A/N: Hi, it's me again. This time with another OC fic. This is Dark!Harry..

I don't own Harry Potter, for I am not British, no matter how much my accent implies. I count this disclaimer for all chapters.

Prologue

Harry lowered his wand. He couldn't believe it. Euphoria filled his every sense… He took a deep breath, wanting to feel freedom coursing through his veins…

It was over. Months, years of battling has led to this. Everyone ran to him, embracing him, wanting to touch a piece of the boy who lived – it was entirely his fault. But, for once, it was a good thing.

For once. It was a good thing.

It meant there would be a time when they all would come to blame him again. For the countless deaths the year-long battle has caused. Fred, Sirius, Lupin… his friends, brothers, fathers… The death he regretted most, was Snape's. He believed the two of them could've had a relationship. Perhaps not friendship, but something better than enemies. Snape would've been able to tell him about his parents. Even if it was only bad things, it was something.

It was only a matter of time before the wizarding turned their backs on him again. Only a matter of time…

It explained why he couldn't feel the freedom he'd tried to breathe in only seconds before.

The idea of being a hated figure again haunted him, almost as much as the idea of being a public figure. It irked him, and he wanted not to be known as the 'boy who lived' anymore. He never did. His title disgusted him – it was as if he was being made. Formed and manipulated. Now, he was a hero. They all looked up to him. But in a month? He'd be accused of plotting against the ministry, or he'd be the new dark lord… endless possibilities that enthralled him, but it also caused a twinge of anger to flare up.

Face it, you are never going to be good enough for this world. He thought darkly. Freedom, in this world, is not for you.

He picked up his wand and walked away from the crowd. He avoided every single outstretched hand, every single shoulder; going out of his way to avoid them… he was repulsed by their touch. He was good enough now, but what about another year later? He walked down to the gates of Hogwarts and turned to face the crowd. They looked at him with confused expressions, but he didn't offer any explanation. He refused.

He'd heal his own Holly wand with the elder wand he'd caught. But he walked away with Draco's wand clenched tightly in his hand. Wanting nothing more than to make them all forget that Harry Potter ever existed, that there had been no Lord Voldemort and that they had been happy. He'd make George whole, he'd make Parvati forget Lavender… The marauders would be wiped from their minds. If only he could forget who he was. Reinvent himself. Escape from this cursed world – both beautiful, but utterly terrifying.

But he couldn't do it. He had not the magical ability, and even if he did he wouldn't do it. He'd be tempted, but he'd never be able to force his hand. Not at this time in his life.

He met the eyes of those important to him. Ron – his best friend. Was he really? Or had he just clung onto the fame of the boy who lived? And Hermione? Did it simply fascinate her to be friends with a freak among freaks?

Or was it true friendship?

The two of them exchanged a glance and nodded to him, almost in synchronization. They told him to go. They understood, he needed it. To be alone and independent for once. He shot them a small smile – they were indeed true friends. And by the looks of their joined hands, he'd say they'd be fine without him for a while.

How long he'd be away he didn't know. A month. A year. A decade. Until he felt ready to face them all again. It wouldn't be soon, that was certain.

A few more glances to those important to him, letting Mrs. Weasley know he was sorry, and that she would always be his mother, Ginny… she'd be better off without him, really, the other Weasleys… Luna and old Xeno….and Neville. The latter understood, a short nod of his head told Harry as much. Thank you. He turned on the spot. The suffocating darkness seemed almost welcome and oddly comforting. He liked disapparating. Not breathing for half a minute and then a breath of fresh air… pure adrenaline.

He was still buzzing with adrenaline. Every single particle of him shook…. And not just from apparating. From killing Voldemort.

Sure, it was more of an accident. A backfiring curse… but he felt the adrenaline surge through him…

He wanted more.

. . .

A/N: Well, how do you think it went? Do you reckon it's worth going on with?