Harry wasn’t, anymore, this boy with this damned scar. He was no longer the one who had lost so much. He was no more the Boy Who Lived. He was only a simple sixteen-year-old boy who felt as if he were home, as if he were saved. Who could stare at a girl and fall for her, ever so slowly. But he wasn’t a normal boy. That’s why he sat here and thought of how he could possibly escape from all of this. Only months before, he didn’t want to be human anymore, and now he wished he could be, just a little bit more.