Harry Potter, commonly known as the Boy-Who-Lived, lay listlessly on his bed two days until his sixteenth birthday. On the outside, he seemed to be a calm normal teen, but on the inside he was alone and scared, like a child; unused to affection and love, and forced to grow up at an early age. Now, adding the recent death of his beloved godfather and the guilt of being responsible for it, he was thoroughly more alone and depressed than he had ever been.

The boy sighed and sat up on his bed, knowing that sleep would not come for the rest of the night. He decisively pulled on his large, heavy combat boots and opened his window to climb out (as the Dursleys had made sure to firmly bolt every single lock on the outside of his door closed). Grabbing on to the large, secure drain pipe, he silently climbed down and his boots landed with a 'thud' onto the grass. He stuffed his hands into his baggy jeans, which were hand-me-downs from Dudley, and walked slowly down the street to the park on Magnolia Crescent, pondering things in his head.

To add to the loneliness, he had not heard from Remus Lupin, his favorite ex-professor and werewolf. He had hoped they would be able to grieve together, maybe become closer, but he had seen neither hide nor hair of the lycan. Sitting down on the last remaining swing, his mind switched to a different topic: Dumbledore.

To be frank, he no longer trusted the man. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much the old man had manipulated people to bend to his will. He had kept a façade of caring about Harry, but Harry soon realized that the only things Dumbledore had ever given Harry were weapons to destroy Voldemort. The only thing he ever treated Harry like was a weapon, a pawn. As a matter of fact, that's the only thing he treated anyone as.

Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, Harry stood up and walked over to a nearby puddle. He just realized how much his appearance changed over the summer, so that now he didn't look like James Potter, but someone else he couldn't quite put his finger on. His hair, which previously had never been long, was now past his eyes. He had grown at least four inches (which was unnatural, even by wizarding standards), and his once boyishly round face was more gaunt. His shoulders had gotten broader, and he had gained quite few muscles. Even so, he was still on the underweight, skinny side…

Turning away from the sight, he began the long walk home. He was vaguely aware of the Guard Members following him (Mad-Eye Moody if he heard right). He shimmied up the drain pipe and pulled himself into the window before tugging off his boots and falling onto his bed. He had finally been able to fall into a thankfully dreamless sleep.