Disclaimer: You know the deal. I don't own Harry Potter. Don't we all wish we did?

            Harry sadly turned over in bed so he didn't have to face Ron. He looked at the window instead, watching the sky slowly becoming lighter, until he heard a bustle around him that meant others were getting up. He turned to face the door, and he saw Ron dashing out. How long has his friend been dressed? Soon, the others left, and then Harry proceeded to get dressed himself.

He arrived in the Common Room after everyone else had gone to breakfast. He treasured the silence, and stood very still, savoring it for a moment, as he would soon encounter noise in the Great Hall, and in the corridors would hear his steps echo of the high ceilings. After a few moments of watching the sun slid across the hearthrug, Harry slid out of the portrait and wandered down the hall, ignoring the Fat Lady's comment of "A little late, aren't you my dear?"

He slid onto a seat at the end of the bench without looking to see whom he was sitting with. He didn't care.

"Hey, Harry?" said a voice. Harry looked up. Great, just his luck, to end up sitting with them. Ron was sitting next to him, Hermione across from them.

"Ron told me you're writing in the diary. You know, we're here if you ever want to talk," said Hermione.

Harry shook his head.

"Harry, what were you dreaming about?" asked Ron.

"It's his business," whispered Hermione as if Harry couldn't hear.

What are they now, my guidance counselors?

"Oh, right, sorry. I was just curious," Ron whispered back, in the same tone. If this was how they were going to treat him all year, then it was even worse. Harry gave them both a look full of emotions, and then ran out of the Great Hall and to the Transfiguration classroom, where they would be having their first class. He had slipped some toast and a bit of bacon into his hand unnoticed, and he ate it down quickly.

Soon, the entire class had lined up behind him. Professor McGonagall walked past them into the room, and they followed. Harry took his now usual seat in the back. He learned enough from there, and he was never called on because he 'never tried', like the students who sat up front. If they did not raise their hand, they were called on. The teachers had done that at first, but after seeing Harry was going just fine with his spells, they gave up. What was the point? When they called on him, he sat there, with the class staring at him. It was just a waste of time.

But today the normal routine was broken when McGonagall asked him to stay after class. I won't talk anyway, Harry thought firmly. God cares what she wants.

"Mr. Potter, you need to participate more in class."
            Harry just looked at her sullenly.
            "I know you get every spell right when we test you, but you must practice in class, too, so we can properly monitor your studies and prevent accidents from occurring. If you make a mistake when you're alone, no one can get help.

Harry couldn't keep silent. "I don't make mistakes," he whispered. "I do it right, don't you see? What's the problem?" his voice was no more than a whisper, he could not manage any more, as he had become rather hoarse.

"Everyone makes mistakes."

"Not me."

"Not possible."

"I practiced over the summer. Every spell in every book. I can do them all already."

"You made mistakes then,"

"Yes, but not now I don't."

McGonagall sighed. This was going nowhere.

"Fine. You may continue as you are. I see there is no changing your mind. Here is a note excusing your tardiness to your next class. Go."

Harry was now feeling a sense of dread. Note or not, he was doomed. He entered Snape's dungeon and sat down in his seat.

"Why are you late, Potter?" Snape spat.
            Harry mutely handed him the note. He watched Snape read it with growing tension. Since he felt less for other things, he had more thought to spare worrying how his least favorite teacher were to punish him. He ignored the entire class staring the pair of them, teacher and student.
            This time, however, Snape just nodded, handed the note back to Harry, and swept up to the front of the class. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No punishment. Then, all too late, he realized something. He was feeling. These emotions, which he had sworn to erase so that he could go through life without pain, had broken loose even potions class since the start of term. He looked around and his eyes focused on a certain red head and a bushy head of brown hair. They both quickly looked away. Great, they've noticed.
            When class had ended, Harry ran out. A nice free period with nothing to do and then, the dreaded lunch. Lunch: where the noise was loudest, louder than morning time, when everyone was half-asleep, and nighttime, when everyone was too tired to say much. He was free to sit and sulk in silence for a nice, long time. He walked out to the edge of the lake, behind the very same bush he had cried behind in hi s fifth year after Sirius' death. Now, he could sit here, tranquil on the outside, full of rage and sorrow on the inside, screaming in pain. And alone.
            Not long after he had zoned out, after he found himself seeing things other than the lake, the felt a hand on his shoulder. Alone, eh? he thought angrily.

"Harry?" it was Hermione. Just Hermione. Where Ron was, Harry had no idea.

"What," Harry muttered, and he heard a sigh of what sounded like relief and joy from Hermione. Apparently, she was ecstatic that he had spoken.

"Just wanted to see how you are." She sat down next to him. Although he was staring into the depths of the lake, he could feel Hermione's gaze on himself.

Maybe, he thought to himself, just maybe, it would be okay to talk to her a bit.

"I dunno," he muttered, shrugging. He voice was slightly hoarse, but, as expected, a rush of emotions hit him, and the lump in his throat had wetted it slightly, returning his voice to normal. "I really miss—" Harry couldn't bring himself to say it, his felt tears sliding gently down his face.

"It's okay, Harry. He misses you too."