A miserable boy was pacing in his room. He was almost 16, and obviously was going through puberty because he had the look of a boy growing too fast for his own body. He was tall, rough hair struck out everywhere and he had some stubble growing on his chin and upper lip. He used to be rather small and immensely skinny, but he had toned muscles in his arms and legs and his eyes adjusted to his surrounding so he didn't need glasses anymore.
He had gotten some muscles when he wandered around Private drive, punching and kicking objects out of frustration. It had been two weeks since his godfather Sirius had died, and the poignant feeling was still raw.
Girls in his neighborhood, instead of fearing him like they used to would approach him and giggle. Harry found this annoying beyond all belief.
Harry had become almost unrecognizable. Yes, he still had his beautiful green eyes and jet-black hair, but he had become more man like and less of a dork. He really didn't care how he looked, even though he knew why he looked this way. His childhood had been stolen from him. His mother, father, and now his godfather were all gone. He had to be man and face the pain in its face. He hated the feeling of being alone. Which he was, especially at Private Drive. But he also didn't want to go back to Grimmauld Place, the memories that place would bring back, are more terrible and painful than being alone. His only hope was that someone, some member of the Order would come and pick him up and take him away. Away from the Dursleys and Grimmauld place, Away from his hunting past and away from his grave future…