"Dear Mama,

I know it has been a while since I last wrote you. Usually when I am that lost or confused or feeling that even breathing hurts I'd go to Nanna. She has left though, and I can't bring myself to write to her the way I used to write to you; because it makes it all real and it makes breathing hurt more and I somehow can't handle this right now. I miss you mama, and I miss her too, and I miss how life was easier and happier. I try, I swear I try to be happy. I take photos, and bake cookies and talk with Harry. You don't know Harry of course, you know, sometimes I think that I don't know him either. How does a person know if they know someone anyway? I have been living with Dad alone for more than two years now, I have been trying to be the perfect daughter ever since you left. I stopped crying, I stopped fainting, and I stopped panicking, and I stayed strong for him as much as my body and soul could stand, but at the end of the day it wasn't me who made him smile again, I don't know him enough for that. It wasn't me who made him want to live again. He found someone you see, some other woman, and I feel betrayed when I know that I shouldn't, when I know that it is selfish, when I know that you'd probably want this for him. Want him to move forward. Good news here, he moved on. Nanna's moved on too on her own way. And you are where you are. And I am here alone. I guess I will just go find Harry, he will be somewhere by now feeling sad for some reason I don't know, and I will go feel sad with him, because even in misery we need companions.

Love you mama"

Nada's legs carried her almost on their own accord to house number 4. Somedays she'd just feel horrible for no apparent reason, she'd find it hard to get out of bed, she'd find it hard talk, to swallow her breakfast, and she'd find it hard to live for no reason without even a trigger. It was like coming down with a flue in the middle of the summer, and summer flues were always the worst. They are not explainable, they are often not very obvious, and your fever heats your body only from the inside. Nobody sees it, nobody believes it, and in Nada's case no body is even around to feel or believe or otherwise.

Her flat sandals hit the pavement as she walked with purposed steps towards the house. The scowl on her face didn't quite match her white sundress, so it could be easily attributed to the late afternoon sun. When she reached the house her footsteps didn't stop, she searched frantically for him as if she dropped him somewhere on the front lawn. She couldn't find him leaning on the stone flowerbed, washing the car or hiding between the bushes. She knew the other options however, the playground, or the roof. Their roof by now.

"Looking for something?" a vaguely familiar voice called behind her back, she turned around to face one smug Dudley Dursley.

"I'd say someone" he said with a smirk and a puffed chest.

She wasn't in the mood for this now. She nervously fumbled with the small pockets of her dress, produced a cigarette and a lighter, and shakily started to light the cigarette.

"I am looking for Harry" she said in a distant voice.

A look of bewilderment was drawn on his face, it would be funny on another day "Harry?- Why? Why would you be looking for him?"

She truly didn't have the strength for this, she was about to leave when he spoke again.

"How do you know him anyway?- I noticed that you know each other the other day" he said, his confusion lined with venom.

She laughed sarcastically at this "Oh Dudley you are very observant!"

The look on his face said that he couldn't decide whether she was serious about her compliment or not, and somehow she took pity on him. It wasn't his fault after all that she felt like murdering someone today, not anybody's really. "We live on the same street Dudley, why would it be weird that we know each other?" she said her words mixed with smoke.

"Because he is Harry, nobody here talks to him- he's just too filthy and weird," he said as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, she just kept starring at him so he continued "you don't believe me, do you? You know-" he started chuckling, a cheap method to add suspense to his story "we used to play this game back when were kids-we called it Harry Hunting" at this he burst into laughter "can you imagine! I know it doesn't sound fun but the git was too fast that he made it much more exciting than it sounds! Once, we caught him and tied him to a tree" he let out another wave of laughter "the whole day! He was just tied there- oh you should have seen how his cheeks and nose turned all red from the sun!" he continued not noticing at all how Nada just kept staring at him, the cigarette between her fingers, and her tongue moving restlessly behind her cheek "we got ice cream from the van and ate it right in front of him, then we danced around him like those savage Indians who ate people alive."

He looked at her expectantly as he finished his story, and started to feel legitimately uncomfortable as she didn't move, even as the cigarette started to burn too close to her fingers. Then she suddenly threw the cigarette on the ground.

"How old are you?" she said, calmly.

He was too startled with the question that he answered too quickly, there wasn't even time for the smirk to fade from his face "S-sixteen?"

"No, I mean your mental age" he was about to interrupt but she continued firmly " I mean, a fully grown sixteen years old male, won't find a story like the one you just ineloquently told at all funny!" he just stared at her, mouth slightly open "do you even understand what ineloquently means? God do you even understand anything?- Dudley, you are so damn stupid! Do you realize that?" she took a step closer to him, dangerously close, angry as she was "That Harry that you call filthy and weird is the most genuine person I met in this plastic neighborhood of yours, he is the most genuine person I met ever for the matter!" she took a deep breath and continued "Do you even know him? Or do you just hate him because your mummy and daddy told you to? Why do they even hate him! Why! Have you ever thought about this? Do you even think about anything at all?" she groaned "God you are so stupid- so damn stupid! THINK for god's sake- does any of this make any sense?" she nudged his temple violently, sending his head to the side "THINK use that brain of yours!"

He was so shocked that he just stared back, his mental gears creaking slowly as he was trying to absorb everything, the sudden rage, the words themselves, the physical assault, and on top all of this, the question. Why!

Nada covered her face with both her palms in frustration, deciding it is a lost, unnecessary battle, a battle that she didn't wake up today to fight on top of everything. She turned to leave but stopped when he finally spoke.

"I-I ask why, sometimes" he said, if anything defensively "I am not stupid."

She faced him with a relatively softer expression, "if you are sixteen, and you still see the world through your parents' eyes, then you are stupid. There's another whole wide world out there that you know nothing about, Harry is just the tip of the ice-burg" and with that she left.

The gears kept on moving, creaking but moving and slowly gaining momentum.

Procrastination that is the word. He was "procrastinating", Hermione should be proud that he remembered the word. Hermione would kill him if she knew that he'd been doing it again, procrastinating.

Harry sat on the swing, the thoughts in his head echoing its movement forward and backward.

If he understood correctly what he read in Dumbeldor's letter, if Dumbeldor meant what he said in this letter, then he was leaving tonight. He was probably leaving tonight. He told Nada nothing about it.

He just couldn't bring himself to tell her, because he himself dreaded leaving. When he recalls how they lied under the stars on her shawl, how she held his hand in reassurance, how she made him feel alive, he knew why he dreaded leaving. When he recalls her image that night in her nightgown on the roof, he knew why he dreaded leaving her.

That, and that ominous feeling that he had about leaving this time. A feeling of uneasiness like the feeling one gets when waking up in the middle of the night and sensing that something is not right, that there's something lurking in the folds of the darkness.

He kept moving idly with the swing, forward and backward, like a grandfather clock pendulum. Moving as time passed, as the clock ticked.

He didn't notice the group of teenagers who were approaching, snickering and laughing.

"Aren't you too old for swings Potter?"

Harry was harshly dragged from his daze by the one and only, Pierse Polkiss. The boy has shaved his head and gained bulky muscles that made him look like a cartoon sailor. The look on his face that was intended to make him look dangerous and intimidating somehow made him look more ridiculous. Harry eyed him slowly from head to toe, and snorted. He didn't mean it, he wasn't looking for trouble, and he certainly didn't want to aggravate the gang of teenagers but he couldn't help but laugh.

"Ehm, erm, sorry" Harry tried to cover up the laugh with an attempt of a civilized conversation "I just remembered something funny". He, not so discretely, eyed the ridiculous bandanas that the boy tied around his wrist, with a poorly hidden smirk on his face, sliming the possibility of getting out of the situation in one piece. Old habits die hard after all.

"Maybe you are not too old for swings potter, maybe you feel nostalgic for the good old days" as the boy cracked his knuckles, the bland retort was ooh'ed by the gang.

Harry just kept swinging idly, averting his eyes away. Not another fight if he can avoid it, he thought. He fought the urge to comment on the bandanas or their owner, and just kept swinging.

"You deaf! I am talking to you!"

Harry stood up and was about to leave when one of the boys, grabbed him from the hood of his sweatshirt practically dragging him closer to Polkiss, earning loud cheers and another wave of excited oohs from the rest of the gang. Harry snatched the hood awkwardly back from his grip, fixed his clothes and turned around to leave. In the past, he would stay, fry them with sarcastic comments, take what he had coming, scratch and bite and fight back, end up with a black eye and some nasty wounds, and a sense of pride that he caused as much damage. Not today however, not ever actually. Somehow he felt all too old for some fist fight with a bunch of bored teenagers.

"Aww, Baby Potter doesn't even have enough balls to fight back" with that, the other boys burst in to laughing, so Piers got too confident "maybe we should check if he have them at all." Before Harry could react, he grabbed him from the waist band of his jeans. Harry felt a surge of magic leaking from his fingertips, like a very mild electric current, he balled his fist, gathered the new force, and used it to punch his attacker right in the nose.

Harry looked from his fist to the boy's face not believing the amount of blood on both of them. The blow was too hard even for his expectations. A moment of brief shock and silence followed.

He didn't know how he reached that position on the ground, how dirt has found its way in to his mouth, whose hands were where. He was rained by kicks and punches from every possible direction. Some hands were yanking at his clothes, some hands were pulling his hair, and some were just busy with the punching. He tasted blood, but felt no significant pain, he'd feel later though, he thought vaguely.

Nada felt guilt peaking shyly in to her conscience, but she just firmly ignored it. He had it coming, she thought, he rightfully deserved it. There was that small voice that told her that may be she was too aggressive, that she shouldn't have made her point physically. She squashed that little voice and mentally stomped on it. It was enough that he made her loose her last cigarette.

She hoped that she'd find Harry in the park though, for she didn't have the energy to walk all the way to the abandoned shop.

As she got closer, she found a group of teenagers approaching, or she was approaching them, it didn't matter. She added that to the list of things she couldn't care less about, together with the fact that one of them was bleeding profusely from his nose, it looked nasty actually that she almost turned her head to look, just out of sheer curiosity.

The park was completely empty. It is usually abandoned by that time of the day as children would be called for lunch and the sun gives up on them before they could ever return. He'd be sitting on one of the swings though, or on the bench near the see-saw. When she entered the park however, he was neither there or there. She let out a frustrated huff and was about to leave when she noticed a movement near the swings.

There was that moment when she saw but her mind didn't quite register what she saw. Then another moment when her mind registered what she saw, but her limbs wouldn't respond to it. the time between the moment her eyes where laid upon Harry curled on the ground, when she heard his groan, when she saw him trying to move again, and the moment when she hurried to his side, seemed to stretch over an eternity whereas it didn't exceed a couple of seconds.

"Oh God! Oh God! Harry!" She whispered frantically as if her voice would hurt him.

He just groaned in response, and tried to sit up.

She started to ramble in her mother language, as she helped him up, earning a pained chuckle from him.

"Zust- zust help me to the bench," he said breathlessly. His voice awkward as if he was talking with his mouth full. He was talking with his mouth full, Nada figured that out as he turned his head away from her side and spit blood.

"Sorry," He tried to look at her apologetically, she just tightened her grip on his forearm and shoulder as she helped him to the bench.

She sat him down but kept standing just staring at him as he threw his head backward and stretched his legs in front of him. She tried to assess the damage not so subtly, not that he'd really care anyway in that state. His clothes were dirty and his jeans torn at one knee, his face was not very visible from the way he sat, sent mostly in the shadows. His exposed neck however was sporting some faint scratches, and a scab from the side that extended from his jaw, a dry one though, it wasn't bleeding just red and inflamed. The knuckles of his right hand however didn't look as unharmed as the rest of him. She vaguely remembered the boy with the bloody nose, which explained that particular injury.

The lack of any external injury would have been relieving if he had not just spit blood in front of her, and somehow the fact that he didn't say anything while she scrutinized him was not at all reassuring.

"Are you alright?" She asked, not realizing how stupid the question sounded until it escaped her mouth.

He laughed, he looked at her and laughed. She did laugh too.

"I am splendid, thank you" he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. Then he turned his head to his side again and spit. "Sorry' bout that."

She grimaced "that's not good," she finally sat beside him "you need to go to the hospital."

"It's ok," he said trying to sit straighter "It's from my mouth- not inside- hurt my tongue."

She felt uncomfortable with what was supposed to be a note of reassurance. "So you think you broke anything?"

He had rested his head backwards again and closed his eyes, "No, don't think so." He flexed his hand in front of him "see? Good as new."

She weighted lecturing him about how it wasn't funny, but she knew that it would be in vain. "What happened?" She asked instead.

"Bad day," he said simply.

"And I thought I had a bad day," she said throwing her head backward like he did. Both of them kept staring to the sky through the branches of the tree above.

"Why? What happened?" He asked finally.

"Honestly?" She snorted turning her head to face him "you look like you have just escaped a battlefield and you are asking about my day?!"

"It's not a competition you know," he said still staring to the patterns of branches and sky "besides, I am naturally selfless and unconditionally kind."

She kicked his foot playfully "Shut up."

"Ow," he let out something between a cry and a chuckle.

He didn't see the guilty expression on her face "do you think you can stand up now?"

He sat up, a bit defensively "do I look that bad?"

She stood and nodded "yes, you certainly do" then started to help him up.

He accepted her help almost without any resistance. He went a bit stiff though when she snaked her arm around his waist. Noticing his discomfort she immediately withdrawn it, keeping only her grip on his arm for support.

They walked through privet drive as the sun was setting. He, with labored movements but no complaints and she, supporting him on his own terms. There silhouettes connected as if they were one entity, whereas in reality the only connection between their bodies was her loosened grip on his arm, a grip that was eventually reduced to a ghost of a touch as his steps gained momentum.

She stopped abruptly when they reached a white airy house, her house.

"What?" He asked breathlessly, somehow standing looked to tire him more than walking.

"We are there," she said not understanding his confusion. She started to move towards the house expecting him to walk with her but he didn't. "What's wrong?"

"I thought we are heading to the roof?" there was something akin a sense of betrayal in his voice.

"You won't be able to climb the ladder like this," she said patiently placating him, like she usually did with her father "and I don't think you'd be thrilled to go back to your aunt's in that state."

He took a step down the pavement and sat on the cold stone, obviously even standing was too much effort for him. "What if your father- is that ok with your father?"

"He's not home, and won't be before midnight- some embassy event or something," she extended her hand to help him up again and as an 'end of discussion' sign. "Come on Harry, we are both tired."

He looked at her from below for a moment, then he took her hand. He pushed himself up however with the other hand, not depending on her for support.

It was somehow awkward to be in her home, house to be precise. Homes don't feel that cold. It was weird, that he of all people, knew the difference between both. Perhaps because he was too familiar with the coldness, the rigidness and the discomfort of homelessness. Perhaps because he spent his short life like a bug searching for the light and the warmth of homes. That is how he was attracted to Hogwarts, that is how he was attracted to the Weasleys, because they emitted the warmth and light that homes emitted.

They did feel like home, but they were never his.

He looked around as she closed the door behind them, the hall was crisp and clean, with an empty coat hanger and a spotless mirror. The hall extended in a long rectangle that ended with a set of white stairs that twisted and turned above them, leading to the second floor. He followed Nada as she entered the living room, or what should have been. There was two wide white sofas, a love seat and two armchairs. Harry somehow felt uncomfortable to follow her in the room as he noticed the posh rug that graciously covered the wooden floor.

And somehow she looked uncomfortable too.

"Erm, why are you standing? Have a seat," she said nervously.

"I-I will get it dirty," he said gesturing to the sofa behind him "everything is just too white," he added trying to appear nonchalant.

"Then make it less white," she said still not sounding like herself "nobody sits here anyway to notice it."

Harry sat down, both for the lack of any other thing to do, or say for the matter, and because he was in too much pain to argue.

His back hurt, his shins hurt, his arms hurt, his head was throbbing, and all what he wanted to do is to curl on to that alarmingly white sofa and sleep. He couldn't do so of course, even if Nada wasn't sitting with her back that straight on the edge of the cushion next to him.

He cleared his throat, "Erm, nice house," he said out of the lack of things to say.

"You think so?" She replied, cynicism dripping from her words.

They both laughed.

"Come," she said standing up abruptly "Can you handle a couple of stairs?"

He could, and even if he couldn't he would, just to get away from that room.

The stairs were not as horrible as the idea of them but it was still a struggle, especially if he wanted to keep whatever dignity he had left intact in front of her. He didn't want to think about what she thought of him, seeing him beaten and bullied for the second time. Somehow it didn't bother him like it should. Maybe because he was too tired to think about it, maybe it is a side effect of floating above the living.

Maybe, and most probably, because he knew she won't think less of him. For some, mysterious reason, she wouldn't think less of him, he knew it, he didn't understand it but he knew it.

"It's a bit messy here but at least more comfortable," she said opening the plain white door, and his breath was caught in his throat when he realized that it lead to her bedroom.

He has never been to a girl's room before, even at Hogwarts the girls' dormitory is off limits. Which gave the whole concept of a girl's room a whole new level of mystery. he had heard his dorm mates talk about the wonders and wonders of girls' rooms, with girls' beds, and with girls' night clothes, and no Harry you shouldn't think about her night clothes, not after Seamus detailed description of the said garments, because no, just no.

The room he stepped stiffly in was nothing but a sheer disappointment to the boys in his dorm. No pink curtains, no lace bed covers, and definitely no furry rugs.

It was a spacious room, almost the size of his dorm at Hogwarts, and almost in the same color pallet. With lots of browns and deep reds. The wooden floor was covered with another posh rug like the one he was afraid to step on downstairs but this one seemed less intimidating with a pair of trainers and a sweatshirt discarded on it. The bed was huge however, compared to their beds at Hogwarts, a handmade quilt covered it that looked as if it was knitted by no one other than Mrs. Weasley.

Nada fussed tiding around muttering distracted apologies while he just stood there contemplating the details.

"..and please sit somewhere Harry," he heard her saying.

Nodding he just sat on the bed. The groan that escaped his lips however was enough to grab her attention. She stopped in the middle of the act of folding a t-shirt and looked at him. He sat there forearms rested on his knees, taking in and out his breaths slowly, in what she knew was meant to contain his pain.

She took a step towards him and kneeled in front of him to see his face, "I will get you something for the pain," she said gently touching his knee in what she thought would be a reassuring gesture. The flinch that she received in response however said otherwise.

She gently removed the torn fabric of his jeans to examine his knee, not that she would be able to know what to do with it, but she did it anyway. She looked from his bruised and bloodied knee back to him "I know that girls usually so the patching up in the movies, but mate I am clueless."

That cracked him, he laughed and she joined him with her boisterous giggles, fueling his laughter from her words to her giggles.

"I don't know if this should disappoint me or relief me," he said finally coughing for air.

She stood and walked to a door he didn't realize was there "then something for the pain," she walked in the adjacent room that harry realized it happened to be a bathroom, she came back with a small plastic container "just take two pills," she handed it to him "I will get you some water," she left for the door then hesitated for a moment as if in conflict to say something "erm, you can use the bathroom if you want, to-" she gestured around her body "you know, check yourself- if you are alright," she tucked a strand of her behind her ear "there's a bruise salve in the cabinet above the sink, with an orange label."

He nodded "Thank you."

Her hand lingered on the door knob for a moment when she finally moved "I'll get the water then," she said with a sigh and left.

He got up to tend to his own wounds as he always did.

His body was a mosaic of colors, and he didn't feel any better than he looked. The strong façade was slipping slowly but surely. All what he wanted to do is crawl in to a hole and disappear. He kept staring at his reflection in the mirror above the basin, merely for the lack of energy to do otherwise.

Then a knock on the door woke him from his daze "Harry? Is everything alright?" he heard Nada from the other side of the door, her voice worried "Do you need anything?"

"I am fine," his voice came raspy and distant after a moment of silence, "just give me a minute."

She didn't reply but he could still feel that she didn't move from her spot on the other side of the door.

"Harry?" She said again "I guess-it'd be better if I help you?" her voice was hesitant "you don't know where everything is- and, just let me at least bring you the salve, did you find it?"

If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he was in pain, so he swallowed his ego and started to get dressed as fast as his state could allow to open the door.

She didn't stop to look at him, she just strode towards the cabinet and started rummaging through it. He just sat himself on the lid-closed toilet.

"I used this the day I fell on the pavement, it works very well and reduces the pain," she started applying the salve through the torn fabric of his jeans "do you mind if I cut it a bit? It is ruined anyway I guess."

He just nodded, not believing that it has only been a month since he helped her with a napkin full of ice for her scraped knees.

"I can' believe it's only been a month," she said absently dapping his knee with the salve "is the other knee hurt too?"

He nodded again.

She paused for a fraction of a second, seemingly at loss of what to do. She grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit and cut the fabric covering the other knee, repeating the same routine "that one stylish jeans you have now here," she said trying to ease the tension earning herself a soft chuckle from him.

He looked at her from where he sat as she was tending as much as she could to his wounds, taking every detail about her in, slowly and coldly realizing that he won't see her for at least nine months, which with a great possibility would start right the next day. He won't take those long walks with her, won't speak with her, won't listen to her voice, or watch her speak, won't see her bizarre assortments of outfits' combinations, and won't eat those cookies she bakes for him. He knew it before, theoretically, it wasn't some sort of a surprise. However, the realization brought a sense of loss that he didn't realize he could possibly feel again, after everything he lost before; the loss of that peace that she made him feel, that the world is not on hanging on the edge of a cliff, that he has that right to just be- normal. He swallowed the lump that unceremoniously formed in his throat.

"Anything else that need healing?" she asked him from her kneeling position, her eyes looking wider and if possible even more beautiful as she looked up at him.

"No," he said, his voice slightly above a whisper "nothing that you can help me with." He then noticed the frown that was formed on her face, so he added "just the bruises you know, that- the salve won't help with them."

She nodded, albeit her expression remained a bit doubtful "take the pills, they'll help- I brought you some water."

He wasn't very accustomed to Muggle medications, and the pills somehow made him drowsy; he doesn't know when his sitting position on her bed turned to lying then turned to curling on his side with his shoes missing. He doesn't even know when the bright white light of the sun that washed the room has turned into that deep orange, sending the Gryffindor hues of the room into a warmer shade if that was even possible.

But it was. It was possible, and the warmth seeped to his heart.

"How are you feeling now?" he felt her saying, her face nothing more than several inches away from his, and somehow he was alarmingly unfazed by the fact that she is that close, lying with him on the bed, her bed. Those damn pills indeed!

"Better," he mumbled, voice raspy and thick with sleep.

She knew somewhere at the back of her head that if her father came at that specific moment, all the aristocratic, diplomatic façade will evaporate and the eastern father jinni will be summoned from his long sleep. She didn't know why she secretly hoped for it, if it was the only way she'd get a reaction from him so be it, eastern temper and all.

She stuffed those thoughts in her mental closet, with other skeletons she got there, maybe she would contemplate them later. Right now however, all what she could think of was the boy with those green eyes that starred back at her. She never saw his face that close, that relaxed, and despite the newly acquired scabs and bruises she couldn't ignore the aura she felt radiating from his face, like something nice and kind and warm, something like milk and honey and her grandmother's garden. Raw kindness that even the ugly scar on his forehead couldn't conquer.

Almost instinctively, she reached out brushing his hair away from it, vaguely surprised that he didn't move or flinch away, he just stared back. So she gathered the courage to brush her fingertips over it, slowly but deliberately tracing the lightning bolt shape. It felt smooth under her fingers, not ragged or rough; however, it was unpleasant. She couldn't explain it, but she felt as if she touched something bad, and dirty and had this sudden urge to wipe her hand on her clothes, but she didn't.

As if he sensed it, he closed his eyes for a second and took her hand in his, not in a way that indicated that he was annoyed or angry, but rather protectively.

Raw kindness, she thought, that even the ugly scar on his forehead couldn't conquer.

"Ever been so tired?" he heard himself saying, feeling everything but too tired to react.

She didn't nod, merely frowned.

"Too tired that all what you want to do is just- disappear? Dissolve in the nothing-ness?" he said a hint of a smile on his face, a sarcastic smile, a tired boy's attempt not to release the lump in his throat in to something more messy and embarrassing.

She nodded, now gently brushing the hair on the side of his head, her pace not changing as the tips of her fingers brushed against the stiches there.

There was no hint of flirting in it, nor her signature playfulness, just a gentle touch that was if anything motherly. So, no he wasn't feeling uncomfortable and he wasn't the slightest guilty about how he leaned to her touch. So much of a big boy. Big tired boy with a lump in his throat, he corrected himself.

"I will be leaving for school soon," he stated, she didn't stop. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to telling her that that soon can be tonight, is probably tonight. He thought that if that is the case, and it is the case but he wouldn't admit it, he will pass by and say goodbye right before he leaves. What was the word? Procrastination, yes it was that.

"I'll miss you, you know," she said, something wistful in her voice.

Me too, he thought "well, you will have to go to your school too."

She sighed, "I will write you- just leave me the address though, and I will even leave lipstick signatures."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, especially when he pictured the look on Ron's face if he found out that he received a letter with a lipstick imprint on it.

"Will it be scented?" he asked, faking a hopeful expression on his face.

She smiled at that, something genuine and beautiful and warm, like milk and honey and Christmas at Hogwarts, "in your dreams Potter," she said.

He took a mental note to ask Hermione how does the whole Muggle and Magical mail work, so that he would write to her. He took another mental note to ask Nada about her school address, and another note to ask her not brush his hair like that because it makes him sleepy. He took some other several vague notes like the fact that he should get up, go to his aunt's house, do stuff like just-in-case packing.

All were just vague mental notes, the only solid anchor he had to reality was her voice saying his name, before he succumbed himself to sleep. Those damned pills indeed!

The room was dark when he woke up again, this time with the headache of too much sleep, a mouth too dry, and a sharper realization of the where and why. Before he could even panic, he realized the reason why he woke up, the feeling of being watched, of having a silent breathing company. Then it slowly downed upon him, as he looked up the towering figure looming above him, his cloak shining in the moonlight, his beard standing stark and silver against the thick darkness of the room, his gaze piercing above his half-moon spectacles.

"You've been reckless this summer Harry" he said, eyeing Nada's sleeping form.

AN/ I know, it has been a year since I last updated. I am actually very grateful if you guys made it this far, but don't blame me, blame life and depression.

Anyway, i promised that I am not abandoning this story, and I won't. one chapter and an epilogue left.

Much Love xx