Hi everyone, this is my first fanfiction. So I don't really know how this site works and all that. English isn't my first language, so please tell me if there are mistakes and I will correct them!

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and self harm. If this triggers you, then don't read it!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters or the world in which they live. All I own is the story and I don't make any money writing this.

Chapter 1: Golden

A crimson line made its way to the surface on his arm. The silver glint of a shaving knife reflected the sunlight on his face, so that his tears became a rainbow. 'Now I've really done it, I'm barmy,' the boy with dark hair thought. He quickly wiped the few drops of blood away with the sleeve of his oversized sweater. The clothes he wore were always many sizes too big for him, because they initially belonged to his cousin, Dudley. His aunt and uncle would never spent one red cent on him. The burden he was.

"Boy! Get your lazy ass downstairs now!" He heard a voice from below. As fast as he could, the boy stood up and in his haste almost tripped on the stairs.

"We expect dinner ready in half an hour, so hurry up." His uncle snaps. "And don't you dare burn anything!"

The boy nodded, not making eye contact, and started making dinner.

Two hours later the boy, who's name is Harry by the way, sat back in his room. He didn't really eat anything at dinner except for the scraps that remained on the plates of his relatives, which was almost equal to nothing. His emerald green eyes looked out the window, the summer sun was getting low and the sky colored a beautiful orange. Golden hour. Golden boy. He was a whole lot of things that he didn't want to be.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Thinking of the boy he killed, Cedric. For years now, Harry wanted to fall asleep. The sort of slipping off, the giving up, the falling part of sleep. Now sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do. The nightmares of seeing a classmate die before his eyes, because of his fault, shook him awake every night. And now he'd rather stay awake than to relive that moment over and over again.

Because it was the hardest lesson he ever had to learn. That death doesn't let you say goodbye. It was a lesson he'd learned as early as a one year old. And kept learning. Over and over again. Each time just as hard to grasp as the last. Person after person after person. His dad, his mum, Cedric. Hell, even professor Quirrel. And he thinks. How many funerals does one have to attend before they're classified as a graveyard? How many more does one have to kill before they're classified as death.

Now he had the ability to sit the whole night and just think. Think about his life with his relatives. His friends and school. The weight of the world he was supposed to save on his shoulders. And about his not so clever way of dealing with unwanted emotions. Because Harry knew that what he did wasn't good in any way. And he knew he ought to tell someone. But how do you tell someone, that you want to cut your wrists, and bruise your skin, and bring pain to your body. That you have the urge to buy blades and that you think about it every single day. How do you bring something like that up? And to who? Who would want to hear that. That their supposed savior, their hero, was falling. Falling so very hard. You don't. You just don't. You stay quiet. You just continue to suffer in silence on your own.

You don't tell anyone. Because they pretend to listen but they really don't. They'll just look at you, think you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. They'll say that it's because you're selfish, that you think the world revolves around you. They'll look at you with pity in their eyes and think that something must be wrong with you. That you're always, always angry. But no, you're not. You're hurt and in pain. But they don't see that. They never listen.

The next morning Harry got out of bed and sneaks downstairs. As quiet as possible, so as not to wake his relatives. He began to set the table for three, knowing that he wasn't to sit at the table eating with them. When he started preparing a full English breakfast – for they would expect no less – he heard stumbling upstairs and knew that his relatives would soon be waiting at the table.

Harry thought about how in a few weeks he would have to eat the rich Hogwarts meals again. And how he would have to slowly build up his food intake again after so long of eating only scraps, or less. He knew from experience that if he did not, he would be throwing it all back up.

"BOY! Look what you've done!" Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn't hear his relatives coming downstairs. And he also forgot what he was doing, because the smell of burnt bacon reached his nose.

Then a hard smack sounded. Immediately Harry reached up to cradle his stinging cheek. His uncle stood looming before him, with an angry red face. Harry flinched harshly backwards.

"We provide you with everything, a roof above your head, clothes, food. All in exchange that you do something for us! And still, you dare to burn our food!" His uncle grabbed his arm with a painful grip and dragged him upstairs.

Green eyes searched wildly for an escape, he knew what was going to happen now. His uncle pushed him into his room. When Harry looked at him, he saw that his uncle was already taking of his belt.

"Take off your shirt boy!" Knowing it would otherwise be even more painful, Harry obeyed and braced himself.

His uncle began raging his belt down onto his back. "We don't want you here boy, you screw up everyone's life with your filthy presence. You freak."

Harry closed his eyes and let the words sink in. He agreed wholeheartedly with what his uncle says. Hell, he even deserved this punishment. It's all true. This is the only place that he's save from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. His aunt and uncle didn't even want him, but still they let him into their household. Doing a few chores is nothing compared to what his aunt and uncle do for him. And he couldn't even make breakfast right.

By the time his uncle stops whipping him he is hardly conscious. He feels the blood from the open wounds run down from his back. And when he starts feeling the punches and the kicks, he crumples together like a thin piece of paper and the world goes dark.

Thanks for reading! It would be kind if you would revieuw this chapter. :)