Dementors!

Harry cursed out loud, bring his fists as he brought them down onto the bed below. But no sound was heard, the mattress silencing the physical anger. There was no emotion that could ever explain what was running through his mind and heart. How did they get there? Why were they even there in the first place? He was mixed-up in confusion. Dudley was downstairs, in a state of shock, as he was locked-up in the prison-like bedroom.

Again.

It was like his second year, where the bars were glued onto the window and the bedroom door was bolted shut. They would push a piece of day-old toast and water through a small dog door. Sometimes they were days where they would forget about him. He was used to it, where in his childhood there would be weeks and months at a time where he would barely eat anything. Those times he would sneak a piece of toast as he cooked, or made sure to get a sip of water while everyone was busy watching television. He was thin, frail, and small for his age. The bones were clear and evident in his neck. The weight he had put on at Hogworts was quickly dropping off.

He had had always thought his aunt and cousin as ignorant people, always turning their heads the other direction when they clearly knew what was happening of their roof. Sometimes they would be nice, giving him a band-aid or two for Christmas or a bottle of scar remover for his birthday. Sometimes his aunt would stare at his face, and give him this look of pity. As if for a moment she cared about him. This was always crushed by the moment that she started to scream and yell at him for missing a spot or upsetting her only son. His aunt was abusive, but on a verbal level. But his uncle was worse, much worse than he could ever imagine.

The whole evening had been a nightmare. He had returned home, dragging the semi-conscious body of his overweight cousin home to his house. The next thing he remembered was his uncle had suddenly flown into a rage, hitting and throwing him until he was bruised and bloody. He was locked up in the room, told that he would never attend his "stupid" school again. The faint steps rushing back downstairs had told him it was safe again for the time being. But it could not heal the bruises that scattered his back, his arms, and his legs. Somehow he ignored it, slamming down onto his firm mattress. The anger overcame the physical pain.

I am sick of it. He was tired, he was exhausted, and the only thing he wanted to do was to crawl up under the covers and fall asleep. Questions were going through his head if he was going to be even to wait for four weeks or even survive the night. What was there to say that his uncle would not come back, and try to kill him after what he had done with his son? No amount of reasoning would ever help. Nothing could. And this pained him.

Getting up from his spot, the boy who lived slowly made his way over towards the floorboard. Lifting it up from the ground, he moved over towards the left. Moving his wand and folded-up parchment, he slowly pulled out a small wooden box from the bottom. A small, green "H" was painted on the middle. He opened it up quickly, a muggle shaving razor laying on top of a velvet bottom. This was the only place he knew no one would look at him. What teenage boy kept a ring box under a floorboard? But he smiled as he took it off, laying it onto the ground. Slowly he lowered himself onto the floor.

Time had seemed to slow down for him. He yanked up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing a row of both fresh cuts and old scars. He grasped the razor with right hand as he placed it on his left arm. Looking down closely, he moved it across leaving a semi-shallow cut in its wake. The edges of the wound were slightly separated. Blood started to fill up the cut before dribbling down his arm. It took thirty minutes more before it started to completely run down his arm. He cut his arm a few more times before he was finally satisfied. The pain and the blood distracted him, giving him a sense of relief from the situation around him. He was far away from the room, the house, the world, and the universe. There was no name for the feeling that he felt as he hands shook with a strange pleasure. Euphoria was at the tip of his tongue, but it did not sound right to him.

The blood started to cake around the cut, as the scabs started to form. Frowning, he pulled down his sleeves and shoved everything back into the floorboard. With a small thud it was put back into place. He was done for the today, knowing that tomorrow he would crave it again. But he was happy for the moment. Happy enough to crawl under the covers, and fall asleep. It only for a few hours, he thought, it is better than nothing.

Later evening, he was startled and woken up by the sounds of footsteps coming from the first floor. This was weird, knowing that the whole family would be out for the evening and part of the night. The Dursleys had no shame in reminding them that they were home---usually to tell him what to do or what he did not do. Grabbing his wand from the floorboard, he started to slowly creep towards the door.

The footsteps grew louder, rushing up the stabs as his grip on the wand tighten. This was nerve-wracking. Harry stood his ground as the brass doorknob started to jiggle violently before the door flew open. He was surprised to see who came out from the other side, someone who he did not expect.

"Lupin?"

Author Note: With three reviews, I am happy. I have never been one of those authors will go to her knees and beg for reviews so I could continue on with my story. Personally I also found that a bad tactic on gaining friends, and more so that it relied on pity. For me, I am happy on the fact that people are actually reading my fanfic. Yep. Ecstatic.

And yes, it takes place during the fifth year with some major and minor changes to the plotline.