Harry had been walking around for so long that his toes were going numb. Three days. That's how long it took for Harry to get sick of Privet Drive. All he wanted was space. For the first time in his life he's actually been looking forward to his summer vacation. After everything that happened, some time away from the magical world sounded perfect. There in the quiet streets of Little Whinging, there was no war, no Death Eaters, and no Voldemort. To everyone there, he was just another teenager taking a walk. He didn't have to be a hero, there wasn't a quest to save the world. He didn't have any responsibilities other than the menial chores his Aunt was always making him do.

Which is precisely why he walked out of the house that day. He'd been complying with her orders so far, trying to stay busy. He cooked their meals, washed their dishes, washed their clothes, picked up after them all the time. At any other time he would've hated it, but if he stopped doing something for even a second, all the pain and grief from losing Sirius would take over. So anything that needed doing, he did it. He was one glass slipper away from becoming Cinderella. But that day, his patience was tested.

Aunt Petunia had been pestering him about his room. Yes, it was dirty, no one could deny that. You could barely see the floor beneath the sea of clothes and garbage. His desk was overflowing with open letters, newspapers, crumpled parchment and dirty napkins. It looked like a madman had been living there for years, but no, just a depressed teenager for three days. On that day, he was getting ready to do his daily routine, when his Aunt caught a glimpse of the dumpster he had created and went crazy. After a good ten minutes of yelling, she forbade him to leave his room until it was spotless.

He didn't mind at first, it was obvious the room needed cleaning and he assumed it would take him the whole day to do it, that's one whole day without having to interact with the Dursleys. But the more he cleaned, the more stuff he found that he didn't want to find. He got distracted by everything. A few hours had passed and all he'd done was move the mess from one side of the room to the other. It was like the more he cleaned, more stuff appeared. Eventually, he gave up. He was tired and hungry. If he found another newspaper with news from the war, he would lose it.

So he went downstairs with the intention of getting a snack and rest for a bit before continuing his task. But his aunt didn't like seeing him out of his room.

"Is your room clean?" she asked with her hands on her hips.

"I'll get to it in a minute." He walked past her to the cabinet and took a granola bar.

She smacked the snack out of his hand. "I thought I told you you weren't allowed to come out until it was clean."

"I'm starving. Just let me take a break."

"This is what you always do. You start with a break and then you end up not doing anything at all. We've been generous enough to give you a room and feed you and you repay us by being lazy and ungrateful."

"Lazy?" That word made him very angry. "I've been slaving over all of you all my life while your precious son never lifts a finger. I've always taken care of every single chore. The only chore Dudley has ever done is wipe his own ass and you'd do it for him too if he let you."

Not two seconds later, Aunt Petunia slapped him right across the face. Rage built up inside him. His life had never been fair. Deep down he felt like he deserved it, but he was tired of everything. Without saying another word, he walked out of the house and slammed the front door behind him. He could hear his aunt's screams behind him but he only walked faster. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been walking, but he started regretting it very soon.

Walking wasn't enough of a task to keep his mind distracted. Sirius's death, the war, Voldemort, quickly flooded his mind. It tightened his chest and made it hard to breathe. His hunger was gone, now replaced by nausea. His anger subsided, followed by extreme guilt. Sirius was dead because of him. The only thing close to a family that he had, was gone because of his recklessness. And now he was here, away from everyone he cared about, wanting to ignore his destiny. Now he felt stuck, trapped. He wanted to leave. He needed to find Voldemort and kill him so he could have a chance to have a normal life. But he couldn't

Suddenly he couldn't breathe, he felt lightheaded. He sat down on the sidewalk and put his head between his knees while he tried to catch his breath. It helped with the dizziness, but not with the dread. Tears started to fall into the concrete below him.

He felt something warm brush against his leg and heard someone talking in front of him. "Are you alright?"

Harry looked up.

"Mrs. Figg." He hadn't realized he was across the street from her house.

She didn't say anything, waiting for him to answer her.

"I'm… I'm fine, just stressed." That was the biggest understatement he'd ever said.

"Do you want to come in?"

He thought for a second but stood up and dried his eyes with the back of his hand. They walked inside and Mrs. Figg had him sit in the dining room while she went to fix him a plate. She sat in front of him as he ate, petting the cat that was on her lap.

"I heard about Sirius."

He looked down, his eyes started to tear up again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Is your family giving you a hard time?"

"They're not my family."

"I see." They sat in silence for a moment. "You know, whenever you need a break from them, you're always welcome here."

He nodded. "Thank you." He was done with his plate. "I should really go back. The longer I take, the worse it'll be when I get there."

"I understand."

She stood up to take his plate and patted him on the head.

"It will all be over soon. Don't let the muggles get you down."

He chuckled lightly and headed out. He could already feel the anxiety creeping back up to him as he anticipated his aunt's rampage. As he's walking out the door, a car parks in front of the house. A girl walked out. She was around his age, had blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. She looked at him with bright blue eyes and smiled. He could feel his cheeks burning as he tried to smile back but the moment was ruined when he tripped on his own feet. If it weren't for the mailbox, he would've fallen face first. He didn't have the courage to look back at the girl after that, he could've sworn he heard her giggling. So he just stood up and kept walking.

The walk back home went by quicker than he expected. He wanted to get away as fast as possible before he embarrased himself again. When he got to the Dursley household, there were very large trash bags beside the dumpster outside. That could only mean one thing.

Just as he suspected, when he got to his room, it was spotless. There was nothing on the floor except furniture. His desk had been cleared and his bed was made. He almost felt relieved, but he knew what really happened.

He walked back outside and opened one of the trash bags. Just as he suspected, they were full of his stuff. His clothes, his books, letters, everything that was littering the room was in those bags. Annoyed as he was, he decided not to make a fuss about it. He picked up the bags and headed back inside. Aunt Petunia saw him and gave him a smug expression.

"I hope you've learned a lesson today."

He looked at her straight in the eye. "Yes I did, aunt Petunia. Thank you so much for helping me clean my room. I really appreciate it."

Her smile vanished, she squinted at him before turning her face away. Satisfied with his comeback, he went up to his room and started sorting out his stuff. Part of him wanted to just throw it all on the floor again, or just leave it in the trash bags until it was time to pack again and leave. But he fought through it and started organizing it.

As he folded his clothes, he couldn't stop thinking about that girl. He'd never seen her before, as far as he knew, Mrs Figg lived alone. Well, along with her cats. He assumed she moved there while he was away. But who was she? Was she a relative? Mrs. Figg didn't have any kids. Maybe she's a distant niece or something. But Mrs. Figg was a squib. If the girl is related to her, was she a witch or not? Was she in the Order too? Had she been assigned to guard him like Mrs. Figg?

He had so many questions. All he wanted was to go back there and ask them. But he didn't want to feel creepy or embarrass himself again. Although, Mrs. Figg knew him, and as far as he could tell, she was fond of him. He didn't think she would mind if he visited her again.