A/N: I am genuinely sorry for all the other fics I've left unfinished so far, but I just have so many ideas in my head and only so little access to the books… You see, the only thing I own right now is my computer as I'm too poor to buy the books (I'm saving up all my babysitting money to visit relatives and friends in California) If I could, I would go to the library on a constant basis, but I've yet to get a library card here… and I no longer go to a school that has a large selection of fiction books… (I go to an alternative school and I think the most prominent selection of books would have to be anything written by R. L. Stine. By the way, I'm reading a few of his books for now… I just love the Fear Street series…) I decided I'd make Harry a poet… as I love dark poetry… I believe it helps to capture the "real" Harry… because I can see him as a closet Goth… He probably feels a lot darker especially since Poor, Poor Sirius Black went through the veil… cries nonstop Perhaps I can do something truly original one day and write a novel… I mean, I DO love writing! On with the Show… I mean Fanfic…

Disclaimer: Okay, you got me, I don't own Harry Potter or Hot Topic… if I did, I would be rich, but you see, I don't even own Book 3 of Harry Potter… in fact, the only book I have that isn't from the library, is a paperback version of The Hobbit… because I lost Book 3 of Harry Potter while moving! Oh and I'm not sure if Hot Topic is just in the USA or not, but I love that store, and it just works for the story… so… if you flame, it will just support my pyromania… Oh and I wrote the poem in this chapter, and will probably be writing more… so if you want to use it, ask me first!

If there was one mistake that Albus Dumbledore had made and could be clearly highlighted with great sorrow, it was sending Harry James Potter back to the Dursleys of Number Four, Privet Drive. Of course, the old man, thinking that just having a group of fully grown wizards and witches threaten the lousy excuse for relatives to treat the boy well would help Harry cope with all that had happened in the past year, he was much mistaken. But as with most cases, no matter how hard the old wizard tried to make the right choice, the right choice was always revealed as the wrong on, as it would be with this one.

It hadn't been even a week since Harry had gotten off the Hogwarts Express when he had begun to sink into a deep depression. Of course, the Dursleys hardly noticed, because they were too busy. Dudley's eyes were most commonly glued to the television set in his bedroom, while Vernon was most often in his new office at Grunnings as he had been promoted. Having a larger sum of money coming into the house, Petunia had convinced Vernon that since they couldn't force Harry to do the gruesome chores, that they should hire a maid. Of course, Petunia now spent most of her time either spreading gossip with the other ladies that lived in the area, or she could be found in front of the television watching her afternoon soap operas. Of course, Harry, despite his new found "Freedom", could be found in his room furiously scribbling down words in a muggle notebook. He had already finished the homework he had been assigned by his various professors, including the five foot essay, assigned by none other than Professor Severus Snape. If he had not been dwelling on the recent death of his godfather, he would be wondering if he had gotten it done faster and sooner than even his good friend Hermione Granger.

Of course, with nothing better to do, Harry spent his time writing poems, dark poems in which he vented everything. He no longer had an elderly wizard to scream and yell at, and it just wouldn't do to cause a disturbance and destroy the routine to which he had just become accustomed. Only at dinner would he be required to come to the table for dinner, as Vernon Dursley had taken the Order's words to heart and had begun to actually be somewhat kind to Harry. The first day back, Vernon had taken Harry to the mall to get clothes. Of course, Vernon Dursley was expected at work that day, and had handed the raven haired teen a roll of bills. I do believe that if I said that we all know what would happen if you handed any teen a large sum of money, that I would be much mistaken, because Harry Potter did spend most of the money on clothes, with the exception of a good lunch and a few accessories. But the store he went to and the clothing he purchased was totally unexpected by any of the Dursleys, let alone Harry's friends.

Harry James Potter had walked into the first store that seemed to match his mood; Hot Topic. Harry, having long lost touch with the innocent little kid inside of himself, found himself purchasing several black t-shirts with various remarks such as "People like you, are the reason people like me need medication" and "Heavily Medicated for your safety". He also found himself taking a liking to the various pants that were sold. Of course, Harry couldn't quite stop himself from being attracted to the various hair dyes that were sold, and he chose a variety of colors from both RAW and Special Effects and also bought a bleaching kit so that the color would stand out more against his jet black hair. Later on in the day he found himself wandering into a piercing and tattoo studio where the young man working there was more than happy to serve. All in all, when Harry James Potter was picked up by Vernon Dursley later that evening, the large man was NOT at all happy with Harry's new look, but of course, he couldn't exactly do anything to the teen for picking out what he wanted and spending the money on clothing that wouldn't ordinarily be considered normal in their neighborhood. Harry had been in a mood and no one had noticed. If one was to look at the circumstances, they would see that Harry Potter was just trying to get some desperately needed attention, even if the need for attention was being communicated from his subconscious. But so far, no body had. The Wizarding world hadn't a clue that Harry Potter was slowly drowning in the hellishness of his miserable existence.

And so now, not even a week later, Harry was in his room, which actually looked like a room, complete with a small television set the Dudley had given him, a CD stereo that Dudley had gotten for the last Christmas but didn't need because of the top of the line one that Vernon and Petunia had gotten for Dudley's last birthday, a new bed with a new sheet and comforter set in black. The walls had become covered with posters of Muggle rock bands, as well as various poetry scrawled onto the wall in blind fury. Harry had changed his entire image, even the old round wire rimmed glasses had been replaced by color contacts and occasionally black rimmed glasses that gave him more of an "Harry Potter is not your pet, stop treating him like it" look as compared to the "Harry Potter is a good little boy who will kill Voldemort one day" The difference was mind boggling. So now, he wore a t-shirt that said "Future Children's Party Clown" in white scrawled letters against the black fabric, he also wore a black fishnet top underneath the t-shirt, and a pair of bondage pants complete with chains, spikes, zippers, and rips in various places. He wore a pair of black low top Converse sneakers upon his feet. If that wasn't enough, he had gotten a piercing in his lip, his left eyebrow, both ears, and his nose now played host to studs of metal. And so he was kicking his right leg to the beat of "Out of Control" by Hoobastank and writing a new poem.

Right above the windowsill I see a butterfly,

Newly hatched from its cocoon,

It flaps its wings and flies,

Knowing not what lies in store,

As it flies through open doors,

Harry paused for a moment to look at the time. The scents of food cooking were finding their way through the crack between the door and the wood floor. Of course, they were just a minor distraction as he had a bag of Doritos and a six pack of Cola in the room. But of course, he would be required to attend dinner, even if he did not eat. Of course, changes had occurred and there was even a photo of Harry up on the wall in the living room. One that had been taken a few days earlier so it wasn't exactly the kind of photo that the Dursleys were proud to have on the wall, but at least it looked like a second teen lived there.

By the twilight of the moon,

The butterfly continues on,

Dark clouds cover,

Rain falls down,

In this storm it will surely drown…

Harry looked over his new piece of work, satisfied; he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. Of course, there was no way any other soul would ever read it. This was Harry's personal diary, although almost everything written in it was a poem or song, save for the first few pages where he kept track of all the people who were close to him that were alive, alive but had been hurt, or dead. Another page was devoted to a list of how much muggle money he had left from the roll of bills that Vernon had given him.

So far he was doing quite well with sending a letter to the Order every three days, although when Remus would write back, that was when it got hard for him to say that everything was fine. It was because Remus would push the subject of how he was coping with Sirius's death, and would insist that Harry at least talk about it in his letters. But it was a rare occasion nowadays that Remus would write him.

A soft knock at the door brought Harry out of his stupor.

"Who is it?" Harry asked automatically, even though he knew that it had to be his Aunt.

"Harry, may I come in?" Petunia Dursley asked.

"Whatever…" she slowly walked in, carefully stepping over a pile of dirty clothes that lay on the floor.

"Harry, you have a letter from your… friends. It looks important." Harry's eyes fell onto the letter in his Aunt's hands. It looked official. Too official for his liking, but still, it could be very important so he reached for it. "Harry, if you would, could you please clean up the room a bit?" Petunia said nicely, almost too nicely for Harry's liking, because it reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. But Harry didn't say a word in response to his Aunt's request, because there was no way that they could force him, at least they couldn't if they didn't want the Moody, Tonks and various other Order members breathing down their backs. And so, knowing that there was no way that she could get Harry to respond, Petunia Dursley went back downstairs and continued watching her Soap Operas. Harry opened the letter, which was apparently from Dumbledore himself.

Dear Harry,

I understand how much you despise living at the Dursleys for the summer months, and so I am glad to tell you that Tonks and Moody will be coming there shortly to collect you. Please get your things packed as soon as possible to help things go more smoothly.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Upon finishing the letter, Harry scoffed, he was NOT going to leave this peaceful existence where nothing was expected of him except for being at the dinner table every day. He was going to postpone this as much as possible, starting with the packing business. He looked around the room, seeing his things strewn around, Quills lay on the floor, ink still on the tip. Sheets of parchment littered the space around his desk. His clothes that he had worn so far were lying all over despite the empty laundry basket that awaited in the closet. He was comfortable here, and there was nothing that was going to stop him from doing what he wanted this time. He was being treated as some sort of weapon to be used in a war, shuffled from place to place, not being quite as well cared for as he should have been. He was always alone despite the fact that there were always so many people around him. But none of them knew how he really felt. No one knew that he was slowly losing all control of himself, and that it was not Voldemort that was responsible. He was. Harry James Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive was responsible for all the deaths. Harry tossed the opened letter to a corner of the room and closed his eyes, wanting it all to end, wanting nothing more than to stay right where he was.

Harry looked around, he was standing in a graveyard, and the moon was full casting a silvery light over the granite headstones. The wind howled and whipped all around him. As Harry walked a fog started churning, heavy, around him. It got so bad that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. He blindly walked on. He saw a shape in the distance. He walked closer to it and realized it was a headstone; it had a familiar name on it, a name that sent chills down Harry's spine. Sirius Black 1966 -2003

A distant howl of a wolf made him jump back, as tears flowed down his cheeks and the sudden cracking of the granite headstone and the earth below it. He immediately stumbled back, nearly tripping as his eyes watched the ghostly figure of his godfather float towards him, a betrayed look on his face. He fell over another headstone, with the name; Cedric Diggory 1985 – 2002. The same thing happened and the ghostly figure of Cedric came after him. Harry quickly ran further, until he slammed into a large statue like headstone with the name Lilly Potter 1965 – 1989. This time, the entire statue crumbled and the ghostly figure of Lilly Potter passed a icy cold hand through Harry.

"Why Harry, why didn't you save us. You're supposed to be the one that would save us!" she cried angrily. Harry could not bring himself to look at the ghostly figures and his gaze fell upon a statue next to his mother's. James Potter 1966 – 1989. The statue cracked and a blinding light enveloped the entire graveyard and his father's ghostly figure came out after him as well as hundreds of others, some he knew the names of, others he didn't.

"My own son murdered me, I'm disappointed in you! You're not worthy of the name Potter!" said his father's ghost, turning his ghostly nose up at him.

"How could you let me fall, Harry? If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had to go to Azkaban. I wouldn't have died! You should have never been born, You're worthless!" cried Sirius in pure fury. Harry put his arms up and tried to block everything out, but he couldn't. He was trapped in this nightmare.

"How could you make me go with you? You should have known that Voldemort was planning something. You knew something was wrong and you made me take the goblet anyway!" Cedric's ghost cried out. Harry screamed in agony.

"No! I didn't kill you, it's not my fault!" he screamed.

"It's all your fault! All your fault, all your fault, all your fault!" the ghostly figures chanted in unison. "All your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault, all your fault!" It got louder and louder until Harry's protests couldn't be heard at all.

"I'm sorry! It's my fault! I should have done something to save all of you! I'm sorry Sirius, Cedric, Mum, Dad, everyone. Please, I'm sorry!" Harry cried out just as everything began to fade away.

Harry awoke to the presence of Vernon Dursley looming over him, more purple faced than Harry had seen him all summer.

"U-uncle Vernon… I…"

"You missed dinner, then you start screaming and you blow up Petunia's new dishwasher! I'm sick and tired of dealing with you! Get Out! We don't want you and your freakishness here any longer! Hurry and pack your things! You'll be on your own from now on! I don't care what some crackpot old fool says! We are of no relation to you, and so we won't have you here any longer!" yelled the large man. Harry stared at his uncle in confusion. They had been so kind before. Was this a part of the nightmare? Harry dug his fingernails into his palms to check. It was almost a sure thing that this wasn't some weird dream where you keep waking up but you're still dreaming, because Harry was able to draw blood and it definitely hurt to do so. "Well, what the bloody hell are you waiting for Boy? Pack your bloody things before I burn them!" Harry quickly complied, knowing that there was no way that the Dursleys were going to let him off. With the help of a simple spell, all his things were shrunk and packed, including the numerous posters and such that had been on the wall. Even his bed and other furniture had been packed easily into his trunk. Even the CD player went into the trunk, as it was now his. He shrunk his trunk, tucked it into his pocket, and ran without a second thought.

A/N2: Oh yeah, Kudos to my good friend PsYcHoRoAcH1885 who has helped me develop the nightmare scene. Please, Read and Review! And ask if you want to use the poem, I wrote it myself!