There was a slight shuffling sound as Harry Potter looked for his pen in a large khaki bag, making McGonagall scowl slightly as she turned from the blackboard.
The seventh-year's long fingers reached a ballpoint before the man brought it out to take the professor's notes. He tinged slightly at the woman's toxic glare but bowed his head and started to write.
How boring… who wants to know about the Latin anyways—it was boring and pointless. The gang of sniggering morons in the corner, namely Malfoy and his groupies, did not make the class any better either.
Harry frowned and swore softly as an onslaught of ink pierced the clean parchment when he pressed too hard. The sandy-haired man beside him chuckled and handed him another pen under the desk. Harry gave a slight nod back in gratitude, glad that Seamus wasn't an asshole like the others.
Harry Potter, at age 18, had never fit into Eldingham's Academy for Boys. Well, 'never' was an unstable term—he had made friends after all, but the feeling of 'home' never accompanied this place. He had been here for 7 years, been utterly screwed for 7 years, having to survive the ridicules of Malfoy and company and the questioning glances from various professors… The walls of the Academy just felt strange all the time, and he often wandered the hallways alone. Now, it wasn't that he was a loner… People liked him, that was true enough, but there was always some strange sterility between him and everyone else.
Harry had convinced himself that it must be his fault. After all, no one had any problem with him, but it was he that had problems with them.
He wouldn't be here though, if his godfather hadn't been convicted of grand theft auto and corruption and was to serve 15 years in prison. Then again, if his parents hadn't died in the first place, the whole hellish waste of 7 years would have been avoided too. Child Services had opted to—instead of placing him in foster care—use his parent's and Sirius's funds to send him to a good boarding school. They said it was kinder. Harry couldn't be sure it was but he was sure anything was better than this barren feeling that always clung to him like a particularly annoying bur.
There was another cough as McGonagall gave him another sharp glare.
"Mr. Potter, I imagine there must be something very interesting in your mind for you to not pay attention to my lesson?"
Further giggles bloomed from the back of the room with a small chuckle thrown in, presumably from Malfoy. Harry didn't bother turning his head to check. He didn't really need to, however, because the blond man chimed in snidely a moment later.
"Perhaps, Professor, there is nothing in his mind at all? The thought wouldn't surprise me too much."