Sick Muse
Harry was never right after Sirius Black passed through the veil. Of course, everyone knew he would always be plagued from another death but they pushed it past them, and left it be. What could they do for the savior of the wizarding world when they themselves could not even stop a man from falling through a magical curtain?
Years passed and people married and died. People loved each other then backstabbed their lovers and ended up with someone far worse. Some could not stand one way of living, and decided to move on without it. Harry decided he didn't need the light anymore because it had done not one cent of goodness towards him. All the light had done for him was rip apart his family and friends. Harry changed and turned into a dark lord.
He smirked when he made his first horocrux. He had killed Ron and Hermione with that killing curse – the one both his parents were killed by. The one that Voldemort had used to destroy his life and the people he loved.
The Order did not know of the horocrux and neither did the government. The deaths were a sad thing, yes, but it was just blamed on one death eater or another. As more deaths resulted – the Weasley family murdered in the dead of night, Neville Longbottom and Luna Longbottom-Lovegood killed in bed – the blames all just moved to ex-death eaters and innocent bystanders that were just at the wrong place and time. As the blame passed from one person to another, Harry grew stronger and darker while his horocruxes grew in numbers and in power.
Harry laughed manically as he threw the dead body of Draco Malfoy out the Astronomy Tower. He had asked Professor Malfoy to visit him in the tower. It was important; he had told his ex-lover.
His ultimate horocrux was finally completed and as he stared at the crumpled body of his lover lying in the wet grass, his eyes shifted to the bleeding moon. It hung low in the sky tonight, a sick muse for Harry's evil comportment.