Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Also, any themes that are similar to those in other fanfictions is purely coincidental.

A/N: I intend to write further chapters. I hope you enjoy :) Update on this chapter. I decided to put an asterisk next to the acronym "CPS" so you can go to the bottom of the page and read what it is. I'm not defining it right here because people tend to skip the "author's note" bit. I'm not complaining. I'm guilty of that too. :P

It was a bad day to be Harry Potter. Actually, it was a bad year to be Harry Potter. He shifted on his dorm room bed and sighed, contemplating just how shitty his fourth year at Hogwarts had been so far.

Harry had genuinely been looking forward to the Triwizard Tournament; just sitting back and watching other people endanger their lives for a change, watching other people be scrutinized and glorified. Then, his name had been pulled from the goblet, and now he had been enlisted in yet another battle that he wanted nothing to do with.

Harry could handle that. At times, he almost enjoyed the fight, trying to hurt Voldemort the way he had hurt him and others. However, a much larger part of Harry hated all of the attention he gained from it. People always expected so much from him, and they tended to loathe him when he couldn't deliver, or when crazy things happened, like his name being pulled from the goblet.

That was where Harry was now; isolated, the entire school seemingly against him. Harry would probably be capable of handling that as well; however, the cruel new element to this situation was that his best friend, Ron, had turned against him too. In Ron's absence, Harry felt empty, and he began to wonder why he was bothering with anything. Everything seemed so meaningless to him without Ron. Why was he putting himself through all this hell?

To top it all off, Harry had been fortunate enough to receive his first letter from his aunt and uncle. It was a lovely message that addressed Harry as a "little shit", blamed Harry for CPS* (and wizarding CPS, apparently) questioning them and "ruining his uncle's reputation", and it ended sweetly by threatening Harry with death. Harry had read the note, balled it up and tossed it into the wastebasket, not even bothering to abolish it magically.

Honestly, to Harry, there was nothing particularly remarkable or hurtful about the content of the letter. It served as a painful reminder that no one loved him, but he was used to his Aunt and Uncle telling him that he was worthless. He had heard it all before. Harry had also previously dealt with his relatives' "CPS panic attacks". They had never amounted to anything, except for more abuse.

The letter wasn't completely without merit, though. He had found it somewhat humorous to read their shouted words, rather than hear them in person. Though he supposed he should feel fearful of the upcoming summer, he couldn't help but laugh at how rabidly angry they sounded. He found it particularly funny how they tacked on that he was a "stupid bastard" at the end of one of their sentences. Classic.

Sadly, a tiny part of Harry also found the abusive letter comforting. At least he could always rely on his Aunt and Uncle to be absolutely horrible. That was... something.

"Ooh," Harry heard Seamus mock from behind him. "If it isn't Mr. I-have-to-be-in-the-Triwizard-Tournament. What are you moping around about? Did they forget to interview you today? Shouldn't you be getting ready for your photo op?"

Harry stood up, avoiding eye contact. "Leave me alone, Seamus," he replied weakly.

"Aw, what's the matter? Can't take a little joke, or are you too good for that?"

Fuck it, I'll do my homework in the library or something, he thought. Harry ignored him, grabbed his schoolbag, and left the room, wondering how Seamus didn't get sorted into Slytherin.

"Ugh, just let me vent to you, Neville. You should've seen him this morning with that lady reporter. 'Oh, well, to be honest, I never really wanted to compete in the Tournament'," Ron said, obviously imitating Harry. "I'm sorry, but I seriously can't believe just how much of a git he is. I'm telling you, I can't stand him."

Exasperated, Neville rolled his eyes in response. "Ron, haven't we talked about this enough? I've already told you. I think he looks miserable around reporters, and I still don't think he put his own name in the goblet."

Harry, who had been halfway down the stairs, paused, unsure of what to do. They were clearly talking about him. No part of Harry wanted to hear what Ron had to say about him, but he couldn't move. It would be awkward to walk past them, but more than that, Harry felt as though his legs were literally glued in place. Ever since he was a child, whenever someone said or did something to him that felt particularly hurtful, some part of him closed off, leaving him momentarily more mesmerized than hurt. He couldn't stop listening.

Ron snorted derisively. "Oh please, he's loving this. He's so arrogant, he's probably been planning this since first year. All he ever thinks about is himself." That's not too bad, Harry thought. By now, he was accustomed to Ron thinking he was conceited.

"Sorry, Ron," Neville said timidly, "but I think Harry probably thinks about himself less than anyone I know. He kind of, I dunno, seems like he hates himself most of the time."

"Oh good!" Ron shouted. "Then we have something in common. I hate him too. Hell, I never really liked him. I never had any fun with him. I just.. I felt sorry for him. That's all. He was a total pain to be around."

Suddenly, Neville peered up at the staircase. Harry blushed, still feeling unable to move, but certain Neville had spotted him.

"Um, Ron..." Neville said.

Ron ignored him, continuing his rant. "And another thing! I've been wanting to stop hanging out with him for a long time now. I'm glad we're fighting. Gives me a good excuse to stop talking to him. He could die in that bloody tournament for all I care."

"Ron, you're really going to regret saying that, especially if something does happen to Harry in the tournament."

"No, I won't! It'd be a load off my mind."

Finally, Harry felt he had heard enough. Unaware of the tears falling down his face, he walked briskly past the two boys, careful not to run. Still half in his numbed state and oblivious to his own tears, Harry figured he should walk rather than run, that he should make it look like he wasn't hurt or hadn't even heard the conversation.

Ron and him briefly met each other's eyes, but Harry looked away and hurried out of the room before he could read his expression. Behind him, he could hear Ron call after him, "Shit. Harry, wait! I didn't mean what I said!" However, it was too late. In a cloud, all Harry could continue to do was walk pointedly out of the common room, hoping to find a secluded place to do his homework, and probably cry.

*CPS stands for Child Protective services. Basically, if someone under eighteen is being abused, someone will contact CPS and they'll intervene and, if need be, remove the child from their guardians' care. I think this is pretty much the job of social workers, but I'm no expert. Regardless, it's a very necessary and important job.