Harry shifted positions in his bed for what was easily the hundredth time that night, rolling onto his front and burying his face in the pillow.

He couldn't sleep.

It was his first night in the Gryffindor tower after being sorted into the house earlier that same day, and the excitement of the new adventure was somewhat hindered by the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could it be that he, Harry James Potter, was.... homesick?

No, 'homesick' wasn't the right word. After all, he had already been living in the castle for six years now. He was at home, he just wasn't with...

Daddy...

Sure, Harry had spent the occasional night away from Hogwarts before now- the odd sleepover here and there. But nothing like this. It all just felt so... final.

Shaking his head, he turned onto his side again, squeezing his eyes tight shut as tears threatened to spring forth.

Stupid. Just being stupid.

Harry pulled the crisp new bed sheets over his head. They felt scratchy. Everything was just so unfamiliar...

Want my Daddy...

Harry bit down hard on his thumb, as if to distract himself.

Don't be such a baby!

At the age of 11, it had been some time since he'd referred to the man as 'Daddy.'

And anyhow, Harry reminded himself, his Dad wasn't so far away.

Just across the corridor, down four flights of stairs, through the archways, across the courtyard, down the winding staircase deep below into the dungeons...

It seemed fairly far away, right then. And no matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't help but feel five years old again.

Want my Daddy, my dark man.

A soft yet familiar voice brought Harry momentarily from his thoughts, and he sat up in bed as a dim light seeped into the room.

Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, he watched as Professor McGonagall lead a sniffling Neville back to his bed.

 “It's quite alright, Mr Longbottom. You will see your Grandmother very soon, I assure you,” she told him in hushed tones, as she straightened the covers around him. “To sleep with you now, you've got a busy day tomorrow.”

Straightening up, the professor made back toward the door before she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision.

Silently, she moved across to sit on the edge of Harry's bed.

 “It's very late, Mr Potter,” she informed him, though there was no sternness in her voice.

 “Is Neville okay?” Harry asked weakly.

 “Don't worry about young Mr Longbottom, he will be fine. Just a touch of homesickness,” McGonagall informed him, reaching out her hand to wipe at his damp cheeks. “And it would seem that he isn't the only one.”

 “I'm not sure I'm homesick, Professor,” he told her, his voice barely above a whisper. “But... do you think you can get peoplesick?”

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and she brushed a hand through the boy's unruly hair. “Oh, I am certain you can, Mr Potter. Especially when you love somebody very much.”

 “I miss him,” was his only response.

 “And he misses you. Of that I am sure.”

Harry glanced up at her, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. “Do you think he's okay? All alone, in the dungeons...”

 “He will be fine, Harry. As will you. Now if I were you, I would concentrate on getting to sleep. After all,” she murmured, taking out her wand and illuminating its tip, so that she could better see the timetable which lay atop Harry's trunk. “You have Double Potions tomorrow morning.”

Smiling, Harry lay back against his pillows once more. “Goodnight, Professor.”

 “Goodnight, Mr Potter.”

With that, the deputy headmistress made her way out of the boy's dormitory, and down the winding steps which lead to the Gryffindor common room.

As she neared a particularly tight twist in the staircase she stopped, to allow another figure to pass her by in the opposite direction.

Had it been any other night, she most certainly would have questioned it. But tonight? No, she was not in the least bit surprised. Maybe Harry wasn't the only one to experience this 'peoplesickness.'

Inclining her head at the new arrival, Minerva McGonagall allowed herself a small smile.

 “Good evening, Severus.”