Yes this is the story redone, I shall be using this one now and will delete the other one in a few days. I have posted the first chapter earlier than I said because I have to admit that I really want to know if you like the way this turned out or if you prefer the original. Hope you like it. Thanks for sticking with it and Happy New Year...soon.

Harry Potter and The Life

He Left Behind

Chapter I – The Empty House

He stared and the walls stared back, mocking him, taunting him. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the cold that had seeped through his skin and into his bones. He tried to close his mind to the pain that was coursing through his veins like poison but he could not stop the sharp feeling of hurt that stabbed through his heart like a knife.

The room was large and square with broken parts of brick and half standing walls scattered throughout. The bricks were worn and stained with time, and the small box windows were peeling but somehow managed to keep out most of the freezing wind despite their age.

Huddled in one of the far corners of the room was a small form wrapped in oversized clothes and sobbing quietly encased in his own misery. He sat with knees drawn up tight to his chest and arms folded around his legs, while his head pressed firmly into his thighs and silent tears rolled slowly down his pale cheeks. He uncurled himself slowly and leaned back against the jagged wall.

How could this happen? How did they? I? When did it... did it? No! Yes? Why can't I remember?

With a growl of frustration he roughly pulled back the sleeve of his blue jumper and exposed It burned darkly into his left forearm. For what must have been the hundredth time he rubbed and clawed at It desperately trying to rid himself of the mark and the shame that came with it. Nothing happened, the skin was hard and tough and no matter how much he dug, his nails could not even draw blood.

He screamed, infuriated and beat angrily at the wall with his fist.

"This isn't fair! After everything I've down for them, for everyone. I don't deserve this. I'm not a criminal! I didn't join Voldemort! I wouldn't! Would I?" He froze uncertain. What had he done on that day? His anger quickly subsided into sobs, and tears streamed down his face as a deep sadness once again consumed him.

He sighed deeply and pulled his arm forcefully across his eyes to stop the tears. He looked down at the dark mark and let his sleeve fall back over it, hiding it from his eyes. His gaze travelled up to his wrist and Dudley's old watch, scratched but still readable it was telling him it was time for his daily scavenge.

At the same time everyday for the past two weeks he rose from his dank, dark little corner, stretched until some feeling returned to his limbs and then reluctantly he started to creep carefully out of the building. From his pocket he pulled a large, plain red cap that he had stolen from a washing line during his mad run from Privet Drive all that time ago.

He pulled the cap down low over his eyes and checked the area but as usual there was no one around at 3 o'clock in the morning. He made his way quickly through the alleys trying to reach the bins at the back of the sweet shop and collect the packets of broken sweets that had been thrown out. He would then move on to the cafe to see if... He stopped dead.

Shit, that's Kingsley!

Walking up the street in front of him was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Order was obviously still looking for him! He stepped backwards and around the corner one step at a time trying anxiously not to make a sound. Then he turned quickly and ran all the way back to the rundown building.

He arrived back at the building panting heavily, and feeling slightly dizzy and weak from the meagre amount of food he had consumed in the last two weeks he collapsed in a heap. He tried desperately to get his breath back and waited for the dizziness to subside. He thought that the Order would have stopped looking for him here, that he would be safe but he knew now that this was not the case. He lay on the cold, hard floor for only as long as absolutely necessary. Knowing that he would never be safe here or anywhere near Privet Drive he decided that it was time to move on.

I have to go, I don't know where but if I'm going to give myself any chance of avoiding Azkaban or even the kiss he shuddered unconsciously at the thought of the Dementors I have to go back to Privet Drive to collect my things.

He rose and once again made his way out of the rundown building and started towards Privet Drive. It was still early morning and he knew that he had to move fast if he didn't want to been seen. He began to walk the familiar path, the unwelcome path, the reluctant path back to the Dursley's.

He crossed through the park and he caught the sound of the old swings squeaking. He stopped to look at the peeling yellow seat of the swings that he had in carefree days played on. He lingered there, thoughts of his youth swirling in his head. Not the happiest childhood, but he was happier then than he was now.

He continued his journey through the streets he knew so well, and as he turned the corner a shadow loomed over him, blocking his view and bringing his heart to his throat. He whirled round, heart thumping and prepared for the worst. His frightened gaze landed on an innocent tree blowing in the wind.

Breathing a sigh of relief and cursing himself for being so paranoid he resumed his trek towards Privet Drive. He reminded himself that while he should not be so paranoid he should still be cautious.

It was a dark and cold morning as he made his way slowly towards the house that held many memories, mostly unpleasant but with a few that could bring warmth to his frozen heart.

He soon arrived; it was exactly how he remembered: perfect like every other house in the street. He made his way around the back and hoped that Aunt Petunia had hidden the spare key well. He wasn't disappointed.

The house was uninhabited and he made his way through unhindered, the house had been cleaned and cleared days ago ready for sale. They had moved extraordinarily fast, the house was no longer a crime scene.

I bet the Order had something to do with this.

He entered the hallway and his gaze caught his reflection in the mirror. In his mind the mirror transformed, the light brown frame became darker, almost black, the shape changed becoming more rectangular and from the corner a crack spread down through the pane and in horror he saw cold, dead bodies in the hallway and warm blood staining his hands. The room trapped him. He couldn't escape. He couldn't...

He stepped back and away from the past, shivering. He climbed the stairs to his room and stopped outside the newly painted door; he placed his hand over the doorknob and twisted it open.

He stepped into the room, and stopped. It was unrecognisable; it had all been redecorated and refurnished, a strange place, which no longer felt like his, then again maybe it never did. Slowly, he made his way over to the new bed and lying on his chest he pulled up his secret floorboard. Everything was where he had left them, untouched since his last visit.

He took each one out with great care, one by one.

A letter, with the strange handwriting he didn't recognise but which, like the others, he had not wanted to read.

Next the Gringotts key, he would need that later. Then, his leather wallet containing a small amount of muggle money.

He reached in further and his fingertips brushed a feather. His throat tightened. It was Hedwig's. He placed it tenderly alongside his other possessions, pausing for a moment to think about his beloved Hedwig.

At the back of the hole he found his frayed and torn rucksack, and he gathered his collection of special objects into it.

Lastly, his photo album, he didn't know what to do with it, so he put it in with the rest of his things.

He slotted the board back into its original position, and then slung his rucksack over his shoulder. It had been a long time since he had been able to use running water and he couldn't resist quickly washing his face. He stepped into the bathroom and turned the taps, nothing.

Of course, they turn off the water until the house is sold. Idiot.

As he was about to leave he saw how dirty his face was and suddenly a cleaning spell popped into his head. What harm could it do? He felt so dirty and he had only resisted the temptation before because he was staying in the building. He would be leaving now. What did it matter?

He pulled the wand slowly from his back pocket and for the first time since… that day, he felt its weight in his hand. It felt good to hold it again, but at the same time it didn't, it felt strange, different.

He quickly cast the spell and instantly feeling better he pushed away his odd thoughts and took the stairs two at a time, leaving through the back door, locking it and returning the key. He went to open the gate and leave when he suddenly felt inexplicably sad. Turning for a last look at the house with a mixture of relief and despair he knew then that despite how cruelly the Dursley's had treated him, he would miss them.

Shaking away the unwanted feelings he finally opened the gate and was starting to leave when he heard a small pop nearby.

Terror gripped his heart as he turned and for a split second saw a glimpse of electric blue making its way towards him.

"Shit"