I only feel comfortable in closets and cupboards, he wrote in the diary a few days later. I know that when the door is closed, nothing can hurt me. Even hunger stays on the other side, waiting for me to leave, but it never enters. He curled into himself in a storage cupboard during one of his free periods, not caring that it was a little freakish to hide in a cupboard and write by wand light in an old diary that could never write back. He could hear people move outside, but Filch wouldn't come here until all the students were safely in class, if even then, and the cupboard was in far too public a place for couples to try to sneak into it for a good snog.He'd only appear at meals at the beginning or end of them, grabbing food and stuffing it in his pocket before wandering off again. No one much cared, unless they were shouting jeers at him or trying to trip him as he walked past.Nearly two weeks had gone by when he was startled just before Potions. He opened the diary and saw a neat, elegantly written request at the bottom of his latest entry, kindly asking him to pour a bottle of ink on a blank page, as the writer (whoever it was) didn't want to disturb Harry's entries.He stared at his diary in confusion, remembering when he'd watched the ink stains disappear from sight the first night he had written nearly five pages worth.Harry swallowed nervously, not really certain how to feel about handwriting appearing in his diary, especially when it never left his pocket during the day and rested under his pillow at night. That way no one could steal it, if Ron felt the urge to rifle through his trunk for whatever reason.He barely noticed when Malfoy began to taunt him again, quickly closing the book and slipping it back into his pocket.During the long and painful lesson, he was called away to have his wand weighed, and he found himself pausing in a closet and carefully opening to the last few pages of the diary and, after taking a deep and calming breath, pouring half a bottle of ink on it as he still needed some for school. He supposed he would pick up more on his next Hogsmeade visit. He would have nothing better to do, except hide from Ginny Weasley. She'd tried to comfort him a few days ago when he had been curled up in a corner of the common room, writing in the diary about the taunts and jeers from everyone, wishing that he had any other name than his own so he could be anonymous.He watched with wide eyes as the ink soaked through the pages and then began to disappear until the pages were once again clean, a neatly written Thank You appearing.The door opening suddenly caused him to slam the book shut and stuff it back into his pocket. "We are waiting for you, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said sternly.
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