DEPRESSION .81
September 1st 1977
“Oh, Peter… what’s going on, mate?” the marauders asked him.
He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken, he had lost about half of his hair, his robes were hanging off him, and he couldn’t hold eye contact with any of them.
“N-nothing, wh-why do y-you ask?” he squeaked.
James was really worried.
“You look awful. Maybe we should take you to the Hospital Wing when we get to the school,” he suggested.
Peter flinched violently.
“You look so depressed Peter. Tell us what happened during the holidays.”
Peter shrunk down his seat and looked out of the window, not talking.