Stockholm Syndrome, a harry potter fanfic

A.N- I know that the first version of this sucked but that's why I'm redoing it (: This is my first Harry Potter fic and Song fic so don't scorn to hard, as per usual Constructive criticism welcomed by all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter because if I did I wouldn't have cried while reading Deathly Hallows nor would have Sirius have died. I don't own Blink 182 but trust me I wish I owned Mark Hoppus ;)

Stockholm syndrome.

July 30th 11:50pm

10 minutes, that's all that he had left 10 minutes before he turned 15, before pain, humiliation and exhaustion, before his world came crashing down. The heavy sounds of feet pounding their way up the stairs told Harry that his uncle would be bang on time, quickly followed by the locks keeping him safe, scraping open. He took a deep breath as the sudden outline of his beefy uncle filled the doorframe; a clear stench of alcohol followed his uncle as he stood into his nephew's place of sanctuary.

"Freak!" He yelled. "Look what time of year it is. I bet you've been wondering what present you'll get." Anger coated his words as he progressed further towards his cowering nephew, who had hidden in the corner as a desperate attempt to hide from towering uncle.

Grabbing Harry by the scruff of his shirt, he pulled him off the ground, pushing him against the wall suspended off the ground. "Please uncle Vernon not again." Harry pleaded with the man fear flashed through the terrified emerald eyes. His uncle must have seen as a sinister smile grew across his face as he leaned in towards his nephew and whispered. "Don't worry boy you'll take it and you'll like it."

This is the first, thing I remember

Now it's the last, thing left on my mind

Afraid of the dark, do you hear me whisper

An empty heart, replaced with paranoia

Where do we go, life's temporary

After we're gone, do you recognize me?

I know I'm wrong, but I can't help believin'

Harry woke a couple of hour later stuck in darkness and guilt, "I deserve this." He kept whispering into the darkness, each time hitting his head on the wall behind him. 'If it wasn't for you your parents wouldn't be dead, Cedric would still be alive, Sirius would never have gone to Azkaban and would still be alive, happy and friends with your parents.' Everyone he had ever cared about seemed to die around him, his own thought now conspired against him, and he believed them, so when ever his uncle hit him he just took it.

His whole body felt numb, unable to feel the remnants of his uncles beating. Unable to feel the broken ribs, the bruises that covered his body, the places in his arm where his uncle had shattered the bones. His face was a beaten mess, both of his eyes heavily bruised; one sealed completely shut, as well as a broken nose, spilt lip and several small gashes running down his cheek.

I'm so lost

I'm barely here

I wish I could explain myself

But words escape me

It's too late

To save me

You're too late

...You're too late

Harry felt so cold, so numb, disconnected with the world but he didn't care. Nothing ever went right for him, so why should he suddenly care, 'this is all your fault, you and your stupid freak magic way' his thoughts screamed at him, for the first time in 1 years Harry agreed with his uncles ways. Hell had officially frozen over. With his one remaining working hand he quietly searched his desk for a pen and spare bit of parchment before scrawling down ' to be honest you knew the world deserved better.' He looked over to his faithful owl gracefully sleeping in her cage. He opened the cage to allow her out and opened the window "Go and find some food and fly over to the Burrow, there's nothing left here..." his voice trailed off as watched the now awoken owl watch her owner curiously.

You're cold with disappointment

While I'm drowning in the next room

The last contagious victim of this plague between us

I'm sick with apprehension

I'm crippled from exhaustion

And I dread the moment when you finally come to kill me

Feeling through the dark under his bed, he took his one faithful friend, his sharp shiny blood producing knife. He knew that he had lost Ron and Hermione a long time ago, so what more was there to live for? He twisted it against his soft skin for a brief few seconds watching small amounts of moonlight reflect off the blade dancing along the opposite side of the wall.

He finally brought the knife towards his pale skin pressing lightly until a thin streak of crimson covered porcelain skin, the stinging sensation the only thing making him feel alive. Pressing harder onto his skin so that his blood ran free 'your family would be ashamed' he heard something in his head whisper. "My family's dead," he whispered back, he could feel it harder to get a grip of the knife as his world faded into permanent darkness.

He felt himself becoming fainter and dizzier the harder he carved, his breathing became hoarse and shallow, but he knew that it was right. 'One less freak in the world.'