AN- Ok folks this is my first attempt at a fanfic in a long time, and my very first involving Harry Potter. I am trying to build a neat story, and this is gonna be a kinda background piece, with multiple parts, so I hope you enjoy. Usual disclaimer here about not owning anything Harry Potter and hopefully JKR will forgive me for playing with her toys.
Numb.
That was the only thing he could feel these days. A bone-chilling numbness that seemed to penetrate everywhere and everything he touched. Harry Potter just couldn't get himself to care anymore. Sirius was dead.
That thought was the one that just wouldn't let go of him so far this summer. Every time he seemed to turn around the thought would return. How this could be with Harry staying at the Dursleys' home on Privet Drive was a bit of a mystery to him and yet it wasn't. Nothing in the Muggle-dominated home had anything to do with Harry and yet it was this house that Harry had always wanted to escape from. In his early days living in the cupboard under the stairs, he would imagine a place where his uncle wouldn't belittle him, where his aunt wouldn't constantly complain about him and his continued existence in their lives, and where his cousin, Dudley would not be around to torment him, either by attempting to beat him up or make his life hell by making up something Harry had done wrong and tattling to Aunt Petunia.
Later when Harry found out about Hogwarts he couldn't believe or frankly understand his good fortune. It just wasn't something that happened to him, Harry Potter. Then came all the new revelations of who he was, how important he was to the world he was about to enter. Harry had felt numb then too. But anything was better than the life he had lived before Hagrid had entered his life so spectacularly. Unfortunately Harry had to return to his Muggle relatives each summer. Each year he realized he had to return to the ridicule, the complete and total lack of any positive feelings directed at himself.
It was all of that, that Sirius had promised to remove him from.
Sirius was dead.
And so when Harry found himself at Privet Drive yet again at the end of his horrible fifth year, numb was all he could feel. The Dursleys' had been sufficiently intimidated by Mad-Eye Moody and co. and Harry had not been seriously bothered by them this year. However a lack of open hostility had been all that had been granted to him and despite the politely-phrased requests (usually given through gnashing teeth) about doing some chores, he still spent most of his time alone in his room, outside of meals around the meal table.
Harry had felt something on the train back and on the platform, gratitude for all the people that were willing to support him, back him up when he needed it. The drive back however had merely reinforced the despair that had building within him over time. No one talked to him. No one even looked at him. Harry was a non-person, which was nothing really new, but the new treatment had the feeling of ' If You Ignore It, It Will Go Away'. For the following 3 days it had been like that. Harry had been left to himself, in his own personal Purgatory. He felt a bit like a ghost, one that was best ignored for the sake of all involved.
It was at this point that Moody appeared at the front door, with his bowler hat over his magical eye. Apparently he came to check up on Harry, to drop off a couple of letters that had been sent by his friends Ron and Hermione, and to have a few words with the Dursley's. Harry never found out what was specifically discussed, he really couldn't care either, but the following day his Aunt Petunia had approached his door, and after Harry had granted her admittance, asked (ASKED!) for his help for something in the backyard. Harry really didn't care about doing it, but he didn't really care about refusing either, he merely responded with "Whatever", and went outside to start weeding the garden. He wasn't really sure if this is what his Aunt had in mind for him to be doing, but she hadn't complained and it had given Harry something to look at besides his bare ceiling and walls.
The following three weeks had been much the same. Sitting alone in his room, merely staring at his surroundings, with the occasional request from Aunt Petunia (such as doing the dishes or whatnot), Hedwig returning from wherever she went to, and visits from members of the order, though mostly it was Arabella Figg who came by. Those conversations were fairly brief, and most visitors tried to cheer him up. Kingsley Shakelbolt had been by, as had Tonks (sporting a lime green hair color), and even Mundungus Fletcher (though he was STILL going on about buying some cauldrons). Mrs. Figg was starting to look more and more worried, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to come out of whatever funk he was in. They brought him mail too, since owl post was too traceable, mail which he had yet to read. Even those first letters hadn't been looked at. Harry just couldn't bring himself to read them and there was quite a pile building up. He guessed that they weren't all from Ron or Hermione, judging from the writing on the envelopes. One of these days he was going to have to read of those. He knew that his friends were worried, but the one person who Harry wanted to hear from wouldn't be heard from again.
Sirius was dead.
Sighing, Harry decided he needed to open a window and take a shower. He hadn't taken one in over three days and he and his room were starting to stink.
*******
The afternoon sun shone through Harry's open window as he lay on his bed, totally apathetic to the world. 'Is this what I have to look forward to' Harry thought to himself as he pondered his life, 'having people disappear from my life all the time because of some… some lunatics weird obsession with me?' Harry felt he had already lost too much, his parents and now Sirius. He also felt bad for those who were just around him, people like Ginny back in second year, used as a lure to get to him, or Cedric in fourth year, killed for just being in his general vicinity. The whispered 'Kill the spare' floated through Harry's mind at that moment, sending a shudder down his back.
He thought about the other people in his life, Dumbledore, the teachers at Hogwarts, members of the Order of the Phoenix, his fellow students in the DA, including Cho… he even gave Snape and Malfoy a brief thought. Ron and the Weasleys'. Hermione and her parents. Would any of them live through this… confrontation that would eventually lead up to Harry and Voldermort in a one-on-one face-off?
Sirius was dead.
Sirius hadn't survived. How many more were going to have to go through what he did, losing people left and right, until everyone finally gave up and left it up to Harry and his snake-like adversary to just go at it? Sometimes Harry just felt like walking out the front door, walk down to Diagon Alley and calling out to Voldermort to come and get him then and there. He just wanted it over with one way or another. Realistically though, he knew that he was the only hope that the wizarding world had, and that if he didn't defeat Voldermort, the rest of the wizarding world, and in conjunction, the rest of the world would pay for his failure. 'No, no pressure at all!'
Suddenly Harry felt angry. Very angry. Without stopping to think about it hi stood up and started to pace the small room. An emotion was building in him, and that was something he had not dealt with in a couple of weeks. Emotion; pure raw feeling. Anger. Rage.
Harry rapidly sat back down, his breathing coming rapid as the rage and pain built up in him. He grabbed onto something, he didn't know what, couldn't see through the feeling he was going through, until they became so intense that he had to close his eyes and scream out loud, letting all the emotion go into a primal cry that ripped through the air.
'That felt good!' Harry thought in disbelief.
Harry kept his eyes closed, breathing in his nose and out his mouth, actually feeling some measure of peace for the first time in quite a while. It was fairly short-lived, however, as he felt something flutter against his right cheek. Opening his eyes, Harry discovered white feathers everywhere, floating in the breeze caused by the open window. Looking around, he quickly discovered the source. The source was in his hands. Or at least what was left of the source. 'Looks like I'll need to get another pillow,' he thought to himself stupidly, watching all the feathers float in the air in a dance that had him mesmerized by the sheer lightness of it all. The wind had picked up, apparently, and kept everything in the air for quite a while. In a way, it reminded Harry of a game of Quidditch, and the freedom felt when he was on his broomstick, his trusty Firebolt…
Sirius was dead.
With a half growl, Harry got up and closed the window, watching as the breeze was cut off and the feathers started falling towards the ground. There was some symmetry there towards his own life that he really didn't want to think about. Not waiting, he started cleaning up the mess of feathers and placing them all on his bed, thinking to himself that maybe he could stuff them back inside his pillow case and try his hand at sewing it back up. Harry did have some experience sewing, mostly holes in his clothes after he had 'inherited' them from Dudley, so he wasn't really worried about that. An odd thought did come to mind, however, 'I didn't think my pillow was stuffed with feathers…'
Suddenly a knock on the door broke Harry out of his half stupor. With a sigh Harry got himself up from his bed and went over to the door, opening it and expecting his Aunt Petunia to ask him what all the noise was about, or possibly about another chore that she needed done. Truth be known, he wouldn't have minded something to do at that particular time. However it wasn't her at all. In fact Harry really couldn't have been more surprised if Voldermort himself hadn't arrived to invite Harry to afternoon tea.
His best friend, Hermione Granger, had arrived at his bedroom door.
"Harry!" she cried as she enveloped him in a hug.
All Harry could do as she did that was stand there stunned. Speechless. Numb.