Its 11:57 pm. Harry sighed. Three more minutes and he would turn 17- he'll be able to use magic without worrying about getting caught by the ministry. Its gonna be a long three minutes…

So he entertained himself by biting his lower lip, a habit he developed because of the moments when he finds himself unable to do anything useful(like reading, thinking).

He started moving his right leg now, five…four…three…two…12:00 am! a grin split his face as he took a calming breath.

Shaking a little from excitement, he stood up gripping his wand and went for the door. He quickly casts a locking and silencing spell in his room.

"Yesss!", Harry half shouted half hissed his pleasure. Just because he matured a little over the war, that doesn't mean he was past getting all worked up like all normal people when they become legally adults. Afterall, who was he to deny himself of enjoying little pleasures like this? When he was denied most of his youth?

Still grinning, he went and transfigured everything for the next two hours. He fixed his things, made his room bigger in the inside, painted his walls… Harry's room looked like the Gryffindor common room when he was done.

He wanted to make a fireplace but thought against it. It was a little complicated to plan and he was getting a little tired from spending all his pent up energy.

After casting a Notice-Me-Not charm, it wouldn't do if his wonderful relatives saw his room, he slowly went to bed and tried to have a nice sleep. But life is never kind and once again he is face to face with his nightmares… he may act cheerful all the time but he can't escape this.

It doesn't matter. Even if he's dying inside, he'll be strong- when he charges with all his might and trips over, it isn't he who really gets hurt but the ones who care for him… he knows that now, and the least he can do is offer them a smile of reassurance.

They are all that he has. He can't bear if they are hurt because of him.

Meanwhile, in an unplottable location somewhere, Voldemort felt something. Something was there. He felt anticipation. Not the type to feel threatened or anything annoying- it was like he was looking forward to an event that will happen- a pleasant sign.

'Interesting,' the Dark Lord thought 'something that is on my favor will happen.' Earlier that day, he had a meeting with his men, Severus told him that the Order is planning to further train the Boy-Who-Doesn't-Know-When-To-Die for he was becoming of age.

Voldemort chuckled. How pathetic, fully trained wizards placing all their hopes, lives and safety to a seventeen-year-old Gryffindor boy who is equally foolish, if not more. That stubborn little imp. He gritted his teeth; just thinking of that boy makes his blood boil.

The Dark Lord doesn't want to comprehend that Potter brat. Through their bond, he had several times glimpsed on the boy's thoughts, he figured that if he was discreet, calm, collected and controlled enough he can peak, otherwise he will be automatically rejected from it.

How odd is it that he can't enter if he wishes to harm the boy, and when he gets curious or just even thought of the boy he gets pulled in it. He does it frequently for at first it was only flashes, then it becomes clearer very little by little… he was curious if he can somehow extract useful information.

Harry Potter must be the most frustrating being he has ever laid eyes on. Through their bond he had seen and felt the boy's pain… how could he remain so pure?

The bond is tugging at him again, somewhat stronger this time and he let himself be pulled. Reassurance, completion, contentment and yearning. Voldemort was confused, the potter brat is having a nightmare again so he was scared and angry. It was the Dark Lord's feelings.

He had the urge to caress the boy, and instantly, the boy's trepidation dissolved. Voldemort stopped himself. He was once again confused and a little lost because of the boy. He hated this and the child who is the reason of it… he wanted to hurt the boy again.

He was pulled out of the boy's mind feeling a little on the edge and missing the loss... He called for a servant to bring in a muggle prisoner and poured his frustration down the filthy creature via cruciatus. There he felt better already.