Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly, I am not JKR therefore Harry is not of my own mind. I am simply an insomniac who gets bored at 2am and decides to attempt writing a fanfiction.

Harry sat in his room, in a corner, with his knees pulled up to his chest. 'Maybe if I just stay quiet, right here they will leave me alone,' he thought. 'If I stay quiet the Dursleys won't have to hurt me.'

It was three weeks into the summer holidays after Harrys' fifth year at Hogwarts, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. He had known the Dursleys could hurt him before, and when he was younger they had, but this was much worse. Now they weren't physically harming him – he could handle that – they were emotionally harming him -

'harming more like torturing.'

Harry had been planning on not telling the Dursleys that Sirius was dead, but Dumbledore was… caring enough to send a letter to the Dursleys four days into the holidays to explain to them what had happened.

Vernon had been furious enough to receive a letter from one of his people, and had been even more upset that the owl had dropped the letter right on top of his head. Still, that was nothing compared to the rage he had been in when he found out that Harry didn't have a godfather to protect him anymore.

"BOY! So your good-for-nothing criminal godfather went and got himself killed and you still think you can use him as a threat against us, to, as your friends said, 'keep us in line?' Well I won't have it! No we give you clothes, food, and you threaten us with mass-murdering scum who got himself killed following you. I bet you must feel so special having your type following you around, waiting on you. Well not in this house boy! You are just a little freak, and I plan on teaching you that!"

It took everything Harry had to not blow up at his uncle at that point, so he had just walked away to his room. But that didn't stop Vernon, nor did it stop the rest of the Dursleys. For the following two weeks and three days they tormented Harry every time they saw him. Degrading him, taunting him, reminding him of how powerless he is.

'How could he think I would be glad that this happened? He thinks I liked it that he followed me to the ministry? Just because I didn't tell him about it he thinks that I was still using Sirius to threaten him? And he insulted Sirius! How dare he insult him—'

At this point Harry cut off his thoughts as he saw small lightning bolts start to appear across his body and fly out across the room. 'Stop it Harry! Stop! You can't do accidental magic! They'll just use it against you, hurt you even more. Not to mention what the ministry would do to me.'

So Harry reigned in his power, but instead of stopping the magic completely he accidentally turned it inwards. Instead of casting the lightning bolts across the room, he felt them within his veins, his muscles, and even his bones. He felt them shocking every nerve in his body. It hurt him and shocked him so much that he involuntarily cried out.

Suddenly Harry cut off his cry, and shut down the magic that was attacking him. He reluctantly turned his gaze to the door, just waiting for Vernon to come in and yell at him. But he heard nothing.

'Why isn't he coming? He would usually be yelling at me by now, or at least be stomping up the stairs to get at me. Maybe he's trying to lull me into a false sense of security, make me think it was okay and relax, then he'll surprise me and hurt me even more. You are so stupid Harry! Why would you cry out like that? Oh, you can escape from Voldemort just fine, but you can't even handle your own magic? You are so weak! No wonder Voldemort came back to power, it's all your fault! Everything is your fault! Cedric died because of you, Voldemort returned even stronger because of your blood, Sirius died because you were too dumb.'

And so Harry went on for a while, turning all his hatred onto the only person who was there, himself. He started blaming himself for everything that had happened, from his parents' death up until Sirius' death; everything that was happening, Voldemort's attacks, the dementors, everything; and even what had not happened yet. 'Voldemort is going to destroy the wizarding world, all because I am so weak. I don't even have anything to help me! "power the dark lord knows not" And Dumbledore said it was love. How can love help me? Love didn't help my parents… or Sirius. I'm so useless.'

Harry had even gotten into the habit of saying some of the things his family said to him to himself. He knew he had to fight Voldemort, or at least try. But he felt weak, pitiful, dumb…. Hopeless.

So with this in mind Harry walked over to the other side of the room, quietly pried open the loose floorboard, and reached down to grab the knife he had hidden in there.

So, what do you think? Should I attempt to continue the story, or just give up here? XP

Reviewers are an authors best friend, even the mean ones ;)