Based off some songs by My Chemical Romance, "The Black Parade", and written to them, I don't own Harry Potter. Try and guess the songs, I'll list them at the end.

"Shut up, Flint!" Harry groaned, turning on his broom, effectively silencing the entire Quidditch pitch. Flint kept going on and on about his awesome catch and his "love", and it was so fucking annoying.

Staring at the black haired boy on the Nimbus 2000, Wood raised an eyebrow, the only person to actually stop Flint from his utterly pointless rant about his, "catch" and "love".

Sure, the tale was interesting, but they didn't need to hear it fifty million times.

Flint turned to the ignorant child who had so rudely interrupted him. Glaring with piercing stone daggers, he sneered, standing up roughly, his chair clattering to the cold dungeon floor loudly.

He walked over to the beryl eyed boy, slamming his hands on the table, pushing his face into Harry's personal space. He smirked and whispered lowly in the sixteen year olds pale face, "Jealous you don't have a love like mine, Potter?"

Grinning back and leaning forward on his elbows, he whispered back, "You never fell in love, Flint."

He leaned back once more, and began to laugh hysterically to himself, a joke no one else saw present in the situation in the severity of this.

Giving the petite boy a strange look, Flint spoke once more, "Think this is a joke, do you?"

Beryl eyes glittered in glee, "If life wasn't just a joke, why am I laughing?"

"You look beautiful tonight," Malfoy whispered, his eyes averted and his hands fidgeting with his fingers, his feet shuffling.

The boy in the beautifully designed black top, black pants, black boots, and black gloves, sighed, ran a small pale hand through his perfectly straight black hair, his green eyes staring at the floor.

"Draco, what's today…," Harry murmured, beryl eyes fixated on the floor.

"The fifth of March," Draco whispered hesitantly, his mind elsewhere. His plans for tonight had nothing to do with his boyfriend of five years.

"I'll see you in the morning, then, Draco?" Harry's quiet voice sounded as he picked his head up, green eyes burning on the blonde's face.

"No, I have Ministry business, won't be back for about a week, so I-I love you, see you, Harry," Draco whispered, turning his back, picking his gloves up and walking towards the fireplace.

Taking a deep breath, Harry called after him. "Are you even going to say it?"

Turning, Draco stared at the petite man behind him, and his mouth opened, and Harry braced himself, the tears racing to his eyes. Pain flooded Draco's eyes, and he shook his head, uttering the last phrase of their relationship before disappearing through the Floo.

"I don't love you, like I loved you yesterday."

Tears fell, streaking like waterfalls down Harry's face, his heart crashing to floor along with his body. He didn't have the strength to pick himself off the floor as he sobbed and sobbed, never wishing for more than Draco just to say it. He finally did.

Standing up shakily, he let out another sob, the tears continuing to pour out. He picked up the phone, dialing a number he knew only too well. The man on the other side picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Marcus?" Harry sobbed out through the phone, attempting to get a hold of himself.

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Please, don't look at me," Harry whispered, his voice cracking as he attempted to hide under the thick white cover that Mungo's let him bring in from his house.

Running a large hand down the petite boy who looked even smaller's face gently, Marcus's voice cracked from emotional pain as he murmured, "Your still beautiful to me."

"No, I'm not," His hoarse voice replied, licking at his lips to attempt to stop chapping. He sighed at the futile attempts and stared up at the man he loved in front of him.

"I'll be right back," Marcus whispered, kissing Harry gently on the forehead.

Harry stared longingly after his love, and he smiled brightly as he looked at the glass of water the bulky man returned with. Gulping it down, he nodded his thanks, and smiled once more at him.

Staring into the man's eyes, he murmured, "You do know that the hardest part isn't the pain, isn't the chemo, isn't me. It's knowing I'll leave you, in the end."

With a broken smile, Marcus replied, "You'll make it through this. We'll make it through this. You're not alone."

"I'm awful to look at, aren't I? I'll never get married," Harry murmured, his voice cracking from strain. His eyes closed, and the heart rate monitor began to slow.

Tears dripped down Marcus's face, and he knew it was almost time. There was no chances anymore, no hope for them.

Two doctors and a nurse looked in, and their eyes saddened at the sight of hopelessness. There was just nothing they could do, and it pained them to know they did everything they could and this love couldn't be preserved. It wasn't enough.

"Counting down the days to go isn't living, really, is it, Marcus?"

He sobbed, and shook his head, petting Harry's beautiful bald head.

"I want to cry, but I can't. There just isn't anything to cry for anymore. I knew it was coming."

"I'm so sorry, Harry I love you, so much," He whispered, kissing Harry's head softly.

"I love you, Marcus. Just remember the hardest part of this is leaving you. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Harry," And he kissed his lips for the last time.

The monitor went flat.

The blade slipped past Harry's wrist, and Marcus stared with bored eyes, watching the show with an interest that didn't appeal to him.

Blood that pooled at his feet, the beautiful dress that he wore was already covered, covered in blood from the superficial cut across his neck. It stained, not leaving a color, a beautiful pattern, just a deeper shade of black, black, black.

He only wore black these days. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. When he spoke, no one heard him. When he cried, his tears were red. The razor in his pale hand gave him the pain he needed to survive as it slipped past the wrist again, again, again.

They watched. Chained to the wall, they watched him kill himself slowly with blank eyes, trained to not care. Caring in the first wasn't the problem, and his blood stained the floor in which they had provided for him.

This room they gave to him. They locked him in. Animal. Suicidal. Insane. Alone. Something like that, he couldn't remember, he was all of those anyway.

Can you hear me cry out to you?

There was a razor blade—sharpened—under the mattress, and there was a perfect variety of poisons to choose from. He couldn't choose, so he started with the blade, it felt so beautiful. The blood was such a great shade, the crimson that blossomed was his savior in this hell they threw him in.

Two men chained to a wall, trained to not speak and react whatsoever in pain, watched as their innocence ripped himself to pieces, and they stared blankly, making everything all the worse. It was like they weren't there at all.

Without you is how I disappear, do you know that? These blades and poisons of variety will vanish my loneliness, I'll be okay; you don't need to worry.

Looking up with blood rushing down from the cuts scattered along his wrists, forearms, neck, thighs, hands, wide beryl eyes searched for a reaction in Marcus or Severus. His lover and father-figure. Nothing at all. He let out a laugh, standing up, throwing the razor that shone with his crimson joy at the wall.

He laughed at the pain from the cuts. It was nothing compared to it all, nothing, nothing, he was alone, forever, now he was gone.

Looking at names, his blurry eyes followed the labels. He hates labels so fucking much. LABELS! They hurt too much, didn't they.

Picking out a vial of cyanide, he grinned and stood back. He held his release close to his heart, and smashed the cabinet of poisons to the floor. He hated labels so much. Maybe he was insane. It didn't matter too much to him anymore. When did it ever?

Walk over to the men on the wall, he smirk, his dress beautiful and his body blood soaked. They continued to stare at the show they were provided with the blank stares of men who could care less.

Raising a bloody hand to Marcus's face, he stroked it softly, leaving his blood marks on the tall man's face. He gave the man's lips a soft kiss. "I love you, and without you is how I disappear."

Turning to Severus, he lifted his hand again, leaving a blood streak on the other man's face as well. "In my eyes, you were the perfect father."

Backing up so they could see, he stared. "I won't hurt you anymore."

He drank the poison, collapsing to the floor, his blood pooling around him in a blossoming beauty.

Not a minute after the boy's body hit the floor and was lost, a sob rang out. A second one, a deeper one, rang out a few seconds later.

Hunched over, Harry rushed through the hallways of the large school, his small arms wrapped tightly around his binder, book bag on his back, and a messenger bag around his neck. His beryl eyes flickered around the crowded hallways as he squeezed through the crowds.

He naturally shaking frame, let out a soft sob as he ran head first into a large figure his panicky eyes looking up at the tall student. The boy looked like he could easily kick the shit out of him with one fucking finger. This could lead to some trouble.

Looking down, he noticed the books he knocked out the boys arms, and he scrambled to pick them up, apologies thrown out with his normal stutter. He handed over the stack of books to the tall boy, picking up his own binder which had fallen in the process.

The tall boy blinked at the tiny teenager before him. He looked like he was waiting for him to kick the ever living crap out of him, and then rip off his head. He head certainly heard of people like this, but never had he actually encountered one of them.

He felt a wave of overprotection come over him. He wanted to protect this boy. He didn't even know his name!

"Hey, kid, it's fine, really. It was an accident, I can understand. How about this. I'll help you with getting the bullies from stopping messing with you, and you help me with schoolwork. You seem like on of those really nerdy kids, and I picked the medical-psychological pathway."

"O-Okay. Th-thank you, s-so mu-ch-ch. Yet, H-How d-did you kn-ow I w-was bu-ll-llied?" Harry stuttered, his body shaking and hands fidgeting with each other.

"My friends mess with you."

"O-Oh… C-Could y-you t-tell them I-I'm sorry?"

"For what?"

"W-Whatever I-I did t-t-to annoy t-them...," Harry whispered, his head ducked and large green eyes averted. He was vaguely aware that the bell was about to ring, but he could honestly care less. If he wanted, he could go to the nurse, and stay there for a while and then get an excused pass that wouldn't count on his record. Yes, the nurses knew him that well.

Staring at the tiny boy that was well over two feet shorter than him, he murmured an approval, and took a glance at his watch. Remembering vaguely that he was supposed to be meeting Adrian on the roof, he gave the shaking boy a one-armed hug, and whispered in his ear, "Name's Marcus Flint."

"I-I'm Harry P-Potter."

"Hey, Harry why don't you have any friends?"

The bell rung loudly above them, and students, slammed Harry into the wall as they rushed to get to class. Catching the tiny boy, Harry smiled softly.

"Teenagers s-scare the l-living shit o-out of me."

Grinning at each other, the tall boy murmured, "What's your class?"

"Biology I with Snape."

"Me, too, let's go!" Marcus grinned an I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know grin, and picked Harry up, plopping Harry over his shoulders, and readjusting him over his books. "Let's do this!"

'I can meet Adrian later.'

Imagine the shock of the class and Severus Snape as Marcus Flint, a boy with a reputation of being a bad-ass and mean and a bully, came in grinning wildly a minute before the tardy bell went off with Harry Potter, petite, trembling, sickly, Harry Potter, slung over his shoulder.

Thank you for reading, please leave a review, you know you want to!

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Story number five is Teenagers by My Chemical Romance