Attention
Harry walked through the train station deep in thought. This last summer had been one of his worst ones yet. The Dursleys were starting to get used to him being away at school, so him coming back each summer was hard for both the Dursleys and Harry to adjust back to. They tried to pretend that he didn't exist like "forgetting" to make him food or throwing away all the mail that came for him. Which wasn't much, but still, it hurt. The only thing that had kept him going this summer had been his soulmate. Yes, he knows it sounds cheesy, but it was true. The only reason he had the courage to get up and face each day head on was because of the sweet little messages he woke up to each morning and the beautiful "tattoos" that his soulmate would occasionally give him. Harry didn't like to brag, but his soulmate had to be the most talented person on the planet. Every single thing they drew was gorgeous. Even their handwriting was immaculate. That was one thing that Harry was jealous of. Why couldn't his handwriting be nice like that?
Harry came to a stop in front of the Hogwarts platform, 9 ¾. He didn't exactly feel like going back to school, but it was better than being back at the Dursleys. He sighed and took a step back, tightening his grip on all his luggage before lunging towards the "wall" in front of him. If anyone had been watching him, they would have thought he was a lunatic. But when they blinked, they would have thought themselves a lunatic, because he was gone. Harry slowed down to a jog as he moved towards the train. He had purposely gotten there early, mostly to get away from the Dursleys sooner, but partly because he wanted to write to his soulmate. Harry didn't communicate with his soulmate much, and when he did, it was just random stuff not worthy of note. His soulmate always got excited when he wrote to him though. He wouldn't admit it, but the reason Harry didn't like to write to his soulmate was because he didn't feel worthy of them. Harry had grown up being told that he was useless and worthless. A waste of space. It was his fault his parents were dead and they wouldn't have loved him even if they were still alive. Then, all of a sudden, the world was shoved onto his back and he was the one destined to save it from the "evil villain". No, it would be better if his soulmate, whoever they were, didn't have to be burdened by a useless not-so-nobody like him.
Stepping onto the train, Harry quickly made his way to one of the farthest cars and stowed his baggage above his seat. It looked like he was the only person on the train. Perfect. He pouted as he grabbed a pen and tried to decide where and what to write. He hated not knowing what to say. And what if his soulmate got mad at him because he wrote in a bad place? What if it was against the rules in their family or school or job to have soulmate marks visible on them? What if they were muggle born and had to cover everything up so that the muggles around them didn't question them? What if - what if they were always faking it and actually hated it when he wrote to them? Discouraged, Harry settled with writing a simple, "Hope you have a good day" on the inside of his left wrist. Dropping the pen back into his bag, Harry deemed it a good time to take a nap.
Harry woke with a start to the feeling of a sharp object scraping across his skin. He groaned and dropped his arm across his eyes, wishing he wasn't so sensitive to his soulmate writing on him. His soulmate always seemed to use quills and ink, so it was always a sharp scraping. It didn't really hurt, it was just, different. He had never been able to describe the feeling very well. Ron was constantly worried about him jumping awake in the middle of the night because his soulmate had decided to talk or draw. No one else seemed to be as sensitive as Harry. They all slept through it just fine, although, most soulmates didn't communicate during the night. Harry's was a special case. He wondered briefly if his soulmate had insomnia. He wouldn't put it past them.
Slowly, Harry sat up to admire the work his soulmate was sketching on him. Instead of responding with words to Harry's meager sentence, his soulmate was drawing flowers and vines all around and over his humble handwriting, as if to say, "You too." Harry definitely did not smile. Nor did he roll up his robe's sleeve to admire the vines starting to travel their way down his arm. Suddenly, as if interrupted, his soulmate stopped. A minute passed, then two. Slowly, words started to form on his forearm. "Are you going to school today?" Harry started. He and his soulmate had never asked personal questions before. Not even gender or favorite color. This was completely new territory. Harry couldn't find it in himself to dislike it though. Hesitantly, Harry reached for his pen again before finally writing a scribbled "yes" under the question. "Me too" was the quick reply.
Harry felt ecstatic. He was actually having a conversation with his soulmate! He had to respond, but what should he say? After much deliberation, Harry wrote back, "Cool." Very disappointed in himself, Harry threw his pen back into his bag and slid down in his seat. Eventually, his soulmate continued scratching the vines up his arm while adding flowers. Maybe he'd be able to have a conversation with his soulmate later.