Enchanted Ink

Harry Potter; The Product of Bad Influences

He tried everything. It had been two weeks since Uncle Padfoot sent a letter of activities to try and though Harry tried each one with an open mind, nothing seemed to help.

He tried reading for pleasure, but he didn't have the attention span to get in the right headspace. He tried writing down his feelings, but that only made him more anxious, as well as break a few quills. He tried flying with Ron, this time with Ginny, but after a few scrimmage games of Quidditch, the unsettling feeling was back. He tried taking walks around the castle, especially outside, but that only earned him a warning from Slughorn for roaming the grounds too much. He tried learning how to bake with Ginny and Luna in the kitchens, but that only made him frustrated when he read the instructions wrong. He tried knitting, he tried cleaning, he tried talking about things with Ron and Hermione, he tried playing chess, he tried everything, but nothing worked.

In attempts to prolong the inevitable conversation with his parents about the status of the activities, Harry opted to try the only original idea he added to the list; spending alone time in the Clock Tower. It was fairly common for other students to spend late nights in the Astronomy Tower—Harry even grew up knowing it was the place his uncle's relationship began—but after watching Dumbledore fall from the tower over a year prior, Harry could barely manage to walk past the place that once provided Harry with warmth and comfort.

Though not nearly as roomy or comfortable as the Astronomy Tower, the Clock Tower had far less foot traffic since the room at the top was seldom used. The secluded tower was one of the first things Harry stumbled upon during one of his free periods on the second day of classes, and had quickly become his spot, per say. The tower had always been seen as more of a way to pass through the castle, but Harry found a door on the side of the wall that he had never noticed before. Curiosity was clearly a trait from his parents and not Voldemort, for Harry opened the door just like he did in first year when he, Ron, and Hermione opened the door that held Fluffy. He stepped inside and found a small staircase and when he reached the top, Harry was in the room at the top of the Clock Tower, now able to oversee everyone down below.

After discovering the room, Harry dubbed it as his own little space, his own little corner of Hogwarts and spent any free time he had up there. Sometimes he'd watch the students down below as they quickly walked across the courtyard to their classes, but more often than not, he sat in silence and quietly drew in his sketchbook.

Drawing was one of Uncle Moony's favorite activities, so naturally it was one he shared with Harry, just like Uncle Padfoot shared his love of Quidditch and music with Harry. From a young age, Harry was encouraged to create art and by the time he started at Hogwarts, Harry was given a new sketchbook each Christmas from his uncle's. It was an easy task that always allowed Harry's mind to wander in the right way; with little to no panic. It kept him calm and in a time of navigating all the newfound emotions that had been repressed for the majority of his life, Harry was glad to have something to turn to when it all became too much.

But drawing only lasted so long these days, and over the past two weeks, Harry had grown seemingly frustrated by such a thing. Usually drawing was the perfect activity for Harry, but it didn't ease him like it once did, it didn't challenge him anymore. Harry let out a sigh and twirled the pencil in his hand, staring out at nothing in particular. If only he wasn't the Chosen One who had spent 17 years with part of a homicidal cult leader's soul occupying his mind.

Just as he let out another sigh, Harry jumped at the sound of the door opening down below, footsteps padding across the steps. As far as Harry was concerned, no one else knew about this space, not even McGonagall—well, she probably did, but she'd never tell anyone. He mentally cursed himself for leaving the map in his dorm, it's always the few times he doesn't carry it with him that happened to be the moments he needed it most, and waited for the unknown person to infringe on his space. He waited for the worst, though he couldn't tell if it were worse for his friends or Filch to find him, but instead found himself sighing with relief when blonde hair came into view.