The blood in Harry's veins sung, and he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream, but sound was trapped in his throat, locked far away, with no key to be found. He wanted to tear at something but his fingers wouldn't so much as twitch. He wanted to be angry, but there was something trapping him in some sort of forced calm that made him quiver with the want, the need to cry. But the tears would not come. 