Harry Potter was numb.

Harry Potter was a wizard, a hero, a boy who just wanted to be average—well, as average as any wizard, who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, could be. Yet, all those things slipped from his mind was he told in the smallest room in Number 4 Privet Drive looking out the window with an vast sense of loneliness, loss, numbness.

Sirius, Sirius Black, the escaped convict, the innocent man, was no longer living. He had fallen through the veil, never to appear again on solid ground, to laugh with his bark laugh. Never to see his godson, Harry Potter, again.

Darkness had settled in but Harry hadn’t noticed. He was too numb. He no longer cried for he didn’t have any tears left, he never had any; he was just trapped within the bars of an oblivious depression. He didn’t know what he wanted. No, he knew what he wanted, but he couldn’t have that. Sirius was gone, never to come back. The one thing he wanted the most was the one thing he couldn’t get.

On the desk, next to his snow white owl, Hedwig, were piles of letters, all from his friends. All trying to help him, give him advice, comfort him. They scattered the desk, like pieces of litter that were trying to be helpful, but weren’t because they were litter. Harry had reread them, and reread them, and he had written back, trying to sound fine, and cheerful, and that his summer was better then usual—which wasn’t a lie, his summer was better considering the Dursleys absolutely ignored him, except to give chores too. But other then that, he wasn’t cheerful, and he wasn’t fine.

No, he was numb. Numb with grieving pain.

Harry stood at the window looking out at the night sky for hours that night. He was too numb to do anything, and he didn’t want to sleep, lest he dream of Sirius and the veil. He couldn’t handle that again. He didn’t want to fall into a depression, he knew Sirius wouldn’t him to do that, but he couldn’t help it. After all that’s happened, Sirius was the only grown-up he could truly look up to and see a brother, a father, a friend. How could he not fall into depression?

The clock on the wall ticked and tocked that it was midnight. It was now July 31st, Harry Potter’s birthday. As routine every year, owls began to swarm his window, landing and discarding their packages. Harry eyed them carefully, moving through his numbness for the first time. He still had friends that cared, that was something.

He moved in a dream-like state, opening the packages, and watching the presents tumble out. He was happy, he knew it for he could feel himself smiling for the first time in a long time, but as he finished off the last present—a box of tricky sweets from Fred and George Weasley—he felt the engulfing numbness again as he realized he would never get a present from Sirius again.

He stared at the presents without seeing them, numb once again for that night, and slowly he fell asleep. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, but it was a haunting one, and when he woke up the next morning he was once again numb.

Breakfast was a piece of buttered toast, there had probably been more but he had overslept a few minutes and Dudley got to it first. He was still on his diet, but it wasn’t working well at all. He still looked like a whale, one growing everyday too.

As usual Harry grabbed the toast, shoved it down, and then walked outside to feel the morning air whip his face. For some reason, every time he walked outside and felt the air whipping his face, he felt at ease with everything, peaceful, no longer numb. But the wind would pass on, leaving the gaping numbness to come back.

Glancing around, he looked for the shadows of his watchers, the Order members. He had tried once to figure out their schedule but Mad-Eye Moody must’ve realized this and thought that if Harry could figure it out, then anyone could (not an insult to Harry though) and they needed to keep it erratic.

He didn’t see any shadows thus realizing that he had a watcher that knew what he was doing. Remus Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley (who wasn’t there much) always made it obvious that they were watching him, so he wouldn’t feel in the dark. Even their letters were more revealing, but completely cryptic and a bit hard to understand. Most Harry got was that now that Voldemort was known to be back, he was no longer hiding, and killing at pleasure. But apparently he had moved to another country, Norway or Sweden or something or another at the current time.

So, Harry was indeed, as all witches, wizards, and muggles in England, quite safe.

Once on the sidewalk, Harry felt the air hit his face and that brief moment occurred again. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a run, but he needed to stick close to the area, and his watchers were never up to go for a run to keep up with him. Never. Not even Lupin. But this time he didn’t know who his watcher was...

No, Harry thought, no need to run. It’ll probably turn out to be Snape, and he’ll just me. Harry had spotted Snape, once and only once, tailing him as he went to buy groceries for the Dursleys. He always wondered what happened to cause Snape to guard him. Dumbledore must’ve done it, he’d be the only one able to convince to do so, and then it would more then likely be unwillingly.

Harry found his hatred, anger, toward Snape had died away a bit, but there was always a tinge of anger when Harry thought of him. But, yet, he somehow, probably because of the numbing hours at night, Harry realized that Snape was completely to blame for Sirius’s death. There was enough blame to go around, to everyone. Even Sirius.

Harry started to walk, but his legs ached for him to run. He hadn’t run all summer, and it was his birthday. That was a long time not to run when one craved to do so. He glanced over his shoulders, searching for a shadow, a snapping twig, even a rustle of a bush. But there was nothing.

Could it be that he wasn’t being watched?

No, Dumbledore, hell Mrs. Weasley, wouldn’t allow that. No, whoever it was, was good. Maybe it was McGonagall, in her cat form.

The wind whipped his face again, and a cringe, a tinge, a churn, in Harry’s stomach suddenly erupted. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was run, that’s all he ever wanted to do. To run, to escape the numbness, to escape everything, he just had to run.

Just give the watcher a run for his money, Harry thought. And that’s what he did. No longer able to hold it in, he took off running. He did the one thing he long for more than Sirius at the moment, he ran.

He was a small, scrawny lad, but had physical conditioning from Quidditch, and his reflexives as a seeker were superb, so he was very fast. And he wasn’t jogging, he was running full out.

Behind him he heard his watcher curse, and yell out his name, though not too loudly, and then start to chase him. But Harry didn’t want to be caught, he felt free, he wasn’t numb, he felt oddly at peace. He was escaping the numbness. He just started to run faster.

He didn’t know where he was headed, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to run. Behind him he could hear his pursuer gaining on him, whoever it was, was fast. Harry dived down an alleyway, twisting and turning with his Quidditch reflexives, until he came to the end of one.

It was prefect, sharp turn, one that if you didn’t know to make would have you running straight into a wall. Harry knew of the turn, but his pursuer didn’t. As he skidded the turn, he had one guilty moment about his pursuer slamming into the wall, but then it passed.

As he ran again, he heard the thud into the wall, the curse and the pursuer regaining his balance to chase after him again. But he was already so far ahead.

Harry felt free, the numbness was behind him, he couldn’t think of Sirius while he ran, it was that simple, which meant he could run for bloody ever. On and on he ran, until he reached a grassy slope, which struck him as surprising. He hadn’t realized he was this far out, but yet he didn’t care. He wanted to run.

But because he could get halfway down the slope, a black blur flew out of nowhere, slamming into him, knocking him hard to the ground. His pursuer, whom Harry was sure he had lost, was there, and he had caught him.

Harry tried to scramble to his feet, to run again, but his pursuer grabbed him, hard. But instead of turning him around, he seemed to bundle Harry into himself, so he trapped within the roped arms.

“Potter, stop this now!” The voice rang curtly in his ear and a feeling of dread coursed through his stomach. Professor Snape was holding Harry, trapping him with his arms, not letting Harry run anymore. Snape was the one person Harry hadn’t wanted to be caught by. But now he made sense, Snape was a spy, so of course he would brilliant at not being spotted by Harry.

“No, let go of me now!” Harry snarled, struggling to break free of Snape. But the man just held tighter.

“No!” Snape hissed darkly. “What the hell did you think you were doing, running like that? Do you find yourself above all the protection set for you own safety. Oh, but of course you do, you’re Harry Potter, the golden boy that’s above all school rules.” Snape snarled as Harry tried even harder to break free.

“No! That’s not it!” Harry muttered as he tried desperately to escape. “I just had to escape.” There was no response, but Harry didn’t care. He knew that Snape didn’t understand, he probably thought that Harry wanted to runaway, but Harry didn’t care. The numbness was already coming back, if he didn’t run soon, he’d be trapped again.

“It doesn’t help Potter,” Snape suddenly whispered. “Black’s gone, get over it!” Those words rang deafly through Harry, no one had said it so bluntly before, not to him at least. Lupin almost said it at the Department of Mysteries fiasco but Harry didn’t listen.

But Snape was right, Sirius was gone.

Sirius was gone...

Harry broke down. He hadn’t broken down like this before. He had been angry, chased Sirius’s killer, destroyed Dumbledore’s office, but he had skipped the part about crying, he just jumped straight into the depressed numbness. But now, Snape’s words had cause the tears that never came before, to suddenly come.

Snape must’ve been startled but Harry reaction because his arm sagged a bit. He had been expecting some sort of rant, but not this, not Harry crying.

“Have you cried before Potter?” To any passerby this question would’ve seemed mental, but it made sense to Harry. Snape was asking if Harry had cried for his loss of Sirius before. Harry couldn’t make words, so he just shook his head. His knees had given out, he was just resting on Snape’s arms, but Snape didn’t pull back.

Two things ran through Harry, one was that this was the last person in the world that he wanted to break down in front of for he’d just use it against him later, but he didn’t want Snape to pull away. This was the closest thing he had to being held at the moment, and he needed to be held.

“Potter...” Snape began, in his usual tone, startling Harry. He had been crying for the last ten minutes, forgetting everything and everyone around him. Suddenly, he was angry. Snape! Why did just have to be Snape?

“No, no, no!” Harry hissed in disbelief, anger, and then he pulled free. He hadn’t realized that somewhere in the middle of his breakdown, he had grabbed hold of Snape, almost clinging too him. Suddenly he was hot with embarrassment and anger. Why Snape!

He started running, tears still leaking down his face, but he was headed toward Number Four Privet Drive, not away. He heard Snape begin to follow him, but this time it was different. Not chasing him, just following.

Harry sprinted hard back to the house, ran through the front door, and ignored his Aunt’s shrieks that he hadn’t done the weeding in the garden let and up to his room. He collapsed on his bed, gasping for breath and wiping his cheeks. Yet, he had stopped running, but the numbness that was always ebbing away at him wasn’t there. It was gone.

It had disappeared with his crying, like the crying had washed it away. In a way he felt a burden had been lifted. He knew Sirius would want him to live his life, not mourn from him constantly, and suddenly he felt he could do that, even if he wasn’t running.

Sighing, but smiling slightly, he got up from his bed, went back downstairs, walked outside not listening as his Aunt ranted about him not weeding the garden first thing, and started to work.

Only one thing bothered him, and it was Snape. Why did he just have to start crying in front of Snape? No, not in front, onto Snape. He ground his teeth slightly, he just knew he’d never hear the end of it.

“BOY!” Uncle Vernon was home was lunch and apparently Aunt Petunia ratted on him. He appeared in the front door. “We give you one bloody thing to do,”

“More like fifty,” Harry muttered.

“What did you say!” Uncle Vernon thundered.

“Nothing,” Harry retorted quickly, pulling up another weed and tossing it.

“Your freak kind threatened us at the beginning of the summer, and we try our best to house and feed you, from the kindness of our hearts, and this is how you repay us! Running off in the morning, no doubt drawing attention to yourself from the neighbors. You know what they think! You’re from St. Brutus School from Incurably criminal boys, and to see you sprinting through the street will scare the daylight out of them. Now they’ll never speak to us again! That’s not how you repay someone who’s housed and fed you for the past fifteen years of your life!”

“Sixteen!” Harry snarled, his temper, which hadn’t risen since Dumbledore’s office was suddenly at boiling edge. This was not his day, and it was his birthday. First he cries in front of Snape, who’ll undoubtedly ridicule him for it around every corner, and then Uncle Vernon goes onto a rant about how he was not repaying them from all those years he spent in a cupboard under the stairs, and all those chores he had been forced to do.

“What?” Uncle Vernon demanded, gong purple in the face.

“In case you’ve forgotten, no wait you didn’t forget, you just don’t bloody care, it’s my birthday today. So instead of fifteen years of you doing absolutely nothing for me but give me scrapes of food and Dudley’s clothing, you can now bump it up to sixteen. Bloody hell, not even Professor Snape gives me as much stuff to do in two detentions then you do for one bloody morning!” Harry shouted, before reaching over, pulling out the last weed, throwing it into the bucket, standing up and walking off.

Uncle Vernon was an unruly shade of purple and looked just about ready to attack Harry, when something or someone, moved into view, catching his attention. He instantly paled, and shrunk back into the house. But Harry didn’t see any of this, he was already heading off to do his next job, which was mow the lawn.

“I can you know,” a voice suddenly said, startling Harry as he fiddled with the lawn mower. He had the distinct impression that it was broken, and would have to use the push mower. Glancing around, Harry spied Snape standing in the shadows. His heart and stomach flipped in unison.

“What?” Harry growled before going back to figuring out the lawn mower.

“Give you as much work to do in your detentions as the Dursleys give you to do in a day. Mind you, you’ll be having several endless detentions.” Harry couldn’t help but smirk a bit. But he didn’t comment. He cursed the mower under his breath and turned back to the shed to get out the push mower. Snape was watching from shadows.

Once Harry succeeded in detangling the push mower from the shed and putting the other one up, he glanced back at Snape only to meet the black eyes of his. He glanced away almost instantly, and sighed.

“Don’t,” he finally commented.

“What, Potter?” Snape demanded, his usual tone of voice back.

“Don’t give me that much work, I do enjoy having a life at Hogwarts!” He glanced at Snape and thought for the briefest of moments that Snape was actually smiling but doing a double take he found Snape was indeed not smiling.

After a pause, Snape stepped forward. “It’s not a crime, Potter, nor a weakness, to cry. Especially if you lost someone. Just don’t close yourself off into numbness.” He informed, causing Harry look at him closely. He wasn’t going to ridicule him for crying? But looking closer Harry could tell that the man had never intended to do such a thing.

Snape then pulled out his wand, and with a wave of it and a mutter of a word, the lawn was suddenly mowed and the flowers water, and all weeds were gone.

“It’s your birthday Potter, go mess with the presents you undoubtedly got from those friends of yours.” Snape ordered as he stepped back into the shadows. “Oh, and Potter, you will be getting a detention when you come to Hogwarts, for making me run into a wall.”

With that he completely disappeared into the shadows. Smiling, slightly surprised and highly amused (for causing Snape to run into a wall), Harry put the push mower up and went upstairs where he did indeed begin to fiddle with his presents.

He was no longer numb. He felt free. He missed Sirius, yes indeed he did, but now he could move on. He had so much more to live for. Funny, how well Snape seemed to understand what was happening.

Oh well, at least he was no longer numb.