Morag.

Harry headed out from the castle, absently rubbing the back of his hand. The wound he was being forced to inflict on himself was sore and inflamed. He wanted some peace and quiet away from everyone. He was trying to keep his head down as McGonagall advised but there were times he wanted to scream at the unfairness of the situation.

Instead he walked along the lake shore. Every so often he would pick a stone up from the path and angrily throw it out into the lake. He wasn't going back into the castle until he knew he would be able to talk to people without raging at them.

He was started to calm down and think clearly as he headed around a small grove of trees. He had made up his mind that he was going to stop and rest at the next little cove he knew. As he and the path approached the shore line he saw another figure at the beach.

He was going to move on when he was caught up by the design the girl was drawing in the sand. At first it appeared to be simply random squiggles then it took on a form that Harry couldn't quite put a name too but he knew it was definitely not random.

He was so taken up in the picture, that it took him a moment for him to realise the girl was talking to him.

"Can I help yeh, or are yeh just going to keep staring?"

"um I was just walking but these designs are, I don't know. They are just beyond... Um what are they?"

"These are pictures. In the real sense of the word. Before there was Scotland, there was Pictland. The Pict's left these designs behind. Carved into rocks and stones. Some of the stones were solitary, some in circles. Some have their magic still flowing and affect the area around them, keeping muggles away. I'm drawing these from memory and checking them against my ancient runes textbook."

Harry nodded at the explanation. "They're, I don't know, is beautiful the right word?"

Morag turned her full attention to Harry and smiled at him. "I've always thought they were. These patterns are on a stone that just a mile from my ma and da's house. If you want to yeh can stay while I finish them but can yeh be quiet while I draw please."

Harry nodded his agreement and settled himself down to watch. Morag turned back to her drawing. Harry watched her as she concentrated on the swirls and squiggles she was making, her ginger hair was tied in a loose plat down her back but it kept falling forward and she kept flicking it back as she worked.

Harry found himself drawn into the patterns, mesmerised as they unfolded. He tried to follow them with his eye as they crossed each other but the beginnings and endings kept escaping him.

He was trying to trace them with his eye again when he became aware of a presence next to him. He glanced over to Morag sitting next to him watching him quizzically. Loose strands of her hair had dropped out of her plat. It was the movement of her tucked them back behind her ear that had pulled his attention back to the immediate and away from the abstract.

"Well, what do yeh think?"

He looked her in the face, her freckles standing out against her pale skin. "Beautiful."

A slight blush rose on her face to add colour to her cheeks. Harry realised what he'd said.

"I mean, um that I…" He found a finger against his lips.

"Hush, I know what yeh are saying but let a girl live in the moment. It's not often a ging like me gets called beautiful. I went to a local muggle school growing up. Duracell was my called me. Yeh ken the one with the copper coloured top?"

"Yeah, well its better than freak. But I was talking about the drawing but um… you are too." The last was said quickly as he looked away from her.

"That Harry was the least smooth compliment I've ever heard. Thank yeh anyway. I'd have thought someone like yeh would be better at this?"

Harry looked at her confused, "What do you mean? Someone like me?"

"Well yeh ken, You're the boy who lived."

Harry quickly got to his feet.

"Wait, please."

He turned to look at Morag, his open expression had gone cold and flat.

"I'm sorry, I offended you that's obvious. What did I say wrong?"

"Does no one ever think that every time I'm called that name what it means to me is the boy whose parents died?"

Morag put her hand to her mouth as she realised what he meant. "Och Harry, I'm sorry it's just.." She paused. "No wonder you're a moody git. We all call you that, the whole bluidy country. I'm sorry Harry I never thought. Please sit down."

Morag seemed genuine in her shock at his revelation. He cautiously sat back down although not as close as they had sat before.

Morag seemed content to sit in silence so Harry returned to staring at her drawing letting his eye be drawn into a timeless place.

"Harry?" he felt a hand on his arm as Morag called to him. He turned to look at her. She had an expression of concern on her face. "I've been thinking about yeh and I don't know but I dinnae ken yeh, do yeh ken? This is the first time we've spoke after five years in school and in a few minutes you've made me revaluate you. I thought I knew yeh. What magical bairn hasn't heard of Harry Potter? Well it's obvious that hearing and knowing are different. The Prophet is all calling yeh a gobshite and saying Dumbledore has lost his marbles. Talking to yeh well I can tell it's a steamin pile of midden.

So Harry, can I ask, is it true?"

Harry eventually nodded after working through her dialect, she was moving between a soft one she had first spoken to him explaining things but as she became more heated it hardened.

"Is he back? V...Volde..."

"Voldemort, yes he's back." Harry answered sadly.

"You saw him too, didn't yeh?" Harry nodded his answer. "and Cedric?" her voice dropped as she asked the question.

"Murdered, by one of his death eaters. The cup was a port key and as we landed he was killed." Reliving the moment caused the grief in Harry to well up again.

"Come here yeh." Morag pulled him into a hug and held him. After the initial pull she held him softly. It wasn't as bruising as Hermione's hugs that were fierce or like Mrs Weasley's that always left him feeling smothered. Harry knew he could move away at any moment and because he could, he didn't. He felt hot tears fall down his cheeks as he mourned for Cedric. Morag continued to hold him. He allowed himself to sink into her softness, he drank in her scent, her hair smelt of apples. Slowly he moved away from her. His head came away from her shoulders. He knew if he didn't pull himself together he would start to snot as well as cry.

They were still close and looking at each other, hesitating over their next movement. Morag moved her hand up and brushed his still wet cheeks. He looked into her face and saw a single tear roll down her cheek. Copying her gesture, he brushed it away.

Then she moved again, slowly, hesitantly towards him. She turned her face slightly to the side her hand moving towards the back of his head. She paused and Harry aware of what would happen next give permission with his eyes and the smallest of nods.

Their lips met, the taste of salt from their tears mixed. The kiss was hesitant and quickly over. The teens moved slightly apart. Harry looked Morag in the eyes that seemed to be smiling amidst the tears.

The second kiss was longer and deeper. Something had broken and there was no hesitation in this kiss. Harry could only think of this girl before him. One hand in her hair, the other on her back. Holding her close drinking in her scent, her presence.

They kissed like this for a long time. When they broke apart Harry felt his lips tingle from the unusual activity.

"Wow." Morag was finally able to say.

Harry stroked her face running his hand down her cheek. "I wasn't expected that."

"No, I don't expect you were. I came down here for peace and solitude." Harry frowned at her apparent rejection. "Oh don't worry yeh dopey sod. I'm glad that happened but it was unexpected. Come on." She slowly got to her feet. It'll be tea time soon. Let's get back to the castle."

In the Great Hall the conversation stalled for a moment as Morag kissed Harry on the cheek before heading off to the Ravenclaw table, then the voices started again twice as loud.