[Disclaimer} The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J. K. Rowling and whomever she might have compact with. Title of the story plus the chapters' titles belong to Emilie Autumn and her songs.

[Warnings/Triggers} Story deals with abuse, non-consensual sexual interactions, homoerotic themes and quite extreme mental confusion. Turns non-canon after book four, though glimpses from all books might appear. I like being as canon on a character as possible. Don't worry, I won't let dear Harry self-pity himself for too long. Please take rating seriously and do not read if you're easily triggered.

[A/N}I am not a native English speaker, but I take after British.

EDIT 12/3 2012: I am about to revise all the chapters before publishing next. Sorry about the delay, but now that I finally write in Word Document - and also having read the junk - I urge to re-write due to grammar and spelling errors and also various confusions.

{Art of Suicide}
Chapter I: You think this torment is romantic

Hands all over body; invading my skin in such cruel way. Never will I endure this! Never, do you hear me? Can you feel my disgust?

Your hands unclothe me and the coldness - oh, where's the summer heat when I need it? - hit me and surrounds my body. Goose-bumps appear on my arms; my skin. I shiver. I think I struggle too.

No more hands! No more hands, please! But the hands still remain, sliding and exploring my naked skin. Why? Why do you do this? No!

You do not listen. You are cruel and demanding. I cannot scream, I can barely breathe. But do I want to breathe? Do I want to breathe the air you are breathing?

The wet, passionless kisses over my skin; placed on my dry, bitten lips; placed on my neck and down my spine. Are you eager to hear my muffled screams?

Please, rescue me someone, rescue me from the nightmare I live in. Please.

Someone tries to scream, and I believe it is me. The neighborhood remains unwittingly arrogant about me. Or do they know, but think I deserve it? How can I know, when they are in the belief I am a criminal?

Perhaps I do deserve this. Perhaps I really do. Your whispering voice in my ear whisper words so unknown, though yet so familiar. So close to what my uncle uses to say.

Perhaps I am a freak, as uncle says. But you say I am a beautiful little boy. You say I am a slut. Am I a slut? Hermione, Ron, you should know. Do I really deserve this?

You enter me. You enter me and steal what is mine to give.

No! Please, do not do this. Don't! No!

The pain. The pain is so indescribable. But I do not know for sure if it is the physical pain, the emotional pain or your enjoyment what hurts most.

How much is the clock? I need to go back home now, please. Please! I need a few hours sleep - dreamless hopefully - and then I need to make breakfast for aunt and uncle and cousin. Will you let me go, please?

Your cruel, toothy smile flashes in front of my eyes. It is cloudy outside and I cannot decide whether your hair is dark or light; thick or thin. I want to draw my hand through your hair and between my fingers, but at the same time I don't. Why do you confuse me so much?

Then you bend my lips apart; you open my mouth in a way a dentist would do. But further and further and Merlin, it hurts. I can open my mouth myself if you want?

I cannot breathe. The boxers you put in my mouth forces me to lose my breathing technique. Are you not done yet?

Of course you are. You groan in pleasure; you moan and you hiss. Does it feel good for you, to see someone in complete submission? I can blow you away. I know I can.

I can't. I cannot figure out how. Am I a wizard if I cannot figure out how to use my magic in defence? I believe I am not a wizard. Perhaps I am normal, then? Just like Uncle Vernon wants me to be. Normal, that is a good thing, correct?

Your seed explodes within me and your panting tells me you have had your fun. I am in no use any longer. Release me now, please?

No? Why not?

You smile at me again. Not a passionate, lovingly smile. You call me a slut, but an obediant suchlike. Thank you, I guess. Thank you very much. Are you done yet?

No? What more do you want? You have already taken my innocence. I cannot offer you anything more.

You order me to shut up. I stop my struggling. I stop my muffled pleas. And you invade my mouth. It tastes... salty. And I believe I have never tasted anything so scary before. I like salty things, but this- this is not salty. And yet it is.

You order me to use my lips, my tounge, but not my teeth. Of course I will not use my teeth. I am a good, obediant slut. See? I slowly lick your salty pre-cum. I slowly taste your erection and you force me to swallow it. People say this is supposed to feel good. Then why do I cry?

I have not cried since I was little. I did not even cry when Cedric died. I think I wanted, but I could not do it. But now, now I cry. I never knew it could feel so good to cry. Uncle always told me not to cry. It was only babies whom cried. Am I a baby now?

Your erection leaves my mouth just before my face is met with your orgasm. I need to cover my face, but all I can do is to shut my eyes, for your hands hold my wrists. Everything is black, and yet I have feelings. It is scary. And it is so cold, yet warm.

Are you done yet? No? What is it you want now?

Your hand seek down my throat, fingers trailing as if hesitant. But I know you aren't. You like to see me like this. Naked outside. In the light in darkness, where everyone can see us, but no one does.

Slowly now, down my chest and stomach. Your lips place a kiss on my navel and you suck on it. Lick it and then you go up to my throat with your tongue. You place a kiss on my Adam's apple, before going down again. This time, your tongue trails beneath my navel and to my-

No! I don't want it! Then why does my body react as if it does? Perhaps I do want it?

You say I want it. Perhaps you are right. I want it, do I not?

Your wet lips swallow my slight erection and instantly blood rushes to extend it even further. I feel ashamed. I don't like it, but yet I do. Why?

I think I cry even more. And at the same time I give the same sounds he gave me. It feels so surreal. I am not supposed to like this, then why do I do it? You ask me if I want release, and I shake my head but I whisper yes. I want it so badly, but I feel so ashamed over my own body. And you slap my face for I am not supposed to talk.

As punishment, my boxers are back in my mouth and it becomes hard to breathe. Your nails dig into my wrists and I think I am bleeding. It is not the first time, though, is it?

You ask me if I want it, if I like it. I shake my head but I have to look at you. You order me to look at you. I open my eyes and I meet those lustfilled blue eyes. Do I want it? Do I want it? Do I want it?

Yes. Please, make me get it!

No, don't do this to me!

I want it so badly, please!

I have been so good, please make me feel it.

And you let me. You place a gentle, but not a lovingly kiss on my lips and your hand are working me to orgasm. And then I whimper. I want to scream but I cannot do it. Your eyes are filled with- what? Pride? Joy? More lust?

Are you done yet? No? When will this be over? I need to go back home soon, I have to give Uncle Vernon his eggs.

I have to clean myself? How? No- no, this is so humiliating.

Will you leave me after I have? Do you promise?

My own hands cup my penis and I draw my own seed away. You order to lick my hands, and I do as I am told. I am an obediant slut. I swallow. And I do it, over and over again. I think I cry, and you say I still have your seed on my face.I draw it to my mouth and it is salty both of your seed and my own tears.

Am I done now? Are you happy?

No. You give yourself your own pleasure and place your seed over me again. I don't want this, okay! I never asked for anything of this. Nothing!

You laugh at me, place kisses all over my body and say I am so good. That perhaps you will come back.

You will not come back. I will not allow it. I don't deserve it.

No? I deserve this? Do I?

Are you sure?

Okay.

{Art of Suicide}

An old woman, perhaps 64 years old, walks down the street. Her face shows she is happy. Why would she not be happy? She is a grandmother to a new little child that has been brought to the world; has been given a chance to feel happiness through sorrow. So why would she not be happy?

And it is a sunny day. A little bit cloudy, yes, but a sunny and rather warm day. Chilling breezes set through the air, of course, and the trees are whispering secrets for those whom cannot hear but yet understand. It is a sunny day, and this old woman has all reason to be happy. A new grandchild is born, of course she is supposed to be happy.

As she walks down the street her face falls down to a small, wrinkly frown. Her grey, old, wise eyes catch a skincolored heap in the thicket. She purses her lips and let her eyes down the road again, instead. Her mood returns as she thinks about the little child who laughed in her arms. How wonderful that little feeling was.

But then the heap moves ever so slightly. The woman abruptly stops and the frown returns. She turns around and her eyes met those emerald orbs. So beautiful, oh, so beautiful. Or, they would have been, had they been alive.

Her own eyes widens and she walks quickly to the heap. To her dismay, she founds a scrawny little boy. How old was he? Twelve? So small, as though he has gone through starvation his whole life. Oh, poor little boy. Poor, poor, poor little boy! And how was she going to help him? Ah, a gang of younger boys down the street. Perhaps they use this cell phone everyone talks about?

"Excuse me!", she calls their attention. "Could one of you call an ambulance, please?"

They exchange gazes before one of them, fat and ugly he was - Dursley's boy, perhaps? - calls an ambulance, as the old woman tries to cover the boys naked body. Oh, he is so cold, so frozen, and so scared! He freezes on her every touch. He does not even dare to flinch away.

"What's it about, then, Mrs Warner?", the fat boy asks as he walks down the street.

"It's a boy", she explains, "I think he's been ra-"

"Harry!", the boy interrupts and almost drops his phone. The shock and horror struck him. His mouth forms a slight 'o' in the shock. His blue eyes widens, "I-"

"Give me that thing, boy!", the woman demands, and of course gets what she asked. With the phone in her hand and against her ear, she takes over the call. "Hello, I think a boy's been raped here. Near the corner shop on Privet Drive. Yes, please, I think he's been lying outside all night and it wasn't the hottest night in history, now was it? Of course, I'll stay with him. Yes, please, do come soon. He's so afraid, the poor boy..."

She does not notice the little tear the fat, ugly boy loses from his eyes.

{Art of Suicide}

Petunia Dursley stared blankly at her son. "What did you say?"

"Mum- I- he-", Dudley trailed off. For once, he was insecure what to say to his mother. He frowned and cleared his throat discreetly. "Harry, he's got ra-raped. I- I had to ca-call an ambulance..."

"My nephew's got raped?" She repeated, her eyes flashed dangerously. Dudley felt the urge to back away, but did not do it. Instead, he nodded and made his blonde hair follow the movements as in a dance. "By whom?"

"They don't know", Dudley told her. "He was- you know he wasn't here this morning. He- I've heard him sneak out sometimes after nightmares. I- I let him. I overheard what those redheads said to him before he departed from them at the station. They said something about it wasn't his fault that someone died. I- I thought he needed time to grief, you know. And when he wasn't back here, I simply thought he'd forgotten the time. And then I was out with Piers and a few others and-", he took a refreshing breath as his throat suddenly felt swollen, "and this old woman, Warner, told us to call an ambulance. I did it, and I asked her what to say as I walked towards her and- and I saw Harry. Lying there; whimpering, y'know. And he froze at every touch. It was- it was- it just was."

"He's at hospital now, correct?" She demanded and started to collect things into her handbag. In Dudley's nod, she started to hurry. "Which one?"

"Whinging Acute."

"Will you follow me or stay home until Vernon comes back?"

"I-" Dudley frowned. What would it be like to follow? Would Harry be scared or think he was there to bully him? Surely Harry must have noticed Dudley did not bully anymore, correct? But still, they were not close. Yes, Dudley has given food to his cousin behind the eyes of his father and mother, and Harry knew that. But still, they were not close, right? Harry did not know Dudley's favourite color or his interests. Dudley did not know Harry's favourite hobbies. That was not what family was for, right? Dudley had tried to rebuild his family. He wanted Harry to be a part of them, while he was rather afraid of what Harry might do to him should he say the wrong thing. He had not treated Harry right before, and surely he must be insecure why Dudley was there. His aunt was enough, was it not? "I'll stay and explain to Dad."

"You do that and I'll send him your care, okay sweetheart?"

Dudley smiled. His mother tolerated much. But she did not tolerate mistreatment in forms of abuse or rape. Especially not in her own family, wizard or not. Of course she tried to be as normal she could, but Dudley had made her see some sense. He had told her how unhappy he was of the fact the only frequent visits they got was from Aunt Marge, and she was not even funny. He wanted Harry too, and his mother had accepted that and tried to give her son that. And now she was going to see her nephew and be there for him. This was totally awesome! "Okay."

"I'll buy something to eat on my way home. What do you want? Pizza?"

"Ah, no. I think a baguette with chicken is okay for me and Dad."

Petunia frowned. "Are you sure, Duddikinns?"

"Of course, Mum. Now, hurry up to Harry. I know he wants to have someone there for him, even though he might have it hard to show it. And remember, he'll be suspicious about why we're so nice to him."

Petunia nodded, gave her son a quick kiss on his cheek and hurried out to the car. Vernon had actually started to take the bus for the case if Petunia somehow needed to get somewhere during Vernon's absence. She drove as fast as she could without breaking the law to the hospital.

As she entered the too clean entrance hall, she felt the environment turn sterile and aseptic. She looked around and found it a small, but had much space.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" A light voice spoke.

Petunia spun around to her left side and locked eyes with a buxom woman with rosy cheeks and black hair. She held a friendly smile and Petunia immediately disliked her. Why, she did not know. It was just the feeling she sat there and smiled that bothered her.

"Yes, please", Petunia replied curtly and walked towards the woman, keeping her handbag close to her waist. "I seek for my nephew. He should have come here earlier."

"Ah, yes. Can you give me his name, please?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry James Potter, born 1980?"

"In the end of July, yes."

"Ah, I see. And you are-?"

"Petunia Dursley; His aunt."

"Of course", the woman said and smiled while she clicked and wrote and did those things people like her does. "If you follow the corridor over there", she pointed behind Petunia, "and walk until you see a red sign, turn to the right corridor until you come to the attendants room. Wait there until Dr Harper fetch you, please."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Why can't I see my nephew immediately?"

The smile became apologetic. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but there is no possibility for you to do just that now. Your nephew is in a rather bad shape and cannot see anyone - this includes you - until he feels a little better. It is Dr Harper who will explain for you what his injuries are and how you can help your nephew. Until then, I am afraid you will have to wait."

"I demand to see my nephew!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you cannot just yet. You will disturb his healing, I'm afraid. Until then, please do have a candy", she motioned to the bowl beside her. Petunia snorted. "Look, I know this is a hard time for you, but you will have to gain some patience. We do not allow misbehaviour in any kind. Now, the red sign, right corridor and wait in the attendants room. Dr Harper shall fetch you in a few minutes."

It took the doctor seventeen minutes to fetch Petunia, and she her patience had already drained.

"Where's my nephew?" She demanded as soon as he presented himself.

"He's in a room in the end of this corridor. I will firstly tell you his injuries-"

"I want to see my nephew", Petunia hissed angrily and rose from the seat. "He's my family and I have the right to see him."

Dr Harper nodded. "You have right to see him after I have explained his injuries and how you must treat him afterwards."

Petunia sighed, but sat down again.

"Good. You are Ms Dursley, I presume?"

"Mrs Dursley", she corrected and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course, I apologize. Now, your nephew, Mr Potter, has been raped. I reckon you know this?"

"Of course I do!"

"There is no need to get angry, Mrs Dursley. Now, your son has a slight concussion and bruises on his wrists and neck, as though someone tried to hold him down and then strangled him." Petunia gasped before her eyes flashed dangerously. "He has been malnourished, either starved or self-starvation.

"We know for sure he has been raped rather brutally as his anus had not been prepared for the insert of another man's erection. There are seed left which we have sent for analysis. If they find the culprit, we shall inform you and prosecute."

Petunia nodded. "Are there anything more I ought to know?"

The man's eyes darkened slightly. "We have found wounds on his back, old as well as new, which are rather disturbing."

"How so?"

"It looks like they have been made by... belt."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Belt, you say? Are you sure?"

"As sure as we can be. He also has cuts and bruises over his body as though he has gone through a tournament and torture."

Had not Dumbledore sent her a letter, telling her about some Triwizard Tournament? But torture? "I have barely seen him. He attends a school every year and only comes back during summer."

The man nodded and began to walk. "Follow me if you still wish to see him."

Petunia did not hesitate. Her thoughts ran through her mind. His nephew had been raped. Raped! And Vernon, was it he whom was behind the wounds on the boy's back? How could he? Sure, Harry held some kind of abnormality within him, but there were no excuses to abuse a child.

For surely the school did not do such things, did they?

"He doesn't have any... disease now, does he?" Petunia asked quietly as they approached the room where Harry lay in.

The doctor shook his head. "Not as far as we can see now. Which is good."

Petunia nodded. Of course it was good. She did not want her nephew to go through even more pain. When had the boy ever smiled near her, anyway? Not that grateful smile he gave her each time she brought the boy water and bread. No, a smile; a true smile. A happy smile.

When she thought about it, it must have been before he even knew he was neglected. Which was around the first weeks at their house.

Guilt ate her from the insides. I'm sorry Lily.

When she first saw Harry, she could barely believe it. It was the same Harry she always saw, but he looked so afraid, so wary and terrified. It almost broke her heart when she saw the dull, haunted eyes that once had been flashing in different emotions.

I'm so, so, sorry Lily. I'll bring Harry back. I promise, Lily.

"Aunt Petunia?" He asked in a toneless voice. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, Harry", she said as the doctor left them alone. "I know I haven't always been here for you, but I am now. Do you want something?"

"Yes", he whispered. "I want it back. I saw it disappear. I felt it disappear. I want it back. I want it back. Can I have it back, Aunt Petunia?"

She blinked. And then she felt how her heart aalmost broke. It was painful to hear him talking like that. And then know that what he want back, is something he cannot have back.

"Harry", she sighed and reached for his hand. When the boy froze and his eyes widened, she stopped and let the hand fall beside her. She took a seat on the chair beside the bed and looked her nephew in the eyes. "Harry", she started again. "I need to know one thing. Did Vernon ever hurt you?"

The eyes widened, if possible, even more. Then he shook his head violently. "No. Never. Uncle Vernon is good."

"Harry, please, tell me the truth. I need to hear it", she looked at the boy with eyes filled of sorrow. She already knew the answer. Vernon had used the belt on the boy. And she had never known. How could something like that have passed her? "Please."

The boy's shakings became to noddings. "Yes. Always. He's evil. Always. Never. I don't know. All the time. Almost never. Long time. Short time. Cold and alone. I want it back. It's not fair. I'm sorry Cedric."

Petunia shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm here for you now, though. Okay?"

Harry did not seem to hear. His body shook. "Evil, evil, it lurks everywhere. You killed the spare! He's mine! Mine! And you took it. You took it from me. I was supposed to give it to him. Cedric, where are you? Where are you, Cedric? Please, Cedric, I'm so sorry. Give me another chance! Another chance, I promise I will be good. I promise. You took it, you are evil! I deserved it. Okay, okay, okay. I will not burn your eggs today, Uncle Vernon."