Unforgivably Lost

After Dumbledore's assassination, the Boy who lived, the Chosen One, otherwise known as Harry Potter lost it. Everyday, he would scrounge for the next clue to Voldemort's Horcruxes, as well as who the bloody hell R.A.B. was. The following nights, he was haunted by more glimpses into the Dark Lord's mind.

Harry had dropped out of his seventh year. He tried to finish but he couldn't. Hermione and Ron could only help so much, but they still went to Hogwarts. Ginny even tried to help, but got sent back… just like the others.

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Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed. His bare torso was still etched with rippling muscle from Quidditch.

He slouched, taking a few shallow breaths before plunging his hand into the pocket of a few nearby robes. After he withdrew the item with a closed fist, Harry shoved his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and unblurred his vision.

Harry looked over his now opened palm at what lay on it. The fake Horcrux; a golden locket that only a few months ago had resided at the bottom of a basin, full of potion. The chain was slung haphazardly around his neck while he rose. It was warmer than him because of being clutched for so long. When the boy began his stride to the closet, the locket fell into place.

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Upon reaching the closet, the door slid open. An assortment of dark colored clothes hung monotonously in a varying pattern. A set of plain Muggle clothes were picked out and put on the body of the troubled boy. A dark brown long-sleeved turtleneck, a pair of black, slightly loose jeans and black cap compose the outfit. The cap was set low over the glasses and startling green eyes.

Not really caring about his appearance, Harry made his way to the front door of his cramped apartment, down the narrow staircase and out to the streets of London. With wand in pocket, locket on neck, and cracked Slytherin ring on finger, Harry was on his way to another day of obsessive thinking, confused wandering and careless drinking.

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Later that night, Harry came home depressed and reeking of alcohol. The door was unusually unlocked, but Harry was too drunk to notice. He stumbled through the door, into the velvety darkness of the room and finally into the back of a rather large armchair.

Its occupant rose and turned to face Harry. A snakelike face with blood-lusty red eyes uttered only two words…….

"Avada Kedavrada"