Note: This is NOT a one-shot fic. It has a plot.
Summary: Harry has been beaten by the Dursley's his whole life. One night he comes home late and Vernon beats him. Harry lay in his bed thinking; finally, he decides to run away. What happens when he meets up with someone that is going through that exact same thing that he is? Will a relationship form? What about the person that Harry loves? What will happen to Voldemort? Who will win the war? Read to find out.
This story is rate for the following reasons:
Violence (abuse)
Language
Nudity/Graphic sex (in later chapters)
Self-harming
Other
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot, and maybe a few other things that with appear in later chapters.
Chapter 1: My Immortal
A gentle wind blew as Harry walked home, back to the Dursley's. He knew he was going to be yelled at again for not cleaning the house before he left, but he didn't care anymore. Ever since Sirius's death, he didn't care about much of anything. He felt so alone and sad, so lost and confused now that his godfather was gone. He had this empty space inside his heart that he knew no one could fill, except, maybe, the one person that he loved. But, he knew that that person would never love him back, so he was positive that the empty space inside his broken and beaten down heart would never be filled. He felt that Sirius's death was his entire fault, if only he had realized that Snape would have tried to contact Sirius he would still be alive. If only Snape hadn't acted like he had no idea what he was talking about. If only Dumbledore had told him about the Prophecy sooner. If only he had listened to Hermione, when she had told him that Voldemort was trying to trick him. But no, he had to jump to conclusions and think that Snape didn't care. If he hadn't rushed off to the Department of Mysteries to try and save Sirius, he wouldn't have fallen through the Veil; he would still be here right now. Harry felt so stupid, if he hadn't tried to be a hero all of the time Sirius would still be amongst the living. But, Harry knew that 'if's weren't going to bring Sirius back.
Another wind blew, this time lifting up Harry's hair, revealing a bruise near his right temple. Ever since the summer after his third year at Hogwarts, his Uncle Vernon began to beat him if he didn't do what he was told. Sure, his Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley knew that Vernon would beat Harry if he had done something to make him mad. Dudley would even help sometimes. But, what they didn't know was that Vernon would beat Harry, when they weren't around, if he had had a bad day at work or if Harry even looked at him funny. It was already four weeks into the summer vacation and Harry had already been beaten more times then all of last summer. Over the few weeks of summer, Harry's hair had grown longer and messier and he had grown taller. Also, he went and got his tongue pierced about a week into the summer vacation. If his uncle ever saw it, he would probably rip it out, then laugh at the pain he had just caused Harry, and then beat him for doing something that wasn't normal. Just the thought of Vernon doing something like that to him sent shivers through out his entire body.
Harry turned the corner that lead to Privet Drive and continued to walk. He sighed as he reached the driveway that belonged to the 4 Privet Drive house. He walked up the driveway and sighed again as he reached the door. He knew he was going to be in big trouble, either when he woke up the next morning or if Vernon was still awake and caught him trying to sneak up into his bedroom, undetected.
He opened the door; all he heard was silence. Harry sighed in relief; he was expecting Vernon to be waiting at the door for him to come in and then start yelling at him. He quietly shut the door and began to make his way, silently, up the stairs, remembering to skip the steps that creaked when someone would step on them. Harry was about halfway up the stairs when someone grabbed him by the hood of his sweater. He went flying and smashed his head on the wall. His head throbbed painfully with a sharp pain near his right temple as he heard the floor creak from someone heavy stepping on it; it sounded ten times louder then it actually was. Next, a foot kicked him in the side of the ribs, knocking the wind out of him.
"Where in the bloody hell were you, you piece of no good fucking shit!" Harry heard his Uncle Vernon growl. Harry tried to answer but he couldn't, he still wasn't able to breath properly. When Vernon didn't receive an answer, he kicked Harry again, this time in the left side of his head. Harry gasped out in pain, but fortunately enough for him, it was dark and Vernon wouldn't be able to see his tongue ring.
'That's going to leave a bruise," Harry thought, trying hard to keep his expression black because he knew that Vernon could see his face. If Vernon saw any emotion on Harry's face while he was beating him, he would beat him even worse. Unfortunately, Harry had learned this the hard way.
"N-none of yo-your fucking bus-business," Harry managed to say while gasping for breath.
"Of course it's my fucking business!" Vernon spat as he kicked Harry in the ribs again, causing his to gasp loudly and lose any breath he had managed to get back. "You live under my roof! You will do as I say! Also, you didn't clean the bloody house before you left, like I told you to do! I have enough kindness in my heart to take you in as a baby and let you live with me, and this is the thanks that I get from you! You ungrateful son of a bitch!"
After a few moments of listening to Vernon emotionally abuse him and catching most of his breath, Harry rolled over, painfully, onto his stomach and struggled as he tried to get to his hands and knees. When he had finally managed to do so, he was about to try and stand up on his feet when Vernon's foot connected painfully with his ribs, again, causing him to roll over, clutching his sides, and whimper in pain. He had had the wind knocked out of him again. By now, Harry had silent tears rolling down his pale cheeks.
"You stupid, no good, piece of fucking shit! I should kick you out of my house! You're fucking useless!" Vernon snarled as he stared down his nose at Harry.
"I-I do-don't fucking c-care an-anymore!" Harry gasped, trying to breath properly.
"You will care by the time I'm through with you, you freak," Vernon snarled, his face purple, as he kicked Harry in the hips, hard. Harry had to try his hardest not to scream as an almost unbearable pain surged throughout his hips. Harry tried to speak but no words came out, as he lay on the floor, panting for breath, silent tears rolling, slowly, down he pink tinted cheeks.
"Get up, you bastard," Vernon growled. Harry tried to roll over onto his stomach but it hurt too much to move. After waiting a moment for him to get up, Vernon became impatient and grabbed Harry by the collar of his sweater lifted him up and pinned him against the wall; his feet were off the ground by about a foot. Harry's breaths were coming out in very short pants. Vernon looked at him, noticing the tears that were slowly rolling down his pale, pink tinted cheeks.
"What the fuck! Why in the bloody hell are you crying! Grown men don't cry, you're nothing but a fucking cry baby!" Vernon spat as he raised his free hand, made it into a fist, and punched Harry hard in the cheek, then dropped him on the floor. He lay there on the floor, gasping for breath. He could feel that where Vernon had punched him was starting to swell already.
"Get to your room, NOW!" Vernon growled as kicked Harry one more time, this time in the leg, then started up the stairs to his own bedroom.
Harry lay there for a few moments, trying to recover a little from the beating that he had just received, before trying to make his way to his room. It took him a few more moments before he could roll over onto his stomach. It hurt so much when he moved that he had to wait a moment for the pain to dull before he could get to his hands and knees. He had to use the wall to help him stand up and walk over to the stairs. He prayed to God that he didn't collapse, because if Vernon found him laying on the ground, unconscious, he would probably just wake him up and beat him again, saying something about how stupid he was for not making it to his room or how dare he lay down and fall asleep on the stairs. It was a struggle for Harry to climb the stairs and walk to his room, he thought for sure he wouldn't make it, but he did. He had to use the wall to support him as he walked over to where his bed was. He collapsed on his bed, it felt so comfortable compared to the pain that his body was causing him. His cheek where Vernon had punched him still throbbed painfully, he reached up and felt it; it was very swollen. Now that he was laying down on his some what comfortable bed all of his muscles were starting to relax and the throbbing pain in his body was starting to dull.
He lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened in his life, the good and the bad. But as he was thinking he realized that he could only remember the bad times, the good times were just a blurry image that he couldn't quite make out. Only the bad times that he had had he could remember clearly. He had had enough of everything that was going on in this life. His friends were barely writing to him, his godfather was dead, his parents were dead, and his uncle was always abusing him, emotionally and physically. He had had enough of everyone expecting something from him; he just wanted to be himself, not someone that everyone else wanted him to be. He couldn't take it anymore; it was all starting to get to him.
He was always alone, it seemed that people only wanted him around because he was supposed to defeat Voldemort or die trying. He was alone when he face Voldemort during his first year at Hogwarts to try and stop him from getting the Philosopher's Stone and returning to full power. If Harry hadn't stopped him from getting the Stone, the Wizarding World would have went back to the chaotic way it used to be before Voldemort lost his powers trying to kill him, making him the Boy Who Lived. During that experience, he remembered, he had almost died.
He was also alone when he faced Voldemort, again, as a fifteen-year-old memory during his second year at Hogwarts to stop him from letting the Basilisk roam freely around the school petrifying all the Muggle-borns and maybe even killing one, just like he had done fifty years ago. Also, to save Ginny from him. Voldemort was using his old diary to suck the life out of Ginny, who had been writing in it since the beginning of the year, to regain his power. If he had succeeded, the Wizarding World would have been a chaotic place it had been before he had tried to kill him. During that experience he had almost died, again, because the Basilisk's venomous fang had poisoned him, when it went into his arm, when he used Godric Gryffindor's sword to kill it.
He wasn't alone when he had met his godfather, Sirius, who had dragged Ron by the leg into the Shrieking Shack, to try and kill Peter Pettigrew, who was in his Animagus form as Scabbers. For the longest time he, Hermione, and Ron had thought that Sirius was trying to kill him, but he never wanted to. Harry had his friends with him when he found out that Sirius was his godfather. But, he was alone when he had to fight off one hundred Dementors at once to stop them from taking his and Sirius's soul. He didn't almost die during this experience; he almost had his soul sucked out of him. Having no soul in your body while you are alive is a fate for worse then death.
During his forth year, Barty Crouch, who was pretending to be Mad-eye Moody for almost the entire year, had entered his name in the Triwizard Tournament. During the last task he and Cedric Diggory both agreed to grab the trophy at the same time, that way they would tie. The only thing about that idea was that the trophy was a portkey to a graveyard, where Peter Pettigrew was trying to revive Voldemort. Which he was successful in doing, but not before killing Cedric right in front of Harry, who was tied to Voldemort's fathers tombstone and wandless. He was alone when that happened, he had no friends with him. When Voldemort came back to life he called upon the Death Eaters, when they all arrived he lectured them, then turned to Harry when he was done and told him something about how they were both similar in many ways. After that, he untied Harry and gave him back his wand, wanting to duel with him and kill him. He was totally alone in the duel, except when their wands connected and all of the people that Voldemort had killed, up to his parents, started to come out his wand. Eventually, Harry broke the connection with him, grabbed Cedric's body, and ran toward the trophy. While he was running toward it he had almost died, again, because Voldemort sent the killing curse, Avada Kedavra, at him.
Also, during his fifth year at Hogwarts he was foolish enough to think that Snape wouldn't have checked on Sirius to make sure that he was okay after Harry had told him about his dream. So, after Snape left and he got away from Umbridge he set off for the Department of Mysteries with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny. He had been so worried about saving Sirius's life and getting there before it was too late, that he didn't even listen to Hermione's advise, which turned out to be correct. If only he hadn't been so stupid , Sirius would still be alive. He put his friends lives at risk, and for what? To save someone that didn't need to be saved? To act even more like a hero? What was the point of doing that? In the end, it had cost him. He had to stand there, helplessly, and watch his godfather die. Then, when he returned to Hogwarts, he found out that Dumbledore was keeping something from him for five year; it was something important that he needed to know. And now, he was all alone, he had no one left. Everyone he loved had died, except for the one person he was in love with now.
He couldn't take it anymore; he felt like everyone was just using him, that everyone only wanted him alive so that he could defeat Voldemort or, in his uncles case, to have someone to do everything around the house and someone to beat. He had this gut feeling that they didn't even care about him, about how he felt inside. He was always alone in his life; the only time he wasn't and didn't feel alone was when he was with Sirius, but now that he was gone, he felt like he would always be alone. He felt that no one trusted him, take Dumbledore for example he didn't tell him about the Prophecy and the real reason why Voldemort had tried to kill him until it was too late. He knew that he couldn't trust anyone, the last time he trusted someone that person died, and it was his fault.
He was starting to get sick of life, everyone said that they knew what he was going thorough and how he felt inside, but no one understood how he felt inside and what he was going through. He was sick of the way that he was treated like he was useless, unwanted, unloved. He was tired of having to live his life in fear that he might not see that next day, he was tired of all of his old, painful, internal wounds not healing, not going away. He was sick and tired of always thinking of Sirius and the kind of life he left behind. Sirius still had so much he could do with his life, after, of course, the caught Peter Pettigrew. But, most of all, he was sick and tired of never having anyone to talk to, who would always be there for him, live him, and comfort him when he needed it.
He hadn't seemed to notice that, while he was thinking about his life and things that had happened in it, tears were starting to roll down his pale, swollen cheeks. It was when he turned his head to the side that he felt something wet against his face. He lifted his hand up to his face to wipe away the tears that were rolling gently down his face.
Harry lifted one of his sore arms, which felt heavier then usual, over his head and turned on the radio that Hermione had given him last Christmas. There was a man speaking. He was saying, "That was Nothing to Lose by Billy Talent. And now, here is Evanescence with My Immortal!" The soft, slow music started, and then a moment later a beautiful voice began to sing the lyrics:
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presents still lingers here
And it wont leave me alone
Harry rolled onto his side, his tears had stopped, and stared into the blackest corner of his room. He had heard this song numerous times before. He was still staring into the corner, trying not to blink. He didn't want the tears threatening to fall from his eyes to start rolling down his face. Still, he stared into the blackness of the corner; the room was filled with the light of the full moon that was bright enough that you could see the faint outline of almost everything in his room. He still didn't stop staring at the corner, still trying hard not to blink, not wanting the tears to leave his eyes. But, it was too late, even though he didn't blink, the tears started to roll gently down his pale, bruised cheeks. Oh, how he loved this song. He felt that it explained mostly everything that he felt inside. Almost every time he heard this song; he'd cry; the singer had such a beautiful, powerful voice that he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face.
Harry couldn't hold back his tears any longer, he decided to do what he to do for a long time; cry. His tears started to roll freely down his face. Aside from crying, he could only think of one other way to help himself get rid of all these messed up feelings he had kept bottled up inside all of the time. His tears started to roll violently down his cheeks as he reached under his pillow for something. He pulled something shiny from underneath his pillow; it was a razorblade. He stole it from his uncles shed one day. He had been told to clean the shed and when he was cleaning it, he found a few razorblades at the bottom of a drawer. He took them; looking to see which one was the sharpest. Finally, he decided and grabbed one, shoving it into his pocket.
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
Harry stared at the razorblade for a moment, tears still falling heavily from his brilliant green eyes, before took of his sweater to reveal a long sleeve t-shirt, then he pulled up his sleeve on his left arm. There were so many scars, deep one that will never fade, shallow ones that will fade eventually but will still always be there, in a way, and fresh, red ones. The scars went from his elbow to an inch before his palm. He lifted up the sleeve on his right arm, there were just as many scars on that arm as there was on the other. He sighed as he looked at all of the cuts and scars he had, but he didn't care, they were his way of getting through all the emotional stuff that was going on in his life. He started to cut during the summer after his forth year, and he didn't cut as often as he did when he was home for the summer when he was Hogwarts. This was his way of dealing with his problems. He knew that he shouldn't cut, but it felt so good when the razorblade would slide across his wrist or the way that after he cut he didn't feel upset or angry anymore, he just felt relieved and calm. He also knew that if Hermione found out that she would freak out on him, but if Ron found out, Harry doubted that he would do much of anything. Harry couldn't stop himself as a new wave of tears washed over him.
As he sat there, crying, he thought about the song, about how it was somewhat like his life, about how his wounds, internally and externally, wouldn't seem to heal. The pain that he felt seemed too real and he doubted that it would ever go away. Also, about how there's just too much in his past that time could never erase; that even over time he might not be able to get over what had happened to him.
Harry put the razorblade to the point between his wrist and elbow and put a bit a pressure on it as he slowly dragged it across his arm, increasingly putting more pressure on it as he slid it across his pale, scarred arm. He gasped as he felt a burning sensation on his arm as he took away the razorblade and put it on his pillow. He didn't think that it hurt, well, not very much anyway. He looked down at his arm as it started to bleed a little, but not much, it would stop in a few moments and then when it healed it would barely scar. He hated it when he cut himself slowly, it would barely bleed and scar.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of you tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I held your hand through all of there years
But you still have all of me
Harry picked up the razorblade in his right hand again, tears still rolling freely down his cheeks, and put it to his arm, about a centimeter down from the cut that he had just made. Again, he put pressure on it, but he wasn't moving it across his arm. Instead, he just sat there his head hung low as his shoulders shook violently, tears were falling from his cheeks like rain falling heavily from a black, stormy sky; the pressure he was putting on the razorblade was gone.
This is the first time that this song had really gotten to him. As Harry listen tentatively to the lyrics, he realized how much he wanted someone to be there with him right now, to hold him while he cried, and that he had never had anyone who could comfort him when he was upset or anyone to hold him when he cried. He also realized that whenever he was scared he was always alone, no one was ever there to tell him everything was fine or that everything would be fine. He realized it now more then ever, that throughout his entire life that he had been alone. No one had ever been there for him when he grew up, alone, with the Dursley's, Dudley made sure that he had had no friends. He was even alone when he was with his so-called friends at Hogwarts.
Tears were still falling rapidly from his pale, swollen, pink tinted cheeks as he turned his attention back to the razorblade he was holding. He put pressure on the razorblade again; he hadn't moved it yet. He looked at it as if he was contemplating something. Then, finally, he put even more pressure on it. Not releasing any pressure, he slid the razorblade across is arm as fast as he could, considering that his arms were still sore from what Vernon had done to him earlier, it wasn't too fast but it wasn't too slow; it was a semi-fast pace. The skin was torn apart from the speed, it looked like a doctor had sliced it opened with a scalpel but it wasn't too deep. He let out a low hiss as his arm burned from the quickness of the razorblade cutting open his skin. The cut had started to bleed almost instantly. Harry still had tears cascading down his cheeks as he examined his arm. He felt a little blissful, but that soon faded as the tears falling from his cheeks fell into his cut. He gasped at the unexpected, yet unusually pleasant, pain he had felt. He wound started to bleed faster; he quickly reached under his pillow and grabbed some toilet paper before the blood started to drip on something. He put the toilet paper over his self-inflicted wound and sighed.
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me
As he heard this part of the song, he began to think about a certain person. Harry loved this person more then words could ever explain, but he knew that they would never loved him back, or even like him in that way. He sighed as he removed the toilet paper to see how badly his wound was bleeding; it was flowing at a steady, semi-fast pace. He covered it up again and moved his thoughts back to the one that he loved. He wondered if they ever thought about him, but he doubted that they would. What reason would they have for thinking about him? He was the Boy-Who-Lived; the only time people thought of him was when they wondered who was going to die, himself or Voldemort. The person that he loved probably only thought of him in that way too, just some person that had to save the Wizarding World or die trying, and if he did succeed they would probably just forget about him and act like he was invisible. Who would want to be around someone who murdered another human being, well barely a human being?
Harry couldn't stand being at the Dursley's or anywhere else, except Hogwarts. He hated being away from the person that he loved, he felt even more alone. He couldn't wait until the start of term, he would be able to see his love again, and all the work that they would have to do would take his mind off of things for a while. He yawned widely, but he knew that if he went to sleep that the would probably end up dreaming of his love and start to think, maybe even cry, because he knew that his only love would never like him in that kind of way. Sometimes when Harry would dream of them, his love, he could hear their voice. He missed their voice; he longed to be at Hogwarts so he could hear their voice again. Whenever he would hear their voice, his heart would beat faster and his stomach would do flip-flops. 'Basically,' he thought, 'Like the song, their voice had chased away all of the sanity I've had,' He sighed again.
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
He lifted up the toilet paper that covered his self-inflicted wound, realizing that the wound and the scar that it would leave would never truly leave. It would be there for the rest of his life, as a scar. The same with all his other self-inflicted wounds, they would always be there, they would never truly leave, even if they did fade over time, they would still be there, barely visible. And, although the scar might not be there physically, it would always be there emotionally. Harry would always remember the emotional pain that he couldn't handle because he took the pain inside and made it real on his body. Even fifty years in the future, time could not erase the scars he had now. Time would never erase any of his scars, emotionally and physically. Sure, eventually he would get over the emotional pain that he felt, but it would always still be there, inside of him, forgotten. He knew that one-day, after he had gotten over everything, that he wouldn't have truly gotten over it. The pain that he had buried deep down inside of himself would still be there. Also, the scars that he had given himself would always be there. So, he wound never truly forget about everything. 'Unless I got amnesia,' he thought, sighing.
The blood started to flow quicker as Harry put the toilet paper back on his self-inflicted wound. He sighed as he put the razorblade back underneath his pillow and lied down on his back, looking at the blackness of the ceiling. His tears were now lightly rolling down his pale, pink tinted, swollen cheeks. If anyone ever found out that he cut, they would bombard him with questions and probably make him worse then what they already had; more then likely making him want to self-injure himself more, to release the pain that they had caused him.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I've held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me
If they did question him and make him feel worse then he already did, he was afraid that he might breakdown and cry. He was afraid that nobody would comfort him, tell him that it's all right to cry, maybe even hold him in their arms and let him cry himself to sleep. He was afraid that nobody would be able to help him get rid of his pain and worry; get rid of his fears. He was afraid that nobody would tell him it's all right, that he was safe, that nobody could cause him anymore harm. He was afraid that nobody would even want to help him get through this mess of his so called his life; he was afraid that he would always be alone. He just wanted someone that would always be there for him, to comfort him, hold him, love him, and make him feel safe. Someone like the person he loved.
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
And though you're still with me
I've been alone all along
Sirius used to always hold him when he would cry, comfort him, and tell him that everything was all right. He used to always be the one that Harry would turn to when he needed someone to talk to, when he needed someone to hold him while he cried. Sirius would always cheer him up when he was in a bad mood; he would always try to make Harry feel better by telling him a story about when he was at school with James, Remus, and Peter. Harry missed Sirius so much that he doubted that he would ever get over his death. Even though he felt that Sirius's death was his entire fault, he knew deep in his heart that it wasn't entirely his fault.
Harry knew that it was somewhat Voldemort's fault because he had tricked him into thinking that Sirius was actually in danger. He knew that Dumbledore was somewhat responsible for Sirius death because he hadn't told him about the Prophecy and that Voldemort would probably try to do something like sending him dreams to make him think that someone was in danger and lure him away from people so he could finally kill him, sooner. But, Harry knew that it was his fault as well because he had jumped to conclusions and tried to save Sirius, but only succeeding in leading him to an early grave. He knew that he should have waited to see if Sirius was, in fact, fine, but he didn't, he wanted to act even more like a hero.
Even though Harry knew that Sirius is gone, he was having a hard time believing it and trying to tell himself that he wouldn't come back. But, in Harry's mind, Sirius wasn't gone he was just behind the Veil. He knew that that's not true because he could feel Sirius's presents lingering inside of his heart. Sirius would always be with him in spirit, but Harry would still be alone.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all fears
And I've held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me
He lifted the toilet paper up off of his wound, it stared at it for a moment; it was still bleeding at a steady pace. He sighed as he looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It read 11:28. Tears started to roll faster down his cheeks as he realized that in thirty-two minutes he would be sixteen. He doubted whether anyone would send him a present. He sighed again. His tears started to slow down a little as he wiped them away with his left arm, then put the toilet paper back on the self-inflicted wound before the blood dripped onto anything.
Harry wanted to scream so badly, scream to let out all of the anger he felt inside. Cutting would only suppress that feeling for so long before it stopped doing its job, suppressing a hurtful feeling. He wanted to scream to take out some of his frustration; he wanted to yell at someone. He wanted to scream loudly then breakdown and cry. But he knew that he wouldn't ever find a place where he could be alone so he could to that.
All he really wanted was someone to be there for him; help him get through everything that was going on in his life. He wanted someone to always be there for him, just like he was for Ron and Hermione. All he truly wanted was someone who cared about him the way that Sirius did before he died and the way Remus still, sometimes, did. He sighed again as he turned off the radio, the song had ended, and rolled over onto his side.
Harry started to stare into the black corner again; he sighed. Still holding his arm, he but some pressure on it to try and stop the bleeding. He was tired and he wanted to sleep. He continued to stare at the corner for a few moments before he yawned widely and then he glanced outside and notice that the moon was round; he then remembered that tonight was the full moon. He wondered about Lupin, if it ever hurt when he transformed into a werewolf and when he transformed back. Harry would bet his Firebolt that it did, he didn't really know for sure because he had never asked Lupin when they would sit down and talk. Harry never realized it before, but the moon was hypnotizing in a way. His tears had started to slow down a little.
He stared at the moon for a few moments before he looked away and started to stare into the corner again. While staring into the blackness of the corner, it reminded him of death, the way that it was all dark and unknown. When he was reminded of death, he was reminded of Sirius. Harry felt that it was his fault that Sirius had had a premature demise, but he knew that, deep down, it wasn't entire his fault.
Harry blamed Snape for acting like he didn't care about Sirius's well-being, for acting like he, Harry, was crazy and that he had know clue what he was talking about; for not giving him a sign that he at least knew what he was talking about. If Snape weren't always so mean to him and Sirius, he would have given it a thought that Snape might have actually tried to contact Sirius.
Also, Harry blamed Dumbledore for not telling him about the Prophecy sooner, for thinking that before Sirius had died that he, Harry, was to young to be burdened with the Prophecy and what it meant. If Dumbledore hadn't been so worried about him being hurt in finding out this information, Sirius would still be alive. If only Dumbledore told him that, after the Mr. Weasley incident, Voldemort would try and trick him by sending him dreams and making him think that someone he cared about deeply was in danger. If only Dumbledore had told him about everything sooner that no on this would have happened and Sirius would still be alive.
More then anyone else, though, Harry blamed Voldemort. If Voldemort hadn't been so power hungry and greedy, he would still have his parents, he would still have Sirius. If Voldemort hadn't hated Muggle-born's and half-blood's and wanted to kill them, then no of this chaos would have happened in the first place. If Voldemort hadn't killed his parents then tried to kill him, he would have had a happy, Dursley free life, he wouldn't have a scar on his forehead; he wouldn't have been famous. He wouldn't have to live in fear everyday that he might not ever see the next day; he would be a normal boy, and Sirius would still be alive.
'In fact,' Harry thought bitterly, 'Everything is Voldemort's fault.' He sighed as he gave a quick glance that the alarm clock sitting on his nightstand. It read 11:36. Harry sat up, still putting pressure on his arm, and stared down at his scarred arm for a moment. He lifted up the toilet paper to look at his wound, the toilet paper was bloody but it looked like the bleeding had stopped. Harry grabbed another piece of toilet paper out from underneath his pillow and covered his wound with it. He then got up and walked over to the garbage bin, his legs were really sore and felt like they were covered in cement. He took out a few crumpled up pieces of parchment and put the toilet paper in, then put the parchment overtop of it. He walked over to his bed and lied down, keeping pressure on his arm.
He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, thinking, only a few tears rolled slowly down his pale face. He wanted to leave the Dursley's very much, but he didn't want to leave Petunia. Even though she was a bitch when Vernon and Dudley were home, she was actually very nice. Sometimes, when Vernon and Dudley were gone out, Harry would go and talk with her. As much as she said she hated magic, when Vernon and Dudley were around, she was actually very interested in it. She loved to hear the stories that Harry would tell her about Hogwarts. When she and Harry would talk, Harry would tell her about things that were bugging him or about the Wizarding World. Sometimes she would hold him when he cried and tell him that things would get better.
Most of last summer and all of this summer he hadn't been able to talk to her because either Vernon or Dudley was home. Harry missed his talks with Petunia they were enjoyable. He remembered last summer, the only time he got to talk with her between the two summers, when they had talk for at least five hours; Vernon and Dudley were out of town for the night. Those five hours when they talked were the best five hours he had ever had at the Dursley's. He smiled as he remembered how happy he and Petunia were that day. He wished that it was always like that, though, it would be a lot better and it would help him cope with everything else that was going on in his life.
Suddenly, he thought the most farfetched thing; Petunia would leave Vernon because she had had enough of him and Dudley beating Harry and she and Harry would live, peacefully, together and that she would be the mother that he had never had. Sure, Mrs. Weasley had been somewhat of a motherly figure to him, but it was different, he couldn't explain it but it just was. Harry sighed, he knew that something like that would never happened, so he didn't know why he was even thinking something like that would.
Finally, there were no tears on his face; he had stopped crying. He felt ashamed that he allowed himself to do that; he thought that Vernon was right; he was nothing but a crybaby. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that thought, trying to his thoughts positive. He sat up and lifted the toilet paper off of his arm and looked at it, it looked like it had mostly stopped bleeding. Harry thought it best to leave the toilet paper on for a few more moments before taking it off and going to sleep. He looked at his alarm clock on his night table again; it read 11:44.
He lied back down and closed his eyes. He noticed that while he was thinking that his body didn't hurt as much as it did earlier, now the pain was just a dull throb. He sighed, he had had enough of living in a place were he was treated the way that he was. He wanted to leave as soon as he could. As he thought about what it would be like to live somewhere other then with the Dursley's he got an idea. He would run away, he could go to the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer. He had more then enough money to do that.
Harry decided that that was what he was going to do. Then, after the school year he would find a flat and live on his own. He sat up and listened for any kind of noise. He smirked when all he heard was the snoring of three people. He stood up, walked over to the garbage bin, took out a few pieces of parchment and put the bloody toilet paper near the other bloody piece then put the parchment back into the garbage bin.
He walked to his door and looked down the hall to be sure that everyone was in fact sleeping. Then, he made his way downstairs as quietly as he could. Harry was lucky that he didn't weigh much or the floor and the stairs would have creaked under his weigh. He remembered to skip the second last step that creaked when he stepped on it. He walked down the hallway to where the cupboard under the stairs was. Out of habit, he looked down the hallway and listened to make sure that no one else was awake. He looked at the cupboard door, and then his eyes flickered up to the lock that was on it. Harry raised his hand and gave a small wave, the lock opened.
Harry had learned how to do that and many other wandless magic things before he had started his third year. However, he could only move small objects until the second term of his third year. The first time he had used wandless magic he didn't even mean too. After a while, he was still doing it without meaning too. Then, finally he tried to actually use wandless magic to bring his quill to him when he was doing his homework in the middle of the night. After that night, Harry had practiced using wandless every night until he could move any small object. It wasn't until the end of his third year that he could move any object he wanted, no matter how big or small it was. He could do anything with wandless magic that any adult could do, including making an item appear, disappear, and levitate, even become invisible. Harry had learned how to do wandless magic within a year when it would usually take the average adult many years to learn. However, he didn't tell anyone that he could do that it was his little secret.
As quickly and as quietly as he could he grabbed all of his stuff that had been locked up in the cupboard and made them all levitate with a wave of his hand. He shut the cupboard door, locked it, and then made his way back to his room. Harry made sure that all of his things where in his room before he closed the door.
Harry put his trunk on his bed and took everything out of it, then with a flick of his wrist the inside looked bigger. He had used in enlargement spell. He put all of the things back in his trunk, except his wand, and began grabbing everything he owned from his room. It didn't take long before he was done. He grabbed the razorblade that was underneath his pillow and wrapped it in a clothe with his butterfly handle knife. He began to think, and then decided that he should tell Remus that he was running way, but not tell where he was going. With another flick of his wrist a piece of parchment and a muggle pen appeared out of thin air.
Dear Remus, Harry paused thinking about how to word what he was about to say. Then he decided to just say everything straightforward. Harry wrote for a moment then looked at his finished copy. He quickly re-read it, and changed the beginning.
Dear Remus and/or Tonks,
I've had it! I'm not staying in the hellhole any longer! I'm leaving! I cant take much more of this shit! I don't know where I'm going but I know that it is going to be far away from here. And don't either of you two dare tell me that as long as I live with my aunt I'll be safe! I'm probably way safer away from here then being here. I don't care what you guys have to say; I'm NEVER going back to that hellhole ever again. I'd rather face Voldemort one-on-one.
Anyways, Remus I know that tonight is the full moon and I'm sorry for putting you through this at this time, but I need to get out of here. Either you or Tonks write back to me whenever. I hope you feel better soon. I'm sorry about this Remus, I really am. Well, later.
Love Harry
Harry waved his hand the pen disappeared. Just as he was about to levitate his trunk Hedwig flew in through the widow. She landed gracefully on Harry's shoulder.
"Hey, Hedwig," Harry said as he patted the top of her head, "Can you please take this to Tonks for me?" Hedwig hooted affectionately and pecked Harry's ear before she left.
Harry levitated his trunk, grabbed his wand and quietly made his way downstairs. He reached the bottom of the steps and opened the door, just as he stepped out of the house and was about to shut the door, the grandfather clock in the living room went off. Harry smiled as the clocking dinged for the twelfth time. He was officially sixteen now.
So, wutcha guyz think of the first chapter? Waz it good or did it suck? Plz review and tell me what you think. And if you find any mistakez plz don't hesitate to copy and paste that part into a review and leave a little note saying that I made a mistake and need to fix it.
Well…anywayz…please review, flamez are welcomed.
Wykked As Syn