Chapter One

The Untold

It was an average, Dudley filled day at number four, Private Drive. Harry had put up with Dudley's shenanigans most of his life, and ever since his first year at Hogwarts, things have gotten much worse than before. Dudley, at this moment, was sitting across the Dursley's living room shooting spit-balls through a straw at Harry's face. It took all the restraint Harry had to not put a jinx on Dudley. The great oaf had fat rolls that billowed over the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He had no neck exposed and had several chins that dangled over his chest. After a particularly large and unpleasant spit-ball, Harry decided it was time to go to his room, before he accidently hexed his aunt and uncles whale of a son.

Harry was now in his third year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In a little under a month, Harry would be returning to school, and tomorrow, Harry would be leaving to go to Ron's house, where he will finish off his summer. He sat alone in his room, Hedwig was out hunting, and he felt a sense of depression wash over him. He'd been this way for as long as he could remember. Since, at least, the time he started talking. The Dursley's were cruel to him even then, and Dudley was even worse.

Harry sat there, remembering the first time he let his emotions flow, not through tears, not through fighting, but through blood.

He was about eight years old. For years he put with the Dursely's and he finally couldn't take it any longer. He'd stolen a knife from the knife block in the kitchen, and right in front of the Dursley's he did it. He'd pressed the cold metal blade to his wrist and gave a great huff as he ripped the blade across his skin. He dropped the bloody blade onto the new white carpet of the living room and let the blood flow. Aunt Petunia had burst into tears of anger and Uncle Vernon had sat there bellowing like a dying cow. After five minutes, the bleeding still hadn't stopped, and Harry fell onto the blood-soaked carpet and had lost consciousness. When he woke up, it was to find that he was in his own bed, with only a Band-Aid over the very large gash on his arm which was still slightly bleeding.

After that day, cutting had become a regular thing. Even while at Hogwarts, after a particularly horrible day, he'd pull out the exact knife he'd used the first time. His arms were littered with scars and still, no one but the Dursley's knew about his on-going act and they could care less. Sitting there thinking about it seemed to make it worse. He pulled up his sleeve to see the various gashes he'd inflicted upon his body. He remembered several of them getting infected and many of them bled for hours. He glanced at his most recent cut. It hadn't even started to scab over yet, and it had been days since he'd done it. Just then, Hedwig returned, and with her, a letter tied to her right foot. She held it out for Harry to take the letter, and as he did he handed her a treat. He ripped open the letter and scanned it carefully.

Dear Harry,

I just wanted to see how you've been over the summer? Mine's been great! Ron and I are dating! I'm going to stay with the Weasley's the rest of the summer starting tomorrow. I hear you're coming too! I can't wait to see you!

Love

Hermione

Harry read and reread the letter, and the words finally began to sink in. That was a major blow. He'd always had feelings for Hermione, but had never got the nerve to ask her out. Harry dropped the letter to the floor and held his face in his hands. He curled his fingers through his hair and pulled hard pulling out a few strands. The anger was taking over him from the inside-out. He began sobbing pathetically. Finally he found the strength to crawl to his trunk. He flung it open and rummaged for the old kitchen knife that had grown dull over the many years of abuse it helped inflict upon Harry. Harry sat there holding it in his hand, glaring at it heatedly. Slowly and deliberately he placed the blade onto his skin and gave a great heave and the blade was suddenly covered in blood. He sat there sobbing over the gash he'd just made. He wrenched the blade across his arm several more times. His entire lower arm was covered with sticky, dripping blood.

Then there was a knock on his door. Aunt Petunia walked in carrying a tray of food and just as the tray fell to the floor, Harry passed out.

The blood continued streaming. Even as his aunt frantically wrapped it in gauze.

"Why does he keep doing this?!" She screamed in terror. She never liked the boy, and his constant attention seeking actions were getting old. After covering his arm with gauze, Petunia washed her hands and left Harry in the same place he'd collapsed.

"Has the boy done it again?" Blustered Vernon angrily as he straightened his newspaper.

"Yes, he has." She said disgustingly.

"We have to do something about him before he kills himself under our roof and we're to blame!" He guffawed.

Petunia just sat in a comfy chair and picked up a magazine to read. He would be leaving tomorrow, and maybe he'd finally manage to kill himself when he was away and they never had to be bothered by the freak again. They'd never asked for him in the first place! Why should they be held responsible for the child?

She let it leave her mind and as she went to bed later that night, she found she had hardly any remorse for the young Harry Potter, her sister's fail of a son.