Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I suppose I should put a trigger warning here. This story has a lot of angst. There is a suicide attempt and some pretty dark feelings described.

As the same as everyone else, I don't own Harry Potter.

Please review and let me know any comments you may have... Thank you!

Summary:

It was another dry summer day on Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Most people were holed up in their houses with the AC turned all the way up, avoiding the heat as long as they could. However, one teenager didn't receive the comfort of the AC during the summer. He spent his time doing numerous manual labor tasks around the house. This is because Harry Potter wasn't most people. No Harry was quite extraordinary. Not that he felt that way. Harry felt the only thing extraordinary about him was the extraordinary bad luck he had that followed him everywhere…

"Finish painting that fence before weeding the garden, boy! Make sure it's done right or you'll regret it!" yelled Uncle Vernon from the doorway.

"Yes, sir" replied Harry, tiredly. He had been doing chores for the entire day on an empty stomach. Not that he wasn't used to it. He just seemed to lack his usual motivation. Vernon's threats didn't mean much to him anymore and while he used to look forward to the end of the summer, now he was dreading it. Cedric's death haunted him every night. He was always going over in his mind what he could have done differently to save Cedric's life. Going back to Hogwarts would just make him think about the night in the graveyard even more.

Vernon retreated back into the house with the door slamming. Harry went to the shed to get some paint to start on the fence. Most wouldn't notice and many didn't notice how Harry's shoulders slumped while he walked or how sunken his eyes were. He betrayed the look of a pained soldier coming home from war and not many people could see how close he was to breaking.

While starting on the side furthest from the house, Harry began painting the white picket fence. It was tedious and repetitive work but it did keep his mind occupied. It was the nights alone in his room that was the darkest of times.

He finished the fence in good time and was able to weed the garden by nightfall. While coming in the house for the night, Harry bypassed his so-called "family" and went straight to his room.

He glanced around to see if anything had to be done, but no. He had finished his homework within the first two weeks of summer break and Hedwig was hunting. He also checked to see if any letters came when he was out, but there wasn't any on his desk. Every time he saw no one wrote to him, a little spark of anger ignited within him. He kept thinking that maybe one of his friends would write to him but so far no one has. He wrote to Ron and Hermione a few times in the beginning of summer but his posts went unanswered. With the anger that came with being ignored there lay a sadness that his friends of 4 years would cut ties with him after everything that has happened.

Absolutely alone, Harry fell into an unrestful sleep…

"Bring my body back, will you? Bring my body back to my father…" Cedric pleads

"Kill the spare!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Green light flashes

"Crucio!" Hot knifes attacking his nerves

Pain flashed across the side of his face. "Shut your bloody mouth, Boy! You woke the entire house up with your infernal screaming!" yelled Vernon after punching Harry to wake him up.

Harry cupped the side of his face, knowing that it will swell soon. "Sorry, Uncle. Won't happen again".

"It better not! Do well to remember that! You won't like what happens next time" Vernon left Harry's room, slamming the door shut and putting back the locks in place.

Harry could feel his eyes watering, whether from the pain physically or emotionally. He glanced around and saw Hedwig hadn't returned yet. Deciding it better to just keep himself busy instead of trying to fall asleep again he got up and sat down at his beaten desk. Noticing he hadn't kept track of the days on his calendar, he crossed off the days that had past. As he did this he realized, yesterday was July 31st. He was 15 now and hadn't realized his birthday had just past. Another year older and he felt like he wished he was dead. Harry pictured his death as freedom. Maybe he would see his parents, maybe he could apologize to Cedric, and maybe just maybe he could escape the pain of living.

This wasn't the first time he thought about dying. He certainly came close to dying before. But, Harry was reaching his breaking point. What was the point to living when you dread being alive? There are few things that cause him to be happy anymore. Talking with his friends was one of them, he enjoyed flying on his Firebolt, and he enjoyed reading. Not reading textbooks like Hermione but reading to escape reality. To immerse himself into another character's life.

Harry decided to pick up a battered copy of his favorite book and reread that before it was time to cook breakfast. He had read it many times before but each time he was able to pick up something he hadn't before.

Harry read until the sun rose and read wishing that maybe he would get a letter tomorrow. Maybe his friends would reach out and let him know they still care…