Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I merely use the characters and plot line for my own nefarious use.
Harry lay on his back in the grass outside his true home, Hogwarts. It was a wonderfully sunny day out and the cool breeze that ruffled his hair and robes felt wonderful. Fluffy white clouds floated by innocently as he watched with shadowed emerald eyes. His face was closed off and impassive but on the inside he was one continuous scream. He was breaking and the peope around him could care less. Sirius was gone and he was alone. There wouldn't even be a proper funeral to let him pay his last respects. And it was all Bellatrix LeStrange's fault. Just the thought of the woman caused an unrelenting hatred and rage to boil dangerously to the surface, allowing the magic hidden just under his skin to influence the breeze. The wind picked up and howled with a fury he was denied before settling back down into the quiet breeze from before.
The sixteen year old sighed and hoisted himself into a sitting position. Moving had become an even more laborious chore than before, his every movement singing with exhaustion and weariness. It was a wonder how he was still alive. How am I still alive? He would find himself wondering in the dead of night, still awake because he feared the nightmares and visions Voldemort wrought upon him. You couldn't tell he lacked sleep though. His face looked youthful and alive with life and his body seemed to fill out his clothes. The wonder of glamour charms. Carefully levering himself to his feet, Harry made the short trek back up into the halls of Hogwarts and let the comforting and strangely sentient magic of the castle wash over him.
For normal people, hearing that a thousand year old castle was sentient would be preposterous, but Harry wasn't a normal person. He was the Chosen One and he hated it. The anger boiled back up in his veins and he let it have its way. He hated the Magical World he knew. They were cowardly pigs that wanted a sixteen year old child to protect them from the boogeman otherwise known as Voldemort. The assholes didn't even have the courage to say his name properly. Hogwarts' magic reacted to his own and windows began to rattle and doors began to slam open and shut. Tables lifted into the air and careened around like a giant, invisible toddler was playing 'Plane' with them.
He could hear the students' screams but couldn't find it in his heart to care. Children, especially these children, were the worst offenders. They had no tact and would turn their back on one of their own at a simple word from their fearfull parents.
Angrily, he stalked the halls, his magic ripping portraits and breaking things as he passed. He was the epicenter of all this chaos and destruction. Siri would be so proud. The thought was mocking and vicious in its tearing of his heart. The anger abruptly disappeared and was replaced instantly with overwhelming despair. He feel to his knees and let the tears come. He was a slave to his emotions.
The air became like ice and molten lava at the same time, suffocating in its intensity and heaviness. Harry folded over even more, his scarred forehead touching the flagstones beneath him. A sob tore from his throat and his slight body shook with grief.
He didn't hear the voices calling his name, but he certainly felt the warm arms wrapping around him. They were comforting and non-judgmental. He didn't fight as they drew him into a lap and hard body that was just as warm as the arms. Wanting that comfort, he buried his head into this man's chest and continued to sob until his tears slowed to a stop and he was only clinging to folds of material. He never wanted to leave these arms. He never wanted to be torn from this comforting bubble of warmth. His wished however, were ignored as the man holding him spoke.
"Are you alright now, Potter?"