I would like to thank Nega Mewtwo and their story inspiring me to continue writing

I don't own any of the characters. All Harry Potter and Zoophobia characters belong to J.K Rowling and Vivienne Madrano respectively.

Chapter 1: The Death of Harry Potter

Rain pelted the aging roof of the schoolhouse, yet it held firm, sheltering the countless individuals that occupied its chipped walls. Despite the rather turbulent nature outside, the innards were as filled with just as much life inside, as if the weather outside was of no concern to any of them. Children played with the various board games set by the allocated teachers and said teachers were either watching over the children or stared blissfully outside as the rain droplets cascaded across the asphalt of the schoolyard.

To any random person driving by, they would merely shrug this off as a common occurrence in an everyday British village. Yet as all the vehicles passed the boundaries of the school, carrying their occupants with them, not a single person noticed the shrivelled figure left out in the rain.

Harry Potter, aged eight, was an individual of very little interest. Dressed in large rags that made him akin to a deflating elephant and sporting ridiculously round glasses over his emerald green eyes, many people mistakenly believed him to be the local hobo or something. Not until they looked closer, and found him to be much younger than they initially thought.

Of course, they only noticed for a short while. After that, it was back to business as usual.

So here was Harry Potter, sitting on his haunches, weeping softly to himself as he nursed the swollen areas on his arms, where not many moments ago Dudley's fist and feet found its mark. While odd, the young boy found a slight sense of comfort, sandwiched between the two dumpsters directly outside the staff entrance to the canteen. It is a place he had grown most familiar to, providing safe refuge from his cousin Dudley and his gang of thugs when they would comb the halls of the school looking for victims. Their favourite target was, of course, Harry; whom they knew couldn't fight back even if he wanted to. Teachers surprisingly never took any notice of these strange games of cat-and-mouse, merely passing them off as a friendly game of Tag.

But Harry learned the hard way that it was no such game, and in situations like that, the only thing he could do, was run, He may not have been the strongest nor the biggest, but he sure could run fast when he really wanted to. Sadly he couldn't always get away every time, and whenever Dudley's gang caught up with him, they would always give him a few extras beatings for all the trouble he'd put them through.

Such was the case today, where after a particularly long chase, Harry found himself cornered at his little safe haven and beaten to kingdom come. Luckily for him, the group of bullies left early due to the rain. Unlucky for him, however, the rain also meant that he was left a broken mess in the middle of the storm, surrounded by trash.

Harry flinched slightly as he slowly felt each individual bruise that pockmarked over his skin, like craters he'd seen on the moon. Each time his skinny fingers wavered over the marks, he would hiss slightly to himself as the pain coursed through his body.

Never before had he ever felt so miserable. All through his life, through all the beatings and the insults that his "family" threw at him, Harry felt like he could take it all, holding onto the hope that one day something good would finally happen. After all, wouldn't he finally get rewarded for taking all of it? Surely he had to be related to somebody else out there other than the Dursleys. After all, he'd seen more than just uncles, aunts and cousins. What about Grandparents? Godfathers and Godmothers? Heck, even step-parents? Why is there no one else?

Yet Harry held firm to his belief, that maybe someone, anyone, anybody would finally rescue him from the hell he called 'home'. In school, sure he was ignored, but he still existed. The teachers at least remembered who he was and while the other kids avoided him like the plague, the fact that they choose to stay away reaffirmed in his heart that he still had some importance in the world.

But now that concept was shattered right in front of him, and as he laid sat there, alone, bruised, and mentally scarred, he finally realized just how insignificant he truly was.

The emotional pain stung at his heart as Harry was quickly overcome by the futilities of his actions. Eight years of his life were, in his eyes, wasted for no reason. Contemplating, he thought to himself.

'Is there any reason to keep going?'

'Any reason to take last another eight years?'

'Any point in all of it?'

No...No was the resounding answer for all of them. In that brief moment, he contemplated suicide.

Harry's heart froze for a moment. Suicide? Really? Sure life was tough but was that any excuse for taking the easy way out?

No. He was wrong on that and he knew it. At this point, suicide was the ONLY choice left for him. It was either that or continue his miserable existence.

His heart set in stone, Harry pulled himself off the ground and into the full barrage of the storm raging above. Fine, suicide it was, but how could he do it? The kitchen? Not possible. His horse-faced aunt would always be there and the mere presence of him alone in the kitchen would trip her suspicions, alerting the other two of his whereabouts and his actions. He needed a place where he could do it without being intervened.

How about the park? It's small, and there is a beam in which he could hang himself. He just needed ropes...and god knows where he could even find that.

Harry narrowed his eyes as his thoughts delved deeper and deeper into the dark zone.

'Why would I ever want to die alone?' Harry thought to himself 'If I'm going out, I should at least make a big splash out of it. Uncle Vernon always said I was a good-for-nothing showoff. Maybe its time I proved him right' His eyes trailed over to the roof of the building. He smiled to himself as remembered the last time he got stuck up there when fleeing from Dudley.

Perfect. Now, where was the ladder?

Walking along the roof, Harry felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. As if a great burden was finally freeing itself from him. The feeling of fear that he felt before quickly evaporated, along with the intensity of the rain, as he pictured the horrified faces of the other students when they're going to find him.

"Now that I'm up here, doesn't look as bad as before" He vaguely remembered the last time that he was up here. He'd been cornered by Dudley's gang after an intense ten-minute "game", his back behind a brick wall as they circled around him like hungry jackals. Fearing the coming pain so much, Harry closed his eyes and wished that he was somewhere else. He'd been pleasantly surprised when he opened them again to find himself on top of the school roof, far away from Dudley and his gang.

The school administrator, of course, wasn't too happy with this, and neither was his uncle when he found out. Harry could still remember how purple his uncle's face had been when he'd return home. Dudley clung at his side, bawling his eyes out and complaining about how the "freak" got away from him, causing him to hurt his hand punching the wall. Harry didn't even get time to explain anything. His uncle just yelled at him to keep his "freakiness" in check and then threw him in his cupboard without any dinner.

He was nearly there now. And as he got closer and closer to the edge of the roof, the rain slowed into a drizzle, until finally, it stopped altogether, leaving behind a screen of sunlight that broke through the clouds and warmed Harry to the bones. Below him, he could see the other children scurry out of the building, like little ants descending from a hole in the ground.

Harry took one last look at the horizon around him. From such a vantage point, the view was truly breathtaking, making him slightly sad that he wasn't able to enjoy more moments like this is his life.

He closed his eyes. Spread his arms. Then with one last sigh, Harry Potter threw himself off the edge of the building. A rush of wind there. A distant scream. Then finally the cold feeling of death washed over him.

2 Days Later.

Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office, shuffling through paperwork as his latest failure plagued his mind. Once again, he was unable to secure Black a trial, something he had constantly pressured Minister Fudge with. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Albus felt something was off. Black's character had been too radical, too different from the cheeky boy that he remembered when he had once occupied the halls of Hogwarts. The old man just couldn't believe that Black was willing to betray his friend like that, not when he had followed him thick and through everything.

Alas, many in the Wizengamot held firm belief that Black was guilty, something that even Dumbledore's position as Chief Warlock was unable to sway. The evidence had just been too conclusive, and Black's actions had been so expected of someone fleeing that you'll be a fool to think otherwise.

Dumbledore sighed to himself as he pushed those thoughts from his mind. Thinking about Black had put his mind onto other problems, mainly the ones involving the orphan of James and Lily Potter. He hated it, he truly did.

But leaving Harry with those muggles was the only way that the young child could be safe. Horrible they may be, but Dumbledore had complete faith that the boy could handle the lifestyle. Who knows? Its been a long time since he'd last seen the boy, what with the stress of helping fix the wizarding world. Perhaps those muggles may have gotten used to him and accepted Harry as one of their own. An old man could hope, couldn't he?

A light tapping noise drew Dumbledore's attention away from the mountain of paperwork stacked on his desk and to one of the mosaic windows in his office. His pet phoenix, Fawkes (bless his little soul) flew over to it and lifted the latch, allowing a dull auburn barn owl inside.

Now, this was something he hadn't seen in a while. It had been eight years since he'd last seen this particular owl. If his memory still served him, this particular owl should have been in the possession of Arabella Figgs, a spy of Dumbledore's who should have only used this owl in case of emergencies.

His eyes trailed over to the items attached to the legs of the owls. On one leg was a large bundle of paper, indicating that it was a newspaper. The other was a thin square that indicated that it was a letter. With worry in his mind, Dumbledore shakily removed the two items from the owl. Opening the letter slowly first, Dumbledore slipped out the thin piece of parchment and slowly began to read.

Seeing that its package was delivered, the owl flew out of the window, uninterested in whatever the human had received. Had it stayed there, it would have been one of two (alive) witnesses to ever see the aging wizard visibly stump.

Albus Dumbledore steadied himself with the edge of his table, his panic quickly infesting the rest of the room as the various portraits of headmasters and headmistresses began questioning him. Their concerns only amplifying as he remained silent to all of them. Mutters began to spread as the various headmasters and headmistresses began waking up other portraits and informing them of the situation.

Albus Dumbledore quickly unravelled the large bundle of paper, revealing it to be an ordinary muggle's newspaper. He stood there for a moment, his head stuck into the print and thus preventing any of the other portraits from peeking over and seeing what he was reading.

Finally, Dumbledore pulled back, the paper falling from his hands as he used them both to lean onto the edge of the desk for support. The now numerous portraits all jousted one another as they struggled to fit into the frames closest to the now discarded paper on the floor. The lucky ones, much to the chagrin of the others, all stared at the emboldened black letter that took up a majority of the front page.

TRAGEDY STRIKES THE SUBURBAN TOWN OF LITTLE WHINGING

Little Whinging, a town populated by the blue-collared workers of the Surrey County, usually follows a daily routine, not unlike many of the proud towns aligned to the Crown. Yet as many workers of Little Whinging returned to their homes, their days wracked with intense labour necessary for the prosperity of our nation, many were horrified at the tragedy that took place at the local primary school.

St Grogory's Primary School, an institute fostering the bright minds of our future, became a scene of horror as one of its students reportedly threw themselves off the roof of the school in an act of suicide. The victim, identified as one Harry Potter, eight-years-old, was proclaimed dead on the spot due to major trauma to the brain and spine.

Prior to the incident, a large storm rolled through the school, forcing many of its teachers to herd the students into the main admission building for safety. Many teachers claim to have accounted for everyone, yet it seems that the suicide victim, Harry Potter, was actually locked outside unintentionally, forced to brave the howling winds and sudden downpour all by himself. Following the hail of rain, students left the building to enjoy their remaining five minutes of lunch, only to be shocked at the body of Harry Potter slamming into the asphalt next to them.

Many students confirmed without a doubt that it was an act of intention, as many of them reported seeing a figure deliberately jump off the edge. The body of the unfortunate incident was retrieved thirty minutes later when paramedics and police arrived on the campus.

The victim under coverage remains a paradox. Many teachers confess that he was an individual of little importance in many of their eyes. The boy was quiet, respectful, and polite when speaking to many of them. Students also professed that he was a rather dull figure, always staying out of the limelight and keeping to himself on many occasions. Neighbours in the surrounding areas stated that many of them saw the boy, but never really interacted with him as they always saw him working the garden beds of number four Privet Drive.

Yet these accounts contradict heavily with the testaments provided by the victim's family and the school's Headmistress. Vernon Dursley, Director of the local Grunnings branch and uncle to the now deceased child, gave startling accounts of Harry Potter as being a "good-for-nothing vagrant" who preyed on the innocent children of the local area.

"The boy was a thug and a good-for-nothing vagrant" stated Dursley in a later press interview, "Much like his father I might add, the boy would have turned out to a criminal, and nothing more"

Headmistress Roemmele further reinforced these claims, later informing the press of the boy's constant record of getting into trouble with other students and climbing buildings.

Rumours surrounding Harry Potter, remain inconclusive in building a portfolio of the victim. Autopsy reports later flooded this case, informing us of the victim's extremely interesting health at the time of his death. Many reports claimed and have been confirmed, that the boy was suffering from severe malnutrition, with his weight being at least 15 kilos less than an average eight-year-olds. Worst was the x-rays, indicating clear signs of bruises and scarring dating back at least three years ago. Many of these bruises remained unhealed, with many of them being clear signs of extreme force being applied. Other scars included 2 cracked ribs healed incorrectly, three shattered fingers, small signs of internal bleeding and second-degree burns located on the victims back and hands.

When asked about the circumstances leading up to Harry Potter's current health, Vernon Dursley refused to provide any more details.

Little Whinging continues in reeling to shock at the tragedy, with many of its residents hoping to forget and move on. But we at this small media company are certain that this case will go beyond that. Police teams have begun to raid the Dursley's Residence, unearthing some signs that Harry Potter may have been a victim of torture and child abuse. Rest assured. This media will continue to cover the story as it progresses.

There was a stunned silence in the air as the knowledge sunk into the minds of many of the headmasters and headmistresses. Then all at once, there was a cascade of noise as many of the portraits broke into tears over the horrible news. It soon spread and alas there was a great ecstasy of sombreness that clouded the room.

Albus Dumbledore stood there in silence, the sound of his ever increasing heartbeat hammering against the walls of his ears.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Was now dead. And it is all his fault.

How. How could he have been so blind to the reality? He'd believed that he had protected the boy all along yet all he'd done was further accelerate his death.

He'd been a fool. A fool to believe that a prejudiced family like the Dursley's would ever set aside their hate for the sake of family. He should have heeded Figg's words and taken Harry out as soon as he could've.

But no. He'd been a stubborn fool. So used to things working out that he neglected the wellbeing of an orphaned child and left him to the abusive hands of his family.

Dumbledore's hands clenched in rage. How could he forget that he was once like that? Neglecting his own sister in the pursuit of his own glory. His arrogance had been his greatest mistake. Now history was repeating itself again.

He didn't know how long he sat there. On the floor, basking in his own failure. Or rather he didn't care to bother count.

The only thing that broke him out of his stupor was the sound of his office doors opening, along with the grieving faces of Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid and most surprising of all, Severus Snape who had a few tears trailing from his eyes despite the severe poker face that he struggled to keep on.

With trembling hands, McGonagall held out the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Dumbledore, his heart already dampened once, couldn't even find the energy to read out the title that plastered over the pages. Yet, with great conviction, he did.

THE DEATH OF HARRY POTTER: THE SAVIOUR THAT BECAME A VICTIM OF MUGGLE ABUSE

Author Notes: I'm making changes to the canon timeline. At this point in the story, the year is 2008, meaning Harry will begin his Hogwarts Year in 2011 and finishing it in 2017. This is so I can add modern technological refernces.