A/N: Right, thought I'd mention school keeps me really busy, so please be patient with me, I'll try to get chapters up reasonably often, but I don't often have time to just sit an' write. This is, of course, assuming someone is reading my pathetic excuse for a story.

Habits

Harry woke bright and early the next day, as always. In the summer, he'd often wake with the sun's bright rays, and in the winter, often found that he had difficulty sleeping much later than the early hours he became accustomed to getting up at in the brighter seasons. Taking a moment to let his mind sort it self out and shed the fog of a restless sleep, he lay still and stared up at the ceiling. It was a luxury, to have the time to do so, and to be allowed so much time to sleep, even if he rarely took advantage of the privilege. Oftentimes he wouldn't be able to even if he wanted either though, riddled with nightmares and odd dreams as his nights usually were.

Within just a few moments he was ready to start his mourning and sat up, stretching a bit, before swinging his legs over the edge of the small, but comfortable, bed and going in search of a clean set of cloths. Rifling around in his canvas bag, he pulled out a few things and held them up. A once over of the shirt and he dove back in until he found what he was looking for. Inspecting the set of cloths he'd picked out, and finding them satisfyingly clean, un-torn, and the least baggy of all his too-big, faded garments, he stood and snuck quietly from the room. The floor was a bit cold but he enjoyed the feeling of the hardwood underfoot. It was somehow comforting, and helped to wake him up. Safely behind the locked door of one of the bathrooms so many of them shared, he quickly stripped, leaving his clean cloths folded on a shelf, and stepped into the shower.

When the rescue teams had arrived in his neighborhood, his house was one of the first to receive attention, as it had all but completely collapsed, but it'd taken close to an hour for them to find him. His uncle had been found first, in what had been the front room, and sent to get attention; his other two relatives were found next, and sent to… wherever they send the dead when they are first found. Harry had been locked in his cupboard, but it was to that fact that he owed his life. The small non-room had nearly collapsed, leaving the boy trapped with very little room to move, but alive and mostly unharmed. Most of his belongings had been destroyed, but he'd gathered what remained of them while he waited, and it was these same things – some of his hand-me-down cloths, an old story book, a candle – that he kept in the bag at the end of his bed. He did, of course, have a few other essentials, now that he was in a children's home, such as a toothbrush, comb, gloves, and a scarf, etc., but refrained from collecting any unnecessary items. If he wanted to read, he could pick up a book from the orphanage library, and there were plenty of games to play in the rec. room should he find himself bored. So far as he saw it, he had everything he really needed and more, and he'd only be there maybe a year or two before he aged out of the system or left it some other way.

Having scrubbed himself till his skin felt raw, Harry finally stepped from the stinging streams of water. With the flip of a switch, the fan came on as he carefully toweled himself dry and started to get dressed. He stopped, though, just as he was starting to pull his shirt over his head. The picture that looked back at him from the slowly clearing mirror had caught his eye and the pale, raven haired boy dropped his arms to look back. Forgetting the shirt that hung limp from his arms, he turned to examine himself, leaning on the sink slightly. There were some scars, most of which were an angry red-ish purple colour, some of which, from older wounds, remained light, almost white, and even a few which had yet to fully heal. His face still sported a few small scrapes, and the fading remnants of a bruise near his right temple, but they were nothing, blamed on falling debris from the attack. The sight that met his eyes when he dropped his gaze to his shoulders and back, on the other hand, was something that he could only think of as shameful and he quickly looked away. Looking up briefly once more, he ran a hand over his side, feeling his ribs under his fingers before quickly pulling his shirt on and walking back to his room to deposit his dirty laundry.

Both the boy and his guardians were aware that he hadn't had much of an appetite since his time there, but what the adults didn't know, was that he hadn't had much of one for far longer than that, and that he wasn't entirely sure he cared that he was starting to become too thin. There had been ample time during his life for him to learn well many of the ways to keep himself hidden, and he found it to be almost second nature now. The scarf and the like he found himself in possession of since he came here, of course, helped out a great deal, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to the day he'd have to give them back, as old and worn as they were. Pushing that worry from his mind, he took the aforementioned scarf from his bedpost and donned it with a gratitude he would never be able to express properly. Pulling on a pair of socks and his shoes after that, he took some of the school work he'd been receiving this past week and headed for a quiet room to work on it.

----------------------------------

It was late in the mourning when Mr. Carter found Harry, bent over a desk in one of the study rooms available to the students. The boy had yet to cease to amaze him. He was up hours earlier than most others most days, clean, quiet, and astoundingly well behaved. Admittedly, the lad didn't seem to be the brightest crayon in the box, but he worked hard and it wasn't uncommon for these children to be behind in their academics. The man stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching Harry puzzle over his maths homework, before stepping forward, intending to offer some assistance. Poor lad struggled something awful when it came to math, which, of course, made some of his other subjects less than a breeze for him.

"Hey there, what're you up to now?" he was careful to be gentle, both in sound and appearance as he spoke and came to stand near his student. As the boy's reaction suggested, he was a jumpy, nervous type, starting and often cringing or turning quickly when he was addressed. This was one of those times he cringed, rather than turning to see who was speaking to him. Stopping, the lad put his pencil down and sat quietly with his hands in his lap after hesitantly sliding his worksheet to the side a bit, for Carter to have a look. Taking the sheet of paper, he smiled for Harry to see, proud of how well he was coming along.

"This is good! You are coming along marvelously." Putting the paper down, he slid it back in front of Harry, noticing the minute smile struggling to survive in spite of the nervousness and uncertainty that plagued the boy. Crouching down and resting an elbow on the desk top to help support his weight, he pointed to the problem Harry had been working on; all the area around it was littered with erased, failed attempts at completing this part of the set.

"This one here, you seem to be having a little trouble." Carter watched as the boy fidgeted a bit before nodding slightly, the smile gone as he stared down at his hands. It concerned the man how strongly the boy reacted to perceived disappointment, to the prospect of failing to meet the proverbial bar.

Smiling a bit, trying to be encouraging, he held the pencil out to him, "I can see you are trying really hard. That's good! Can you show me how far you can get?" He'd learned quickly that the boy didn't like to speak, and, for the time being, did his best not to put him in any situations where he would find himself obligated to do so. Similarly, the warden had been quick to notice some of the other habits and preferences the boy had, such as his dislike of sitting when speaking to someone behind a desk. Some of them were a bit odd, but the majority of his behavior wasn't all that uncommon in the children and young adults that passed through this place.

Harry hesitated just a moment before taking the pencil and continuing his attempts, acutely aware of the attention on him and his work. He thought carefully about everything he did before making a single mark, working slowly, probably too slowly, but hopefully Mr. Carter wouldn't mind so much if he did well... now if only he could get it right. This math stuff wasn't like what they had at Hogwarts, it was all so complicated, and it didn't seem to make much sense to him. Hogwarts was behind him though, in the past, and out of his life. For so long he'd just wanted to disappear, and this seemed to be the way to do it, he'd have to forget about that world. Voldemort was gone, so there was no reason for him to stick around anyway.

Carter watched as the boy worked slowly, uncertain of what he was doing and paying an almost painful amount of attention and thought into his every mark, as if afraid to even start to mess up. After a few moments though, he seemed to lose track of what he was doing and become lost in thought. The man just watched for a few moments as the boys expression grew almost steadily more sober before placing a hand on his narrow shoulder and inquiring quietly if the boy was alright. Somewhat to his dismay, the lad snapped back to the present with a slight wince and shot him a quick, apologetic glance before returning, with renewed concentration, to his maths work.

A/N: I realize the story's not so interesting yet, hopefully it'll get better soon. This was going to be the first part of the first chapter, but it's already nearing 2000 words, and it's maybe half done, so i decided to just put it up now. I'll either add more to it later, or finish it in Chapter 1 Part II. Probably the second. so um, yeah, hope you like it.