Hey everyone! This is something totally different from what I have written before! This story is based on the book 'You don't know me' By…Erm…I forget but I don't own it!

Disclaimer: YES! I OWN HARRY POTTER! *wakes up* Oh darn! Well, read anyways please *goes back to sleep*

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You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. You think you know everything about me, from where I go during the summer to the clothes I wear…but you don't. Do you know what I look like? Fat? Tall? Freckles? Brown eyes stuck into beautifully tanned skin? I think not. Look closer. Deeper. It's like a kaleidoscope isn't it? One minute I'm short, the next tall, then fat, then muscle toned. The only thing that stays constant are my green eyes. Watching you.

That's right, watching you. I am in this room at this moment. Watching you sit at your computer, reading this story that is not a story. It is not a story because I am not an author, nor will I ever be. I did write one thing though. It was a poem.

Sometimes I wonder
Is it really worth it?
To laugh,
To cry,
To live?
What do we gain,
What do we lose?
Is it worth it
To live a lie,
So people like you more?
Is it worth it
To try and laugh,
When really
You want to cry?
Is it really worth it
To live,
When all you want
Is to die?

See, I am not a very good writer.*

(*The person that wrote that is indeed a good writer, Harry is just putting himself down at the moment! The person that wrote it is Galadriel. She let me borrow it and I thank her a million times over for that! I take no credit for it! )

At the end of the year, my headmaster, Albus Dumbledore called me into his office. He wanted to ask me if I was okay.

"I'm fine" I heard my voice answer. 'No I'm Not' I screamed in my head 'tell him! The nightmares, the visions, the beatings, everything!'. And yet again my voice did not respond, as I would have liked.

"Are you sure?" He asked me, peering at me over those half moon glasses of his

"Positive!" I heard myself answer again. 'No!' I yelled to myself 'stop it! Stop lying!' And yet again, my mind was denied and the headmaster dismissed me.

You think you know me. You think you know what my life is like…you don't. Every year at the end of the school year I go to the home that is not my home to be with the man that is not my uncle and do the chores that are not my chores. They are not my chores because they are things that the man that is not my uncle needs me to do, therefore, they are his chores…but I do them anyway.

The Lashasa Palulu, the tribe that is not a tribe because they do not exist, walk on their hands when they are indoors. If I were a member of the Lashasa Palulu I would have not been beaten, because I would not have tracked mud on the floor of the home that is not my home. After my beating I was sent to my bedroom that is not a bedroom. It is not a bedroom because a bedroom would require a bed and mine had none. Therefore, I believe that it is a kitchen or a bathroom masquerading as a bedroom.

I was kept in my room all the next day and was summoned down the stairs late into the next night to be met by a very angry and very drunk man who is not my uncle. He slurred as he spoke.

"You boy!" He stumbled over his words "You never show me respect!"

I yelled back at him against the commands of my mind "I'll show you respect when you show me some!"

My Uncle, being drunk, swung at me and grabbed at my arm, securing it in a tight grip. 'Oh no! my mind raced 'what have I done!' The little man who sits at the little control panel in my mind began typing furiously 'RUN, LEGS, PUMP; ARMS, SWING GET OUT OF THERE!' I did struggle but the man who is not my uncle swung at my face and landed a punch right in the middle of it, sending me onto the porch. He jumped out and we both rolled down the steps with him on top of me and punching me over and over again and to my horror I was punching and struggling right back. Until, that is, the man who is not my uncle slammed my head against the step, sending me into my peaceful delusions of magical bunnies and happy rubber duckies. A shrill scream of anger and shouting pierced through my thoughts and there were bright lights and he was gone and people were talking to me but I was so tired…

You think you know what I think and do…you don't…and you don't want to. One thing that invades my mind is death. You think you know what scares me…you don't'. One thing that does not scare me is death. Yes, death. I know that I will die, that my time is coming near. I am ready for it and even await it. I am ready to die.

And so, here I am, in the hospital, writing this to let you know…

You think you know me…you don't…

…And you never will.

~@~

Well, please review!