This is a semi-depressing story. I think it's slash...can anyone leave a review explaning what slash is, exactly? Please? Anyway, enjoy the story. It is a one-shot. Any reviews would be helpful, but even if you don't leave one, thank you for taking the time to read my story
It was Christmas morning in England. There was snow on the ground and in the trees, children opening presents, having snowball fights, making snow angels, drinking hot chocolate. The residents at 4 Privet Drive were no different than any other family. Petunia Dursley was handing her son Dudley a present, while Mr. Vernon Dursley looked on, smiling. Everyone was in a cheerful, Christmas mood. Everyone, but a small 8 year old boy that is. Harry Potter sat, in his cupboard, staring at his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin sat, eating the breakfast he made, a grand meal, which took him nearly 3 hours to make, while he nibbled on a piece of stale bread he managed to nick, which his aunt wouldn't notice, as it wasn't good enough for her Duddikens. Tears formed at his emerald eyes. He may have been only 8, but he was intelligent, and mature for his age. He knew the Dursleys didn't like him, let alone love him. He'd known that for years. Still, his heart broke at the sight of them sitting at the table, happy, simply enjoying each others company. He took out the bloodstained piece of glass, the object which made so many cuts on his arms. He put it, gently to his skin, and cut himself. He gasped at the pain, but kept silent. If he were to be discovered, his aunt and uncle would take away his piece of glass, and assign him more chores...that's all I'm good for. He thought, darkly. Chores. I'm just a servant to them. Tears fell, down his face, and he cut more deeply. He slit both his wrists, and fell, not uttering a sound. There's no reason to live. He thought. No one likes me. No one cares. No one would miss him. As he lay there, slowly dying, he opened his eyes, and smiled. "I'm going to see Mum and Dad." He whispered, with his last breath, and his soul felt his body, and he went on to the other side, to a new adventure.
His body was discovered 2 hours later, when Petunia needed him to go and do the laundry. She called for the boy, twice. He ignored her, or so she thought, and she walked up, angrily to the cupboard door, and flung it open, ready to berate the boy for neglecting his chores, and to slap him. She stared at the sight that greeted her. Blood. Everywhere. She couldn't breath. She was hyperventilating. She screamed. Her nephews eyes open. The smile on his face. She couldn't think. "I'm sorry Lily." She sobbed, in a whisper, before fainting, just as her husband and son came thru the door. The funeral was a small one, only for the Dursley family. Each member seemed genuinely sorry. But Petunia took it the hardest. Her own sister's son. She had treated him like filth. Lily's son. She sobbed thru out the funeral. One week later, she was admitted into the London Mental Institute. She had gone mental, and started talking to Lily, as if she was alive. If not that, she was talking to Harry. She would talk to herself, and sometimes not recognize her own family. She wasn't the only one grieving for her nephew.
The wizarding world got news of the death of their chosen boy-who-lived, and all grieved. The one wizard who took it the hardest was Dumbledore. Why couldn't he ever have checked up on Harry? Pop in to make sure all was well? Why didn't he give him to a loving family? Did he cause Harry's death? With tears streaming down the old wizards face, he sat there, solemnly. He closed his eyes, and prayed that Harry was happy where ever he was. And that one day James and Lily would forgive him. Voldemort ended up winning the war, with no one to stop him. Muggles died, as did muggleborns. Chaos ruled, and the light side died. All because of love.
The End~