"I don't care how bad your mood is or how rude you were last night – you need some fresh air, just like me."

In the deserted common room, way too early in the morning at that, I let my gaze wander from my open pages of Crime and Punishment to Elliott, and I can't even suppress a perplexed yawn.

"Up!"

"What? Why?" I groan. "Elliott, it's five o'clock, live your life without me, I barely got a wink of sleep –"

"Move, you nightshade! It may be five o'clock in the morning, but you're not sleeping anyway! So let's go for a run!"

I chuckle in amusement, shaking my head. "No way!"

"Oh yes, you will join me! I've been on Slytherin's Quidditch team for two weeks now and –"

"I thought you hated Winky Crockett? I'm away for a few days and you make him your captain?"

"I'll be the captain, that's the goal! But for that, I have to be the best player on the field and work on my fitness. And you honestly look like you could do with some of that as well. So let's go. Come on! It's healthy. Maybe you'll fall asleep next night for a change then."

That is indeed a highly tempting prospect. I can't do the things I need to do if I can barely keep my eyes open …

"Fine," I mumble, "you win."

"Perfect!"

Less than twenty minutes later, we're actually trotting alongside the Black Lake at twilight. My head knows what we do and why, but my body still seems completely taken by surprise by this activity and time of day. It does what I ask, but not without a good dose of heart palpitations and hot flushes. I feel feverish and manic due to the fatal mixture of only sporadic eating, a vivid circus of thoughts and chronic fatigue, but maybe Elliott was right. Maybe I really do need to take more care of my system in order to face the hopeless chaos I've maneuvered myself into with open eyes.

"Will you tell me now," Elliott gasps after a while of silent, mindless running, "where you've been?"

"No," I all but say.

"Great. Sure." He shakes his head and lets his annoyed gaze move over the tall trees, while I just stare at the dark surface of the lake, basically wishing I'd just drop dead so I can stop running.

"You don't have to do everything on your own," he says after a while. "I'm your friend, Tom! You don't have to hide anything from me, regardless of what it is – I'll help you!"

"You can't help me." I stoically expel all my breath so my lungs ought to fill up again.

"And what is it between you and Harper –"

"Elliott, work on your fitness, not my willingness to talk!"

He groans and gives up. But as he can't stand the strange silence that has surrounded me my entire life, he simply updates me on what's happened in the last few weeks.
He discusses Quidditch moves with me, what was covered in class and which professor said what. And apparently I haven't missed anything that I wouldn't have long read myself.

"How are Leonora and you?" I ask at some point. Because maybe she knows how Harper is …

"She's amazing," he readily tells me, "she's attending Ancient Runes now, she's excellent at it. You know, I think we'll get married after our graduation."

"Glad to hear you're good," I murmur.

"Yeah, and doesn't that ring a bell?"

I glance at him in irritation. Was that supposed to be the start of this conversation?

"Which bell is it supposed to ring?" I play dumb, long I've practised that on Grindelwald.

Elliott, however, doesn't have patience anymore. "I'll just say it then! Harper and you must have planned something similar –"

"How do you know?"

"Leo and I visited her during the holidays," he gasps. "We thought you were both staying with her parents, of course, but –"

"I wasn't there."

"Exactly," he confirms and, much to my chagrin, picks up the pace.

"What are you doing?"

"Sprinting," he calls out. "It's good for … your blood circulation."

I run after him and groan more than I breathe, but when we drop back to our normal pace, he continues straight away. "Well, and Harper's dad raved about you, by the way."

I almost stop, I'm so taken aback by these words.
No determination to shoot me?

"He said," Elliott mumbles, "that you're part of the family since Christmas and that you really love Harper – and that you want to marry her after Hogwarts. He was really proud of you …"

"She didn't tell them," I think aloud and immediately regret it.

"What didn't she tell them? Tom?"

"Nothing at all."

"Then why did she look like her heart was going to break when her father brought it up?" His voice is dripping with reproach. "She didn't even want to explain it to Leonora afterwards, but she knows there's something wrong when Harper's so quiet."

"Quiet?"

"As though you didn't know – she just wasn't feeling well …" I'm silent until he adds, "You can't act like that doesn't concern you!"

"It does, it's just … complicated."

"What happened, Tom? She was so good for you! You were balanced and in high spirits for once, and now you come back to Hogwarts looking like you've met Death itself!"

Not exactly Death.
Just my insane family …

"Elliott, I won't talk about it. Stop pushing, otherwise –"

"It's all right!" he grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Shall we go and have breakfast then?" He pauses, panting heavily, until we walk back towards the castle and finally slow down. "At this early hour, you at least won't have to answer anyone because you're back – if you can't even tell your best friend why that is …"

"What about new clothes?" I ask, clearly more exhausted than him.

"That's the first time I've ever seen a healthy colour on your face," he quips in surprise while I just wave it off in annoyance. "We'll freshen up later," he adds. "Compared to Crockett, we're still practically flowers …"

"Everyone a flower compared to Crockett …"

Elliott chuckles to himself, nodding.

I missed hearing that. I really did. I just didn't know it …

"I missed you, Tom," he mumbles as though he could hear my thoughts as well. "And even if you don't tell me what happened, I'm glad you're back."

I can't reply.
But I've always known that Elliott is the kind of friend I don't deserve.

We make our way into the Great Hall, which is still quite deserted – and the smell of coffee alone makes me breathe a sigh of relief.

"You also have to eat something," Elliott advises as he smooths orange marmalade over five butter toasts, placing one of them right onto my empty plate. "Come on," he groans, "you can't fuel your body with black coffee alone!" He grins towards the toast. "Made with love."

"Elliott, honestly," I sigh, "I know you mean well, but –"

"Good! Then eat."

He cares. He's not letting me push him away, just like Harper wouldn't let go.
In a way, my life could have gone so well …
For as long as I can remember, I've been in places that were toxic, surrounded by misunderstandings and suspicion and situations that weren't good for me either.
But Hogwarts – Hogwarts is a home. As strange as the last few weeks have been, being here, surrounded by the usual suspects, grounds me a bit.

"What are you doing in here so early?"

Rouvenia, just as early, without a single wrinkle in her clothes, impeccably made up as always, sits down opposite us.

"Especially you," she says, glancing at me with a raised brow. "Thought you were dead, Riddle …"

"As did I. Several times."

She eyes me incredulously, shaking her head as she takes a sip of coffee.

"Ah. And that's it? No explanation? No travel report?"

"Forget about it, Rou," Elliott sighs, "he's not sharing a thing …"

"Thought so," she quietly complains as she also steals a toast from Elliott. "Just as secretive as Sullivan." She pours milk into her coffee and continues to rant, "You two really deserve each other – you could plan to take the whole of Britain over and no one would even get a clue from you, let alone suspect anything … Wait, gentlemen, tell me – have you two actually gone for a run?" She wrinkles her nose with a grin. "You smell like … outside …"

"That's a nice way of putting it," Elliott admits. "But still better than Crockett, right?"

"Everyone smells better than Crockett," Rouvenia almost repeats our words before she takes a sip of coffee and eyes me with utmost mischief. "Honestly, seeing Riddle sweaty in a jumper is something I'd never have bet on. Are you both trying to score points in Quidditch now?"

"Of course not," I immediately deny. "I'm not made for Quidditch."

"Because of my fragile wrists, I wouldn't have thought I was either," Elliott informs us. "But I'm better than I thought! Why don't you just give it a go and –"

"Over my dead body, Elliott, I like books, not clubs and quaffles …"

He can't help but grin and nods.

"Really no clubs and quaffles at all?" Rouvenia's eyes widen in mock-surprise. "Not even when Harper went to the last Quidditch game with Dean Hornby?"

I press my lips together at once. And yet, without further ado, I grab a Daily Prophet and casually claim, "Harper's free to watch Quidditch with any arrogant lunatic in my place at any given time…"

"Well, you weren't available to her as such." Rou smiles, clearly complacent. "But no worries, relax your jaw … It's good you're back, Tom – she was quite unhappy."

"Then why was she with Dean of all people –" I pause and think again. "Never mind. Doesn't matter."

She gives me a malicious grin, crossing her arms over her chest. "No, no, speak your mind, Tom."

"There's nothing more to say," I assert and go back to reading, as though the Daily Prophet was all groundbreaking today.

Elliott and Rouvenia exchange incredulous glances, but why would I care.