A/N: I know this story has been on hiatus for a long time, but I'm back and I fully intend to finish this story. I've also redone the first three chapters, or rather I revamped it.

Rated M for later chapters, as it were, you were warned.

I don't own Harry Potter, and I won't say it again.

Warnings:

This an AU fic, some slight bashing in this, I'm not generally a fan of bashing, but yeah.

Language and abuse (refer to rating again).

I expect Harry to be OOC at times.

Each chapter is inspired by a different song, this one's inspired by "Porcelain Doll" by Michelle Chrisette, as was the title of the fic. I don't own the song either.

Important notes: In this fic, Daphne is a seventh year, while Harry and Blaise are sixth years. OOC Harry (for plot reasons mostly).

Chapter 1: Porcelain Doll

Daphne stormed out of the manor, being careful not to trip and hit her head on the many stairs the manor had. Her blonde hair, not yet combed from her quick departure, swung wildly as she pulled her night-shirt into its correct position.

She reached the bottom of the marble staircase and slung her bag angrily around her neck, not caring if anything fell out or if it strangled her at that point. All she cared for was her wand and her books, the latter she always kept at Tracey's house and for a reason, that being that she was always ready for a hasty retreat, and her quick retreat showed her that this was not in vain.

She was done, she was out; she was sick and tired of the trouble that came with her being a pureblood. She was expected to be perfect, expected to strive to be what her mother and her grandmother had been: cold-hearted to the outside world, fascist and somewhat bombastic – or that was the mask they gave to the outside world.

They had a certainty that they were simply better. Not just for the reason of the blood pumping through their veins, it was accompanied by not only a superior taste in things, but also a well-endowed heritage and a bulging pocket filled with gold and other monetary items.

She was expected to be a background character in the story of her own life, and that was what had insulted her mostly. She was the narrator of her life, and the life of a politician's wife didn't seem very enticing.

No climax would ever find her, whether it was in the story line or in the bedroom, were she so bold. These politician's wives knew how to go out with a facade in place that likely counted in their more amorous activities too.

The motoric moment, the dramatic exposition, would be missing from her life. She'd have to watch another have an adventure; another would be the protagonist… This moment right now, as she trooped down the stairs, was her motoric moment, because in her mind, it set the rest of her life into motion.

She was expected to want to sit on a shelf like some frail doll. That was the problem, she didn't want to sit on a shelf and gather dust. Like her mother had.

Her mother had once been a beautiful girl, much like Daphne, but she'd accepted her father's orders of marriage and blending in.

But she wasn't having it, any of it. She was not a wallflower, she wasn't meant to blend in with the background. She was meant to stand out – and she would, she herself would see to it.

She glared back at the majestic house that she'd known as a home since childhood. Her heart pained the tiniest bit as she thought of her younger sister, Astoria, but shook it off.

Astoria had a mind of her own, she could make her own decisions, there was a reason the younger sister was in Ravenclaw.

It was early, the blinding golden rays of the sun just hit the sky mere minutes ago. The sky was azure, no white puff in sight, the grass moist from the dew.

She wasn't paying attention to any of it, her bare feet trudging on the grass, a scowl in place.

That morning she'd woken up with her father calling for her, inviting her downstairs. She'd been in her pyjamas when she finally did care to show up downstairs.

Her father hadn't been alone. There was another man, two others in reality, with him. She recognised one immediately. He turned around to look at her, a nervous grin in place. He was clearly as uncomfortable as she was. She greeted him the way she always did, with a light embrace.

"Blaise, what are you doing here?" She asked him softly before offering Mr Zabini a greeting. Mr Zabini's eyes swept over her, as did her father's. She expected to be rebuked for not being dressed when they had guests, but it didn't come. She was dressed in a T-shirt and boy shorts, her usual pyjamas, her father didn't approve of it though. Privately he would, but not when they had guests.

"She will make a fine wife," Mr Zabini nodded his approval. Blaise flushed scarlet as Daphne's mouth fell open.

"What?" She heard herself ask, her voice a bit higher than normally. She immediately silently rebuked herself, she was supposed to keep a firm hand on her emotions.

Her father fixed a stern gaze on her, one she wholly ignored.

"You're set to marry Blaise, it's stipulated in the marriage contract we drew up shortly after your birth," Mr Greengrass said nonchalantly, waving his hand through the air as though it was just a bypassing subject.

Daphne gazed at Blaise, whose expression told her that he hadn't known about this rule until at the very least that morning.

"No." She said in a cold voice, her pureblood mask sliding into place. Her father should be proud of it, it was flawless.

They wanted her to be cold-hearted and brutal? They've got it, because there was no way she was marrying her best friend.

"Daphne, the matter doesn't concern you." Mr Greengrass said icily. That made her go nuts internally. She was not going to be a bystander!

"Doesn't concern me?" She gasped, "You want me to bed my best friend? You want me to make and brood perfect little children? Not a chance." She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's either marriage to him, or to be thrown out of the house and disinherited. It's ultimately your choice." Mr Greengrass said, clearly expecting her to choose the former. A year ago, she would've chosen the former, but now there was no way in hell or on earth – if she could escape her father, she would grab it with both hands and run with it as far and as quickly as she possibly could.

She looked at Blaise, and the look he was giving her was a pleading look. She didn't know what he was pleading for, though.

She thought back on how his hands felt when he swept them over her body... She shivered. Horrible. He never understood why it was wrong, but she did. She didn't call him out on it, mostly to avoid conflict, but it nauseated her. She had a way out now.

Mr Zabini would understand, he was a rather kind individual, a lot kinder than Mr Greengrass could ever hope to be. He was already eyeing her father with reproach. She felt a surge of affection for him.

"Please, Greengrass, we can always still go into business together," Mr Zabini tried. Blaise visibly relaxed, shooting his father a thankful smile.

"No, she should decide what's of importance to her." Mr Greengrass held his ground, his strong jaw set.

Daphne had known what was important to her a long time ago, almost a year ago she'd made the realisation, and pureblood nuances and mannerisms wasn't one of them, nor were her father's feelings.

She grinned at her father, who took this as a good sign, seeing as his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. She turned heel and jogged up the stairs, leaving the three men confused.

In her bedroom she searched for her wand, her hairbrush, a photograph of herself and her sister, a few items of clothing and the necessities, all her books and school items were at Tracey's house – a wise decision in her opinion, her journal, and stuffed it into a bag she had. As an afterthought she shoved some of the money she had in her possession and the jewellery she'd been gifted over the years (she kept it in a magically enlarged case) into the bag and forced it shut. She didn't care for the trinkets, but she would need money to live, and she was certain the trinkets would gather up something.

She glanced back at her room one last time before she shut the door firmly, casting a charm on the room to remain both unharmed and locked, even from Astoria.

She made her way down the stairs again, walked up to the three men and made a small bow.

"I shan't be marrying Blaise, papa," She said in a child's voice, "I shall be leaving the manor at once." She gave her father a military salute before turning to her best friend.

"I'm sorry, Blaise, I can't marry you." She smiled at him, knowing he'd understand her usage of his nickname would make him understand that he was still her best friend. He drew her closer and embraced her.

"Thank you," He whispered into her ear, pressing a slight kiss to her pale cheek.

"And Mr Zabini..." She looked at the older wizard. "Well, thank you for trying." She nodded to him over Blaise's shoulder.

She let Blaise go, her hand lingering in his briefly, before marching out the door and down the marble stairs.

As she said, she was not going to be put on a shelf to gather dust.

She would never be able to love Blaise the way he deserved to be loved; her heart would always be yearning for more. Blaise was a dear, but he wasn't hers.

She disapparated once she was outside the boundaries, having passed her test only two months prior.

She hated the feeling of being pressed into a void, a suffocating darkness that left her breathless. She always retched afterwards; she just couldn't get used to the sensation, and was glad that she hadn't eaten yet. She held onto a wall, dry heaving for a minute before looking up.

She had no idea where she was. She'd been focusing on Diagon Alley, but she certainly wasn't there – the street she was in lacked any magical qualities whatsoever. Even with the Dark Lord's rise, the street would have at least some people in it, this one had none whatsoever.

Looking around she spotted a small plate with a street name on it. Sadly, this tiny plate was so old and exposed to the elements that she could just make out the't' at the end of the street's name.

She didn't know where to go. Anywhere was better than her, now previous, home. She could go to Tracey's, but that was where they'd look for her first. Or in Diagon Alley, as a matter of fact, so this mishap with the apparating was actually a blessing in disguise.

Her father wouldn't let her go that easily, she knew, he'd search for her until he talked her into marrying Blaise, he was just that damn persuasive. Even if Mr Zabini did support her, her father could do wonders with words. It also meant her father could always manage to get to her, and that was something she hated.

She should go to the last place they would think of.

She groaned, that meant she'd have to hide with a Gryffindor. Mr Greengrass wouldn't know of her policy of respecting all houses, he'd think she'd stay as far away from them as she possibly could.

It was the perfect solution, yet one problem remained at the surface of her mind: she wasn't exactly friendly with the lions, and she had no idea where to find one short of visiting the African fields.

She sighed inwardly, she hadn't thought this through. There was a reason Astoria was the Ravenclaw between them, after all.

She decided to start walking around until she saw some people and could ask them where she was. She didn't even care that she was in her pyjamas and had no shoes on.

Soon Daphne found herself out of the business area and a suburb with houses that looked annoyingly alike. The bourgeoisie lived her, striving for a perfection they'd never reach, in a way similar to the purebloods.

The difference was that the purebloods believed they'd attained perfection, avoiding the fact that they were inbred, corrupt and insane at odd intervals. Bellatrix Lestrange alone was proof of the previous statement.

She saw a park nearby. It was a perfect place to wait for the people of the suburbs to wake up. Someone had to make their way to the park, or at least past it, somewhere in the day, then she would ask them.

She walked to the side of the park, situating herself under a tree for shade.

She didn't know how long she waited, but she must've fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew a large shadow was standing over her. She looked up, her eyes half-shut from both the sun shining brightly and having just woken up.

It wasn't just the shadow that was huge; it was its owner too. A large boy, looking to be about her age, sixteen or seventeen, was looking down at her.

"You're new," Said boy grunted, his eyes swimming over her scantily clad body, much like HIS would. She shivered again, banishing him from her mind.

She nodded her head, her hand grasping her wand tightly. His eyes flickered to the movement, and his eyes rested on her wand. It seemed to frighten him, because he stood back a centimetre. Then he offered her his beefy hand.

"You need help," He said, his grunting gone, a new light shining behind his eyes, "I won't hurt you, I swear." She swore it was intelligence that was shining from behind those eyes. She was also fully aware that what she just thought was incredibly mean.

Reluctantly she accepted his hand. He pulled her to her feet (and a few feet into the air) before letting go of her quickly and motioning for her to follow him. She grabbed her bag, slinging it around her neck, ignoring the slightly burning sensation her bag was causing chafing against her neck, and followed him. She had no idea why, though.

"You need to get out of sight; Harry said something about him being back." The large boy told her over his shoulder.

"Harry?" She asked, "Not Harry Potter, surely? What'd he be doing in a muggle city?" She'd assumed that the wizard would've been cared for by a long list of suitors, provided with only the best, much like herself.

Who this "him" was, wasn't a riddle exactly. The large boy didn't answer her, but kept going. She decided, out of curiosity, to continue following him.

He came to a stop at one of the houses, opened the gate and stood aside for her to go in. Surprised by his gallantry, she entered. Perhaps this man was related to Potter somehow?

"I'm Dudley, by the way." He said offhandedly at the front door, opening it and gesturing for her to enter first.

"Dudley, is that you?" A woman's voice called as they stepped inside. Daphne winced a bit – the voice reminded her of Pansy's voice, and gosh was that girl annoying.

"Yes, mum!" He answered, wiping off his feet before entering behind her and closing the door, "Is Harry in his room?"

"Yes, Diddy," The woman appeared in the kitchen, donning a peach, flowery dress, "Who's this?" The thin woman seemed to be torn between being delighted and being distraught. She possibly thought Daphne was Dudley's girlfriend, yet she had very little on.

"Greengrass?" A disbelieving voice called. Daphne's eyes slid up the stairs to find the golden boy waiting, his wand pointed at her.

"Put that away, boy!" The lady in peach called. Harry rolled his eyes at her reaction as he ran down the stairs, not taking his wand off her.

"The first thing you ever said to me?" He demanded with his wand amazingly still. She scanned her memory, their first encounter had been in second year when she'd run into him.

"'You broke my copper scales'," She said, "Even if I'd been the one to run into you..."

"Where'd you find her, Dudley?" He ignored her second sentence, causing her to pout relentlessly. She was grateful when his eyes didn't seem to undress her.

"In the park. I saw the stick and knew she was one of your sort..." Dudley trailed off.

"Thanks, Big D," Harry half-grinned, taking Daphne's wrist and pulling her up the stairs with him. She noticed Dudley's mother's eye widening at her willingly going with Potter.

He led her to a small bedroom, closed the door behind them and trained his wand on her again. She didn't like it. She never really worried about the Trace because she'd lived with her parents, but she figured Potter was living with muggles and would come into trouble if he tried to use it.

"What do you want?" He demanded from her.

"A place to hide," She admitted, her pureblood teachings failing her, "but I can see it's a bit rough here..."

"What are you hiding from?" He asked, his voice not having changed at all. She flinched a bit.

"My father." She answered honestly. "He was trying to get me to marry Blaise..." Among other things, she added silently.

"So you came here?" He sounded sceptical.

"No!" She replied hotly, "I attempted to go to Diagon Alley! But I somehow ended up a few blocks from here!" She nearly growled. "And how would I even know where you lived?"

"Listen, I'll leave if it's such a big bother to you!" She tried, but realised that this was the best solution to her problem. Who would think of looking for her with the golden boy?

"You don't need to. The problem is, Greengrass, my family hates me and they'll hate you for not only associating with me, but also carrying one of those things," He motioned to her wand, finally lowering his own.

She nodded, satisfied, putting her wand in her bag.

"Thank you." She said gratefully. She also realised he was too accepting for someone he had never socialised with.

His wand was up again, pointed near her eyebrows, "Come on, Greengrass, do you think I'm an idiot? Your parents are known Voldemort followers, what makes you think I would trust you just like that?"

She blanched – Potter was feisty! "I don't expect you to trust me, Potter, but will you please lowering that thing? You're going to set something on fire if you wave that thing around at random!"

He pressed it closer to her to her eyebrows, "Not my pretty little face, is it, Greengrass?"

"You think it's my face I'm worried about? Potter, even I am not that vain." She spat. He lowered his wand again, this time for the final time it seemed, before he pointed at his bedroom door.

"Go. Out. If you won't tell me why you're here, then get out of my house now!" He said in a low voice, a voice that scared her more than her father's voice ever could.

"Please, Potter!" She screeched, "Don't put me out there! They… they'll find me!" Her eyes widened and she felt her eyes burning. Now that she had had a tiny taste of freedom, she wasn't ready to give it up!

"Then open your mouth, Greengrass, because I don't believe you yet." He said icily. She didn't think he could be cold, but then again, she also didn't really know him. "I'll make sure you're found, Greengrass." He added in a threat, and she couldn't stop the flow of tears anymore. She tried to blink them away, but it was as though fourteen years of not crying finally had its toll on her.

She looked up at Potter, and became aware of her entire body shaking. She couldn't believe how she was reacting! She was bloody terrified of having to go back to her father.

Potter's expression softened and he offered her a tissue.

"I'll help you, Greengrass, but just this once." He said before sitting down on his bed. She swallowed thickly and calmed down, though her body was still shaking slightly.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, until she was entirely calm and her breathing evened out, and her thoughts wandered again.

She silently wondered why his family hated him – he was Harry bloody Potter! It only made sense that the Dark Lord and his followers hated Potter. And the Slytherins. And some of the other students. And Snape. All right, so maybe the list was getting a little long.

But her pureblood teachings taught her one good thing: tact. For that she was grateful, or she'd have blurted the question of why without thought of consequence. She imagined that he was quite used to it, Weasley had no tact whatsoever, but she knew better.

Potter started to clear his bed of books and parchment, tossing the items on his already dirty floor. She'd noticed the dim lighting in his bedroom and the general mess it was in. There was his bed, which was unmade (house elves tended to make individuals extremely lazy), and she spotted a desk, which supported a large owl cage, with a very pretty, though very fierce looking, snowy white owl in it. There was also very few things in the bedroom, she noticed, nothing like a poster of a favourite Quidditch team or even a customised duvet: it was a horrible mustard colour that she couldn't stand. There was nothing that claimed this room as Potter's, as though he was merely a guest in his own home.

The owl was staring at Daphne challengingly, which made Daphne one very uncomfortable teenaged girl. She diverted her attention away from the owl to the general mess.

"Don't you ever clean, Potter?" She demanded, poking a piece of clothing with her toe. He sent her a glare over his shoulder before continuing.

"There, put your bag down. I'm going for a walk," He motioned to the now clean bed before heading towards his bedroom door.

"You can't leave me alone in here!" She shrieked, throwing her bag down on his bed. "And what about the Dark Lord?"

"Well, Greengrass, I don't plan on spending the entire day with you in my bedroom!" He replied hotly, crossing his arms. "And Voldemort can't touch me here."

"But what do I do?" She noticed how small she sounded, and she hated it. She didn't wince at the Dark Lord's name – it was what she called him in her mind. She didn't like being bored, then her mind wandered to dangerous places.

"You get dressed, for one; Dudley couldn't stop ogling you," He said, "then I suggest you introduce yourself to the people downstairs, you'll be staying in their house for goodness knows how long."

She paled – if her father knew how she'd acted in someone else's house, she'd have gotten one of his legendary tongue lashings.

"All right." She agreed as he exited the room to give her some privacy. She quickly changed into a pair of dark trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, some of the only items that were muggle-made that her parents had allowed her. Correction, her father had allowed her. Her mother wasn't exactly there; she just stayed in the background. She wasn't much of a mother, Daphne had to learn from other girls what it meant to be a woman.

She drew the brush through her straw-coloured hair before leaving the room, pondering why her mother was such a vacant maternal figure. She was surprised to find him waiting for her, leaning against the wall lazily. Typical Gryffindor – no Slytherin would be caught dead with a slouchy posture.

"Don't get your hopes up; I'm here to help you deal with the Dursleys." He told her, guiding her down the stairs again.

"Always the Gryffindor, aren't you, Potter?" She taunted him. She saw him roll his eyes at her, probably highly annoyed at this point.

"I was almost one of you, Greengrass; don't forget I can become equally vicious and violent." He said in a sweet voice, matching it with a smile. She was convinced he'd have made a fine Slytherin, even if Gryffindor simply fit him better. He was brave, more than any Slytherin she knew was, and he valued chivalry. He could teach the Slytherin boys a thing or two.

Dudley was waiting for them. Harry looked up at his cousin, a frown crossing his features.

"Thank you." Daphne piped up, trying not to be intimidated by his size. He nodded down at her, with a slight smile.

"Why, Dudley?" Potter asked his cousin, confused from what Daphne could tell. She vaguely wondered why Potter would be confused at his cousin's help. Wasn't that what families (beside her own, that was) was for?

"Last year, Harry, you – you saved me." Dudley said. Daphne laughed internally – Potter saved his cousin, how typical.

She watched as Potter's expression softened. Dudley stuck out a hand towards Potter. The latter eyed it, unsure, before accepting it. The two boys shook.

She was right, she thought. She'd always assumed that Potter had a thing for saving people, and here was proof. It was obvious he didn't feel much for his cousin, but still he saved him.

"Where's your mum?" Potter asked. Dudley jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

"I'm Daphne," Daphne introduced herself, offering a hand to Dudley. "I'm a..."

"Friend of Harry's?" Dudley guessed, taking her hand. She nodded, knowing full well what she and Potter were certainly wasn't friends, they weren't even acquaintances! To the outside world they hated one another with every fibre of their being... But she couldn't explain the how and why.

"Pleasure." He replied, surprising Potter.

"What else, Dudley? I didn't know you could speak more than three words!" Potter sounded genuinely surprised.

And Daphne wanted to kick him; he had as much tact as Weasley.

Dudley, however, laughed. "You're never here, Harry..."

Potter shrugged, but grinned. "We should do something, Big D."

"Yes, we should. Now, onto my mother..." He sighed, leading them to the kitchen.

Daphne wasn't frightened of the woman, no, just wary. She was thin and unbelievably bony. Daphne wondered how her son could be so large while she was so thin – it wasn't logical... And she wanted to introduce Pansy to this woman – she had a feeling they would get along well. That is, after this particular woman stopped looking at Potter with badly disguised disgust. She didn't look attractive with her lip pulled that way.

"Good day, ma'am," Daphne said brightly as the woman turned to face her, "I'm Daphne Greengrass." She extended a hand to her.

Dudley cleared his throat loudly. Mrs Dursley looked at him, nodded and accepted Daphne's hand briefly – as if she was afraid Daphne had rabies.

"Petunia Dursley," She introduced herself, "Are you a friend of Harry's?"

"You could say that." Daphne inclined her head. Potter stood to the side, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dudley clapped a hand on Potter's shoulder, nearly causing him to fall to the floor.

"Come on," Potter said lowly, eyeing his siblings with distrust before slowly looking up at her, "You and I need to talk."

She hated it when someone said that. It sounded like what Theo'd said just before he broke it off with her.

It was silly of her to remember it, but she did. What was more, she didn't miss Theodore. She didn't get attached to boys; she was still young, after all. Theo was still her first love, though.

She flashed Mrs Dursley another bright smile before following the Gryffindor out the front door.

"Dumbledore's visiting in a few days," He started as she fell into step next to him, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I'm going to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer."

She didn't answer; she didn't know what to say. She knew Dumbledore would find a place for her to stay, but she couldn't count on it.

"Don't worry, Potter, I'll be out of your hair soon enough," She reassured him with a lie. He snorted in reply.

"For a Slytherin, you're an awful liar." He spat. She was offended, but she couldn't blame him for that prejudice: Pansy, Draco and Flint were notorious liars and attention seekers.

"I'm sorry for whatever I've done to you, Potter, but why do you insist on being such a bigot?" She wanted to say 'idiot', but managed to withhold.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. His glasses were a fashion travesty, Daphne thought, but it was part the look he had; if he suddenly wore fashionable glasses, people would start to worry.

"I don't mean to, I'm sorry," He said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "It's just been hard." She raised a pale eyebrow – what had been so hard for him, exactly?

"It's fine, Potter." She said softly, going out of her way not to sound snooty.

"Why'd you leave, Greengrass? I thought you and Zabini were friends?" He asked. No tact. At all.

"None of your business." She heard herself snap at him. She didn't normally snap, but she was tired, hungry and grumpy.

"You're the one that sought help, now you're being short? You know, I didn't need to let you stay." He said, giving a sneer that would make even Draco jealous. He still had a long way to go until he reached Snape's level though.

"I didn't ask for help! Dudley saw me, and my wand, and just took me to your house! I saw you and grabbed the opportunity – who would think to look for me in the home of the great Harry Potter?" She knew she was teetering on the edge, she wouldn't be surprised if Potter decided to give her a fist in the face.

But he didn't, he stayed calm.

"You didn't answer my question." He said lamely, though she didn't miss him setting his jaw.

"Blaise is my best friend and all, but we have no other feelings towards each other," She admitted, "And I don't want to be like every other pureblood woman out there, acting like a perfect little pawn for her husband."

He grinned, "So, it's about the sex?"

No tact. Whatsoever. She did admire his skills of deduction, or half-deduction actually. She wouldn't have made that conclusion.

"Yes, Potter, because everything in life is about sex." She mocked him. He shrugged, nonchalant. But she knew he was right, if there wasn't any passion in her relationship, she'd be bored. "It's about understanding, Potter. Call me clichéd, but I want to want my partner."

"How on earth did we come to the topic of what you want in your relationship? I asked if it was about sex, not what you want."

Harry's words cut her. She felt his hands on her body again, that was the reason she didn't get attached, that she didn't even feel safe touching herself. All his fault!

She was about to lash back at Harry when she saw him. Really saw him. His emerald eyes were lacking a certain sparkle, dark circles around his eyes and a sickly pale complexion.

She took a step back – she hadn't noticed how… miserable Potter looked. He looked worse than someone who had a spent a year in Azkaban. His shoulders were slumped, and if there was one thing she noticed at school, it was Potter's proud posture. His mouth was refusing to smile, to even try to smile, and that was worrying.

"Are you all right, Potter?" She didn't know why she asked, she didn't care. She blamed curiosity. Curiosity was a bad ailment that all human beings had, sadly, and she was not immune to it.

"Tired." He said, rubbing his eyes again. He reminded her so much of a toddler. She also knew he was lying through his teeth, because someone who looked miserable didn't come across as simply fatigued.

She turned around, making to return to the house they'd just left. He meekly followed her, not saying anything. She just made sure that he was following her.

...

A/N: Please review.