Disclaimer:

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, I don't own anything, and neither do you.

I DONT OWN THE CHARACTERS, THE PLOT (C'mon, people have used a 'Harry becomes a Creepypasta' plot too), PLACES, ETC. NOTHING BELONGS TO ME AND I AM NOT MAKING ANY MONEY OUT OF THIS.

Warnings: Swearing, Depression, Cutting (Of the wrists), Angst (Not too deep though, and not constantly), gore, murder, possible smut in later chapters, DARK!Harry

Pairing: UNDETERMINED, but will be SLASH

Edited on October 26th, 2018

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In the smallest room of Number Four of Privit Drive in Surrey, a fifteen - almost sixteen - boy laid on a broken and lumpy bed, staring at the sharp knife in his hand with morbid fascination. A bloody razor lay a few feet away from him on the floor, sitting innocently despite the crimson staining it.

Harry Potter was his name, and he hated that fact. With his messy black hair that was currently dirty and matted, emerald green eyes that had seen horrors no one his age should see, and sickly pale skin that had an unhealthy flush, Harry looked like hell warmed over plain and simple.

He slowly got up and walked over to the broken mirror in the corner, never taking his eyes off the knife. Harry crouched to the ground in order to really look in the mirror, his eyes focusing on the distorted images of him and lifted his hand up to place the knife a few centimeters from his neck.

At this point in time, Harry wasn't thinking about murder. No, he was thinking about suicide.

Harry was considered an emotionally strong person, and he was. Everything he had lived through that. But there was a point where one just wants to stop trying, and to stop fighting, and just sleep peacefully. And right now, that idea was...really appealing.

With fresh cut scars littered on his arms, drops of blood dripped onto his shirt. But Harry didn't care. He definitely didn't care, nor did he notice. He was too lost in his own mind to even process the things around him.

Closing his eyes, Harry didn't move the knife closer but nor did he move it away. Right now, all he wanted to do was give up. He lost his godfather, and then found out that the man he trusted like a grandfather had lied to him and withheld information that could have saved Sirius. Maybe even Cedric as well.

It was bad enough that Harry blamed himself for their deaths. And then Dumbledore just had to add to it, telling him about the prophecy. Now he was wondering, why didn't Dumbledore tell him? Was he not trustworthy enough? Was he not Light enough? Was he not good enough to know?

Harry had always hated bringing himself down, he really did. It made him feel like shit, and he would end up doubting himself for hours on end until someone knocked some sense into him, and that would often take a while as Harry hid his emotional turmoil very well.

People often said that Harry wasn't very good at hiding his emotions. They were, of course, wrong. He was very good at hiding his pain, its all he ever knew since he was a kid. He always felt like a burden whenever he showed his pain, so he learned to hide and lie about it, to pretend he was fine, so no one would have to worry.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts, hiding in its depths, that he didn't notice anything or anyone around him.

He didn't notice the loud rapping at his door.

He didn't notice the shrill voice yelling at him to make dinner.

He didn't notice the door opening.

He didn't notice the overly obese man stomping over to him.

But he did notice the pain he felt when the man hit him, causing him to tumble over and making him lose grip of his knife, letting it clatter to the floor without causing harm to his body.

Unfortunately for the inhabitants of the house, at that exact moment, the boy was lost in his own memories. All of them on replay, going over and over again.

Being shoved into a cupboard at the tender age of three...being beat up by his cousin at age six...the teachers yelling at him at age nine...reading the Hogwarts letter...feeling Quirrell's body burn 7under his hands...being chased by a basilik...dozens of dementors surrounding him...watching a seventeen year old fall lifeless to the ground...the ritual...jabs and vibes of being insane sent his way...watching Sirius fall through the veil...

It was all too much for his mind to take. So at that moment, when Vernon hit him, he snapped like a rubber band that's been stretched too far.

When Vernon hit him, he snapped and without even really thinking about it, he grabbed the knife on the floor and slashed the overly obesed man's neck open. The crimson red blood poured out from his neck like a rushing waterfall, and with a gurgle or two the fat whale fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Soon enough, the air filled with a metallic smell and the blood spilled onto his hands and clothes, staining it. The fact that Vernon was dead barely pinged in his brain. All he could focus on was the wonderful blood. The beautiful and flowing red blood that surrounded him in a puddle.

His mind was blurred and buzzed, not really focusing on anything except the crimson on his hands. In that moment, he wanted more. And so without really thinking about it, he dug the red stained knife in Vernon's gut, before pulling out and watching as even more blood rushed out.

A grin came across Harry's face as he started slashing and gutting the obese man below him even though he had already died, looking rather sinister. He tilted his head, and in a moment of curiosity, dug his head into a rather large cut in his stomach, his hand coming in contact with an organ. Grinning even more, Harry tugged a bit of it out. It was long and bloody, and Harry vaguely recognized it as an intestine...He wasn't very sure.

And then Petunia came in the door. With an annoyingly high-pitched shriek, she turned around to run, but unfortunately for her, Harry's magic snapped the moment he heard her shrill voice, and the door slammed without even really thinking about it. How dare she interrupt him?

Harry didn't even register his Aunt's shrill voice calling him a freak. He just looked at the razor in his bloodied hand with a rather creepy morbid fascination, and then back up at Petunia, his lips splitting into a malicious and blood-thirsty grin that made her heart stop for just a moment.

With Harry soaked head to toe in blood, and a feral look to him with insanity in his eyes...He looked like the devil incarnate.

He didn't notice when Petunia's insults turned into demands that he stop. He just walked over to her slowly.

And he certainly didn't listen when her demands turned into begging sobs as he cut her stomach open.

When Harry stood up, he snapped out of his haze and finally realized what he had done. But he didn't have any remorse, guilt, or even a smidge of self-doubt. He enjoyed doing it, that's for sure. But what was he going to do now...?

"Mom!! Dad!!" Harry finally registered Dudley pounding on the door and shouting in a panicked voice.

Dudley chasing him in the school yard...Making him drop the plate he was holding...Beating him up until he's coughing up blood...Pushing him out of the way to look at the boa constrictor...glaring at him and calling him a freak...

Memories and feelings that he'd been suppressing for so many years suddenly all flew at him all at once until all he could imagine was Dudley crying and begging for mercy...

..."What are you doing!?"...

Fantasizing watching the life slowly leave his eyes as she eventually dies from a thousand cuts all over his body...

..."S-Stay away from me, freak!"...

Imagining soaking his hand in the warm blood that's leaving his body and pooling around him, staining the wood floors below them...

A loud gurgle snapped Harry out of his thoughts again.

When Harry finally processed where he was, he saw Dudley right in front of him on the floor, deep gashes in his overweight body, the blood consisted pouring from his wounds.

And he smiled.

Thirty minutes later, the Dursley residence suddenly exploded, almost unnaturally so. And a small, malnourished teen stood at a far distance, who were an almost disturbing smile.

The sight of the god forsaken house burning made the smile grow. All it took was some gasoline from the garage and a lighter from Vernon's jacket, and the glorious fire started. Then when his magic answered to his will and forced every door and window open when he was from a safe distance, and the explosion happened. It was absolutely wonderful to watch...

Harry Potter was free.

And all it costed was his sanity.