Not that you could tell some days, but Harry Potter generally tried in all his classes. He tried to learn (though he'd never take as many notes as Hermione, nor ask as many questions). Magic was about motions, and how were you supposed to draw those, anyway? Hermione had her system, but Harry was sure if he looked over at Chang, or Bones, or Nott, they'd have a different one. Harry tried to memorize more than write down things, anyway. He tended to learn better if he was watching and not writing.
Today? Today was a bloody different story.
He hadn't listened a whit to the teachers, nor to anyone at lunch, breakfast or dinner.
Is it odd, to have something you desperately need to look at, and yet know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he dared not even think about it in class?
Yes, yes it was extremely odd.
Ron, Harry was pretty certain, had never felt this way. Harry was abruptly wondering if Ron could feel this way. Ron was a hothead, and even if he didn't want to talk about something, it was still pretty obvious. Harry began to think that maybe Ron couldn't move his mind off a subject... not even onto Quiddich.
The thing was, when you had something you couldn't think about... Harry'd let his mind latch onto the simplest, closest, purest things. Objects, colors. At breakfast he'd stared at Dumbledore's robe. In Tranfiguration, he'd stared out the window and tried to count the leaves that he could barely see.
Nothing as open-ended as class.
Harry didn't want to go to their Defense group meeting. He really didn't want to. But his feet turned him that way anyway, and he began waving his wand, experimentally. "Expecto Patronum" he said, over and over again, letting himself be lost in the memories. He wasn't choosing them at random, either. He was letting memories from his youngest life come into his mind, drifting slowly towards the present day.
Nothing. Not a shred of silver, not a mist, not a sparkle.
Nott was inside, quietly sharing a book with Granger. Harry marveled, for a moment. Yesterday, Malfoy had nearly been ... well, Harry wasn't sure what... to get those books.
Today, Hermione was sharing without even a hint of a fight.
Harry went back to conjuring memories. He was curious to see if any of them would work. Any memory at all. And which would be his first, he wondered?
Why had he come, Harry thought to himself. It wasn't a good idea to be here, Harry knew, not in the state he was in.
Oh. He'd gone because if he didn't, someone would look for him.
[a/n: Subconsciously, Harry's decided that actually thinking about things is better done alone. And soon.
It may seem like Snape's commentary on Bella Black is being ignored. That's because Harry's ignoring EVERYTHING right now.
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