Author's Note: Hello, guys! This is my first time writing a proper fanfiction, and I hope you like this!

This is just the prologue, chapters will be posted when I have the chance to lay my hands on my writing device. I would love to hear your opinions on this story, so please let me know what you think!

Note: This sets place in Harry's sixth year to add more reasons of Harry being severely depressed. There will be hidden stuff in here, not relating to Harry Potter, but in the world of music.

Enjoy!

= PROLOGUE =

Harry Potter. That's a name every single witch and wizard must remember. Everyone looked up to him, offered their lives, just for the sole survivor of the killing curse: Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

But they didn't know about what Harry is fighting, aside from the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and his followers. Every summer, he was forced to go back to the Dursleys, unaware that the house he lives in is hell on Earth. But Harry didn't elaborate why he didn't want to go back, thinking that he has given the whole wizarding world enough problems to deal with.

He is happy that he has friends in Hogwarts who would protect him from harm, but unfortunately, not one could even protect him from his own demons. Those taunting voices he hears at the back of his head, those weird feelings he has like someone's always behind his back, getting ready to kill him, those sleepless nights, hoping to never relive his dreadful memories, everything else.

It's been driving him insane. Yeah, he have those negative thoughts and whatnot, but it never was that severe. Watching Sirius die by the hands of Bellatrix-She's gonna pay, he thought-triggered all of his emotions and gathered together, and then all hell broke loose. The next thing he knew, he was back at the malevolent bitch and gargantuan pigs' house, his uncle, alongside with his cousin, impairing and fracturing every single bone he could hit, and his aunt laughing and breaking his spirits with every evil name she could describe Harry.

That ended up with him being bombarded with Ronald Weasley's annoying questions that show how much he "cares" for him as soon as they met. Actually, they're pretty dumb questions, take this for an example: "You're Harry Potter, the boy who fucking lived! Do they live under a rock?"

No, Harry mentally answered his question worth all the trash in the world. They live in hell, apparently. But he just shrugged it off. The ginger was pretty annoyed that he's not opening up. He's Harry's best friend! Well, he thinks he is.

Hermione Granger seemed to be a bit off, too. But hers was more of like a mother scolding her son for playing with mud. "You should've defended yourself!" Was one of her scoldings, and believe it or not, Granger, Harry did. He just got the demon another time.

It seemed like no one cared for Harry, the boy who just wants a normal life, after all. He had scrutinized about several things to end this war immediately. It was too much that it came to the point where he had harmed himself, not knowing what to do and scared shitless. He no longer wanted to see or hear or witness or be the reason for the death of so many people.

He sat by the window sill in silence. He thought about his life twice, if not, more than 5 times, and it always happened at night. He decided to head off to the Astronomy Tower to clear his mind, but when he reached there, it just got worse. He started to have delusions and hallucinations and the voices seemed to get louder. He could no longer hear himself; He could no longer hold it all. He was panicking-no, he was being hysterical. He saw hands grabbing onto his clothes, as if they were pulling him back to the Dursleys'. He started thrashing around and ran away, scared of what they would do to him. His head hurt from the yelling of the voices, losing focus on where he is going.

Harry was about to drop from the tower, wanting to end all this pain and give the whole goddamned world the quiet life they deserved when he felt a pair of male (he guessed) arms pull him away. Thinking that it was the same hands that try to take him back to the torture chamber, he try to free himself, shouting in fear and anger in times. But then, above all the yelling voices, the soft words of "It's going to be okay," seemed to quiet them down. His tears were freely flowing from his eyes and down to his cheeks; He was a mess. Freaks are a mess. They don't deserve to live. He doesn't deserve to live. These thoughts rambled on and on until the same voice had made them fade away.

Exhausted, Harry had given up and fainted on this unknown man's arms, wishing to never see the light again.