A lone light shone out of the window on Privet Drive were a teenage boy lay on his bed and thought of the life that he could have had if his parents hadn't died when he was a child. He now lived with his mother's sister and her family, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and their mammoth son Dudley. If you walked into this house one would find nothing that signalled that a fourth person lived in this house, for Harry Potter was hated by his only living relatives.

Harry by no stretch of the imagination was normal. Harry had magic flowing through his veins; he was a wizard about to start his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was no longer a child but a fully fledged teenager with all the aches and pains that are entailed with it. Worse he was isolated from all his friends and tormented by nightmares that made his scar ache. This scar made Harry even more unusual then all other witches and wizards; he survived the curse of death which no one else has, from that day he was 'the boy who lived' and the legendary Harry Potter was born.

Harry was mourning the loss of his godfather the infamous Sirius Black. His heart felt black and he refused to sleep because he replayed the last moments of his godfather's life. A curtain was at the bottom of the amphitheatre in a dark room, of the department of mysteries in The Ministry of Magic. Usually this room was very quite but tonight a fierce battle was taking place between Voldermorts death eaters and The Order of the Phoenix. Black was fighting his cousin when he fell through the curtain. Harry was left screaming as he tired to fight to get to Sirius.

Harry had scratches all over his arms were he would pierce his skin with a small blade that he kept under some loose floor boards. For Harry the Pain was too much tonight he did not want to live anymore. The Pain inside him had won. He slowly sat up and gently pulled up the floor board, wrote a letter to the two most important people in his life Ronald Weasly and Hermione Granger saying sorry.

Dear Hermione.

You have been a great friend and were always there for me but the pain inside me is too much and I want you not to cry for me, when you find me…be strong, be brave and let others benefit from the kindness you have shown me.

Lots of love your friend

Harry Potter.

The Letter to Ron was slightly different. He laid them next to each other and picked up the knife and placed it against his skin and let a drop fall on each. He picked up the letters and placed gave the Hedwig said goodbye to her and told to stay with Ron.

Harry picked up the knife and dug it into his skin and gasped but kept going the blood was flowing out of his arms as he continued to cut his wrist. Then He started at his face but soon the blood faded out of his sight, and he fell to the ground.

The next thing Harry woke up noises around him and someone leaning over him. "Where am I?" he whispered in a hoarse voice.

"You're in Hospital" said an unfamiliar voice.

"Harry why didn't you talk to me?" said a bony women who he suddenly realised was Aunt Petunia but before he answered Hermione and Ron raced in followed by the Weasley's who stared fussing over him. Noticeably absent from the ragged crowd by his bed was Uncle Vernon, Dudley and Percy Weasley, one of Ron's older brothers. Harry couldn't another word in as Aunt Petunia and Mrs Weasley were arguing about whether or not Harry should go to St Mungos. Hermione came round and put her hand on his and he fell asleep all confused.