The Greatest Kind of Magic

14. Family Matters

"This isn't funny, Liam."

Liam sighed. He'd known that this would happen, that Jessie would react like this. He wished he could've picked a better time, prepared what he would say, broken it to her gently.

The Dark Mark had put him on the spot. And he was in trouble already.

"Jess, you gotta believe me. I'm sorry I never told you before, but I just couldn't. Don't you see why I couldn't? And I'm not making this up, I swear. I mean, you saw that thing in the sky. It's not a joke, Jess."

The broken swing squeaked as Jessie angrily got to her feet. Liam took a step back, looking at Davey and Sarah for support.

"It's true, Jess," said Sarah gently. "We've known him since we were all little, and he really can do magic. It's meant to be a secret. People like us aren't meant to know. And Liam's been wanting to tell you for ages, he just never knew how."

"People like us?" said Jessie furiously. "People like us?"

"Non-magic people," Davey explained. "What do you call us again, Liam? Muckles?"

"Muggles," corrected Liam tonelessly. "I can prove it to you, Jess, I can show you my house."

Jessie clenched her fists and rolled her head back, as if looking to the heavens for an explanation. "You don't get it. I believe you can do things, I know you can do things, Liam. But you're telling me there's a whole lot of wizards out there? With... magic wands? And broomsticks, for God's sake! I mean, how much of an idiot do you think I am? Why can't you just tell me the bloody truth, Liam!"

Liam sat down on the empty swing and buried his face in his hands. He felt mind-numbingly, bone-achingly tired. "I am telling the truth, Jess," he said through his hands. "I know it sounds mad, but you gotta believe me." He looked into Jessie's eyes, silently begging her to understand. "It's not a joke, wands and broomsticks and all. There's a war on, and people have died!" he paused, allowing that to sink in. "Kids at my school've died." He bit his lip, remembering Melanie, smiling from above the common room fire. He looked at Jessie and imagined her face hanging above the fire.

Don't think that, don't you dare think that!

Jessie shook her head, as Liam struggled to force the image from his mind.

"I've been doing magic for a whole year now," said Jessie. "I've never heard of any of this. I've been studying it, Liam! D'you think I'm stupid?"

"Jess, the Ministry of Magic goes to great lengths to make sure Muggles never find out. Even after what happened tonight, I'll bet you tomorrow's papers will just say it was a gas explosion or something. They'll explain everything away, and if you saw something you weren't supposed to, they'll modify your memory." He shuddered. "You'll wake up and you won't have a clue what happened. Just a black hole in your memory. Or maybe they fill it up with something - I don't know. The only reason they didn't do it to you guys is 'cause I told them I was a wizard. I couldn't be lying, because if I wasn't a wizard, I wouldn't know there was such a thing as wizards..."

"I can do magic," said Jessie stubbornly. "I can, Liam! I can make things happen!"

"You can't Jess, I'm sorry, but you just can't! You can't become a witch, you're either born one or you're not. I don't know what you can do, but it's not magic. You convince yourself you've made something happen, but you haven't. At least not by magic."

The words were out before Liam could stop them, before he could think.

"Maybe there's different kinds of magic," said Jessie quietly. Liam saw the expression on her face and hated himself.

"I'm sorry, Jess," he said hopelessly.

"Jess," said Sarah, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You saw what happened back there, you saw that ruined house. Liam's magic can do that. It's not like your magic."

"My magic can do other things. Magic shouldn't be about fighting."

Liam sighed and put his head in his hands again. She's got a bloody good point.

Liam imagined the Dark Mark hovering over Jessie's house.

"I don't want you to get hurt, Jess," he said.

Jessie didn't even look at him.

Before Liam could think of what to say, he was blinded by the headlights of a car, which screeched to a halt beside the playground. Shielding his eyes, Liam looked up to see his mother striding towards him. He jumped to his feet. "Mum..."

"Liam Jonathan Grady, do you have any idea what time it is?" his mother asked in clipped tones. Her hair was dishevelled and she was wearing a cloak over her nightgown.

Before Liam could reply, she had grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him towards the car. "I was worried sick!" she shouted. "The Dark Mark floats up into the sky, and you're hanging around a block from where it happened? Have you completely lost your mind? Did it occur to you that we're going crazy thinking what might've happened to you?"

With an effort, Liam wrenched his arm free. "Mum, I'm sorry, but I gotta explain..."

This seemed to throw his mother into an even greater fury. "You'd better explain this, Liam!" She waved something in his face. It took Liam a few seconds to recognise his own wand. "You'd better explain to me why you're out in the streets without your wand!"

Liam couldn't believe it. "I'm not allowed to do magic in the holidays!" he protested. "What's the point of taking my wand with me?"

"The point is, there's a war on! The point is, you can't even defend yourself in an emergency! And you can't even use your brain! Death Eaters attack, and you run straight to where the Dark Mark appeared! Without a wand! And then you hang around in a park a block away, while your father and I are worrying ourselves sick!"

"But Mum..."

"No buts! Wingardium Leviosa!"

Suddenly, Liam was floating a foot above the ground, gliding swiftly towards the car. He was about to protest at this indignity, but before he could open his mouth, he was overwhelmed by sickening terror. His breath caught in his throat and darkness clouded his vision.

I'm gonna die, Jesus, I'm gonna die...

And then he was in the car, and his mother released the spell. Liam flopped down in the passenger seat, breathing heavily. The strange feeling faded away, as did the irrational thoughts. But the memory remained. Liam realised he was shaking.

His mother slammed the door after him. She turned to his stunned-looking friends. "You three, go home. Go home if you know what's good for you! This isn't a time to be out in the streets."

They didn't move.

"Go home now!"

Liam could see them looking at him, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak. After a few seconds, Davey took Sarah and Jessie by the arms and began tugging them in the direction of his house. Hesitantly, they began to walk away, looking at Liam over their shoulders. Then Davey broke into a run, and the girls followed.

Mrs Grady got into the car and drove away with a screech of tyres. The sound cut Liam's ears like a steel saw, and he finally found his voice.

"You couldn've let me explain!" he yelled, turning on his mother. "Why didn't you let me explain?"

Mrs Grady's lips tightened. "There are Death Eaters in Little Whinging, Liam!" she snapped. "What do you expect me to do?"

"You could've waited five minutes! Jessie doesn't know anything about magic, and now you've dragged me off before I could explain anything properly. She's gonna hate me, Mum, she's gonna bloody hate me because of you!"

Liam knew the accusation hit home, because his mother made no response. She drove on in silence, her lips pursed. Liam immediately felt guilty, but he refused to take it back. Everything had happened too suddenly, and anger, frustration and fear fought for space inside his stomach, twisting it into knots.

Oh Jess, please please don't do anything stupid...

In addition to all that, Liam was still shaken by the irrational terror brought on by his mother's "Wingardium Leviosa".

What in God's name was that? he thought. He shuddered involuntarily as he remembered the blackness: the terrible, overwhelming sense of horror. It wasn't like he hadn't been levitated before: his mother used the spell regularly when he was too absorbed in his music to come down to dinner. It had never affected him like this. It was like that dream when you're running away from something but your legs won't move.

Only it wasn't a dream, I wasn't asleep. And I wasn't running away from anything.

Liam wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself to stop the shivers.

Evidently, his mother noticed the movement, because she looked at him and asked, "Are you all right?" Liam could hear the anger in her voice battling with anxiety.

She's been looking for me in her nightgown, Liam realised suddenly.

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

But Mrs Grady's sharp mother eyes told her a different story. "You're shivering," she said. "Liam, what happened?" There was no mistaking the terror in her voice now. She kept turning her head, torn between watching the road and studying Liam, trying to understand what was wrong.

No way could he tell her.

Liam struggled to get the shivers under control. "I'm fine, really! I'm just a bit cold." He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. When he released it, the shaking had stopped. "This hasn't been a good night."

"Well, it hasn't been a barrel of laughs for me, either," replied Mrs Grady, the accusation returning to her voice. "I do wish you'd think about what you're doing sometimes."

She pulled up in front of their house. "Your father's been Apparating all over town, looking for you."

"Why'd you take the car, then?" Liam asked as they walked towards the house.

"Because," said Mrs Grady, unlocking the front door, "I knew I'd have a job getting you to go home without a car to force you into. If I Apparated, I'd have to levitate you all the way home."

Thank God it wasn't Dad that found me, Liam thought, fighting another bout of shivers.

Just as he was closing the door behind him, he heard a loud pop! from the lounge room, and his father's voice boomed down the hallway: "Is he here?"

"Yes," Mrs Grady called back. "I found him." As Mr Grady came striding towards them, she added, "He was lurking with his friends a block from where it happened!"

Mr Grady looked at Liam, his face set in a dangerously grim expression. "Are you completely out of your mind?" he asked quietly.

Liam rolled his eyes, though he was feeling worse by the minute. "Dad," he said, "Mum's already been through this. I mean, yeah, I was a bit stupid..."

"Don't you realise there's a war on?" Mr Grady asked. He still didn't raise his voice. For some reason, this really made Liam squirm. His mother's yell-some-sense-into-him anger was mush easier to deal with.

"Yeah, but I had to explain..."

Liam was shocked into silence when his father stepped towards him and grabbed him into a hug.

"You bloody fool. Don't you ever do that again, you hear me? There's a bloody war on - there are Death Eaters in Little Whinging, for Merlin's sake! Use your common sense, for once in your life! This isn't a bloody game!"

He released Liam.

Liam let out the breath he'd been holding. He let his father's tirade wash over him, thinking Yeah, I have been stupid, haven't I? I didn't even about them worrying. God, I really gotta start using my brain...

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I didn't think."

There was a long silence. Finally, Mrs Grady said, "Well, come on, I'll make some tea. No one's getting any sleep tonight anyway."

They went into the kitchen together.

"I just can't believe it's finally happened," said Liam's father to no-one in particular. "I can't believe they've started attacking random Muggles, and right out in the open, too."

Liam shook his head. "It wasn't random," he said, glad for the change of topic. "That house belonged to Harry Potter's relatives."

Mrs Grady gasped. "What? Is Harry Potter..."

"No, no, Harry wasn't there," said Liam quickly. "He went to his friend's house for the holidays. I guess the Death Eaters didn't know that."

"That was lucky," said Mrs Grady, pouring out the tea. "But that poor boy! He doesn't have any other relatives, does he?"

"I daresay there'd be plenty of people willing to take him in," said Mr Grady.

"Yeah," agreed Liam. "Ron's family probably would, I mean, he's his best friend. They've got a lot of kids, though, Ron's got something like five brothers... and a sister..."

"Yes, but who would turn away Harry Potter?" asked Mrs Grady. "It's so terrible for him to lose his family though."

"I don't think they got along very well," said Liam.

His mother frowned. "They're his family, Liam. They're the people who care about him." She paused, lifting her coffee cup to drink. "Anyway, random attack or not, I do not feel safe with Death Eaters on the loose in Little Whinging. What if they decide to have a bit of fun?" She set down the cup so hard that tea spilled over the edge and onto her hand. She gasped.

Liam stared at her, his stomach churning with sudden worry. "Relax, Mum! You're being paranoid."

"No, she isn't," said Mr Grady firmly, pulling out his wand to heal the burn. "You don't remember the last war, Liam. You don't know how dangerous they are, and how cruel. Your mother and I don't want you and Tara anywhere near this place, at least until we know more about what's been going on. This is a war, Liam."

"Yeah, but come on, where d'you want us to go? The war's on everywhere, isn't it?"

"Yes. So you're going back to the safest place we know. Tara's already packing. You're both going back to Hogwarts. Tonight."

***

"Dead?"

Harry couldn't believe it. The Dursleys are... dead?

"I'm afraid so, Harry," said Remus Lupin from the fire, shaking his head. "I'm terribly sorry."

Harry stared at him, still trying to force the thought to register. The Dursleys are dead!

"No... don't be... I'm..." Harry paused, trying to compose his thoughts. "How?" he said finally.

Lupin frowned. "I'm not sure I should be telling you, Harry..."

Apparently noticing the anger on Harry's face, he quickly explained: "I just don't think I should be telling you over this fire, it might not be secure. And I think Dumbledore will want to tell you himself. He'll come and see you as soon as he can."

Then Lupin did something unexpected: he reached out of the fire and put a hand on Harry's arm. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Harry." He squeezed his arm gently. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Harry sat back on his heels, frowning as he searched himself for some emotion. Misinterpreting the movement, Lupin quickly released Harry's arm.

Harry thought, the Dursleys are dead. Was he all right? He didn't know, he just didn't know. Well, it's not like we were close, is it?

Lupin was looking at him from the fire, concerned. Harry knew he had to say something.

"I'm fine, Professor. I just want to know what happened, that's all." Harry knew it was a lie.

"Remus, Harry," corrected his former teacher with a smile. "Look, Dumbledore will be there soon. And I am sorry, whatever you say."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. He could think of no other response.

"Well - I must be going, Harry," said Lupin reluctantly. "There's an awful mess for the Order to deal with. Dumbledore will explain - I'm sorry I can't. I'll see you later. But listen, if you need to talk about things - you know how to contact me."

Harry nodded again. "Bye, Professor."

"Remus, Harry," said Lupin, before disappearing from the fire.

Harry got to his feet slowly. He'd been kneeling in front of the fire to talk to Lupin. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Ron, and the twins had all been in the kitchen when Lupin's head appeared in the fire. Lupin, however, had asked them to leave, insisting that his news was for Harry's ears alone.

Harry was willing to bet his Firebolt they were all standing outside the kitchen door, anxiously waiting for him to call them.

"You can come in now," Harry said loudly. Sure enough, the door burst open and the Weasleys piled into the kitchen, all looking at Harry with worried faces.

"My aunt and uncle are dead," said Harry flatly.

There was a collective gasp of astonishment, and suddenly Mrs Weasley had her arms around Harry. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry!"

Harry felt a little bit embarrassed. "I'm okay, really," he muttered. It was nice to be hugged, but it felt like cheating, because Mrs Weasley thought he was upset, and he wasn't.

The Dursleys are dead. Harry couldn't feel anything at all. Ron and Ginny patted him awkwardly, muttering soothing words.

The fireplace whooshed green, and Dumbledore stepped into the Weasleys' kitchen, brushing soot off his robes. Immediately, everybody fell silent. Dumbledore looked at Harry with sad eyes. "I'd like to speak to Harry alone," he said quietly. "Unless, of course, Harry wants somebody to stay."

Harry swallowed, realising that whatever was coming would not be pleasant. He glanced at the concerned faces around him - the closest thing he had to a family. Even before the Dursleys had died.

"They can all stay," he said firmly. For some reason, saying that made him feel stronger.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, sitting down at the kitchen table. Harry sat down opposite him. "Harry - your aunt and uncle were killed by Death Eaters."

He paused, allowing that to sink in. Harry felt his stomach lurch.

They must've been after me - they killed the Dursleys, but they wanted to kill me...

Another thought invaded: Lucky I was here for the holidays! Harry immediately felt guilty for thinking it. The Dursleys are dead because of me...

Mrs Weasley had her hand over her mouth, an expression of horror painted on her face. "But Albus - how could they have got to them at all? I thought the house was protected! I thought... the Order..." she trailed off, glancing at Harry.

Dubledore sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yes Molly, I'm afraid the Order - I'm afraid I - have made a terrible error." He turned to Harry once more. "When you were at home for the holidays, the Order was watching the house every hour, every day. There were wards set up all around, and people were watching you to make sure you were safe. But when you weren't there, the security was slackened. It was you we were trying to protect. Nobody thought that your family might also need protection." He shook his head. "A terrible, terrible oversight on my part."

He looked at Harry with an expression Harry had never seen before, never even imagined possible on the Headmaster's wizened face: pleading. Pleading for Harry to understand. "My error, Harry," said the Headmaster quietly, "has yet again cost the lives of people close to you. I cannot even ask you for forgiveness."

But Harry shook his head, desperate to dispel Dumbledore's guilt. "No, no, it's okay, really!" Hearing his own words, Harry shook his head again, trying to put his thoughts into some kind of order. "I mean... It's not okay that they're dead, but I'll be okay, really. Don't worry about me. It was a... mistake."

It was a mistake that cost lives. Harry didn't want to be angry with Dumbledore, but that thought made him clench his fists. How could he be so stupid?

It seemed Dumbledore had been thinking the same thing. "Because of that 'mistake', two people are dead. Voldemort knew about the protection of your mother's blood, he knew that you could call your Aunt's home a refuge. Now that refuge is gone. I should have foreseen it."

And suddenly, another thought struck Harry, unexpected and horrible.

I don't have a home anymore.

Of course, Harry didn't really see the Dursleys' as home. His home for the past five-and-a-half years had been Hogwarts. But when summer came, Harry went back to the Dursleys. Like it or not, his address was Number Four, Privet Drive. His legal guardians were Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Now deceased.

"Where am I gonna go?" Harry asked, not sure whom he was addressing.

Mrs Weasley clasped his hand in hers. "Here, of course! Did you think we'd let you go anywhere else?"

Mr Weasley put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You'll be more than welcome, Harry."

"Yeah!" chorused Ron, Ginny and the twins. Fred added: "You're family, Harry, of course you'll live here." Ron nodded eagerly.

Harry didn't know how to respond. He didn't even know how to feel. He wanted to be alone: he needed time to think. "Excuse me," he said, standing up. "I just... I'm just gonna go outside for a while."

He could feel their eyes following him as he left. I'm being rude, he thought. But another voice told him: They'll understand.

In the Weasley's garden, all was quiet except the occasional giggle of a gnome. The wind rustled in the trees; an owl hooted. It was past midnight, and extremely cold. Harry's breath came out in white mist.

Harry tucked his hands into his sleeves and sat on the back porch.

The Dursleys are dead and it's because of me.

Harry shivered and hugged his knees.

He didn't like the Dursleys. Sometimes he even hated them. They'd made his childhood an absolute misery. They'd hidden the truth about his parents. They'd abused and neglected him, and never given him the slightest bit of warmth or comfort. They treated him like a pest, a slug, a cockroach. Some thing they were forced to put up with - a blemish on their lives.

Like I'm completely worthless.

And yet, sitting out there in the cold and knowing that they were dead because of him, Harry couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for his aunt and uncle. They didn't ask to be dragged into the wizarding war. They didn't deserve to die.

And Harry remembered the incident last year when the Dementors had attacked him and Dudley. He remembered the unguarded fear in Aunt Petunia's eyes as he told her about Voldemort's return. And he remembered her saying firmly to Uncle Vernon: "He stays."

Yes, even though she hated him, even though he was a danger to her family, Aunt Petunia had let Harry stay. Because she knew this could save his life.

Because of that, she was dead.

Harry put his head in his hands. How many more will die because of me? Is everyone who tries to protect me going to be killed? Is everyone who even comes near me going to be killed? What about, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys?

And the Weasleys wanted to take him in! Harry painfully, desperately wanted to let them do so. To finally have a family, a loving family full of people who cared about him - that was Harry's greatest dream. But how could he let them take him, when it would put them in so much danger? How could he, when even the horrible Dursleys, who hated him, had been murdered for taking him in? Harry's insides twisted as he thought of the possibility of the Weasleys being murdered.

"Harry."

He turned around. Ron was standing in the doorway, breathing on his hands. Harry didn't say anything.

"Harry," said Ron again, apparently unsure how to continue. He closed the back door and came to sit beside Harry. "Look, you're my best mate. You've been my best mate for five years. And, well, you're pretty much like a brother anyway. And if you came and lived with us, it'd be... it'd be great!" There was excitement in his voice. An eager smile flickered on his face.

But Harry knew he couldn't give in to that excitement. Yeah, it would be great. But it would kill you. Harry felt as if a knife was twisting in his stomach. The one thing he wanted more than anything in the world - and he had to refuse.

"Ron..."

But Ron interrupted, his tone serious once more. "No, Harry, listen." He was looking directly at Harry his face was flushed. "I know what you're gonna say: 'I'm a danger to you all, if you take me in you'll all be killed, and I couldn't have that.' I know you, Harry! And it's not gonna work!"

Ron got to his feet, fists clenched. "See, you might even be right, and if we take you in we'll be in danger. But then, if we don't take you in, you'll be in danger. And if something happened to you, well, that'd kill us all, Harry, because we're your family whether you let us take you in or not."

Harry tried to speak, but his voice got stuck. A huge lump had formed in his throat. Realising Harry wasn't about to protest, Ron started speaking again, even faster now to drive home his advantage. "So you might as well come and live with us, 'cause then we can all fight You-Know-Who together, and we'll all have a much better chance than just you alone. And we won't have to always be worrying about you, 'cause you'll be right here with us." Ron took a deep breath. "So don't even think about that "I'm-a-danger-to-you" bollocks, 'cause if you refuse to stay, Mum'll just chain you up and you'll have to stay anyway."

He crossed his arms and glared at Harry, as if daring him to protest.

Harry stared up at Ron. With an effort, he swallowed the lump. "Ron... Jesus. Well, thanks," he said finally. "I just... Are you sure?"

"Dead sure."

And suddenly, miraculously, Harry felt his face breaking into a smile. On impulse, he stood up and gave Ron a quick hug. Ron slapped his back awkwardly and pulled away, embarrassed.

But Harry felt as if a great weight had lifted off his shoulders. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, everything will be alright.

He tried to push the thought away, but it was like a spark planted in his mind. Once ignited, hope continued to burn, warming him up on the inside and making everything easier to bear.

***

Jeremy paced the empty common room, his mind in turmoil.

I can't believe I told her, he thought, running his fingers nervously through his hair.

He reached the end of the room, stopped and turned around.

Blubbering like a baby. If Father knew...

Jeremy shuddered. Oh yes, he had broken down in front of this girl he barely knew. Before he even knew it, he was telling her, through strangled sobs, about Malfoy and the Slytherins and how he hated Muggles, but he never wanted to hurt them, for Merlin's sake... "They forced me, Ellie, I had no choice! They would've killed me."

Admitting it all to her, he was also admitting it to himself. It was no use pretending: he didn't want a part in this war, he didn't want to terrorise Muggles. He certainly didn't want to be a Death Eater!

He bit down on his lip until it began to hurt. You never told me it was like this, Father! You said, "Muggles are filth" - you never said they were people! You never said I'd have to hurt them, maim them, kill them!

You never said I'd be hurt myself if I refused.

Jeremy, who had resumed pacing without even realising it, now stopped dead in his tracks.

Hurt? Oh no, not just hurt. They'll kill me. They'll kill me!

His heart began to beat faster. He had told Ellie everything. And she'd promised not to tell, but Malfoy would find out anyway, Jeremy knew. Malfoy would find out - and he'll kill me. Jeremy saw Liam Grady, stiff as a log and floating in the air. Jeremy saw the flames licking Liam's robes.

Jeremy smelt burning flesh.

I can't do that again. Malfoy will tell me to do it and I won't be able to. Then he'll know.

And he'll do it to me.

Jeremy bit his lip so hard that blood began to trickle down his chin. He could save himself, he knew. All he had to do was - do what Malfoy told him. Just do what he says, and I'll be fine.

They're just Mudbloods, aren't they? Mudbloods and blood traitors...

Burning flesh.

"I'm not a monster," he said out loud. "I'm not! I can't kill anyone!"

What if Malfoy tells me to kill?

What am I really capable of?

"I won't do it."

But there was that traitorous thought again, that sneering little voice in his head, But what if you were pushed, Jeremy Leighton, what if it was your life on the line? What would you be capable of then?

He had to get out.

Get out? How? Get out of Slytherin? Get out of Hogwarts?

But what awaited him there?

Father.

Oh no, there was no way out that way. Jeremy thought about this, thought about what his father might do to him if he ran away, or was expelled.

Get me another tutor? But no, Father wanted me at Hogwarts...

Could he, Jeremy, go home and tell his father that he did not want to torture and kill, that no human being deserved that no matter who they were? Could he face down that glare, that disappointed shake of the head, that silent rage?

Jeremy felt the tears starting again, the helpless, hopeless tears. There's no way out, there's nothing for me out there.

But what was there for him here? Could he really rebel against Malfoy, against the Slytherins? Could he at least stay out of any further attacks, make himself invisible so they wouldn't force him to do anything terrible?

Coward.

"I can't fight them alone!" he screamed to the ceiling. "I can't, not alone, I just can't..." More tears. He wiped them away angrily. They'll come back and they'll see me like this, they'll know I'm gone, they'll know I've been pretending. Get a grip, Jeremy, get a grip!

How he longed just to not be alone. One ally, one person to know how he felt and how trapped he was. One person to understand.

There was such a person. Someone who had already heard his confession, and had not turned him in to the Headmaster. Someone who had nodded sympathetically when he'd told her how sacred he was. Someone who had promised to keep his secret.

Will she really keep it? Grady's her friend, what if she decides to tell? What does she owe me, anyway?

And suddenly, Jeremy realised it didn't matter. All he wanted was not to be alone. It didn't matter if she told the world, it didn't matter if they tore him to shreds, if only he didn't have to be alone right now, right this instant.

Wiping away the last of the tears, Jeremy went in search of Ellie.