There he sat, on the edge of his bed, waiting for a knock on his door. He had only been there for a few days, but each passing day felt like an eternity. He didn't mean to brood on the topic of his late godfather but he couldn't really control it. A few of his friends had sent him letters, telling him: that life was unfair, that it wasn't his fault and that they would see him soon. He had received a few other letters from various sources but nothing of note; that is to say he didn't care about what they contained. He didn't even care what the unopened note from his headmaster said.

His relatives, if you can call them that, had not taken Mad-Eye Moody's warning lightly. They didn't push him around to do chores or punish him with no food anymore; they had given him almost complete full reign over his time. Yet he still stayed, locked up in his room, thinking about what had happened.

The headmaster, Dumbledore, had told him that it wasn't his fault at the end of the last term. He didn't blame him for the loss of his godfather; after all, it had been his choice not to listen to Hermione. "And for that I have paid the price, or should I say… they have paid the price for my ignorance."

He was staring out the window when all of the street lights went out, "they must be here." He had been talking to himself a lot recently, but that was mostly because he didn't have anyone else to talk to. When he heard the knock on the front door he gathered his trunk and the empty owl cage and galloped down the stairs ready to be free from this self-inflicted prison.

What was in front of him when he arrived, he was not expecting. The headmaster himself was there to escort him somewhere; that information was still unmentionable in the letters he was receiving. "We must hurry Harry," the elderly man said as waved the long wooden stick in front of him. The trunk he had been carrying was now lighter than air and was floating a few inches from the ground.

"I see you did not read my letter," the boy just shook his head. The much older man smiled weakly and nodded, "I understand your disdain for me right now, but I must advise you that should you receive a letter from your headmaster you open it. With haste even," He was expecting this lecture so he mildly tuned it out.

The old man sighed as he saw the inattention of the young boy, and his eyes which once sparkled now only shimmered with the brilliance behind. The boy hadn't said anything besides a slight hello, but now the desire to know where he was being taken was eating away at his conscious, "headmaster, where are we going?"

"To Grimmauld Place," the old man carefully studied his student's face. Harry admittedly would have preferred to go to the burrow for the rest of summer, but he would just be happy to see his friends again. "I must inform you, since you did not read my letter, that Ron and Hermione will not be joining us for quite some time. I'm afraid that you will still be spending most of your time in solitude, and for that I am sorry."

Harry snickered, but seconds after doing so he looked at himself in the reflection of himself in the window. The cynical smile was replaced by one of fear; he had just made a gesture that he thought only the Malfoys could do. He was going to be alone for most of summer, and he was beginning to act like a prat. He was only shaken from his thoughts, and coincidently staring at himself, when the headmaster placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. The headmaster removed a ring from his finger and handed half of it to Harry, who assumed it was a portkey and touched the other half. Quickly a familiar tug was felt at his navel and the sensation of being yanked from the ground followed. The trip wasn't long and they landed gently in front of a row of houses, the number 12 hung over the door closest to them.

Once inside the headmaster bid him farewell and he was left to determine what to do. He set his trunk down at the foot of the stairs and looked around for any sign of people; he checked the kitchen and the study, but no one could be found. He decided to do the thing he least desired to do, confront his fears and go to Sirius' room. He climbed the two flights of steps to the third hallway and slowly crept along the hall tracing a path on the wall with his fingers. His fingers seemed to get hotter and hotter as he approached the door of Sirius' room, but he didn't remove it from the wall.

Once in front of the door he hesitated, the door knob inches from his fingers; his eyes fixed on the small letters that spelled out Sirius on the door, which had been crossed out and written above it was 'Snuffles'. Harry thought about when he first had seen Sirius here, he looked happy and alive. He had been so hopeful for that bond that he had found in his late godfather, but now that he was gone he didn't have anyone who he really cared about. He turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open; a familiar smell reached his nose and it made him feel sick.

He covered his mouth as he ran to the trashcan in the room, clutching it just in time to catch all his vomit. He had still felt dizzy and sick, but at least now he could look around the room again. "Why did this have to happen to me?" he asked calmly.

"Why was I chosen," he stood up and looked around the room as if it held the keys to his questions. When he saw nothing in particular of interest he sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching the trash bin, "I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being the one who has to save the world, sick of the people who depend on me, sick of being left alone. I'm sick of it all. I don't want to be the boy who lived." His voice was getting louder as he went on, "I DO NOT WANT TO BE YOUR HERO!"

The shouting and vomiting had exhausted him, and when he was done he lay down on the bed. Not bothering to cover himself with the blanket he fell asleep on his godfather's bed, but his night was not easy.