Chapter 1 – Dreamless Sleep

What seemed like the oddest summer day was drawing to a close. What made this summer day so peculiar? Well, after what seemed like decades of heat and drought, it rained. It was as if the rain decided to start pouring. The change in weather was as spontaneous as a woman's mood swings. Due to this change in weather, the residents of Privet Drive stayed indoors, for they feared getting knocked down by the strong winds and rains.

The streets were not visible to those indoors. They of course, assumed it was deserted. In their opinion, anyone who had the guts, or stupidity, rather, to be out in this weather should be hanged. There was, however, a person outside, a teenage boy.

He had jet-black hair and emerald-green eyes hidden behind a pair of round glasses. His clothes were worn out and baggy, but the bagginess of his clothes weren't obvious because they were drenched and clung onto his body. He was walking on the pavement, careful not to step on the mud, not wanting to cause tracks on the kitchen floor. He was on his way to number four.

And why, you may ask, was Harry Potter outside in the pouring rain? He was walking off the feelings, trying to cope with all the things that had happened to him.

Two months ago, his godfather, the person he had loved the most, died because (in his opinion) of his stupidity. He spent each day like this; he would walk around Little Whinging, thinking of everything that had happened, then he would return to his uncle and aunt's home, only to be ignored, but he was completely fine with that. In fact, ignoring him was the best treatment they had given him in his fifteen years under their care.

He walked for nearly half an hour longer because tomorrow was Harry's sixteenth birthday, and the Order was to take him to Grimmauld Place, and he was to stay there for the rest of the summer. He did not know how he was going to cope, living in his dead godfather's house – his dead godfather who wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for his ignorance. He mentally shook himself. He did not want to feel those feelings again. He was already beginning to feel better.

He was now in front of number four, Privet Drive. He sighed and entered the house. His uncle was watching the news and his aunt was setting the table for supper. None of them seemed to notice him; he was grateful that he was careful to step on the pavement, for if he had left mud tracks on the floor, it would mean cleaning it under his horse-faced aunt Petunia's glare. He went upstairs and changed into a pair of pajamas. He had no intention of eating, all he wanted was sleep. His brain was tired of all the thinking, of all the self-pity, of all the self-loathing. His body was equally tired, for he had walked for about five hours in the pouring rain. He got into bed and almost instantly fell asleep. It was the most pleasurable feeling, for he for once had dreamless sleep.

Dreamless sleep.