Hey, this is the second story I have ever written on Fan fic. Enjoy, AND PLEASE REVIEW! It means a lot to me if you do. I need feed back!
A note to you all: These characters are not mine, they are J.K Rowling's based on the Harry Potter series.
Harry Potter sat outside, alone in the dark. The summer breeze brushed his face and messy jet black hair lightly to the side revealing the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead as he sat there, cross legged on the curb of private drive in his warn out dirsty, converse shoes, deep in thought.
The Summer had been more depressing than ever. His terrible Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and fat ass cousin Dudley had been an even worse nightmare then last year, and seemed to get worse every summer. Harry reached his breaking point. He couldn't even call them family or none the less relatives with out a feeling of sourness in the pit of his stomached which churned at the very thought of being related to these wretched people!
Harry had to do much labor now. He spent hours and hours in the hot summer heat, working outside not allowed any food, water, or a break. He often felt fatigue and threw upa lot.
When Harry wasn't out side he was being pushed around and forced to clean the house, or cook and watch his aunt, uncle, and cousin wolf down their meal in disgust as his very own empty stomach growled in protest.
After that, he would be sent up into his room at 8:00 and locked in to lie awake, staring up at the glistening night sky out his tiny window, on his bed, wondering how his two best friends in the whole wide world, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasly, (whom which he was never allowed to communicate with over the summer), were doing until he fell asleep, clutching his hungry stomach in pain until his unbearable longing for food and freedom put him to sleep. Eventually he'd wake up to his beloved snowy colored pet owl, Hedwing, clicking her beak and greeting Harry good morning, and he'd start his agonizing work again.
Harry usually dreamed of making an escape to Hogwarts, School of witch craft and wizardry often during summer, but now this was different, for Harry had just finished his last year in school, and was now off on his own, to explore the world and persue his future goals. Like he would have a future. Harry feared that he would be enslaved in this prison forever. His barred up, chained up windows, his wand and all magical items confiscated, door locked, alarms set, it was impossible to leave.
Harry was now a very depressed teen, and I wouldn't blame him. He had so much anger and hate in his life, and just wished it could all disappear. If only life were that easy for this poor boy. He didn't deserve this at all.
At least in this black hole of A life, when Harry was miserable and on the verge of tears, when the world was crashing down hopelessly onto his head, he new he would have one thing to make him feel better, and that was his guitar.
Before Harry left for the Hogwarts express for his last day of school and what was supposed to be the start of a new life, his friend Hermione bought him a special present from the muggle world; a shiny, beautiful electric guitar.
Harry could play the memory over in his head countless times as if it was just yesterday: The other kids on the train were peering down at the shiny, bright red fender guitar. The kids who were brought up in the wizarding world had never seen a muggle guitar before, so they laughed in unison at Harry's fascination. The instrument was like a mere used tissue to them. He ran his fingers down the six strings , than the One-piece Maple neck, and down to the untouched Rosewood fingerboard.
"What a piece of rubbish!" Harry could hear someone sneer behind him. But he sure as hell didn't care what the others thought, he was in total awe!
"Oh 'Mione!" He shouted , pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her on the cheek four times.
"I love you so much!" He said, his face buried in her shoulder.
Hermoine blushed a deep rosy color, almost as bright as the guitarwhen he let go.
"Oh-oh-uh, you're so very welcome H-Harry. But Ron helped pick it out too."
Harry gave Ron a crushing hug, still grining and ruffled his red hair happily.
"Thanks pal! You dunno how much this means to me!" Harry had said beaming at the gift.
Over the summer, Harry got hooked on punk rock, in which he'd sometimes listen to on his crappy stereo in his spare time. He was inspired and amazed by the drums pounding away and the beautiful guitar playing in a care free beat accompanied by the fun and down to earth vocals that stitched the whole thing together.
Harry had a nack for remembering the songs in his head word by word, note by note, and they would get driven into his brain like a disease taking over his mind. He'd began to copy the beats and patterns on his guitar, and sing along with his favorite songs. He had wicked skills and was a fast learner.
After tired days of work Harry Potter would slump onto his bed with no energy what so ever, angry and abused and start to scribble away songs he made up on parchment, stopping to slit his wrists to watch the red blood drip onto the fresh sheet of paper, easing the pain of his life.
Harry sighed deeply, peering down at his wrist which had fresh scars from the previous night, and down at his watch.
He squinted in the darkness.
7:55
Better get inside before those bastards bitch at me again
Harry thought, getting up.
Pain seared through his overworked legs as he approached his small jail of a home and entered limping up the stairs and toward his room which was all the way down the hall.
The house was dead silent.
The Dursley's were probably out at dinner know those stuck up ass holes, and Dudley was probably out side setting up fire crackers outside with his stupid friends noisily like the dumb asses they were, hoping to get caught and blame Harry so he could enjoy his uncle beating Harry as punishment.
Harry knew that when the Dursley's returned they would check up on Harry first thing for he was 'out of control' and a 'rebel' as the Dursley's would say to guests as an excuse from them to hate Harry, so there was no point on coming home late for he knew he'd be screwed.
Harry clicked on the radio and collapsed onto the bed.
Just by the into of the song, Harry knew the words instantly and began to sing in his amazing voice.
"Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken homes
Some call it slums some call it nice
I want to take you through a wasteland I like to call my home
Welcome to Paradise
A gunshot rings out at the station
Another urchin snaps and left dead on his own
It makes me wonder why I'm still here
For some strange reason it's still now feeling like my home
I'm never gonna go..."
Harry loved times like these when he could just relax and let the music take him away. He imagined a place he could call home, like in the song.
He took off his shirt to reveal his sweaty abs which had been formed from so much hard work, and threw it to the floor. He continued to pull his pants and throw them across the room.
He sat there,his now quite sexy body drenched in sweatin just his boxers in his un-air conditioned room, sticking his hands down his pants to masturbate, still singing.
"Dear mother, can you hear me laughing'?
It's been six whole months since I have left your home
It makes me wonder why I'm still here
For some strange reason it's still now feeling like my home
I'm never gonna go
Dear mother, can you hear me whinin'?
It's been three whole weeks since I have left your home
This sudden fear has left me tremblin'
Cause now it seems I am out here on my own
And I'm feeling so alone."
He sat there, care free for a moment, having some time that didn't have to do with work, no Dursleys or any of that shit. Just punk rock and self pleasure.
If only life was more like this, He thought.
Little did he know, life perhaps could be like this for him very, very soon.