Possibly the shortest piece I've ever written and published. Anyway, little drabble one shot written for:

.Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge - The Cat in the Hat

Okay

Harry could hear the sound of the other fifth year Gryffindor boys snoring in their beds. He carefully slipped from between the sheets and tiptoed down the stairs, wedging his Invisibility Cloak under his arm as he went. When he reached the Common Room, he crept across the thick carpet to the fireplace, where two identical redheaded boys sat in squishy armchairs.

The Weasley twin nearest to Harry stood up, a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper held in his thin, pale fingers. Harry took the package and slipped it under his other arm.

"Thanks, Fred," he muttered, pushing past the boy to trudge toward the portrait hole that served as a door.

The redhead cleared his throat, making Harry stop. "Harry? Are—are you okay?"

"Of course. It's just a little party in the Room of Requirement. Ernie Macmillan put me down for the difficult stuff." Harry snorted unconvincingly as the corner of his mouth turned up into a grim-looking smile.

The twins raised their eyebrows in simultaneous skepticism. "If you're sure…"

"Of course I am."

Harry continued toward the door, pausing only to throw the Cloak over himself. He slipped out, ignoring the confused looks of the Fat Lady, and hurried along the seventh floor corridor until he did, in fact, reach the Room of Requirement.

Of course it's not a party.

Harry pulled open the heavy oak door to find a couch and dark, wooden coffee table. He took a seat, leaving the Cloak on so as to remain invisible, and tore open the paper package. He set the two tall bottles of Firewhiskey beside each other in front of him.

Of course I'm not okay.

Uncorking one, Harry leaned back and took a long swig, resisting a shudder as the liquid burned down his throat.

He did this several times a week, convincing Fred and George to nick him some Firewhiskey from the Three Broomsticks for an inter-House "party" before going off and drinking himself to sleep.

I'm dying.

He couldn't ever tell them what he really used the alcohol for. And he would keep drinking until he could forget the sight of Cedric falling, of Voldemort rising. He would keep drinking until he didn't see the graveyard burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. He would keep drinking until he didn't want to die too.

But no one noticed.

I'm invisible.

Review? :)