This story is basically my idea of what could happen in the next Harry Potter book. To me it just makes so much sense.

As a warning, this story does contain cutting, and suicidal themes. If this makes you squeamish please do not continue.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Harry James Potter watched as the flames licked hungrily at the dry wood. His green eyes, although glinting with triumph, were far older than his 17 years. His eyes bore a silent witness to all of the horror and tragedy that he had seen in his short life. All of the death and betrayal haunted his dreams, and made him start awake with a scream on his lips. As the smoke curled up toward the star filled night sky, The-Boy-Who-Lived threw the leather pouch clutched in his hand into the fire. An unearthly scream filled the air, and the teenager clutched at the scar that adorned his forehead. Pain rippled through his head, and Harry felt Voldemort's anger and hatred. A chuckle, devoid of humor, passed his lips.

Yet another horcrux had been destroyed. Now there were only 2 remaining. His shoulders slumped in weariness for a moment and the mask fell, revealing the young boy beneath, full of grief and loneliness. For a second his shoulders shook and a scream nearly ripped itself out of him. But in the next instant, his shoulders straightened and his mask dropped neatly back into place, all signs of his grief and loneliness gone. Harry Potter watched the fire for several more minutes enjoying the smell of the burning wood. The smoke permeated his robes, and he knew that as soon as he returned to his flat Dobby would insist that he take a shower. A nearly invisible smile touched Harry's mouth as he thought of the exuberant house elf. If it weren't for Dobby, Harry knew that he wouldn't take care of himself.

The war was worsening and had been for the better part of the year. Attacks from the Death Eaters came often and without warning. Hundreds of innocent men women and children had been murdered or tortured to insanity and Harry felt every single death profoundly. He had a list in his flat with the names of all of Voldemort's victims.
Michelle Walters, Amelia Bones, Cornelius Fudge, Albus Dumbledore, Henry Dickerson, Bill Weasley, Sara Spradley, Cynthia Meyers, Pomona Sprout... the list was endless, and Harry felt as if every single one was his fault.
Some days the guilt was so bad that he just wished that he could end it all. Sometimes Harry would find himself fingering the edge of a shiny silver meat cleaver and wondering absently if it would hurt when it when it went through his heart. But, somehow he always managed to pull back from the edge and go on with his life. Or the small semblance of a life that he had.

His days were consumed with finding and destroying the Horcruxes that contained Voldemort's fractured soul, and his nights were restless and sleepless as he battled the ghosts of his tortured past. There was no escape for Harry Potter. Harry put out the fire with a single word and a flick of his wand. Without the warmth of the flames, the chill of the night air cut through his robes and the teenager wrapped his arms around himself as he started the long walk back to his flat. Harry loved the nighttime. It seemed to reflect his moods. When it was sunny outside, everyone was smiling and happy. Harry was never happy anymore. And he never smiled. He had forgotten how. It was when Remus Lupin, Harry's last link to his parents, had been driven mad by the Cruciatus curse, that Harry had lost all motivation to smile. Harry James Potter was no longer a child.

Halfway to his flat, Harry abruptly changed his mind and decided to visit Hogwarts. He felt an unexplainable need to discover the last two Horcruxes and the Hogwarts library was the best place to start. Despite his exhaustion, Harry apparated to Hogsmeade and began the walk up to the castle that he still considered home. He pushed open the heavy doors, and stepped into the school. Harry sighed and it seemed that a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders. It was as if a pair of warm, loving arms had encircled him in a hug. A genuine smile touched his lips briefly as he strode up the stairs to his own personal suite. Stopping in front a portrait of a ship on a storm tossed sea, Harry whispered his password

"Never Forget".

The portrait swung aside, and Harry passed through the lounge into his bedroom and collapsed on the richly furnished bed. He was asleep in seconds.

"It seems that Harry Potter has destroyed yet another horcrux." Voldemort hissed, his narrow eyes flaming red. "I do NOT tolerate failure! I instructed you to keep them safe, and yet you fail time and time again."

The gathered Death Eaters cowered in terror, and Voldemort smiled. He could smell their fear and it gave him strength. He gloried in the terror and chaos that he created. Perhaps it was time to show his servants what it meant to cross the Dark Lord. He had been rather lenient of late, and it was starting to show.

"Crucio!" he yelled leveling his wand at the nearest Death Eater. The anguished screams filled his ears. To Voldemort, a well orchestrated scream was more beautiful than the finest symphony by Vivaldi or Handel. There were many levels of a scream, and Voldemort was an expert in extracting the glorious sounds, as a master would coax the last quavering note from a violin.

The curse was lifted and Voldemort turned on the rest of his followers and smiled, a smile that made even the bravest of men shrink in their shoes.

"I think that it is time I taught you all a lesson." he laughed and began the enjoyable task of torturing all of his servants. Screams bounced off the walls and ceilings as Voldemort created a symphony that only he could appreciate.

Harry awoke early the next morning. His eyes were grimy with sleep, and he could smell the smoke and sweat that coated his body. With a groan, he slid off the bed and padded across the room to the bathroom, where he took a long shower.

Dressing quickly in a set of emerald green robes, Harry fixed a smile on his face, and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
He knew that everyone expected him to be happy and confident, so that was the mask that he put on. Only Harry knew how fragile his grasp on hope and sanity truely was.

He stepped into the Hall, and waited. It didn't take long. A shriek echoed through the room as a small red haired girl raced across the hall and flung herself into his arms. Harry felt warmth spread through him, as he gave Ginny Weasley a quick kiss. She beamed at him and dragged him over to the Gryffindor table where Ron and Hermione waited.

Ron shook his hand firmly and Hermione gave him a tearful hug.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked, piling food high on his plate.

Harry allowed himself to grin, even though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah mate. I got it. It's gone for good."

A sigh of relief made its way down the table.

"Only two more then" Hermione noted. She reached down and pulled a thick dusty tome from her bookbag. "Here Harry. I found this in the library. It might help you find the last ones."

Harry nodded his thanks and peered at the intricate lettering on the cover.

"The Inner Workings of a Dark Lord's Mind"

Harry snorted at the title. There was no way that anyone could understand the way a deranged bloodthirsty psychopath thought. But it was worth a try. Anything at this point was worth a try.

"I found this too." Hermione said hesitantly. She handed him a narrow book that appeared to be bound in snakeskin. "I can't read it, but since it's made from snakeskin, I thought that maybe it was written in parseltongue. There might be something useful in there, if you can read it."

Harry stared at the sibilant inscription that dominated the cover. As he concentrated, the writing seemed to shift into something resembling English, but the strange twisting of the script made it hard to decipher.

"Thanks Mione. I think you may be onto something." For her benefit, Harry forced a real smile.

She looked pleased and went back to her food.

Harry only picked at his plateful of breakfast. He wasn't really hungry this morning. He had dreamed last night and hadthe impression that it was important, but he couldn't remember any of it. At least his scar hadn't been burning. That meant that his mental shields had blocked any dreams from Voldemort.

After several minutes of mindless chatter, Ginny turned to Harry. There was a serious look in her brown eyes. She took Harry's hand.

"Harry, there's been word on Snape's location."

Harry tensed up. He felt hatred welling up in him, as it always did when he thought of the traitorous bastard. He pushed it away, but the bitterness stayed, contorting his face into a mask of contempt.

"Where?"

Ginny swallowed hard.
"In Wales. He was only briefly spotted and he had Draco Malfoy with him. He is obviously on a mission of some importance to You-Know-Who."

Harry sighed. He knew what was coming.
"And the Order wants me to seek Voldemort out through the link don't they?"

Ginny nodded sadly.
"I know you don't want to, but it's the only way to save lives."

Harry glowered. He hated the Order. They knew that he was always hounded with guilt for the deaths and used that to manipulate him into doing whatever they wanted him to do. If there was even a chance that it could prevent even one death, Harry would do it.

"When?" he asked.

"Tonight."

He nodded stiffly, and stood.
"I've lost my appetite. Excuse me."

Harry spent the rest of the day prepping himself for his foray into the mind of Voldemort. His preparations usually consisted of reading through the lists of innocent victims, and getting at least slightly tipsy. Today however was different. He was still in the middle of a depression, and the mere thought of viewing Voldemort's plans for killing more people made him want to cry. He sat and stared blankly into the fire for hours reminding himself why he allowed himself to be used by the Order.

As the afternoon began to fade into evening and the shadows on the wall lengthened, Harry went into the bathroom. He felt almost as if he was separate from his body. He was watching himself pull a razor from the cabinet above the sink. He watched sadly as he pressed the keen blade to the skin of his inner forearm. He suddenly found himself back in his body. The narrow edge of the razor sliced his skin cleanly and blood beaded on the edge of the incision. When the surface tension was too great, the beads of crimson blood dripped onto the floor and smeared on the pale skin of his arm. Without noticing the pain, Harry slowly etched the words "Never Forget" onto his arm. Harry James Potter would never forget.

Well, what do you think? Any good? Please review!