Disclaimer: I don't own anyone because... I'm not that special..

A/N: So the plot is thickening! yes well just a slight reminder to... people that forgot. 5th book didn't happen and Harry is ignorant, very much so. Just in case because I wouldn't want people upset at me. This chapter does gets a bit dark.. and the poetry is my own so I hope you like it... R&R plz!!

Harry's eyes rolled back and he began shaking uncontrollably. His right hand felt as if fire was spreading down it and burning anger was surging inside him. He felt his vision become red and his arm gripped a wand tightly. Barging into a room he was met with a startled classroom of students. He recognized Colin among them. Before he could stop himself he was cursing the closest students. A good ten of them had fallen before a very flustered looking Professor Flitwick burst in.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Harry was horrified to see his teacher's small body crumple to the ground. Mayhem broke out among the students after that but still he couldn't stop himself. Then Harry found himself blocking Colin into a corner. The trembling sixth year tried to defend himself but it was no use. Harry felt his arm raise and he was about end yet another life.

"No!" he cried.

But Harry's cry went unnoticed and Colin's horrified look didn't change as his body slumped to the floor.

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"NOOOO!!!!!!" Harry yelped as he rose sweating from his bed. Looking around he was desperately confused. 'How can I be here? I just saw myself... Did that really happen?" Harry's heart caught in his throat. 'Did I just really kill Colin?' He felt tears well up in his eyes but he couldn't cry. Not again.

Colin had turned out to be so much more for Harry during the past few years... No one knew though. Not even Hermione or Ron. But he hadn't really been talking to them truthfully for some time. Colin was just one more thing he had to cover up. Another lie he created, and another part of the secret world that no one knew.

Why hadn't he told anyone about Colin he wasn't sure. Harry had never really considered being rejected by his peers. He really didn't care either. They had connected on a level that no one else could ever understand. But now even Colin was dead.

"That's it! I must be cursed with bad luck. This is just getting old!" Harry complained loudly.

"Again it's about you. Have you learned nothing. They've all tried to help you and you still don't understand. It's not about you anymore Harry. You have to swallow your pride dammit! It's not about popularity anymore."

Harry recognized that voice but he couldn't believe his ears. He had seldom heard her not yelling, especially at him. Yet how, why would she be here.

"I know what you're thinking Harry. Let it go alright. I know what you think you know about me but put it behind you. You aren't the only one living lies. That isn't what's important though. What is important is that you look past all this. It's not too late."

Harry sighed. That's twice in two days that someone had told him that he had to make a decision. "But what if I make the wrong one... What if I chicken out? What if I just can't do it?"

"You have to trust yourself. You will know when the answer comes. But his rage subsides, I must be quick. Remember what I said Harry. Just this once listen to me."

"Aunt Petunia wait!"

Yet once again Harry was alone. 'Had he imagined it?' But all his suspicions were soon blown away when he saw a small box that told him it was from his aunt. Reaching through the bars he lifted up the small golden box. Ripping off the ribbon he opened the box only to find a small note inside.

'Harry, time is running out. But it isn't too late.'

Harry made a growling noise in his throat. "How is this supposed to help me!" he yelled throwing the box against the wall as hard as he could. Then he just sat there, fuming. "It's nice that all these damn visitors don't want to help me! Sure they come and offer me all this advice but advice is crap. It doesn't melt these bars. It doesn't get me out of here. Or fix anything that I've done. They are just words. They don't mean one damn thing..."

"I wish I had never gotten this stupid scar. I wish none of this had ever happened. It's all my fault anyway. I've caused all of this pain... this anguish. The blood of all these people lies on my hands. It is something that I can never wash clean."

Harry glanced out in the dungeon before moving to the wall and pushing his small bed aside. Inside the wall there lay a few tattered bits of parchment. Gently he took them in his hand as they were something to be treasured. He feared that they may crumble to pieces because he'd had them so long. They were the one thing that Voldemort didn't and couldn't have taken from him. Harry once again reached into the small hole and pulled out a single shiny bit of glass. He had coveted it from the day it had fallen from his mirror. It was his inspiration. The jagged edges of his life were all too similar to the piece of glass that lay in his hand. The tip was crusty with something that looked suspiciously like blood. Picking up one of the parchments Harry paused to read the crudely written message.

Darkness has consumed me. It has become all that I am. They say that I am Harry But it's no more than a scam

I have become a puppet I submit to his command I follow what he tells me And cower under his hand

His eyes moved to the bottom of the page where in horrible crude letters it was written:

'All I wish is too die!'

Taking a rattled breath Harry reached for a parchment that was free from his random outbursts. Poetry was his real way of dealing. Through it he was able to get away and escape from all that was happening to him. Picking up the small shard of glass that he had treasured for so long he mad a small deliberate cut on the tips of his pinky finger. When blood had formed around the cut he began the long laborious task of putting his thoughts on paper. Using his finger as a pen he explored the world he lived in and poured out his soul on the tiny bit of parchment in front of him. Whenever one of his fingers would heal he would pick up the glass and cut another one. Tears were no longer coming. He no longer felt the pain. All he needed was to just let it out. To make others understand what he felt inside.

I'm hanging by my fingertips Clawing at the sides I've slipped and seen what was below And it froze my insides I try to just ignore it But the dark abyss is always there It's enveloping my body And screams fill the air I could become one of those An endless screaming voice But then I would truly enter Hell at my own choice It seems I will not give in But my life is hanging on the edge All that's keeping me there Is a root hung over the ledge Hope reaches out it hands It comes to me like a calling A soft voice fills the air And I don't feel like falling My muscles all are screaming They no longer care But the abyss can't have me The voice isn't willing to share The root feels like it's breaking Only hope will keep me alive The sun is finally shining And I'm fighting to survive. There's only the voices now It's drowning out the blare Now I finally can here them They say, "Hang in there" I wish that I could listen, To that small shimmer of light But hope had been dying Since that cold fateful night. "I love you," I whisper And silently shed my last tear With trembling hands I pick up a rock And carve "I was here"

After he had finished the last 'E' Harry picked up the piece of glass one last time. Slowly he made a long gash on his thumb and pressed it to the paper. When he pulled his hand away a bright thumbprint shown up at him. Still glistening before it sunk into the paper, until it realized the reality it lived in. Seemly satisfied Harry picked up his random papers filled with poetry and stuffed them back into the tiny hole. He hesitantly let go of the tiny sliver of glass. He didn't want to let go of it. And what scared him was he didn't want to stop at just his fingers. His once delicate skin was grimy and covered in dirt. All he wanted was to cut and just bleed his feelings out. When writing his poetry it was the only time that he felt truly free.

With thoughts of freedom his mind was brought back to his disturbing dream that he was falling from the east tower. It had seemed so real, and his other dream about killing the students had too. In fact if Harry hadn't been in his cell at that very moment he probably wouldn't have believed he wasn't there. The look on Colin's face was horrible.. And I did that... I killed him...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~* Dream *~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry was standing in a white room but he wasn't alone. He was surrounded by his family and friends and among them he saw Hermione, Dumbledore, even all the Weasley's waving good naturally, their violent red hair setting them apart. But smiling in the corner was Colin who was beckoning Harry over to him. Walking over excitedly Harry went to give Colin a hug but ended up falling right through him. Looking back he saw Colin fade away right before his eyes. Reaching for Hermione's hand she also slowly faded away a sad smile on her face.

The rest of the crowd began to melt away as he stood there aghast. Rushing around the room he tried desperately to catch them in his arms. To hold them there and stop them from leaving again. But soon he was left empty in the room and he fell to his knees his hands to his face.

Suddenly his eyes began burning and his face was becoming drenched. Horrified, Harry pulled his hands away from his face and saw that it was blood flowing in torrents from his hands. Frantically he tried to stop the blood from gushing out but slowly it began rising around him. Soon he was fighting to keep afloat but he was weighted and it was slowly bringing him down. Gulping for air he swallowed bits of blood and began sinking like a rock. But he didn't feel like fighting it.

Finally sinking to the floor Harry knew it was over and so he finally just gave up. He let the blood of his victims consume him as he knew it would in the end.