Harry slipped into the Great Hall softly, his body sleek from the damp shower of the early morning. Glancing about, noting the stifling emptiness of the place, he made a quiet beeline for the Gryffindor table before veering off course.

Instead he settled at the Ravenclaw table, hardly caring. Actually, he found it a bit thrilling. He rarely took up residence for a meal at another House Table, though he knew many that did. The drawbacks, apparently, of having friends, basically, all from the same house.

Reaching forward, he shoveled some eggs and bacon onto his plate from the steaming, fresh food, sitting so far back upon the bench that his legs swung a bit. He felt almost like a little boy, swinging his legs like so, but had a picture been snapped of him, it would’ve been quite apparent that he looked rather strange indeed.

Sitting so far back that his arse was on the very edge, his usually cropped legs swung back and forth, utterly swaying the mere imagine of him being a Hero—an Adult. He was the Savior of the World, he was even a murderer (even if no one acknowledged that part.). Heroes, murderers (unless mentally ill) didn’t sit on benches, swinging their legs, secretly enjoying a simple meal of eggs and bacon.

Alas, no one truly knew the mind of Harry Potter, now did they?

Though as a few minutes drifted by, the thick, rigid silence of the Great Hall was bothersome. So unusual it was, so irksome even, having to sit in complete silence in a Hall usually so filled with chatter, laughter, and people that it crawled, creakingly, into his bones.

Setting his fork down, he straightened out, legs firmly planting themselves upon the ground, and he cupped his forehead, staring at the table tiredly. Lost? Was he lost?

As if in answer to his question (rather disputing it or confirming it) the door to the Great Hall creaked open and someone slinked in. Not too caring to lift his eyes up, he frayed out his hair a bit more, dragging his fingers through it.

“You do realize, Mr. Potter, that your table is Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw?” Snape’s silky voice seeped over him, causing his shoulders to tense. Uggh, he didn’t want to deal with that man.

“Yes sir, I very much recall that,” he looked up scathingly. “I’m merely failing to acknowledge that.”

“You’ll do well to watch your tone, Potter,” the man growled out darkly. “I daresay we’ve had this conversation far too many times for my liking.” He turned away, sharply. “The consequences of having it again will not be pretty.”

With that stated, he stalked off, robes billowing out behind him as he made toward the Head Table.

“Is a simple, ‘Good Morning,’ beyond your witty reach, Professor?” Harry sighed quietly, though a dry voice mockingly told him that it was so. Ever so.

The silence between the two of them in the Great Hall was just as bad as the solitude silence, but luckily, it didn’t last long as Ginny seemed quick to respond to Harry’s silent pleading for company.

She stepped in, took one sweeping glance, walked over and joined Harry at the Ravenclaw table, seemingly empty of questions. “Morning, Harry.”

“Morning,” he smiled at her lopsidedly. Collecting her plate full of food, they fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the meal.