Obscurity of Love

Release

By the time Ron and the other boys had returned from their afternoon classes, Harry had reigned in his spectacular temper - not to mention torrents of grief - and was quietly lying on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Uh - mate?"

Ron's cautious voice did nothing to change Harry's position; he merely blinked, waiting for Ron to continue on.

"What?" he asked after a lengthy pause where Ron didn't.

Now Ron's voice was hesitant as he grew closer to Harry's bed. Harry could just see him out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione - wanted to tell you that Snape gave you a - detention tonight for missing class."

Harry groaned, finally moving. He rolled onto the side not facing Ron and looked at his watch - it was almost time for dinner.

"Great," he muttered, then added louder, "Did Hermione say when it was tonight?"

"Straight after dinner," Ron answered apologetically, and Harry finally turned to look at Ron. His friend looked distinctly uncomfortable, eyes riveted to the ground as he scuffed a nervous foot on the crimson red carpet.

It was obvious he regretted his earlier words.

Harry sighed, slowly standing up. He knew that Ron hadn't meant to say it; it was written all over his honest and open face. It just hurt Harry that he had said it.

He knew that people didn't say things they'd never thought about before. It had to exist somewhere in their subconscious, stewing there for a while. Deep down Ron had to have thought about it in at least one respect, just like he had once been jealous over Harry's wealth and popularity. Harry should know, he'd thought about the same thing over the past months ... whether he deserved to be part of their family or not.

There was no doubt that Ron cared deeply for him as a close friend, the closest in fact. They'd endured so much together before and after the war that Harry couldn't imagine a life without his red-headed friend, nor his clan of red-headed siblings and parents.

But Harry was well aware of what danger he had put Ron and his family in, more danger than what most other people who had been involved in the war were dealt with. And not only in the final battle, but in the months that had ensued before as well.

Many times following Harry fifth year, Voldemort had specifically targeted the Weasleys' for their connection with Harry. In the most successful attempts, Mr Weasley had been ambushed in an attack in the beginning of Harry's seventh year, leaving him without a leg and lucky to be alive. Months later, Percy had been killed and then during the final battle Charlie had been targeted with the very same curse that had been directed towards Hermione all those years ago in the Department of Mysteries. He, like his father, had survived, but would have mobility problems for life.

Harry had often secretly wondered in the months that had passed how could those very same people want to still have him as part of their family - the one who had caused them all this pain and loss. As much as he had wanted it, he hadn't felt he had the right to be there when Percy wasn't and Arthur and Charlie were so damaged. He had felt worthless and filthy for taking advantage of it.

Harry had only two fears in his life. One was that they too would realise over time what Harry felt was true, and just simply not want him in their presence anymore. Like with the Dursleys'. Granted, they'd never liked him in the first place, but as soon as his time with them was up, they'd kicked him out like he was yesterday's garbage; discarded without a second thought.

The other fear of Harry's was that even if they didn't realise this, they would move on with their lives nonetheless, never looking back to realise he was being left behind, amongst the grips and memories of the war that had been his only life.

And in the end, that's exactly what had made Ron's comment all the worse for Harry. All his lingering doubts, both his secret fears; they were what had been sparked. Fuelled, even by the thoughtless words.

What if they didn't want him after he graduated Hogwarts? What if they forgot about him or no longer cared about him when they went to live their lives?

Sighing inwardly this time, Harry licked his lips and went to pass Ron to the bathrooms.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him halfway and Harry didn't need to turn to know just whose hand it belonged to.

"I really didn't mean what I said," Ron began in an earnest voice, from behind Harry. His hand gently squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Malfoy just - just gets me so angry you know ... and after he said that thing about you and - and about Hermione, I just wanted to wring his bloody Pureblood neck. I really didn't mean to lash out at you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dean and Seamus watching on in interest. Not wanting to cause another scene, he casually shrugged off Ron.

"I know - I'm okay now," he said softly, even though he knew he wasn't. He didn't think anything could put a stop to what torment he had going on in his troubled little mind. "I just needed to vent too I guess."

He chanced a look at Ron as he said it and saw Ron noticeably relax.

"Good," said Ron, expelling a noisy breath. "You coming to dinner then?"

Harry hesitated slowly as he reached the bathroom door. "I - might just go down to the kitchens. I'm not really that hungry."

"You want me to join you?"

Harry shook his head. "Spend it with Hermione. I'm fine alone."

...Because that's all I'll probably end up being, Harry added silently as he shut the door behind him. He leant against it - his movements that of an old man with far too many burdens placed on his shoulders - and closed his eyes against the lump of loneliness growing suspiciously near his heart.

Alone.

~*~

Well past midnight, Harry sat on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs casually swinging back and forth over the edge. He was once again alone, a thoughtful expression marring his features as he stared out into the misty darkness.

He couldn't see much of the grounds, what the thick mist swirling around the top of the tower, but he noticed that it was a darker night than usual. Colder as well, and with only his thin pyjamas on, goose bumps had appeared long ago, covering Harry's body from his arms to his legs.

Ignoring the cold, he sighed resignedly, content to just sit there doing nothing, save for the same blank staring he had been doing in his room before detention. At least then he could at least try and forget about the flop of a day he'd had. Maybe even imagine a world where he didn't have to have any of these problems; where his parents were still alive, and the war had never happened.

Letting out a snort, Harry thought, fat chance. Ever since the Mirror of Erised incident in first year, Harry had been careful not to ever dwell too much into his own fantasies, his own dreams. Even more so since the beginning of his sixth year, when stricken by Sirius's death, he had tried to find the mirror again so he could see Sirius.

Snape had been the one to catch him once during those grieving nights, and had assigned Harry a month's worth of detentions, filled with things that had replaced Harry's reoccurring nightmares of Sirius falling through the veil, to dreams about disembowelling toads and extracting armadillo bile from dead armadillos'.

Well, he considered silently, at least the detention that night hadn't been even half as bad. Annoying and tiring yes, but not as bad as everything else that had happened that day.

In actual fact, his detention, to say the least, had been quite unusual, and dare he say it ... tame. After the expected rebuke from Snape for skipping class, he'd surprisingly only been given the task of finishing the next part of his and Malfoy's potion; the bit that he had missed in the lesson that day.

Even more surprising was the short amount of time it took for Harry to do just that. Malfoy must have taken it upon himself to do the more complicated parts of the potion during the lesson so Harry was left with doing only the simpler and less time consuming parts.

As Harry had cleaned up his work station after only half an hour of detention, Harry had wondered curiously if that was Malfoy's way of apologising for his comment earlier that day. Whatever reason it was for, Harry had been slightly relieved and didn't ponder on it any longer. He hadn't really had enough energy for doing anything but the detention.

However, that's when things had started to get slightly more complicated. Instead of assigning Harry to do more work after he'd finished, or to dismiss him, Snape had asked him to sit down.

Harry had done so hesitantly; it hadn't escaped him how weird Snape had been acting towards him the past few weeks - ever since confiscating the Marauder's Map actually.

True, Harry hadn't exactly thought much of the odd looks sent towards him during class, or the totally out of place comments when passing each other by in the hallways or at mealtimes. He'd definitely had other things to occupy his mind - like a certain disillusioned friend.

But sitting there in front of his teacher, the suspicions had returned with a force and Harry had been more than a little apprehensive at facing his menacing Potions Master.

With reason too. The questions that had followed had been completely random, asking - or rather demanding - everything from his current health and his sleep patterns, to any other subject that anyone would never consider the potions master asking.

Harry had answered guardedly, choosing to steer clear of all topics about whether or not he slept at night. It was none of Snape's business, and Snape had no right to ask those things about him ... especially if it was probably just a way to get him into trouble. Like pinning him for sneaking out after curfew or stealing more potions ingredients from Snape's office - he hadn't done the latter, at least not for a while.

Eventually Snape had desisted, and had dismissed him with something akin to suspicion in his eyes. Again, it had made Harry wonder just what it was he had supposedly done this time.

Luckily though, ever since their own ceasefire, Snape had stopped accusing him for every little rule broken at Hogwarts, and was considerably less inclined to confront him on every one of those broken rules unless he had proper, concrete proof (Dumbledore had been a major factor in that last agreement).

Harry swung his legs and chuckled almost unconsciously. Snape would have to do a lot more than question him to incriminate him on anything ... especially his constant walks after curfew. If Snape wanted to get him into trouble, he'd have to bloody well follow him and catch him in the act.

Then it suddenly and irrationally hit him.

Snape had the Marauder's Map. He would already know the answers to those questions, would already know that Harry had not been sleeping well and had been meandering around the castle almost every night.

But why hadn't Snape called it on me, Harry asked himself, furrowing a brow. Instead of asking pointless and roundabout questions, why hadn't he just taken more points and assigned a detention?

A particularly cold breeze drifting through the window caused Harry to shiver and he broke out of his thoughts to hug both arms to himself.

It shouldn't matter anyway that his question was left unanswered, Harry thought bitterly, shifting slightly on the ledge. It was happening to Harry more and more lately. What was he going to do with his life? Where was he going to go after graduation? Who was this mysterious, obscured boy accosting him at almost every possible opportunity?

The last was, of course, the most irritable.

Harry expelled an annoyed breath before resuming his blank staring into space. He had no desire to ponder on more things to make him miserable. If he had enough patience to occlude his mind, he'd be doing that right now ... unfortunately, he was too wound up to do it, and Snape had always told him he was hopeless at Occlumency when something was on his mind, gnawing away inside of him.

Footsteps suddenly sounded behind him, a familiar scuffling sort of footsteps interrupting his tranquil seclusion. Harry knew instantly who it was, that ever familiar creeping awareness sweeping over Harry even as he heard the movements.

Harry automatically stiffened amongst his place on the window ledge. He was torn between screaming for the boy to not see him like this in this pathetic mood, and pleading for the boy to just stay with him, keep him company.

"M'fraid I'm not in the mood tonight," he spoke aloud, deciding to just tell the truth. He was too weary to do otherwise.

He didn't bother to move his head to look behind him, half-expecting the figure to leave straight away. He was well aware of the fact that he had nothing on offer that night, and every other encounter of theirs had been purely physical. Why would the boy want to stay?

Sure enough, he heard the door closing, and Harry slumped back down on the ledge. The disillusioned boy obviously didn't want to stick around after all, just like Harry had thought.

Then he felt something light brush against his shoulder and settle beside him.

Harry's head shot to the invisible person now occupying the space next to him and smiled weakly, not able to show his full gratitude that small action had meant to him.

There was an expectant silence as Harry shifted his gaze back to the window.

"Bet you're wondering what I'm doing out here?" he guessed. He looked down at his dangling feet, and added musingly, "It'd be so easy to just jump, wouldn't it?"

There was a shift of fabric and Harry felt a firm grip on his thigh as though to stop him. He laughed, a bit bitterly as he looked down at the indent the invisible hand was making on his pyjama pants. "Don't worry - m'not going to do it. I wouldn't waste the life my parents gave theirs so readily for."

The grip didn't lessen, but another arm was placed around his shoulders in a reassuring manner. Harry couldn't help himself leaning into the embrace gratefully; craving the touch, and his head fitted neatly under an invisible chin. He felt the other boy swallow and was oddly touched by this strange intimacy, wanting even to trace the chin that so snugly fitted above his head, if only to prove that this other boy was real.

Harry forced back the urge because he didn't want to scare the other boy away, and after a while, he began to talk again, the invisible force giving him renewed strength.

"I came out here because I'd like to think that there were bigger things in life than having to worry about what I was going to do after I graduate," he started, deciding to tell only half the truth. He waved an arm towards the sky. "Unfortunately that little outlook hasn't helped any and I'm still stuck -"

He broke off furiously, unable to find the right words. "Sorry," he apologised, trying and failing miserably to attempt a grin. "I'm not really used to - talking about my feelings to anyone else. I - I wouldn't know where to start really."

Almost immediately, he was given another reassuring squeeze. Strangely, for a reason Harry couldn't quite comprehend, that one small squeeze made all the right words come rushing to his head, and he found himself pouring out everything; his fears for his future after graduating, worries that his friends were already moving on with their life without him, and that he would never find love.

"I just - I don't know what to do," Harry confessed at one time. "I just feel like I've outlived my purpose," he said mournfully. "Voldemort's dead. The war is over and everyone is moving on.

"Everyone that is - except me. As much as I try and fight it, this whole thing with Voldemort has been my life, so there's nothing to move onto. I can't go back to the way things used to be like Ron and Hermione. There's nothing there, except the Dursleys', who already told me they never want to see me again." Harry stopped as he bitterly remembered the last ever encounter with his Muggle relatives.

They hadn't only told him they never wanted to see him again. Despite the fact Harry had been old enough to legally use magic by the end of the summer, Uncle Vernon had done everything short of kicking him out of their lives. Well no, actually he had kicked him out of the car at King's Cross station, as well as threatened to sic the police on him if he ever showed up at their doorstep again.

Harry scowled and another light squeeze on his shoulder reminded him of the fact that he wasn't alone.

"Not that I'd willingly want to anyway," he added darkly. "I can't stand them. People would laugh if they knew all those stupid rumours were actually true." He sighed, shaking his head. "How they'd laugh even more if they knew that there's nowhere else to go for me."

"You'd think that the--" Harry's voice adopted a sarcastic pitch for the next couple of words, "--Boy-who-lived would have no problem with finding a job after Hogwarts. Surely, anybody would want to hire the stupid saviour of the world. Surely the ever powerful slayer of the Dark Lord could easily choose a job to satisfy his needs."

Harry shook his head again. "What a load of crock," he said, unable to disguise the bitterness present in his tone. "I'm the only one who doesn't have anything lined up after graduating."

He began to tick off his fingers on his right hand. One. "Ron's going to be a curse breaker with his brother. He's always been good with strategising and figuring out other people's plans. It'd be good for him." Two. "As for Hermione, she's going to be furthering S.P.E.W and at the same time doing some sort of an Arithmancy job at Diagon Alley."

Three fingers, and then he gave it up to throw his hand in the air. "Even Neville's going to be doing something straight into the upcoming summer," Harry exclaimed. "He's been signed on as an apprentice for Professor Sprout, so he can replace her as the Hogwarts Herbology Professor when she retires in a couple of years' time."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Out of them all, I'd have to say I envy Neville the most. Being able to stay at Hogwarts. This has been my home for the past seven years. I don't want to leave it - but in four months I will have to. Go out into the real world, find a place to live, find a job. It just seems so impossible to me right now."

The words hung in the air for a moment and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of why it was so impossible. Suddenly though, it seemed ridiculous to keep that in too; he'd already told the other boy everything else.

"And you know what - I hate being called the world's bloody saviour," Harry burst out vehemently, making the other boy start slightly. "I'm not - their saviour, that is. I wasn't the only one who fought in that final battle. I'm just the lucky one because I lived yet again, but so many other people did more than me and some of them are no longer here.

"I mean sure I killed Voldemort. But without Dumbledore or Snape or even Malfoy-" The figure gave an involuntary jerk and Harry stopped abruptly. "Oh yeah - you're probably wondering why I said Malfoy, especially since it's a well known fact he remained--" Harry gave a roll of the eyes, "--neutral."

"The thing is, though nobody's come straight out and told me, I've come to the conclusion that Malfoy was the one to have warned Dumbledore about the final attack. I don't know why he would want to; the only thing that came out of it was me living again, and it's another well known fact he'd rather me dead."

Harry sighed in frustration. "But every time I think I've figured him out, all it takes is one conversation with him and I'm back to square one. Loathing him and as Ron says, 'Wanting to shove that sly smirk down his throat'."

Harry shifted slightly, realising he was probably boring the other boy. "Sorry," he apologised again, a bit sheepishly. "Bet you don't want to hear me rambling on about Malfoy and the stupid war."

Invisible fingers made to thread reassuringly through Harry's as he paused yet again, but the stiffness in his knuckles made Harry twitch in pain. He pulled his left hand back abruptly with a low hiss.

For what had to be the third or fourth time, Harry apologised and hung his head down to look at the hand now lying in his lap. He'd forgotten about his injured hand until then, for some reason even forgetting about it during the detention.

The invisible fingers followed his gaze, gently moving to pluck his left wrist out of his lap, and up into the lightest part of the room.

Even without the proper lighting, the purple and blue bruising on Harry's swollen knuckles was easily noticeable, and the invisible hand gave his hand a squeeze as if to ask 'how'd it happen?'

"'Tis nothing," Harry mumbled, trying to pull away again. The other boy still wouldn't allow it; that familiar steely grip refusing to let go.

Harry sighed, surrendering his hand to the other boy's grip.

"It was just a little mishap this afternoon," he relented, looking at his suspended hand. It looked altogether strange. "Well you know how I was talking about Malfoy before?"

He waited for an invisible nod before continuing on. "Yeah well, today him and Ron were at it again, and I tried to stop them. I mean - they were both saying such harsh things to each other. I know that's what we all used to do to each other before the war and everything, but now with the war over..." Harry trailed off thoughtfully.

"It's just I felt bad for both," he confessed eventually, glad to be finally able to just let it out. "Ron's suffered so much in his life with the wealth of his family and all that. It's - always struck him so much, what with being the last boy in the family. He's always been given the hand me downs and everything he's done he's felt has already been done by his brothers."

Harry took another deep breath to gain the courage for his next words. "Then there's Malfoy. Unlike what Ron says, I think what Malfoy did by staying neutral was quite brave of him. Even if he hadn't been the one to inform us about the final battle, it still would have been just as hard for him to turn to the light side as it was to stay neutral. I mean, he had to stand and watch as his father was killed and his mother was placed in Azkaban."

"Ron and I never had to worry about which side to fight for. What with the prophecy, I never even doubted my alliances. But Malfoy had to have, otherwise why would he have backed away from becoming a Death Eater?" The question lingered in the hollow tower, and Harry realised he'd once again been venting about his supposed arch nemesis.

"I'm hopeless, aren't I?" Harry finished with a crooked smile. "This must not be very interesting for you, listening to me talk about Malfoy all the time. I bet you must be pretty bored-"

He stopped mid-sentence, shocked, as his hand had been lifted higher and the feeling of invisible lips was tenderly pressed to the back of it. Then, if that wasn't enough, a wet tongue was added to the fray, beginning to slowly trace up and down over each and every bruised knuckle. Harry found himself holding his breath at the gentle assault, not daring to move lest it stop.

When the invisible mouth did finally draw back, Harry, amidst his haze of pleasure, distantly heard a low spell spill from the other boy's lips. Almost immediately, a cold, tingling sensation ran over his entire hand, and as he reopened his eyes to look down at his newly healed hand in wonder, it took another few seconds to realise, with a startling intensity, that the other boy had spoken.

At first Harry thought he had imagined the low, sultry voice, but then it sounded again, filled with what seemed to be ... amusement? "No Harry, I could never be bored."

A smile touched Harry's lips almost self-consciously, wondering - even as he found himself seeking out his healed hand to where the other boy was sitting - at the identity of that unfamiliar, yet so enchanting voice.

A barely stifled gasp came from the other boy as Harry's hand met something warm and soft, and as his fingers investigated he realised he had grabbed at the boy's upper thigh. Cheeks flushing slightly, he went to remove it, but suddenly, invisible hands were at his shoulders, pulling him closer until Harry was very aware of the side of his left leg brushing intimately against another - admittedly invisible - one.

The forgotten hand was left pressed against the thigh.

As Harry moved his head to look towards where the boy was obviously seated, eyes flicking around the empty space, the softest and briefest of touches was felt against his lips.

He did nothing to stop the touch, even leaning in closer until he felt that light touch again. After a few moments though, the touch moved away and Harry felt strangely bereft.

"Safe-word is stop, Harry," the voice whispered seductively into Harry's ear, and Harry was more grateful than ever that the other boy wanted to warn him, wanted to keep him from feeling rushed or forced.

Harry just wasn't so sure he wanted the other boy to do that anymore, however.

"Wha-" he gasped, his voice failing him as the other boy then took hold of the lobe of his ear and drew it into a hot, wet mouth. It was a lucky thing he was still sitting; his knees were shaking in that ever familiar way. He was sure to have fallen off the ledge otherwise. Swallowing heavily, Harry tried to speak again. "What if I don't want you to?"

It had been spoken very quietly, his voice still quite breathless. But he was immediately rewarded with a bruising kiss as the figure wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him in even closer; twisting him around until their whole bodies met face on and Harry's legs were both on the opposite side of the window ledge.

This time, the feeling of their bodies next to one another sent electric shivers down Harry's body and his arms automatically went around where he guessed to be the camouflaged neck.

"Then I won't stop," the voice spoke in a soft undertone - so that Harry still couldn't quite recognise it - but the meaning was clear. Harry didn't have enough time to ponder again on who it could be before their lips met again.

Harry relaxed into the kiss, allowing the other boy to have full control over him; tasting, probing, claiming. As the kiss deepened with a fierce and passionate force, he distantly felt the hands leaving the sanctity of his waist, and then moments later his glasses being carefully removed from his face and placed somewhere on the ground. The invisible hands wasted no time in returning to cup at his chin, stroking lightly over Harry's jaw and cheeks. Harry's eyes flew shut once more as he lost himself in the moment.

Seconds, minutes or even hours passed as Harry leaned into the addictive kisses. He craved every little source of contact being given; the hand that moved to run through his hair, the other that snugly wrapped back around his waist. And of course the lips that paid homage to every part of Harry's face, and every part of Harry's heart.

When they finally broke off the fervent kisses, still touching noses, an invisible finger was lightly trailed over Harry's left cheek, from under his eye down to his chin. To his dismay, Harry realised that sometime in-between the talking and the kissing, a tear had fallen.

He went to turn away in embarrassment - he'd never let anyone see him cry before, hell he'd hardly ever allowed himself to cry either - but a hand grabbed at his chin and guided it to face forward once more.

"It's all right now," the other boy reassured him softly, and Harry felt his tear being kissed away. Harry closed his eyes at the touch, then without any warning, he found himself being crushed into an invisible chest as he was hugged tightly. After a few moments of silence, the other boy quietly continued over Harry's head. "It's going to be all right. I'm here for you."

Not being able to help it, the tears he had been holding back for so long began to helplessly trail down Harry's face, and he clung desperately to the other boy, his face burying into the chest as though he could stop the misery and anguish threatening to overcome him. A hand stroked at his back gently and he found himself losing the battle, choking back fresh sobs at the unknown but welcome touch.

"It's okay to let it out."

When the voice spoke those words in such a tender, soft tone, Harry's sobs were no longer restrained, and all the walls he'd carefully constructed around his heart collapsed against the crushing pressure.

He cried and cried, tears flowing freely down his face in a never-ending torrent. His throat became obstructed, his nose stuffy. Even squeezing his eyes shut did nothing to sway the tears. They continued to leak out from under swollen and puffy lids, falling onto the invisible but sturdy chest and soaking the other boy's clothing.

And throughout it all, he kept two clenched fists on the other boy's robe as he hung on urgently, never wanting to let go for fear of losing yet another thing from his life.

Harry didn't know how long he and his invisible shadow remained in that position, those arms unwaveringly holding him, supporting him as he poured out everything, but he was thankful for it all. It had been so long since someone had held him like this, letting him indulge in something purely for his own benefit. The last time that was so similar to this had been Molly back in fourth year, when she had held him like his mother would have were she alive.

Except this time, Harry knew it was drastically different, because this time it was like a lover holding another and it was nothing like Harry had ever experienced before.

The other boy said nothing else through Harry's torment, continuing his support with actions rather than words. Harry felt kisses placed on his hair, hands gently caressing his back, his neck.

For the first time, he felt truly loved.

When the wracking sobs did finally cease, and his tears dried up, exhaustion hit and he felt completely devoid of all emotion. An eerie, but welcome numbness had replaced the pain and anguish previously residing in his heart, and in that aftermath, he left his head on the other's camouflaged chest and his eyes fluttered close one last time.

He just needed to close his eyes for a minute ... he'd get up soon ... soon ...

~*~

When Harry next reopened his eyes, his bleary, half-opened eyes were faced with an image of the blinding sun. Scrunching up his eyes immediately with yellow spots dancing crazily underneath his lids, he furrowed deeper in his blankets and turned in his bed.

Only to find he wasn't in his bed - and he wasn't holding his blanket!

Harry sat up with a jolt and the blanketing warmth covering him fell back to the ground as he took an alarmed albeit blurry look around the room.

The Astronomy Tower? He was in the Astronomy Tower? Confusion struck as he continued to stare dumbly around the room until his eyes latched onto the object that had kept him so warm.

A robe.

Now frowning, his hand instinctively fumbled beside his thigh, searching, and after a moment, his hand struck success; a neatly folded pair of glasses now lay within his grips. He quickly placed them back on his face, and as he did so, the world once again came into perspective ... not to mention the night's events.

Mouth dropping open, Harry realised with surmounting horror what had occurred the night before. He'd fallen asleep! He'd only meant to close his eyes for a moment, but no matter how unintentional it was, he had fallen asleep! Even used the other boy as a makeshift pillow!

Harry wondered embarrassingly how long that other boy had sat with him until he had realised Harry had drifted off to sleep ... unless ...

Again, Harry reached out a questing hand beside him, this time seeking the disillusioned figure. Unfortunately, his hand only met cold ground. Disappointed, Harry gave the room one last sweeping gaze to confirm that he really was alone.

He was.

Obviously, the other boy hadn't remained with Harry throughout the night. He must have left as soon as Harry had dropped off to sleep... or soon after.

If Harry hadn't remembered with clear clarity on all that had happened the night before, Harry might have thought the whole night had been one big dream ... or nightmare, whichever way Harry might want to look at it. Nothing remained in the Astronomy Tower to indicate that the disillusioned boy had been present with him at any time. Nothing at all. Just him and his pathetic little problems.

He dropped his head in the palms of his hands, flushing with mortification. After everything that had happened, he had fallen asleep on top of it all. What if the other boy thought he was weak for breaking down like that?

Shivering, Harry hauled the robe resting in his lap around his shoulders. It was a chilly morning, and Harry's goose bumps had reappeared underneath his skimpy pyjamas. Lucky he had the thick, warm robe on hand.

Robe? - Wait a minute!

Harry's eyes lit up as he backtracked a moment, and his hands moved to clutch at the object now lying across his shoulders.

The robe! Of course, how could he so incredibly stupid? There was evidence that his mysterious friend had been up at the tower with him last night, after all. The robe!

Harry hadn't gone up to the Astronomy Tower the night before in anything but his pyjamas, so the robe certainly did not belong to him. Therefore, that meant it could only belong to his mysterious friend.

In quivering excitement at the chance to finally find out the identity of his disillusioned friend, Harry ignored the chill to hastily shake the robe off his shoulders and look for any signs or clues of ownership.

A few minutes later though, it proved fruitless and the cloak dropped helplessly back in his lap. He sighed his disappointment. It had just been a dead-end after all. A normal Hogwarts robe, no house emblems, and no unusual or specific tags as Harry had hoped. The only clue he was given was the size the other boy seemed to be, and that was a bit larger than Harry. Not that that was saying much; Harry was by far the shortest boy in his year surpassing even Neville in that regards.

Harry associated that particular problem to his relatives. Surely being in such a small, cramped place (ie; a certain cupboard), and being starved for so long would have influenced his small, rather runty stature.

Harry sighed again; he was going way off topic. What he should be doing right now is figuring out who this disillusioned boy could possibly be. After what had happened last night, Harry thought he ought to have the right to know now.

Harry thought more about the boy. One thing was for sure, he was definitely covering his tracks exceedingly well. If Harry had been in the same situation, he didn't know if he would have thought of leaving an ambiguous cloak. Surely, his Gryffindor righteousness would have first given up the robe, then questioned the action later on. Kind of like the Muggle version of shoot now, ask questions later.

Of course, he would never have even considered using the Disillusionment charm to meet up with the person they liked.

But was that it, Harry asked himself. Does this boy actually like me?

Surely after last night it shows the other boy must. Why else would he have stayed to listen to him rant and rave - and who could forget crying like there was no tomorrow.

Shifting slightly to appease his numbing body, he bit his lip and shifted his mind elsewhere. Though Harry might not have thought of it, this other boy's obvious intelligence could inevitably help him in his search. Leaving no tracks meant that this boy was no fool, and adding to the fact that he could easily perform a NEWT based charm that hadn't even been taught yet - due to the war postponing many school based lessons - he had to be within the top students at Hogwarts.

"Gah!" Harry yelled exasperatedly, banging a fist onto the unforgiving floor. This was hopeless. Going through the entire student population of the seventh year - if he was even a seventh year - was utterly hopeless. He had no time to watch every single boy - and it's not as though he could even watch any possible suspects to discover if they were the one anyway. The only thing he knew about this other boy was that he was smart, taller than Harry - oh and a great kisser. Like the last one would go well in an interrogation.

He scoffed again, and raised his hand to push a stray lock of hair out of his eye. Only when his hand was lowered again did Harry realise it had been the very same hand he had injured the day before ...

... except now it was free from pain, with not a bruise or scrape in sight.

If there was any doubt that he'd dreamt the whole night left in his mind, then there certainly wasn't now. Harry looked down at the newly healed skin over his knuckles in wonder, remembering vividly how it had felt when that other boy had gently kissed his way over every sore and bruised knuckle. His fingers almost self-consciously followed that same trail, causing a familiar tingling sensation through his hand.

What was that healing spell the other boy had used? Harry furrowed a brow in thought as he tried to remember that whispered spell. Sanos - was it? Or something of the sort? Whatever it was, Harry had never heard of it before. Probably not, though that was unsurprising because even though Harry was the Head Boy, extra curriculum study just didn't do it for him. He'd had enough work on his hands having to kill Voldemort.

A sudden prickliness in his eyes distracted him from thinking about the healing spell further, and had Harry rubbing at them. He couldn't help but wince at how swollen - and probably bloodshot - they were now.

It was hard to believe that he had actually let down his defences like that and just ... cried. Harry had never broken down like that before, never allowed anyone to hear him rant and rave, or see him cry.

But - and he'd never have thought it - finally being able to talk to someone about everything that had been bothering and haunting him for so long, had been extremely cathartic for Harry. Already, he felt cleansed, refreshed, unburdened, and there was no longer that heavy feeling around his heart every time he even so much as thought about the war and his future.

It was something he'd been needing to do for a long time ... just letting go.

Having someone to unburden himself upon had been needed too. He didn't think he would have let go like that if that other boy hadn't been there to support him. In fact, he'd always turned down anyone else who suggested he talk about it. He just didn't feel anybody else would understand ... until now.

Shifting again, this time out of the sun, Harry was reminded of the time, and curiously looked down at his watch. He gasped in horror. Class was about to start in five minutes! Potions no less!

Swearing colourfully, Harry jumped up, and after carefully folding and tucking the robe under his arm, he took off for the Tower.

~*~