Agony.

That's what Phil felt when he woke up, gasping. It surged throughout his body like a tsunami of regret, hitting him over and over again. He felt himself with his clammy hands, the spot where the demon had bit him. The spot just below his neck. His fingers traced the circle where the mark would have been if it were real. He remembered the demon's soulless, dark eyes staring him down. He shuddered.

He realized he had a terrible headache. It felt like an ax had lodged itself inside his head and was trying to get out through his eyes. Realization slowly dawned on him. "Oh, god," Phil whispered to himself. "I forgot to take my contacts out."

He jumped out the cot and ran through the nurse's wing, thanking his lucky stars that no one was awake. It seemed to be around two am, and he wondered how he was so fortunate to not have stumbled upon anyone in his nighttime stroll through the castle. He thought about how weird it would be for someone to find him, a fourth year Hufflepuff, waltzing around the castle with bloodshot eyes. "Everyone already thinks we're high all the time," he tutted to himself.

When he reached the wall just across from the kitchens and knocked in tune to Helga Hufflepuff, he sighed when he saw that the common room was blessedly vacant. He ran to his bathroom, washed his hands quickly, and took out his contacts. He remembered fondly of when Dan had told him of the non-magical contraption in first year, after Phil had announced that he would be needing glasses once he went home over the summer. Dan explained that you out little circles of plastic in your eyes and they acted as glasses. "Muggles are crazy," Phil had said to Dan after recieving this new information, and then bubbled on about writing a letter to his mum, scheduling an appointment with an eye doctor. Phil, of course, was too young to have just charmed himself in the eye and had his vision magically repaired. He wondered now how old you had to be to do that, and if they had that in the Muggle world. The Muggle's life seemed fascinating to Phil, and he would have to ask Dan about that sometime soon. He frowned when he remembered the three year hiatus their friendship had taken, the silly break they took because of a stupid word that is used too often. Hate. Phil chewed on his tongue, worrying whether either of them were going to fight again. He decided to take a brisk shower, just to wash off the dried blood among other things off him. He stripped, turned on the hot water and let the warmness hit the muscles in his neck. He stayed there for a while, because, given the circumstances, he deserved a break.

Once he had changed into dry, warm Muggle clothes Dan had lent him, he put on his glasses and figured, if he was awake, so was Dan.

He might have forgotten about Madam Pomfrey, but god knows her patients keep her up all day.

He tiptoed out his dormitory and down the long halls to the destination he had known by heart. Once he arrived at the Slytherin dungeons - er, dormitories - he repeated the password Dan had told him some two weeks ago into the hole in the door. "Fizzing whisbee," he whispered, and the door slid open without hesitation. He was glad to see that this common room, too, was empty. He wondered why there weren't any night owls like Dan crawling around. He had forgotten what day it was, being stuck in the infirmary for three days. Their date was on Friday, he had slept through Saturday, so that meant that today was Sunday. The 30th. Of January. It's my birthday already? He thought to himself. Time flies . . .

He tried to walk as quietly as he could up the flight of stairs that led to the boy's rooms, but tripped over one the steps, resulting in a dull bang. He pointed his wand at himself and whispered, "Muffliato."

He had been in Dan's room before, so he remembered which number was designated as his. Slytherins had singleton rooms, so Phil didn't have to worry about waking anyone else up. He whispered, "Alohomora," and found himself snickering at how easy it was to infiltrate a Slytherin room. He didn't understand what was so funny about it, but everything is hilarious at 3:01am.

He slowly opened the door and not to his surprise saw Dan awake, sitting on the windowsill and looking at the great lake. A few fish swam by, the murky water casting a dull green light in the room. He didn't notice when Phil opened the door, so he thought it might be funny to scare him. He slowly shut the door, and jump-tackled him from behind, wrapping his arms around the other's waist, and planting his face in the crook of Dan's neck. Dan shrieked, falling forwards against the strong glass, and whispered profanities at the other boy. Phil unmuted himself and giggled, sitting himself next to Dan. Dan soundproofed the room so no one would hear them and once he regained his composture, said, "Happy birthday, loser."

Phil stuck his tongue out at him but laughed. "Thanks. I'm officially older than you. By, like . . . Wait, are you turning fourteen in June? Ugh, that means I only have . . . " He counted the months on his fingers. "Five months to be older than you."

"O wise elder, teach me your ways," said Dan, sarcasm dripping off of each of his words. He tickled Phil until he cried. "You're eight."

Phil tried to catch his breath but couldn't. Dan produced a water bottle seemingly out of midair but later explained to Phil that he always kept a solid five in his dresser.

"Aquafina? What the hell is that?" asked Phil. "That sounds like a fish. Awh-quah-fine-ah."

Dan chuckled. "It's ah-qua-fee-nah, idiot. It's a Muggle water bottle distributing company." Phil stuck his tongue out again.

Neither of them slept.

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