Harry Potter; Searching For Love
By: J-Chan (SCR)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the song 'Breaking the Habit' do not belong to me.
Summary: Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, wants nothing more then to die. When he is saved by none other then Severus Snape, will he take his second chance and live, or will he try once more to end it all? (May become Severitus or HP/SS Slash)
Chapter One: Breaking the Habit.
The streets and homes of Privet Drive were engulfed in shadows. This particular day had been plagued by dark clouds and torrents of unrelenting rain. The lush grass of number 4 was crushed and drowned beneath the water, the well-kept garden over watered due to the storm, and the inhabitants of this house were in a rather somber mood because of the weather, leaving the house silent for the most part. Dudley Dursley, an obese teenager, sat on the couch playing with his new gameboy advance. His mother, Petunia Dursley, stood in the kitchen cleaning up the leftovers from dinner. The man of the house, Vernon Dursley, practiced his putting on a portable golfing green, contentedly sinking the ball in the whole repeatedly.
However, these were not the only residents of number 4. Harry Potter, a boy of 15 (soon to be sixteen), lay in his small room upstairs. This was no ordinary teenager though. He was very peculiar indeed. This boy was a wizard, and not only that, but perhaps the most well known wizard of his time. He was the boy-who-lived, or in his opinion, the boy who was cursed. Having been the target of the dark lord Voldemort, he lost his parents, was nearly killed, and then sent to live with his magic-hating relatives all at the age of one. Now, he was 15, having lived despite several attempts by the dark lord to kill him, and wished that he had been killed at the tender age of one.
He sat on the floor staring through tear infested eyes at the collected pieces of his mirror, his gift from Sirius. He didn't worry about anyone walking in on him, seeing this show of emotion. He was safe here in this room, safe from the Dursley's at least.
He thought about his life for a moment, and then cast a wary glance at a new issue of the Daily Prophet. He hadn't bothered reading it; the headline said enough.
'Harry Potter; Last Hope of the Wizarding World?'
He hated it, and with a sudden burst of energy he snatched up the paper and shredded it, He didn't want to be the last hope! He wanted nothing to do with the war! He had lost too many already. He had lost his parents, Sirius, caused Cedric's death, and now he realized he had lost himself.
He didn't know who he was. He knew Harry Potter; the boy who lived, but didn't know just Harry.
He lay back against the bed frame silently, once again thinking about the past fifteen years. He fought so desperately all his life; fought against the Dursley's, fought back the pain brought on by his loneliness, fought to stay strong, fought Voldemort, and fought to keep his sanity. He lived, he fought, and no one knew of the inner turmoil within him. He kept a happy smile as often as he could, never told anyone of how he felt, showing weakness only when he could fight it no longer.
It wasn't fair!
Why should he be the one to carry the burden of the dark lord? How dare they set this upon his young shoulders? He refused to be the savior of the Wizarding world!
His eyes wandered down to the shattered mirror, looking at his distorted reflection. He was broken, just like his reflection. Grasping the largest shard he rose to his feet. He flicked the lock on his door so the Dursley's couldn't enter, though he'd be dead by the time they bothered to come get him. Nonetheless, he locked it and sat on the bed. Gazing at the shard, he could feel his breath quicken in anticipation.
Harry rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, grimacing at the recently closed wounds across his arm. Sure he knew that the others would disapprove strongly of his cutting himself, but it didn't matter. They didn't know the emotional pain he went through every second of every day, knowing that he was the cause of Cedric's death, Sirius' death, even his parents' death. The temporary physical pain was nothing compared to all that, and offered him a time of peace from the guilt ridden feelings invading his heart and mind. What was a little pain anyways? He had withstood the agony of being the victim of the Crutciatus Curse before. No slash across his forearm could compare to that curse.
He had a different intention tonight though. Only two days into the summer, and things took a turn for the worse. Dumbledore, deciding that he needed to inform the Dursley's of his situation, had written them a letter.
Flashback.
Harry stood in the kitchen fixing breakfast when Vernon sat at the dining table flipping through the post. He pulled out a manila colored envelope with a writing he recognized. Vernon opened the envelope grudgingly as he cast a look to Harry.
"It seems at least one of your kind knows how to properly send a letter." Vernon sneered as he pulled out the letter. Petunia wandered near and peered over her husband's shoulder curiously.
"To Mr. and Mrs. Dursley;" Vernon started. "Over the previous years at Hogwarts Harry has dealt with a great many difficult things. As you know his life is often threatened by Voldemort, and we do all we can to keep him safe, though he has proven capable of fending for himself. However, this last year has been particularly difficult on him, as he has suffered the loss of his godfather. I kindly request that you allow him some time to grieve and deal with this loss. If possible give him someone to talk to, as we are not able to be there for him at this point in time. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore." His uncle looked at him as if he had just received a wonderful gift, whereas his aunt looked at him with pity and walked away.
"That criminal godfather of yours finally got what he deserved did he? Weren't planning to tell us though, eh? Figure you'd still be able to use him as a threat?" Vernon said as he stood.
"He wasn't a criminal, and he didn't deserve to die!" Harry replied, his blood beginning to boil.
"You said he was a murder yourself boy!"
"He was innocent! Framed by a man he thought to be his friend!" Harry yelled.
"Don't raise your voice at me, and don't you lie!" Vernon bellowed, his mighty fist throwing Harry into the counter, knocking the wind out of him. "Now," He said, voice lowering. "Go upstairs. I don't want to see your face again tonight. You can stay up there tomorrow too until I leave. You'll start doing your chores again and then going right up to your room." He took Harry by the collar and led him to the stairs.
End Flashback.
Since then he had done as his uncle said. He went down in the morning and did his chores, grabbed something to eat, and then went upstairs. Harry had also picked up the bad habit of cutting himself then as well.
So here he was, now two weeks into the summer, sick of the chores, fed up with the Dursleys, and tired of only a moment's peace with lasting scars. He would be free of the guilt, the pain, the loneliness, and he wouldn't need to fight any longer.
One cut first. He made it just deep enough to draw blood. Red stained the sheets within seconds. A steady flow of the warm crimson liquid streamed from the wound. He then turned to his second wrist, and taking the small mirror shard in his bleeding and trembling hand, he slit that one open as well. Moments later he fell back on the bed, his own blood around him, and he welcomed death. He watched the sky turn red as the sun set before he slipped into darkness.