Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize
Prologue
Failure. It is a word that is engraved in my vocabulary, in my mind. It is what I live for, what I hate about my self. I can't escape it, I can't live without it. It means that I messed up, that I made a mistake. I do know that it is a word for those who have the idea they are honorable, the word failure. Why can't they say the blunt truth, that I fucked up.
I really fucked up, screwed up this life. My world has
changed...Hell, everyone's has. The wizarding world is free.
Voldemort is dead by my own hands and I am the only one
suffering from it. In the last few months, they have rejoiced,
loved me, and then forgot.
My problem isn't Voldemort any longer. It is
something much closer. My life, my very blood. I can't stand
it any longer keeping it inside. That is why I write. My
problem is much closer to the heart...in fact you could say it
is as close as my sou--
"Boy!" The shout made a tall boy dressed in clothes
dyed gray look up. His small room was illuminated by the
candle he had on his desk, showing the bars and the food slot
in the door. Shaking from fear, the boy ran his finger down
the new scar running down his cheek. He had enough
experience with his uncle to know that this was bad...very
bad.
The pounding footsteps shook the house and came
closer and closer. Swiftly standing up, the boy backed into
the corner of the room thankful that he had given Hedwig to
Ron after he had left Hogwarts. He knew that the owl would
have died by now and that almost tore him up inside. His
eyes widened as the door was broken open and his red faced
uncle came into the room.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vernon Dursley said
in a furious voice. In one hand he held a parchment envelope
that had Harry's name sprawled out in Ron's messy
handwriting. The seal was broken and the letter was gripped
in Vernon's hand dripping with blood. "I thought I told you
the next letter that ruddy owl brought would bring you
trouble. Now she can't bring any and you have to explain
what this means!"
Vernon shook the letter furiously, ignoring the
horrified look on his nephew's face. "Why does it say you
won't be going to that damn school this fall? Why does it say
that you can come back because the bastard that was hunting
you is now dead and you won't be watched?"
Harry looked up in horror. Why had Ron written? He
purposely told him not to write! Fear shook his thin form and
he looked at the blood staining the thick paper. This is what
always happened, this plague of death that followed him.
Then it struck him. He knew the way out.
"Fuck you bastard." Harry said in a cold voice and
before he knew it, the pain began. As his uncle dragged him
out of the corner, he could only imagine how people would
think when they heard the Boy-who-lived was dead. He
knew this was the end. Finally the darkness began to close in
around him and his soul sped to an area of peace.
...That was when it was violently ripped back.
Gasping silently, Harry's eyes snapped open. Why? Why!
--
Vernon Dursley walked away from the bloodied
figure laying motionless on the floor. A sadistic smile
covered his face as he walked towards the door and he was
about to open it when he realized something. He had
checked to make sure that the freak wasn't breathing and
now...someone else was in the room.
He turned around to see his dead nephew sit up with
his eyes wide and unseeing. The pools of blood retreated
back to the boy's body and his wounds closed. There was
nothing Vernon could do as his nephew looked down at his
hands confused.
"Why? Why did you wait so long to kill me?"
Vernon felt horror chill his spine as the young boy
turned his head and stared right at him. His eyes were
different, a blazing emerald that showed something that
wasn't there before...hate.
You may have killed me but I have had the last curse.
Harry stared at his fearful uncle. He could almost feel
the man's fright and the stink that flowed off of him. He
could hear everything. The man's overly fast heart and his
stopped one, the way the bastard's lungs still struggled to
provide air and the way his no longer needed to. Before he
knew it, anger at what his uncle did to him, anger at the fact
the man had killed him, filled his heart.
Before either of them knew it, Harry was holding
Vernon by his throat. The muggle couldn't do anything as his
body froze in terror. Silver mist hide his nephew's eyes as the
boy leaned closer.
"....Ten..."
With those words, Harry dropped his uncle on the
ground where he fell on his back. Ignoring the pitiful sight,
Harry felt no remorse or pity for the filth.
"...Nine..."
"...Eight..."
"...Seven..."
Vernon jumped from the ground realizing what the
freak was doing. He had to get out of here. Running out the
of the room, he began to feel regret. Why couldn't that damn
wizard have killed the brat when he could.
Harry paused for a moment still blinded by rage.
How dare he say that? Didn't he know what would have
happened? Didn't he know what he would have done for that
ending? His mind screamed as his body refused to obey his
mind.
"...One..."
...In the end I will always win boy...
...
...I hope you will like to live with blood on your
hands...
...forever.
--
The wizarding world was in shock. Harry Potter was
dead. The one who had killed Voldemort in his sixth year
when he was captured by deatheaters. How could this be?
Reporters said that the M.O.M never found his body,
but there was blood on the floor and blood on the body of
his uncle who was found several blocks from the house.
Petunia and Dudley Dursley were alive and now being kept
at an asylum, claiming that voices were haunting them.
No one knew what to think of the impossible death of
Harry Potter. That is no one alive knew. But time does pass
on and people forget. But after all those who knew the Boy-Who-Lived personally began to lose their memory and only
legends were left...
...the peace is shattered. Those without magic found
out about it and longed for it. Wars started and the world
was flooded with blood. Remembrance of the past haunted
those who lived remembrance of a boy who saved them...
Some say that the world was restarted, that there was
so much blood spilled that everyone was forced to back off
and try to recover. Then one could say that it began again.
...He came back...
--
AN: Okay was that bad? I think it was...I was confusing myself for a while. But now I understand it better...I was wondering if I should start it over? Um...I want to know if I should continue.