"I'm tired of being what you want be to be, feeling so faithless, lost under the surface. Don't know what you're expecting of me, but under the pressure, I'm walking in your shoes..." - Numb by Linkin Park

Rolling clouds of stormy grey thundered across the sky. Lightning streaked from the looming wall, illuminating the setting sky. Drops of rain the size of pennies fell with a free mass. They splattered upon rooftops and the paved roads below. Passers beneath quickly opened their umbrellas, like many collared dots from above. The streets of London were packed with thousands of Muggles, quite unusual, as the weather was enough to keep the birds from singing lulling tunes.

Below in the street was Piccadilly Circus. The streets were lined with various people, just walking and enjoying the company of the ones at their sides, or the silence of their own minds.

A few stragglers hung from their two-storey windows watching while in the cosy interior of their rooms. In one window on the third storey, a shadowy form was poised just before the sight of the street below. Coal black hair spilled just below his chin though it had a slightly wind-blown look to it. Upon the hand, grasping the window edge was a small black rune tattooed just above the knuckle on the middle finger. It was an ancient rune, stated in Elfish.

Moving back to the half-shadowed face, coming across the figure's eyes. Looking strangely bright compared to his hair, two emerald pools gazed blankly down to the congregation. His features were hard and cold with that stare. The depths of the eyes went many layers but you only could see one. Sadness.

Harry Potter had been missing from the Wizarding World since Voldemort had been condemned to the after life. Without any sign of his where-abouts, the witches and wizards had to thank his heroism and extra-ordinary bravery through the media. The Aurors had caught all the remaining Death Eaters left over from Voldemort's reign and had them sentenced to life in the now, wizard run Azkaban Prison. Azkaban had been without Dementors for seven years. In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the soul-sucking fiends had proven their loyalty to the Dark Lord by abandoning their posts and freeing the imprisoned criminals.

That year at Hogwarts had possibly been his worst. His summer after Sirius Black's death had been filled with raw emotions and erupting anger. Plus the ever increasing secrets kept by the one Albus Dumbledore, and you have a truly disturbing year for the boy-who-lived. Harry's seventh had been the most memorable. But not for any good reasons.

Harry's last year at Hogwarts had been the year Voldemort had left the plain of the earth. It had been the year Albus Dumbledore, the most looked-up to wizard of all time, had died. It was none of these things that plagued Harry's sleep many nights. It was the fact, that in his last year at Hogwarts, after many years of laughter and tears between himself and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger; it was in his last year that they left him. A hole had been gaped into his heart and soul. And it remained there to this day.

Harry Potter turned from the window and sank into shadows.

A cool breeze blew a silky curtain and wisped out the tiny candle flame keeping the dark from falling and the sight of a single tear slipping from a pool of green.

. . . - - - - - . . . - - - - - . . .

Since the disappearance of Voldemort all those years ago, the Wizarding and muggle worlds

had been lapsed into calm and peace. No more hiding out in the dark, afraid of a fear so great you could not even say its name. No more terrifying days too afraid to allow your children in the streets to play. The previous Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had stated it was all his doing that Harry Potter was able to murder the most horrible dark lord to ever live the earth. That had been the last of the Minister's public statements.

After a state-world election, a new Minister had been chosen. For five years Arthur Weasley, father of seven and wife of Molly, had been in charge of the Ministry of Magic. Things had changed since his stand as head. No more discrimination would be forced upon those burdened with gifts they had no control over, such as the curse of the Werewolf. No witch or wizard could refuse a man, woman or child certain privileges because they were werewolf or half-blooded.

Any sign of authority figures using their power to abuse or blackmail other figures of staff would immediately be sacked and sentenced to a minimum of a month in Azkaban. This led to much anger and debated issues but that did not last long. Once the Minister had spoken, that was the end of it.

The most important change, in Harry's eyes was that of thus. If a form of underage magic was used to such a degree that a hearing had to be called, all the pieces of evidence would be examined closely and no means of ill judgment would be used to find the person guilty or innocent if the jury or Minister pointed otherwise. The old courtrooms had been banned from usage for such minor cases and any form of underage magic that was purely self-defence was allowed.

Harry felt minister Weasley had placed these decrees in place for solely the fact that they had been issued against him in his fifth year. Harry was thankful, but still felt remorseful towards the Political Wizarding Parties. Over his years, they had given him hell and he was not so easily forgiving. The two last years at Hogwarts were filled with snide remarks and ghastly rumours towards the boy-who-lived, and his wise headmaster.

Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had been one hundred and fifty-five years old when his life had been taken by the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

In the second last month of the last term, Lord Voldemort and his followers had launched a strike against Hogwarts. The darkest of creatures had followed him and if it weren't for the Defence Association led by Harry, many would have had their souls sucked out by deadly Dementors. With the life-sucking fiends; Vampires, Banshees, Dragons, Goblins and the thousands of dark wizards known as Death Eaters had flown into the grounds of the high prestige school and watched their master destroy it and the occupants. Of course, the students and teachers had fought back, but many died as the hands of the enemy.

When Albus Dumbledore stood beside Harry Potter just as the sun was setting, Lord Voldemort faced them. Red as the fires of hell his eyes had burnt. They duelled. With powers, so strong and fierce many had to stand back due to the energy wavering from the three wizards. Awe and fear stuck on their faces as they watched the famous Harry Potter fight the most powerful Dark Sorcerer of their time.

And watched their powers match.

But the headmaster's old age had caught up with him. And Harry's thickhead had weighed him down. A green flash was all it had taken to rip the life from the old man's body and the twinkle to fade from the once joyful eyes.

Albus Dumbledore had died saving the life of the prophesized boy-who-lived. That's when it had started. Loosing control but gaining strength, Harry Potter had launched upon Lord Voldemort. After an antagonizing battle of force and after an immense clash of power, Harry was left standing above the lifeless body of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Strangely, when the life had seeped from the Dark Wizards soul, the transformations had vanished from the once young body. When the Aurors had carted away the body it looked like the seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle who had plagued Harry's second year as a memory.

Harry Potter had vanished like a candle in the wind. He left his two best friends glaring at him as he disappeared into the reappearing Wizarding World. When Voldemort had attacked the school, Harry being noble and heroic, had forced his two friends to stay in the castle and guard the younger students. Them being just as strong-minded as him had said no. Placing a Boundary Charm upon every entrance in and out of the castle, Harry had left them inside the sanctuary of the castle, screaming at him to let them fight.

When the battle was over and Harry the victor, Ron and Hermione would not look or talk to him. So, after making sure Voldemort was truly gone and saying his final respects to the headmaster, he had fled. And to this day, the trio had never been sighted together again. They had created their separate paths and lived a life void of Harry Potter and his unwanted fame.

But Harry was lonely and missed the two people he had loved the most. Living life a lie and in shadow was what he did now. Refusing to venture into the Magical World or contact anyone from within it, Harry had become a shadow. Guilt plagued him regularly. Guilt from three deaths that he could have prevented. Cedric Diggory being the first. He was just a glitch in Voldemort's early plans to annihilate Harry. Sirius Black was next. This death probably affected him most. Although he was not his father, he had been so close to being a substitute for James Potter. When he was lost, so was Harry. It was only Ron and Hermione who had brought him back and made him see the reason why Harry was alive.

And Albus Dumbledore's death had been a complete shock.

It was as if the light of the world's power had switched off. For many months after the death, people were lost. They did not know where to go or what to do now that their leader was dead. Never to return. That was why Harry had fled. Even though he had been the one to finish Voldemort once and for all, he still was responsible for taking the life of the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; leaving Professor Minerva McGonagall to be headmistress and rule the school.

Those were the reasons Harry Potter was living in the middle of Muggle London, in a third storey apartment. He had been living here since his escape from the Wizarding World. Working nights as a Security Guard in the local Town Square, he had lived a pretty ordinary life. But it was a hidden life. The fact that he had to have a roommate was hard enough.

Dave Ream was a muggle man the same age as Harry. With light hair and dark eyes, he was the usual British muggle. He worked as a Computer Technician for the local company Harriett's Machines. With an incredible mind and quick wit, it took all Harry's worth to keep his secret form him. Even though all his old school stuff was locked in a Safe Locker in the basement of the Building, he still had to keep small things from slipping.

With the identity James Black, he was able to lead an almost normal existence as a muggle man. But dreams and flashes still plagued his sleep and mind, and it finally led to him having to take Sleeping Pills prescribed by a muggle doctor to keep them away. His room was simple and bare. Containing his bed, dresser and desk. A few personal items were stashed in odd places. Like his photo album given to him by Rubeus Hagrid in his first year at Hogwarts was hidden beneath his pillow and a scarlet and gold badge was placed in his top sock drawer. The letters HB engraved upon it.

So was the life of the legendary Harry Potter. Reduced to the standards of a muggle and living a life in lies. No two friends had he like Ron and Hermione, and no surrogate family like the Weasleys. He did not have any parents to say how proud they were or any siblings to laugh at his miserable life now. Harry was alone and miserable.

When he lived under the shadow of Albus Dumbledore, he had been forced to do things that he wished he did not have to. His life had been set for him. A destiny read before he was even born. Living as the unfortunate hero he was, he hated it. People looking at him as if he was some sort of saviour. People judging him by what they read and not what they saw. By the time, he was in his last year he was sick and tired of pretending to be someone he wasn't.

He was tired of stopping himself from acting the way his heart told him. Preventing things that he wanted to do but was afraid at what the consequences might hold. But that time was over. He was free of reign and able to lead his own life away from all of the 'boy-who-lived' nonsense. Now he was James Black. Muggle. Security Guard. Normal.

But sadness like no other tugged at his heart as he gazed at the happy people on the streets below.

He was alone.

Truly alone.

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Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter and never will.

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By the way HB stands for Head Boy