Chapter 11

Harry waited until the Cormac bully and his friends had passed —and wasn't it satisfying to see that the jerk hadn't managed to heal his own hand with his magic?— before proceeding to seal the inter-carriage doors, turning the glass into wood and sort of melting them with their respective walls to make it look from both sides as if the train ended there. He had done this a few times before, to better secure his shelters or evade some street gang, and he had found it so hard to revert that he had opted for leaving it that way more often than not. With any luck, others would find it difficult to undo too and the seal would keep all his pursuers contained in the rear half of the Hogwarts Express until he could get off this bloody train.

It was an extreme measure, and Harry could admit that he might be a little paranoid, but he had felt more on edge than usual since he had left the tarantula compartment some time ago, and then those red-haired twins had sprang out of nowhere... He was relieved that they had been close enough at the time to aid their little brother —he felt guilty knowing that the blond bully and his friends were actually looking for his ginger alter ego—, but their timely intervention made him suspicious. Had they been following him since he had left their compartment? If so, they must have seen him change his hair and clothes, and they would be on the lookout for further changes in appearance. They might have seen him steal the wand, too, and they would be angry because he had gotten their brother in trouble, so it seemed best to completely avoid them.

Deciding not to think anymore about all the dangers roaming the other half of the train, Harry turned his back on the sealed door —now wall— and set off again in search of the round-faced boy, who should be somewhere on this side of the train. At least he hoped the toad boy was somewhere around here and not trapped on the other side of the seal with the blond bully, who must be furious for having been deprived of his plaything and would probably not hesitate to take it out on the owner even if he had had nothing to do with it.

As he checked one compartment after another, Harry wondered if he had done the right thing by rescuing the toad. It had seemed like the right thing to do, but he knew all too well that bullies tended to get much more nasty when something didn't go their way, and he feared his intervention might have only made things worse for the round-faced boy. Harry would not have to deal with the consequences of his good intentions, since he would not be seeing any of these people ever again, but the other boy would, and the toad would, and they both had probably become bigger targets because of him.

If he had really wanted to help, he would have done something to permanently solve the problem, he thought guiltily, but the only way he could see of achieving that was to kill the blond bully, and Harry had been trying really hard not to kill anyone else.

He didn't see why he should stick to that resolution, though. He was already a murderer, already a fugitive, what difference would it make a little more blood in his hands? Harry hadn't intended to kill Uncle Vernon, and he wished he hadn't done it because of the consequences it had had, but he had made his peace with the horror, and the truth was that he didn't really regret it.

The world was better off without some people.

Ideally everyone would be good, but in reality there were a lot of bad people around, and why should they be allowed to get away with the bad things they did to others? Criminals were locked up, sure, but bullies and plenty other nasty people were allowed to walk free and prey on the weak and the powerless, and no one could stop them because technically they weren't committing any crimes.

Who decided what was a crime and what wasn't, though? Murdering innocent people was definitely wrong, but what about murdering guilty people? How could it be wrong to stop someone bad when no one else was doing anything about it? And what other way was of stopping them, if one couldn't keep them prisoner or under control? Harry didn't want to kill anyone —the mere idea made him sick—, but he knew that he could do it without problem if he reached for his deepest magic, and he knew that he could live with it afterwards if the person had deserved it.

He paused at the end of a carriage and took a moment to clear his mind from murderous thoughts before moving on to the next one. He wasn't going to kill anyone today, not unless it was the only way to preserve his freedom and his magic. The world might be a better place without some people in it, but Harry wasn't willing to risk his own life getting rid of those people, and he would risk it if he went about attacking other wizards. He must not forget that they all might be able to do the same things than he could do, including reaching for that deepest, sweetest magic that made everything seem possible and allowed.


To his relief, he found the round-faced boy rather quickly, and he managed to intercept him before some nasty-looking kids sneering from inside a compartment could begin mocking him for his anguished stammering. Harry glared them all down —even though they were all taller than him— and pulled the boy away from that bunch of potential bullies.

"Is this your toad?" he asked after dragging him to the next carriage, extracting the troublesome animal from his left pocket. He wasn't yet sure if he liked wearing robes, but he definitely liked his new pockets, which were very deep and roomy and had what seemed to be some sort of anti-bulging magic in them.

"Trevor!" exclaimed the boy, wiping the tears from his face and stumbling with his own feet in his rush to take the toad from Harry's hands. "Yes, it's him! Thank you! Where did you find him?"

"Some jerks were keeping it trapped inside a cauldron," said Harry, not feeling quite so angry now that he had exacted some retribution. Expropriating that blond prat of his magic wand had been one of the most satisfying things he had done in his life. "I think they hurt one of its legs, and it got a little bumped during the rescue, but it seems fine."

"Someone took him on purpose?" asked the boy in shock, lifting the toad at eye-level and examining it closely in search of injuries. "Why would they do that?"

"Because they're bullies," said Harry with a shrug. "They enjoy making others feel bad."

The round-faced boy was staring at him with wide-eyed incomprehension, as if the concept of bullying were completely alien to him, which made Harry feel simultaneously glad and resentful. Having been bullied since he could remember because of his freakishness, it didn't seem fair to him that other freaks were not as familiarized with it as he was, that they could have lived so long without knowing how awful people could be. To make things even more unbalanced, this boy didn't seem to have gone hungry a single day of his life, on the contrary, and Harry could tell just by looking at him that his bedroom was larger than a cupboard.

For a moment he hated the pudgy boy standing in front of him, hated that he had been obviously more fortunate and it wasn't fair, but he pushed his bitterness down and did his best to squash his resentment. It wasn't the kid's fault to have had better luck than him, he reminded himself, and besides it didn't look as if having been shielded and over-fed had done the toad boy much good, since he was now soft, weak, and slightly fat —an irresistible target for bullies.

"You should keep your toad close to you for the rest of the journey," advised him Harry, glancing over his shoulder to check that the nasty buggers from the other carriage had not come after them. "Keep it hidden, or better yet hide yourself, because they aren't happy that I took it from them, and they might come looking for you when they give up on finding me. It's a blond boy of about our age with two brutes trailing after him like bodyguards."

Harry looked over his shoulder again, feeling guilty at the thought of leaving this clueless boy to fend for himself in a school full of bullies.

"It would be safer for you to deny any involvement in the rescue," he added. "If anyone asks how you got your toad back, tell them that someone just returned it to you without comment, maybe one of those older students that go around supervising things —prefects, I think they're called."

The round-faced boy had grown visibly afraid as Harry spoke, and by the end he looked absolutely terrified, hugging his toad against his chest as if it were a protection amulet —or a teddy bear— while glancing uneasily over Harry's shoulder.

"We can hide in my compartment," he whispered. "I-I mean... you can come too, if you want. It's just- it just me there, I don't..." The boy looked imploringly at him, "I'm alone."

Harry hesitated, his empty stomach churning uncomfortably. He had intended to just return the toad and move on to the next thing in his to-do list —he had already gotten himself a wand, some magical clothes and money, but he wanted to pick a few more pockets and trunks while he still had access to them—, but it felt wrong to leave this boy alone and unprotected. After having frightened him and possibly endangered him, the very least he could do was to stay with him for a little while, in case the blond bully got past the seal.

It was also a fact that all the magic and running he had done in the last hour or so had left him exhausted and famished; he needed to stop somewhere to rest and eat his sandwich, else he might pass out or lose control the next time he tried to do something that required a lot of magic. This boy's compartment sounded like a good enough place for a break, and it also sounded like a good opportunity to get the information he needed, since the boy would likely answer any questions Harry asked without asking in return suspicious questions of his own —he seemed too trusting and naive to suspect anyone of anything.

"All right..." he began, but hesitated again when he remembered the seal, "...as long as your compartment is not on the other end of the train."

Harry felt slightly guilty at the sudden realization that by putting a block in the middle of the train he must have cut some people off from their compartments and belongings. He had done it with only his pursuers in mind, whose compartments he knew were all located in the rear half of train, but there were plenty other people moving around, kids visiting friends or siblings, older students patrolling, the trolley lady who went up and down the train selling snacks and candy...

"It's not far from here," said the toad boy, looking relieved and grateful, "in the next carriage, I think, or the next. I was just going back to see if Trevor had come back on his own."

Harry hesitated a moment longer, half-considering to go back and try to unseal the inter-carriage doors, but in the end he shrugged it off. Probably any older student, and grown wizards and witches like the train inspectors or the trolley lady for sure, would be able to undo the seal with a simple flick of their wands. Even if no one could, well... people could survive a little inconvenience.

"Lead the way, then," he said to his fellow freak.


Harry felt another stab of resentment when they reached their destination and he verified that the toad boy indeed had a compartment all to himself. Because of course it had been Harry the one kicked out of his compartment by a bunch of bullies within the first five minutes of the trip while this wide-eyed boy had been able to roam the entire train without worrying about anyone taking over his.

He tried to remind himself that this kid had been bullied in a different way and would probably be bullied worse in the near future, but still the current situation made him feel too much like he had felt his entire childhood to easily dispel the cloud around his head. Even though there had always been meeker victims to torment, Harry had always been Dudley's main target, and he had been hit harder, mocked louder and ridiculed more often than any other kid in the neighbourhood or school.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that whenever Dudley's nasty focus had temporarily shifted to someone else, Harry had tried to help the other bullied kids, and without exception they had all accepted his help but turned their backs on him afterwards, too afraid of Dudley to want to associate with him. More than one had even ended up in Dudley's gang, joining in the Harry Hunting, sneering at him, laughing...

Harry finished securing the door and leaned his head against the now opaque glass, struggling to disperse all those bad memories and poisoned feelings. He wasn't there anymore. He was free and powerful now, no one could hurt him nor lock him up, and those kids had just been afraid, protecting themselves however they could, siding with Dudley so he wouldn't hurt them again. This boy was frightened too, and while he might turn against him if Harry stuck around long enough, he hadn't done anything to earn his mistrust or resentment yet. Right now he was just a kid who had spent hours despairing over his missing toad, someone so innocent that he didn't even understand why anyone would want to harm him, why he needed protection.

"You shouldn't leave your things alone," he advised once he had managed to subdue the turmoil inside him, turning to face the boy again. "That's making it too easy for the bullies."

The boy didn't seem to pay much attention to his words, though, his eyes fixed on the door.

"You locked the door?

"I... yeah. Does it bother you?" asked Harry, berating himself for not asking first whether his companion was all right with locking the door. He certainly wouldn't react well if a complete stranger trapped him inside a compartment. "It's just locked, we can unlock it easily."

"And the glass..."

"It's just so no one can see inside without opening the door," explained Harry. He knew that locking and clouding the door might attract attention to their compartment, but he wanted to be able to sit for a little while in a somewhat secure place without having to keep a constant eye on the door. "I feel less exposed this way, but if it makes you uncomfortable..."

"No, I... it's all right," said the boy, looking embarrassed for some reason. "I... I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

Harry stared blankly at the proffered hand, not quite remembering who he was supposed to be at the moment.

"Er... Evan," he said finally, feeling much more dishonest than he had ever felt giving a fake identity. "Evan Roberts."

"We met earlier somewhere in the train, right?" asked the boy called Neville, his eyes unsure. "I mean, I think I remember you, but you look... different."

Harry wanted to bang his head against the wall. Stupid. He had forgotten that he had changed his appearance since he had last seen the toad boy, and he had talked to him and looked him in the eye while he was ginger so of course he had left an impression.

"We just met in passing," he said with a nonchalant shrug, hoping the boy was as gullible as he appeared. "I wasn't wearing my robes yet, so I must have looked different. And you were too worry about your toad, I don't think you really noticed me. Can you talk with it, by the way?"

"What do you mean?" asked Neville in confusion, easily falling for the change of subject.

"The toad. Trevor. Does it understand you? I tried to speak to it earlier, to confirm it was yours, but it just croaked in response."

The boy stared at him as if fearing Harry might be a crazy person.

"Hum... no, I can't really talk with him," he said slowly. "I mean, I speak to him, and I think he understands a bit, but he doesn't... talk back."

Harry didn't think his question was all that crazy, one wizard to another, but he still tried to look as if he hadn't been really asking if toads could talk. He considered to ask for confirmation of his theory that only snakes could talk to people, but there was the possibility that Neville had never spoken with a snake either, in which case the question would only make Harry seem even more crazy, so he decided not to insist on the subject. Instead he turned his attention to food, and settled himself on a seat by the window to have his lunch —or whatever the meal was called at whatever time it currently was—, hoping that seeing him do something as normal as eating would help the nervous boy relax and stop doubting his sanity.

After a brief hesitation, Neville gathered himself enough to go sit across from him, and he did seem to gradually relax when Harry dug out his rather squashed sandwich from the bottom of his bag and started eating. His eyes widened again almost comically when after a few quiet minutes Harry produced an empty cup and filled it with water, though.

"What?" asked Harry between mouthfuls, puzzled by the reaction.

"How did you...?"

Harry followed the direction of Neville's gaze, and realized that the boy was staring with mouth open at the cup suspended in midair —there were no cupholders nor any firm surfaces in the compartment, so Harry had had to improvise.

Oh, oh.

Harry had always been careful not to use magic too obviously in front of normal people, but he hadn't thought he had to worry about that aboard this train. Weren't all these kids freaks like him? This boy was wearing robes, and he had a toad, and his grandmother had had some sort of bird perched on her hat, so he had to be... but then why was he looking at the floating cup as if he couldn't quite believe magic was real? He had seemed shocked when Harry had locked the door too, even though that must be the easiest trick in a wizard's repertoire.

"Um... You're a wizard too... right?" asked Harry hesitantly, casually grabbing the cup from midair and sticking it to the seat instead so the boy would stop staring at it.

Neville looked embarrassed again.

"Yes," he said softly. "But I'm almost a Squib."

Harry breathed in relief. He wouldn't have known what to do if the boy had said no.

"What's a squib?" he asked with interest.

Judging by the boy's expression, Harry guessed he must have asked a dumb question. But he knew most of his questions were going to be dumb, being this his first time in the magical world, so he willed himself not to care about sounding stupid. It wasn't as if he was going to be around long enough to be mocked for his ignorance, if this boy spread the rumour that Harry didn't know basic things like what a 'squib' was.

"It's someone with magical parents who's born without magic," explained Neville after a moment. "Almost like a Muggle."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, even though he didn't exactly understand. Every little thing he learned about magic confused him, and the particular issue of where magic came from and why some people had it and others didn't confused him the most. Until this morning, when he had seen adult wizards and witches escorting their children to board the Hogwarts Express, it hadn't occurred to him that there might be entire families with magic. He had assumed that all freaks were born randomly from normal people, like him. Realizing that this wasn't always the case had made him wonder for a moment whether his own parents could have been secretly magical too, but he had dismissed the idea immediately —it was just impossible for him to believe that a wizard could die in an ordinary car crash, and besides if he came from a magical family Aunt Petunia should have magic too or at least know about it.

So his parents must have been normal people —Muggles, if Harry had grasped the meaning of that word correctly— who had somehow produced a freak. Squibs were non-magical people too, apparently, but with magical parents, which was more confirmation that magic wasn't necessarily hereditary.

"You do have magic, though, right?" he asked, focusing again on the boy. "You said almost Squib, not Squib. What does that mean?"

"It means that I don't have a lot of magic," said Neville despondently. "My family thought I was a Squib for ages. Even when I did accidental magic for the first time, when my Uncle Algie dropped me from an upstairs window and I bounced off all the way down the garden and into the road, they thought I might not have enough magic to come to Hogwarts. And I obviously don't," he cried miserably. "I can't do anything. I can't lock doors nor conjure water nor hover things like you!"

Harry was taken aback by the outburst, and he was particularly shocked by what the boy had said about his uncle dropping him from a window, which sounded like something Uncle Vernon would have greatly enjoyed doing if only he could have been sure none of the neighbours would gossip about it.

"I couldn't do anything either, before this summer," he confided in what he hoped was an encouraging tone, "not on purpose. The things I did were by accident, like you, things like jumping over a roof when my cousin was chasing me, or regrowing my hair overnight after my aunt had shaved my head. I wasn't born knowing how to control my magic, I had to learn how to make it do what I wanted when I wanted, and I still work at it all the time. I'm sure you can learn too, and that with a little practice you'll be able to do the same things."

His words seemed to get through the boy's dejection, although he still looked highly skeptical.

"I have no idea if different wizards have different amounts of magic," admitted Harry. "I just know that your magic sounds similar to mine, the way it was until a month ago. Something that comes out accidentally when you're angry or afraid. So maybe you just need to work at it the way I have. The teachers at school will no doubt explain you how."

Real hope was growing in Neville's vulnerable eyes, which made Harry feel simultaneously pleased and annoyed with himself for helping someone who, unlike him, would soon be receiving all the help he needed from proper teachers. He understood now that Neville had gaped at him that way because he had been impressed and envious of the magic Harry could do, but that was just because the boy hadn't learned yet how to do it himself, not because what Harry could do was particularly impressive. If Harry had managed to learn this much by himself in just a month, he had absolutely no doubt that Neville would learn twice as much in half the time with teachers to help him, and he would get to learn things Harry probably never would on his own.

It wasn't fair.

"You did those things without a wand, though," said Neville after a quiet pause, breaking through Harry's resentful reverie. "I don't think we'll be learning that at school."

Harry forced down his bitterness again. He didn't need teachers, and he would be better off by himself, living by his own rules and doing things his way. Anything he needed to learn, he would figure out how to do it without anyone's help.

"I don't use a wand because I don't know how, and because I didn't have one until now," he said with a shrug, pulling his new wand out of his pocket to examine it for the first time. The stick was long, slim and smooth for the most part, the last few inches on one end made a little thicker and rougher probably for a better grip.

With a thrill of nervous anticipation, Harry wrapped his fingers around what seemed like the wand's handle, but his excitement gave way to wariness when he felt something weird reacting with his magic. A strange mixture of warmth and hostility. A quick self-assessment convinced him that it wasn't dangerous, so he ignored the part of his brain urging him to drop it, but the thing didn't feel right in his hand and he had the distinct impression that the dislike was mutual.

"Do you know how this is supposed to work?" he asked, regarding the stick dubiously.

"Mine hasn't worked at all for me so far," said Neville, producing a wand of his own and looking at it sadly. "I can't even make sparks. But it should work waving it and saying the incantations."

Harry had already figured out that much, having observed numerous people waving their wands and saying words that somehow produced a magical result, but he still couldn't begin to grasp how it worked. Knowing that controlling magic was about exerting one's will over it, it would make sort of sense if the magic words were simple commands or outspoken wishes like 'bring that to me' or 'I want water', but the incantations Harry had caught here and there while he roamed the train had sounded completely nonsensical and random.

The role of the wand was another puzzle, although now that Harry had held one he no longer thought it was just an ornamental stick. In fact, he was beginning to suspect that his original belief that magic came from the wand hadn't been entirely unfounded.

He definitely could feel power that didn't belong to him when he held the wand, and also some sort of awareness, as if the wand were alive and had magic of its own.

He didn't trust it.

Harry put the disappointing stick back in his robe pocket and sighed, hoping he would find some explanation about wands and magic words in the books he had 'borrowed' from the Cormac jerk. It had been excruciatingly hard to choose only two books of magic to take with him —his overcrowded rucksack didn't admit more than that— but he thought he had chosen the ones more likely to have general explanations about things (The Standard Book of Spells and Magical Theory), if not the ones with the most attracting titles.

He fully intended to acquire all the books in the list, of course, as well as a cauldron and maybe even one of those ridiculous flying brooms. It was unfeasible to drag a stolen trunk on the run, so he couldn't take with him as many things as he would like to when he got off this train, but he could at least steal the magical money needed to buy the rest. And he could find out where that stuff was sold.

"So..." he said casually. "Where did you buy your wand?"

"I didn't," said Neville, caressing the wand as if it were indeed a living thing. "It was my father's."

Harry bit his cheek in frustration at that useless bit of information.

"And the rest of your things?" he pressed, his eyes darting towards the trunk stowed up in the luggage rack.

"I brought my mum's old telescope and scales," said Neville. "And most of her first year books, and one of her cauldrons. Gran wanted me to have everything new, except for the wand, but I..." he swallowed. "I wanted to have something of hers as well."

Great. He had chosen as a source of information the one boy in the train who didn't seem to have purchased a single thing, thought Harry with annoyance. He knew that his irritation was actually envy, though, and that what truly bothered him was that unlike him Neville had parents, and not just parents, magical parents who had passed on to him things like wands, and cauldrons, and-

Harry's internal rant was abruptly derailed when he registered the heart-wrenching sadness in the other boy's eyes and understanding fell like lead in his stomach.

"Is that why you were with your grandmother at the station?" he asked in a whisper. "You don't have parents?"

Neville looked suddenly panicked.

"I... I don't... I don't want to talk about it," he said anxiously. "P-please don't ask."

Harry nodded. He could understand that. He had never liked it when kids at school asked him why he lived with his cousin or how his parents had died.

"My parents died when I was a baby," he confided. "I never met them. You don't have to tell me about yours," he rushed to add. "I just... I know what it's like."

Neville seemed to struggle with himself for a moment.

"My parents aren't dead," he finally blurted out. "They... they're sick. Their minds... They don't recognize me when I visit them. I... I never really met them, either, not... not who they used to be. But they're alive, and I can visit. My mum... sometimes she gives me empty gum wrappers. I know she doesn't know who I am, but..."

But it's something, finished Harry in his mind, not sure whether that something made Neville's situation better or worse than his. He had thought nothing could be worse than not having parents, but that had been based on the assumption that his parents would have loved him for who he was, which gave for granted them knowing who he was.

"Please don't tell anyone!" begged the boy before Harry could recover enough to say anything, his voice desperate. "I don't want anyone at school to know, please!"

"I won't tell anyone, ever," promised Harry. "I swear."

Not that he would have a chance to say anything to anyone, of course, seeing that he wasn't going to be attending Hogwarts, but Harry would have kept the secret anyway. He had been mocked at school for being an orphan, and even more after Dudley had take upon himself to inform the class that Harry's father had been a penniless good-for-nothing. He could easily imagine how many hurtful remarks stupid bullies like that blond prat would throw at Neville for having mentally ill parents.

His earnest promise calmed down the boy, but the subject had clearly upset him on a core level and his eyes remained haunted and fearful. Trevor croaked softly in his lap, as if to comfort him, and Harry wished he could say something comforting too. What was there to say, though? And what business did he have offering comfort to the boy? Harry was far from a friend. He hadn't even introduced himself with his real name, and he was actually responsible for all the extra anguish Neville had suffered in the last fifteen minutes —he had frightened the boy warning him about the bullies; he had made him feel useless by inadvertently showing off his magic in front of him; he had brought up the subject of his parents and pressured him to reveal a secret Neville didn't feel ready to share. Harry liked the boy and felt sorry for him, but at the same time he couldn't help resenting his better fortune, and to his shame even at this moment a callous part of his mind was busy estimating how much magical money he might find in Neville's pockets —judging by the large bag of candy resting next to him, the boy's allowance must be equivalent to Dudley's— and wondering in frustration how much time he should tactfully wait before resuming his interrogation about magical stores.

Despicable.

Maybe Dudley wasn't the only reason why Harry had never had any friends. Aunt Petunia had always said that he was a nasty little boy, selfish, ungrateful, always lying and taking things he had no right to, and Harry was beginning to fear she had been more right about him than he had ever wanted to admit. He truly was a freak, after all, just like she had always said, and he truly was a selfish liar who hurt people and stole things that didn't belong to him. At this point even Harry agreed in that he probably should be locked up in that Secure Center for Incurable Criminal Boys Uncle Vernon had often threatened to send him to, since he was clearly a danger to society, and he definitely should stay away from decent people like Neville, who didn't deserve to be deceived, endangered nor robbed by the likes of him.

Feeling rotten and defective, Harry turned to gaze out the window, his half-eaten sandwich forgotten. The countryside flying by had become wilder, woods and hills having replaced the neat fields from earlier in the journey, but Harry still had to see anything fantastical or exotic that convinced him he was in a different world. For all he knew the train was heading to Scotland, and judging by the sun's position low in the sky it would reach its destination in a few more hours at most. It also seemed like the Hogwarts Express really was express, with no stops along the way, which worried Harry since it meant he would not have a chance to slip away until the train pulled in at the final station. And while part of him desperately wanted to have a look at Hogwarts before going on the run again, he feared the magical police might be waiting to catch him as soon as he put a foot on the platform. Maybe he could stay aboard and hide somewhere in the train until the cost was clear? Or would it be safer to mingle with the other students, relying on his disguise to get past the guards? Should he try to board the train again in the other direction, if it went back to London, or should he stay on this side of the barrier and try to blend into the magical world?

And what should he do right now? He was running out of time, and Harry still hadn't found out where magical supplies were sold nor how the dimensional portals worked, and he hadn't gathered much magical money yet, just a few coins here and there that for all he knew were barely enough to buy candy. If he wasn't going to interrogate Neville further nor pick his pockets, he should go find another source of information and resources instead of wasting time sitting here in silence with a boy he could never be friends with anyway.

Harry sighed.

He should get moving, he knew, but he was so tired... He was tired of running. Tired of hiding, and lying, and stealing. Tired of being alone with his terrible secrets.

He wished he could just... stop. Find somewhere safe and stay there.

He wished he didn't have to hide who he was, nor what he had done. That he could be normal, like everyone else in this train, and do normal things like playing, and laughing, and going to school.

He knew he should stop wishing and hoping for things he couldn't have, but... it was hard.

Harry didn't want to run anymore.