Harry sat in ashamed silence. He understood the uncomfortable and depressed feeling of not being loved, or acknowledged. When he was alone he took off his mask, and wallowed in the sensations of worthlessness. Tears rolled down his cheeks silently, he didn’t, however, know why. It was a mystery to him and he always pondered it. He never knew how he was supposed to be treated, he thought it was normal. He didn’t know that being unloved was wrong because he had nothing to compare it to, the only people he had ever met were his parents, a man named Padfoot that he only saw a few times, Moony (which was his favorite), and a man with a longo white beard that gives him the creeps. Guilt was always a factor in his life. He thought that he was doing something wrong to his parents. He tried being happier, whinier, cuter, more independent etc. It wouldn’t work and now he just doesn’t even try. He was always very intelligent, almost prodigious, and already knew how to speak; though he hasn’t tried doing it yet because he was afraid his parents wouldn’t like it. Being in this state was worse than useless; he calmed down and tucked away his emotions. Self-pity would get him nowhere.