Chapter One:

Harry ran to the fat lady's portrait, barely able to get the password out with his heavy breathing. Quickly, he wiped his tears off of his red face before he went into the common room where his tall, red-headed friend was waiting for him.

"Hey mate," Ron cheerily cried. He took one look at his best friend's wet, red face saying, "Whoa... detention was a bugger, huh?" He smiled lightly in comfort and it all but fell off of his freckled face when Harry's harsh glare (one that could rival Snape's, yet again) focused on Ron's eyes. Ron visibly cringed and automatically, Harry lightened up, having a pang of guilt streak through him.

"Sorry, Ron..." he quietly said as he ran his pale hand through his jet-black hair.

"It's okay. Come here! Look at the latest news on Quidditch!" just as quickly as Harry lightened his look, Ron forgave him, forgetting all that went on. 'He's so obsessed...' Harry thought with a roll of his jaded eyes. 'But I'm no better than him...' he continued to think slowly, 'I'm obsessed with something too...' His eyes started to water again, tears threatening to leak out, as he thought about the recent events with Snape.

»"You idiot boy!" Snape bellowed angrily baring his yellow and crooked teeth.

"Don't call me boy!" Harry snapped back with a heated glare.

"And why not?" Snape asked with a sneer sealed on his face, "Have you not deserved the title? Is your pride getting hurt?" he continued to hiss out.

"No." Harry replied through gritted teeth slowly as he looked to the side. Snape took a step closer, raising his arm to grab Harry and to force him to look at Snape, to show the burning hurt that made Snape gleeful. However, as he did that, Harry's vision began to blur because the movement brought back a memory.

"You stupid fucking boy..." Uncle Vernon barely whispered. His purple face, laced with red, began to splotch with white. Harry could swear that his uncle was foaming at the mouth... Uncle Vernon's large, meaty hands where clenching into fists, and he raised his right arm with a speed that you couldn't think possible of him.

CRACK!

Harry fell backwards into his cupboard from the sheer force of the blow. For once, he was grateful that he could hide in there instead of being in the clear opening in his uncle's wrath. He scooted further in the small, closed-in area. He was already covered with bruises from the night before, a punishment for not finishing his unbelievably long list of chores before his uncle came home from work. I mean how could you wash the car when it's not there?

Dismally, he thought about how his "family" crossed the line and how nobody cared. For no one came for him.

"Don't you dare think that you can hide from me, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed as he reached in the cupboard and latched his hand around Harry's slender throat, choking the small boy. Harry's lungs began to burn after a whole minutes worth of no oxygen as his uncle picked him up by the throat.

"This is it, boy. I had enough of you..." he said sorely.

"POTTER! Pay attention! That's ten points from Gryffindor! And a night's worth of detention." Snape stepped even closer to Harry, and the boy took a step backwards, causing a puzzled look to play over Snape's face for the briefest second.

Severus reached out for the boy, like in Harry's dreams, to caress him, but this was no stance for Snape to gently run his fingers through Harry's hair. Instead, he grabbed the young Gryffindor's forearm and jerked him forward.

"I hate you! Don't touch me!" Harry cried as he jerked wildly, still lost in his memory, fearing that Uncle Vernon would knock his fist into him again, or knock him down and give a swift kick in his ribs harshly.«

"Hellooo! Is anyone in there? Bloody hell, Harry! Snap out of it!" Ron said furiously as he tapped his large hand on Harry's cheek, causing the raven haired boy to squirm away from his touch, knocking him out of his unhealthy trance. Dull green eyes blankly stared at Ron's face, dully noting the fair amount of freckles that was speckled across his best friend's face.

"Alright, alright. Geez..." Apparently, to Harry, he wasn't allowed to think. 'After all...he was the Boy-Who-Live,' he thought bitterly.

All of the sudden, Harry was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

"I'm going to bed. 'Night..." he said quietly.

"Whatever. Anyway," Ron droned on about Quidditch, claiming that they would win, smashing the Slytherin's faces in the dirt.

"Did you see Hermoine? She looked-"

"Pretty, I know, Ron." Ron gave a pointed, accusing look, and Harry just sighed, not wanting to deal with more drama for the night, "No, Ron. She's not my type." The red-head's frowning face relaxed as he clapped Harry on the back. He was completely oblivious to Harry's pain as well.

"Well, g'night, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ron." it was said sadly, but still went unnoticed. Harry just sighed softly and climbed in his bed. When he finished tucking himself in, he looked over at Ron, somewhat willing to talk about tonight's events, but he found Ron fast asleep with a unmistakable grin on his freckled face.

Neville's soft snores floated through the room, but that wasn't keeping Harry up. It was his thoughts and they were racing. He was also afraid of the visions that would plague him. Eventually, his vision began to blur and darken with voices echoing around in his head.

»"Stupid boy!"

"Idiotic boy!"

"You fucking piece of shit! You deserve to die! But even that's to good for you!"

"Arrogant little boy."«

'I'm not a boy... not with what I had to grow up with... but, I'm not a man either... I'm ignorant, stupid, arrogant, worthless, a freak. No one loves me. No one ever will.' Harry snap up into a sitting position, wide awake. He looked around, seeing all of the boys still asleep, undisturbed by his little scene. As quietly as he could, he slid his legs over the edge of the soft bed and walked over barefooted to his trunk. He dug around just a quietly until something sharp slides against the tip of his finger, creating a pressure and slight sting. He found it.

He took out his knife and invisibility cloak and headed off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. So far, she's kept his secrets, and as far as he knew, she would never tell them either, for she promised him. Harry could trust her, she didn't call him a freak or a boy, and she listened and took his grief upon hers.

Harry could tell that she could feel his presence near, for she wailed uncontrollably, her moaning ricocheting down the cold stone walls.

"Oh, Harry..." Moaning Myrtle cried. Her translucent figure floated about, watching the ebony haired young man with concern. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes trained on the familiar glint of silver slashing. The silver soon was lined with a dark red that dripped on the floor.

Harry hissed as the pain began to bloom with each slice.

"Harry... please-"

"Hush, Myrtle... it's nothing to worry about." he interrupted gently, trying to sooth her fears once again.

"If you die, you can share-"

"Yes, yes, I know, Myrtle, and I'm grateful, thank you..." he softly injected.

"Myrtle, could I be alone for a little while?" he asked after a long pause. With a harsh wail, bordering a scream, Moaning Myrtle flew into the toilet, splashing great amounts of water over the sides of it and onto the floor.

Harry merely stared for a moment and then quietly thanked her.

He returned his gaze to his bleeding and scarred wrists, looking at the deep cuts and the blood that was freely flowing out of the wounds, entranced by its strange beauty. A faint odor drifted around him. It almost refreshed him in a twisted way. But the thing was, it was his blood. Not the blood of innocent muggles, witches, and wizards.

No. It was his blood. His life's that oozed then finally ran down his arm then to the floor in small rivers of red. It was a beautiful color. A Gryffindor color. It looked so dark in the shadowy washroom.

Fingering the sharp edge of his blade, he thought of destructive thoughts once more. He was sixteen now, and he knew that his time to end was near. Or so he felt. Why give Voldemort the satisfaction of killing him? He was going to die anyway. He was weak.

'Stupid moron. How do you think that you'll win people's affections when they know that you're a freak... look at yourself... you need physical pain so you know that you still feel in some way... numb... I'm getting numb inside. And I don' care anymore...' he viciously thought.

»"Listen, you little freak!" Aunt Petunia screamed, "Look at this mess! In my beautiful kitchen! I don't know what you did, boy, but once your uncle finds out-"

"Finds out what, dear Petunia?" Uncle Vernon asked lovingly as he walked through the front door with a sickening smile plastered on his chubby face.

"Look at this mess he made! He- he- he did the M-word..."

"WHAT!" he bellowed so loudly that Harry and Petunia almost had to close their ears to save them some pain. However, Aunt Petunia just tilted her head and gazed at Vernon, then smiling nastily at her frightened nephew. Her crooked smile only grew once she heard her Duddlykins scream for her. She went up stairs and tended to him.

"Listen here, boy..." Uncle Vernon glowered.

"I-I didn't mean it, Uncle! It was an accident! Aunt Petunia hit me with a frying pan and-"

"And I'm sure you deserved it! You worthless piece of shit!" Harry's courage quickly faded as his overly large uncle took a few steps closer to him. He could feel the fear crawling around in his chest once he saw his uncle open the buckle of his belt...«

"STOP IT! Please! Just stop! No more thoughts! I..." His vision swam as his head bean to have a spinning feeling to it. He foolishly stood up, thinking that it would help clear his head. Wobbling and shaking, he took a step back, only to have his vision turn black, blinding him. With a soft moan, he fell over with a hard thud.

He was completely oblivious to Myrtle's crying.

End of Chapter 1

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