Well, I really have nothing to say today, so I will just start with the story.

Oh, and for those that are waiting for me to update my other story, have patience; like I said, I'm writing it now, so it will take time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Harry and Draco would get married and have children, because it's just right! Neither Draco nor Harry belong with Hermione! Do you hear me, Dreema Wingblade? They just don't belong!

Sorry, got carried away.

Warning: This story contains, character death. If you don't like the characters dead, well it's only you.

The Lost Soul

A moonless, starless night rests above Surrey. It has been two weeks since the school year draw to an end; two weeks since Harry had a decent night sleep. His heart is now full with nothing but grieve and anger; losing his godfather, Sirius, has deprived him of any happiness, any feeling, any hope he had of ever leaving the Dursley's household anytime soon. His heart has become as dark and empty as the night sky that looked down upon him that night. He barely ate this days, not because didn't fed him. In fact, the Durleys had begun to feed him as much as Dudley now, but to no avail. Even they have begun to worry about Harry's health. They don't make him work any longer; he has become far to weak to that now.

Sunrise. A bright summer day begins. Harry never fell asleep, no matter how tired he felt. Two weeks of sleep, sun and food deprivation have transform him in such way that you could barely tell that the person before you once was the savior of the Wizarding world. He has become gaunt from weight loss since he doesn't eat, his skin now resembles a corpse, in color, from the lack of sun, abnormally large bags reside under his eyes from lack of sleep for such a long time. It is almost as if his soul had dies along Sirius that night.

Harry gets up and goes to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the Dursleys, but by that time Petunia, his aunt, had already prepared it.

"Sit sown Harry, eat something. You need to eat or you'll get seriously ill.", pleaded his aunt in a soft voice.

"She's write, Harry. Eat. Here, you can have my breakfast, even Dudley's if you want. But please eat something.", begged Vernon with a concerned look on his face.

"You never gave a fuck about me. Just last year you were hoping I would get the death penalty for those dementors that attacked Dudley last year. If it hadn't been for me he would be soulless right now. Why do you care now, there is no point to it. I'll just be in my room if you need me" answered Harry in a monotone voice, as he headed up the stairs to his room.

Vernon did not answered back. He knew Harry was right; he had hopefully wished for the young boys demise many, many times.

By that time, even Dudley had lost his appetite. As Petunia finished washing the dishes, the phone rang; Dudley picked it up.

"Hello, Good Morning. Dursley Residence. With who do you wish to speak to?"

"Yes, hello. I would like to speak with Vernon Dursley, if possible."

"And who should I say it's calling?"

"Arthur Weasley."

"Hold on. Aren't you the wizard that came to take Harry away two years ago?"

"Yes, that would be me. You're Dudley, right? Please forgive my sons for that prank they did on you."

"Whatever, it's not important. I'll get my dad."

"Yes? Vernon speaking. May I ask why are calling?"

"Well, I didn't expect this. You're taking my call rather calmly."

"Yes, I know. My mind is somewhere else. Have you called to take Harry away?"

"Actually, yes. If that is alright with you and your wife."

"Sure. He hasn't been doing well here. He can't sleep, he won't eat. He doesn't eve leave his room. Truth is, my wife and I are worried about his health. Hopefully, you and your family will be able to cheer him up."

"I can tell by the way you speak that you truly are concerned. Very well, then. Tell Harry to pack up and I'll pick him up after work, around 6:00 pm. Mind if we use your fireplace?"

"No, not at all. I'll tell him."

Then, they both hanged up. Vernon went upstairs to tell Harry to pack his things. He entered the boys room, just to be invaded by complete darkness. He could just make Harry's silhouette on his bed writing something. Vernon turned on the lights to see Harry writing with a dagger with red ink. He then saw that the whole bed was covered with this ink. And then, it hit him. Harry was writing and sitting on his own blood.

"HARRY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! My God! You're bleeding far too much. Why are you doing this!", asked Vernon as he lifted Harry to take him to the bathroom and clean the boys wounds.

" I should have died, not Sirius. It's my fault he's dead.", the boy-who-lived answered, still with the same monotone voice and a lost stare.

"Goodness, Harry. What's gotten in to you?", asked Vernon to himself.

No matter how hard he tried, the boys wounds would not stop bleeding. He had no choice.

"PETUNIA! CALL AN AMBULANCE, NOW!" yelled Vernon from the bathroom.

"WHY? WHAT'S HAPPENNING, VERNON!", yelled Petunia back to him.

"JUST CALLED THE BLOODY AMBULANCE, WOMAN!"

Harry fainted from the blood loss. His forearms where mutilated; slashes and already healing cuts adorned every inch of them. Vernon took Harry back too his room, still trying, to no avail, to stop the bleeding from the boys wounds. He then saw the notebook. Curious to see what the boy had been writing, he began to read: "I should have died, not Sirius. It's my fault he's dead". In every inch and every page was this same sentences written, over and over again.

The ambulance arrived ten minutes later. They had no choice, but to take Harry to the hospital. There, his wounds were stitched closed and they gave him a blood transfusion. They were back home by 4:00. Two hours later, Arthur and Percy, who despised the idea of having Harry home with them, came to take Harry away.

"Hello, Mr. Dursley. Is Harry ready?", greeted Arthur.

"Maybe you shouldn't take him now", answered Vernon.

"Why? Is something wrong with Harry?", asked Arthur.

"I bet is nothing but an act. I'm sure his fine", said a very sure Percy.

"Oh, really! Follow me!", said Vernon as he pulled Percy to their backyard, where the other members of the family where. Harry was trying to reopen his wounds with a ball pen to write on the notebook again. Petunia was trying to get him to stop doing that and trying to make him eat at the same time.

When they arrived to the backyard, Arthur and Percy saw Harry siting on a bench in his aunt's arms. They had yet to see the boys face, since Petunia and Harry had their backs to the door.

"There he is. Do you think he's acting! Ask him anything! He'll answer the same thing over and over again!", Vernon yelled at Percy as he let go of the young man's arm.

" Hey, Potter! What do you think your doing? Come on, say something! Or are you afraid that I'll uncover your little act.", instigated Percy.

" I tried to kill the pain. But only brought more. (So much more...",

sang Harry.

"WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSE TO MEAN!", yelled Percy at Harry. "That's it look at me right now Potter!"

Percy turned Harry around so that they where face to face, but as soon as Percy saw the boys face, he became horried. Harry looked half-way dead. He was even paler than before. He had bandages on his face, his arms and his neck. His eyes were opaque as if his soul had been sucked out and his stare, lost in space.

"What happened to him?", asked both Arthur and Percy.

"We're not sure why, but he took a dagger and began cutting his forearms to write in this notebook.", answered Petunia, giving Arthur the notebook.

"As for the bandages on his face and neck, as soon as we got to the hospital, he took a scalpel and cut his face and neck. The doctors put him in some sort of treatment. They say this is a very extreme case of depression. He has lost the will to live.", explained Vernon.

"I lay dying, And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal. I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming. Am I too lost to be saved? Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet, Return to me, salvation.My God, my tourniquet,Return to me, salvation.

Do you remember me, Lost for so long? Will you be on the other side, Or will you forget me? I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming. Am I too lost to be saved? Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet, Return to me, salvation.My God, my tourniquet,Return to me, salvation.

My wounds cry for the grave, My soul cries for deliverance. Will i be denied? Christ, tourniquet, My suicide...", sang Harry with tears in his eyes. He then pushed himself out of his aunt's arms and smiled at them all. He pulled a scalpel that he had stolen from the hospital and ran it across his neck. Blood stained the grass as Harry fell, still smiling and waiting for darkness to consume him.

Arthur and Percy ran towards Harry. Arthur took Harry in his arms as tears fell freely from his eyes. He them began to transform and so did Percy. The last thing Harry saw was Sirius holding him and Severus Snape next to him.

"Sirius... I ...didn't... kill...you...after all.", were Harry Potter's last words as he died in his godfather arms.

The End

I can't believe I actually wrote something this sad. I was crying as I wrote this. I like writing angsty stories, but this one is too sad, even for me.

Oh, well! Please, read and review it. Tell what you think. I don't care if you like it or not, just tell me!