lucky.
"They... looked more than two years old," the teacher was watching Harry carefully for a reaction, but continued when Harry ignored him in favour of pulling on his other boot. "They looked old - really old. And..."
"And what, Mr Schuester?" Harry looked up at the teacher with defiant eyes. His face felt flushed at the understanding in Mr Schuester's eyes, but he forced himself to hold his gaze, willing the teacher to let it go. The teacher didn't back down.
"They look a bit like - whipping scars," Mr Schuester finished haltingly. Harry pinched his lips as he tied his shoelace, glaring at the leather of the boot.
Why can't he let anything go?
"They are," he answered flatly, getting to his feet. At the teacher's sharp intake of breath Harry turned to face him, his face stony. "It was a long time ago. It's not relevant now."
There was a pause, and Harry stalked over to put his plastic bag in his locker. Mr Schuester's voice was carefully neutral, "You said that yesterday. Or - you said that Remus never f-flogged you for doing the wrong thing. I didn't realise you meant..."
He trailed off, and Harry didn't elaborate. After a moment the teacher concluded, "Your previous guardians, then?"
"Yes," Harry answered simply, closing his locker with a slam. Mr Schuester wasn't deterred.
"The ones Remus got you away from."
"That's them," Harry agreed, turning back to the teacher. Mr Schuester nodded a little, understanding in his eyes.
"No one did anything?" the teacher murmured, only half asking. Harry looked at him frankly.
"No one," he nodded, lips twisting into a bitter smile. "Not teachers, neighbours... and they knew. They all knew. They just didn't care."
"I'm so sorry," Mr Schuester's voice broke a little, and Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"It doesn't matter anymore," he muttered, pushing his wet hair behind his ears so it didn't blind him. "It's over. I never have to see them again. I have - I have Remus now. It's not perfect, but it's better."
"Just because it's better doesn't mean it's good," Mr Schuester shook his head. Harry snorted.
"No kidding. But I'm 17 - there's not much point in holding out for a perfect guardian now," Harry shrugged sullenly, stalking back across the room to stand in front of his teacher. "I'm showered and blood-free, Mr Schuester. May I go to class now?"
"Sure, Harry, I'll walk you," Mr Schuester stood up, ignoring the boy's frustrated sigh. "What class do you have?"
"Legal Studies," Harry's lips thinned as he thought of his only friend in that class - Artie. "Goodie."
"You don't enjoy it?" Mr Schuester asked him curiously as they left the locker room, Harry leading towards his locker. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Usually it's fine. It's just - Artie's kind of nervous around me since I accidentally hurt Azimio yesterday," the wizard flushed red to his ears as he mumbled towards his shoes. "Finn, too. And Mercedes. And most of the school."
"What actually happened there?" Mr Schuester frowned, looking down at Harry cautiously. Harry ran a hand over his still wet hair.
"He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around to face him. I was still on edge from my panic attack and I just - reacted. I twisted his arm. I didn't mean to hurt him."
"No, I understand," the teacher relaxed, gently placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That was an accident. I'm sure your friends aren't actually nervous around you. Maybe they just don't know what to say now that they've realised how... anxious... you are."
"How crazy I am, you mean," Harry rolled his eyes, but started when the teacher's hand tightened on his shoulder and the man fixed him with a stern look, forcing both of them to stop in the hall.
"You're not crazy, Harry," Mr Schuester urged, his expression deadly serious and firm. "You've been traumatised and hurt but you're not crazy. You're a lot more together than most people your age would be if they'd been through what you have."
You don't know the half of it Harry thought bitterly, then cringed when the teacher started. "Oooh, did I say that out loud?"
"Yeah, you did," Mr Schuester looked at Harry with sad eyes. Harry just pulled away and started back down the hall to his locker. He tried to ignore the man quietly tailing him as he reached his locker, opening it more roughly than necessary and snatching his books up. When he turned and nearly ran into Mr Schuester, he couldn't help but snap.
"You know, you never did this for Kurt," the wizard ducked around the teacher and stalked towards his Legal Studies class, his frown deepening when the teacher didn't even have to walk faster to keep up. Stupid short legs."This following me around to make sure I'm safe - you didn't do it for him."
"Kurt wasn't getting physically attacked," Mr Schuester counted gently. Harry shot him a droll look over his shoulder.
"Because being shoved into lockers and thrown into dumpsters isn't physical?" Harry snorted. Mr Schuester was silent behind him.
"...I didn't know about that," he eventually said, his voice tired. "I mean, I'd heard that he had been thrown in a dumpster, but I thought it was an isolated incident."
Harry paused at shot him a disbelieving look, "Seriously? It was happening everyday at one point. I made them stop, but before then it was absolutely constant. And he still gets shoved into lockers whenever I'm not around - his back and shoulders are covered in bruises all the time."
"I didn't realise," Mr Schuester's expression was grim, and Harry winced a little.
"Maybe I wasn't meant to tell you," he glanced around guiltily, half expecting Kurt to jump from around the corner and smack him around the head. "He doesn't like people fussing over him like that."
"I know," Mr Schuester's voice was gentle. "And I know you don't either. But you told me that anyway, because you're worried about someone you care about."
"Yeah," Harry looked at the teacher suspiciously. Mr Schuester's response was careful.
"Harry, that's all we're trying to do for you. Just like Kurt with his bullies, you want to deal with everything yourself. But you don't have to, Harry. Just like I want to help make this school safe for Kurt, I want to help make your home safe for you."
"It's not the same," Harry muttered, looking away from Mr Schuester's earnest face. "Kurt is... Kurt."
"Yeah, he is," the teacher laughed a little, not unkindly. "And you're Harry. And you matter just as much as Kurt does."
"I don't," Harry shook his head. Kurt's one of his kids, one of the first five, I can't matter as much as him.
"You do," Mr Schue insisted, an edge of pain behind the sincerity in his eyes. Harry dropped his gaze to his feet.
"I shouldn't," he murmured. Kurt's not like me. He's a good person, and honest person. Everything about me is a lie, a lie to protect Britain's favourite murderer.
"Harry, you should and you do," Harry's eyes went wide as he found himself folded in his teacher's arms. Mr Schuester hugged the boy to his chest, urging words over his head. "You matter so much to the club, and to me; just like all of you kids do."
Mr Schuester pulled away, holding Harry's shoulders at arms' length. Harry stared up at him with wide eyes; he couldn't remember the last time Remus had hugged him like that. The teacher continued, a hint of desperation behind his calm words, "Harry, please. Don't ever think you don't matter to people. Even if some of your friends are being kind of awkward right now, you still have people in your corner."
Harry looked away. What the hell do I say to that?There was a few moments of silence before Harry muttered, "My classroom is right there."
Mr Schuester seemed to deflate a little, and he nodded, "Right. Enjoy class, Harry. I'll see you this afternoon at 3.30 at your house, right?"
"Right," Harry sighed. I had hoped he'd forgotten about that. He slipped into the class with his note in hand, and tried to ignore the blatant stares of the people around him. Even the teacher looked wary when he took the note off of Harry, and when Harry took his spot next to Artie the wheelchair-bound boy became fascinated with his textbook. There wasn't much class left; just a brief discussion on a chapter that Harry didn't remember reading. Artie kept his eyes down the whole time, avoiding Harry's gaze as though the wizard were a basilisk. When the bell rang Artie shoved all his books into his bag and tried to roll out the door. Harry grabbed onto his wrist gently.
"Artie, please wait," he begged softly, glancing around nervously as people stopped to watch. Artie finally looked up at him, eyes wide.
"Y-yeah, Harry?" he stammered, forcing a smile. "What's - uh, what's up?"
"What's up is that you're afraid of me," Harry spoke in a low voice. "Artie, I'm not going to hurt you. Why are you being like this?"
"Maybe because you took out a linebacker without looking?" Artie snapped back, his eyes widening in time with Harry's. He dropped his hands to his wheels, looking for all the world like he'd like to roll away. "And you fought like ten footballers and won. You're kind of - look, you're a nice guy, Harry, you're my friend, but... you just seem a little..."
"Dangerous?" Harry suggested, his mouth thinning to a firm line and his hands beginning to shake. When Artie hesitated, the wizard, shook his head. "I'm not dangerous, Artie. I'm not. Not to my friends. Not to you. I wouldn't - I wouldn't hurt you."
"I don't think you'd mean to," Artie agreed cautiously, glancing from side to side as the classroom began to clear. "I really don't. You're not... bad, you're just..."
"Crazy," Harry finished for him, beginning to back away. The wizard just shook his head as Artie looked at him apologetically. "I'm not - forget it. I'll leave you alone."
"No, come on, Harry, I didn't mean-" Artie began, but Harry just turned and stomped out of the room.
This time the wizard couldn't blame the crowd from parting when he stalked through. His damp hair was still slicked back off his face, and the scowl he was sporting would have rivalled Snape on a bad day. He cut swiftly through the parting students to get to Kurt's classroom, hoping his boyfriend would be waiting for him. Harry relaxed a little when he saw the boy's lean form resting against the wall outside his class, texting away with a little grin on his face. The wizard slipped up next to him, placing a gentle hand on his lower back, and Kurt smiled vacantly.
"Hey, sweetie, how was your shower?" he asked idly, pressing a distracted kiss to Harry's scarred forehead with his eyes still glued to his iPhone. Harry shrugged.
"Mr Schuester got nosy, but I'm clean, so it was fine," Harry rose up on his toes to look at the screen of Kurt's phone. The name Blaine at the top of the message bar made his stomach clench, and he dropped back down. "Blaine again?"
"Yeah, we're arguing. We have been for almost an hour," Kurt giggled a little, shooting Harry a sheepish glance. "He's claiming that Katy Perry is more talented than Lady Gaga! I can't stand for that kind of nonsense."
"That is nonsense," Harry agreed, some of the tension melting away. "I mean, I love Teenage Dream as much as the next guy, but come on. Lady Gaga is an icon."
"See? You understand. I'm telling him you agree with me," Kurt's fingers flew over the screen as he linked his other hand with Harry's. Harry smiled and started leading them to his next class. After a moment, Kurt announced. "Blaine says you're biased and therefore not a valid source."
Harry snorted, "Tell him that just because I'm biased doesn't mean I'm wrong."
Kurt giggled and tapped away, only pausing to kiss Harry again briefly when they reached his class. Harry waved goodbye to his boyfriend and sighed. One more hour until I go home. The question now is do I dread it or look forward to it?
After Harry's last class he made his way to his car as fast as he could. He had barely half an hour to get home and make sure Remus wasn't freaking out, and that it wasn't a complete disaster zone, and that there weren't owls and enchanted paraphernalia lying around - why is so much of my life spent rushing everywhere? He drove out of the parking lot carefully, and made his way home on automatic - his brain was busy plotting and planning. Okay, blood and glass first - no, Remus first, make sure he's alright. But if Mr Schuester sees the blood he's going to wonder if one of us was hurt, and I healed the cut on Remus's foot... if necessary I'll cut my foot and say it's my blood.
He pulled into the driveway, his eyes sweeping across the flower beds in front of the porch. Those look tidy. With any luck Remus has been cleaning. Sure enough, the vacuum cleaner stood in the hallway, and Harry sighed in relief. Maybe Mr Schuester won't stay long if he sees it's clean.
The Wizarding teen wandered into the living room, noting with satisfaction that the blood spots on the carpet had been cleaned. Remus sat glued to the television, Harry's credit card in hand, and he was muttering as he watched a woman on screen sell watches to a bottle-blonde host.
"Good afternoon, Remus," Harry greeted him, some of the stress dissipating at the sight of his guardian's calm. Remus looked over in surprise.
"James! When did you get here?" he asked cheerfully, and Harry's veins turned to ice. The werewolf stood and approached Harry with his arms open, pulling the smaller boy into a brief, friendly hug. When he pulled away the wild-eyed man laughed a little. "Merlin, James, what happened to you? You're tiny!"
"Uh-" Harry stuttered, thinking fast. He forced down the pain in his heart as he tried to keep Remus happy. "Accident with a spell. Shrunk me a bit. Should be back to normal soon, though."
Remus laughed, a carefree, happy laugh that Harry had never heard before. There was joy in his eyes that the teenager didn't recognise, an innocent, pure joy that comes from being totally content, "Where are Lily and Harry? It's weird seeing you without them."
"They're - visiting family. Look, Remus-" Harry glanced at the clock over the werewolf's shoulder, wincing when he realised that it would be less than 20 minutes before his teacher would arrive. "I have a - friend. Who's coming here. A muggle friend."
Remus frowned a little, thoughtfully, "Why here?"
"Too much magical stuff at my place," Harry lied quickly, beginning to shuffle the werewolf back in front of the TV. "He won't be here for long, so you can just stay in here, alright? We'll be out of your hair soon."
"Okay, James," Remus smiled indulgently, settling back into his seat. "Whatever you need to do. What are friends for, right?"
"...right, Remus. Thank you," Harry blinked back the tears burning his eyes. If his timing was right, the time Remus thought he was in was when Sirius and James had thought Remus was the Death Eater of their family. It would only be a few months or even weeks when the werewolf would find out that not only did his best friends not trust him, but his lover had apparently betrayed them. No wonder he's dreaming he's there.The boy couldn't help but speak up. "Remus?"
"Yes, James?" the werewolf glanced over, a little smile still curling up at the corners of his mouth.
"You're a true friend," Harry forced passed the lump in his throat, making himself smile at Remus's puzzled look. "I just want you to know I knew - I know that, and I... appreciate it."
Remus's smile was wide and warm, "Thank you, James. But it's no more than you would do for me. Go and get ready for your friend."
Harry turned before Remus could see the tears in his eyes and slipped out of the living room, shutting the door behind him. He took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly. Just have to get through the next couple of hours, Potter. Then you can cry if you need to.
He made his way to the kitchen, noting with a sigh that the empty vial pyramid was still there. That sigh deepened when he walked past the counters separating the main kitchen from the dining table and found the glass and the blood still over the floor. Guess he only did the living room and the garden. That's helpful. Harry slipped his wand out from under his shirt and focused, pointing at the glass and speaking, "Repairo."
For a moment, nothing happened. What...? Before he could speak the spell again the glass started twitching on the ground, slowly sliding across the floor to piece back together in the centre of the crash. It took nearly a minute for all the pieces to join together, by which point Harry was more than a little nervous. Okay, what the fuck is up with my magic? I can usually repair a glass wandlessly. Without looking. From another room. Now I'm repairing stuff like a first-year? I've got to talk to Hermione about this when her proposal is in.
He walked over to the glass and picked it up. It shattered in his hand.
"Shit!" he hissed, letting his hand go floppy as the pieces of glass sliced into his palm and fell to the floor again. He yanked his hand close to his chest, blood quickly soaking Kurt's white shirt, and he hurried over to run his hand under the tap. A few shards of glass were sticking out of the shallow cuts on his palm, and he growled in frustration. He began to pick out the broken glass with his thumb nail, wincing when the movement aggravated the shallow scratches on his palm. He shook his head. How the hell did that happen? Did it not repair properly? At least it isn't deep. Maybe I should just try to clean up the blood and clear the glass the muggle way. Harry pressed a dish towel to his bleeding palm and snatched his wand out of its holster with his other hand.
"Scourgify," he snapped, watching with relief and satisfaction as the stain quickly cleared. That's better. He put his wand away idly, tying the dish towel around his hand to slow the bleeding, and went to find the vacuum cleaner. It was still in the front hallway, thankfully, and he set to work vacuuming up the glass. When he was done he put the orange juice back in the refrigerator from where he'd left it that morning, disposed of the pyramid with an exasperated scowl, and placed Remus's plates and cups into the dishwasher. When he heard the knock on the door he was relatively relaxed - or as relaxed as I can be with Remus literally hallucinating and Mr Schuester here to meddle - and went to open the door without hesitation. Mr Schuester smiled at him when he opened the door, but before Harry could greet him the smile slipped off his face.
"Harry, what happened?" the teacher urged, looking down at Harry's chest. Harry looked down in puzzlement, starting when he saw the blood on his shirt.
"What - oh right, my hand," the teenager raised his scratched hand, still wrapped in a dish towel, to Mr Schuester's line of vision. "I dropped a glass. It's just scratched, and I've vacuumed it all up."
Mr Schuester looked suspicious for a moment, before reaching out at poking the spot just under the blood stain. When Harry's only reaction was to raise an eyebrow at him, the man sighed, "Sorry. Just checking. Can I take a look at your hand?"
"Sure, just come into the kitchen," Harry lead the man into the house, motioning for him to be quiet as they passed the closed living room door. "Remus is in there. He knows you're here, but... he kind of thinks I'm my dad again."
"Why does that keep happening?" Mr Schuester asked as they made their way to the kitchen. Harry shrugged.
"I don't really know. I think it's because the first few months after I was born - when my parents and his former partner were still alive - were the happiest he's ever been. And I look a lot like my father. Like, a lot. Only shorter. His brain just wants to be somewhere happier, I guess."
"Leaving you behind in an unhappy reality," Mr Schuester concluded with a tired nod. Harry shrugged again.
"Yeah, but whatever. It could be worse," the smaller boy hopped up onto the kitchen bench so he was closer to Mr Schuester's height, and unwrapped the dish-cloth from his hand. "See? They're just little scratches."
Mr Schuester took Harry's wrist and inspected his palm closely, squinting at the cuts. After a moment he nodded, "Yeah, those are fine. I wonder why it bled so much?"
"Guess I'm just a little bleeder," Harry quipped with a grin, hopping down off the bench. "The house is actually pretty clean - Remus tidies up most of the day, when he isn't buying from the shopping channel."
"I can see that," Mr Schuester agreed, looking up with a faint smile. "I can see my reflection in the light fitting."
"He's thorough," Harry looked around. "I haven't actually checked most of the house yet, I was busy with the glass, but I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Okay," Mr Schuester looked around. "Do you need help with laundry, cooking?"
"I think it should be okay-" Harry began, but cut himself off when he heard a crash from the living room. He was sighing and running out of the kitchen in the same heartbeat, his teacher hot on his heels. In the living room they found Remus lying under the over-turned coffee table, humming to himself while he continued to watch the television upside down. Harry paused in the doorway.
"Remus?" he began after a moment, aware of Mr Schuester hovering awkwardly over his shoulder. His guardian looked over with dazed eyes and smiled.
"Hi, James!" he greeted cheerfully. Harry forced a little smile and ignored the sharp intake of breath behind him.
"Remus, why are you under the coffee table?" Harry tried, wandering into the room to survey the sudden mess. Almost every piece of furniture in the room was upside down; the sofas, the tables, the paintings. The bookcase was face-down on the ground, books scattered around it, and the plant at the side of the room was on its side, soil spilling everywhere. Goddammit, this room was clean 15 minutes ago!
Remus blinked up at the teenager, then looked around the room. The puzzled expression became one of dawning understanding, then little sheepish when he admitted, "I have no idea. God, what am I doing?"
Harry just pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a pause as Remus tried to scramble up, thanking Mr Schuester politely when the man righted the coffee table. Remus held out his hand for the man to shake as he staggered to his feet, forcing a smile to his face.
"Hello again, William," the werewolf murmured, his face somewhat ashamed. Harry relaxed a little - it seemed like Remus was coming back to himself. "I - I'm sorry about that. I don't know what I was thinking, calling Harry 'James' - I was confused. Um..."
The man looked over at his ward helplessly, clearly still lost even if he was a bit more aware. Harry tried to smile soothingly and took his guardian's hand.
"It's all right, Remus. You're very tired," Harry comforted him, lightly tugging him around the teacher and towards the door. "Maybe you should go and have a lie down until you're feeling better?"
"Yeah, - that's a good idea," Remus agreed, shooting a nervous glance around the room. His eyes slid over the wreck of the room, and then he dropped his gaze to the ground. "I can - you don't need to clean this up, I'll do it."
"We got it," Mr Schuester spoke up, his voice carefully neutral. Remus still flinched and started backing out of the room.
"Right. I'll just..." the werewolf wandered away, leaving his ward and the teacher standing in the wrecked room. Harry could feel the compassionate gaze on his back, but he just ignored it in favour of shifting the coffee table back to where it was meant to be, picking up the magazines and remotes that had fallen with it. His teacher didn't speak either, just grabbed the arm of the sofa and started to try and lift it. After a moment Harry helped him, and they flipped both of the couches in silence.