Hey all it's Stuck in Wonderland. Here's the second chappie of my story. I wanted to place the disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter…if I did I wouldn't be sitting here reading great fanfics about him plus I wouldn't be working as a Substitute Teacher.

Also I wanted to say thanks for all the ppl who read this story in December. I know it's been several weeks since I wrote the Prologue. I sort of thought there would be some reviews…but it's okay. Then I got side tracked with reading…But I got the bug again. Now I want everyone to know I am American…so forgive me if the Potter characters sound more American than British.

So here's Chapter 2. Oh and the title is from the song "Going Under" by Evanescence. Enjoy! Review!

WARNING: HARSH LANGUAGE…you have been warned…

Chapter 2: Going Under

Days turned into weeks, and weeks became a month. It had been a month since Harry's fifth year ended. He hasn't been sleeping at all. He manages to either stay awake and exhausts himself to the point of unconsciousness or his aunt slips him some heavy sleeping pills. To Petunia she saw a walking zombie among her perfectly normal family. And this zombie was disrupting her life style with his freakishness. She doesn't care about his health but it is making her husband rather irritable and that she will not condone.

Dudley, being the baby whale of a mamma's boy he was, didn't even notice what was going on. He didn't care either way. He was always terrorizing other children of Privet Drive. He did notice that he couldn't annoy his cousin anymore. He was always teasing the freak about the names he'd call in his sleep and before this summer it would bother the freak. But there wasn't any reaction what so ever.

Vernon hated that piss-ant. He hated everything about him. He hated that the little bastard had to live with him. He hated that he had other freaks coming up to him and threatening him to be civil to the little shit. And he hated that in all of that this little fucking shit had the audacity to disturb the household enough that they had to waste money on him. That money could be going to his precious boy Dudders. Vernon knew that if he didn't do something soon that things were only going to get worse. He wanted to drown the little shit when he was a babe but he couldn't for fear of one of his kind finding out and using their freakishness to exact revenge. Oh how he wished he could just take the little shit out to the countryside and shoot him in the head and leave him there for the carrion scavengers to dispose of the corpse. Yes, Vernon Angus Dursley, wanted to kill his nephew and have a normal life. He didn't only want to kill him he wanted that little fuck to suffer.

Harry on the extreme opposite of his other relatives was drowning in depression. He had managed to keep himself from sleeping and when he did finally sleep he was too exhausted to dream. His dreams, when he so happened to dream, were getting much worse. He still had the dreams that replayed Sirius' death, but he was also being accused of being a murderer and of others deaths being his fault. He would listen as his friends and teachers would be little him and the choices he has made.

Harry often felt like he was falling down the rabbit hole and there wasn't an end in sight. He didn't think he could get any lower, but he was very wrong. He was completely isolated. There was only the letters he sent to the Order, but he never received any from his friends. Even though this upset him greatly, in the back of his mind he didn't mind because he thought he didn't deserve them. He also thought that if he remained close to his friends they would end up just as dead as his godfather. So he didn't even bother trying to contact them either.

Harry just walked around in a fog. At one point he was only able to understand straight commands from his aunt because he was so tired. He was kept busy during the day so he wouldn't get under foot. He was always out in the garden; weeding, planting, watering, mowing, or pruning. He would also be asked to move things. Harry, when he was a little more rested would do more than menial labor. He remembered quite often how he'd often get upset with his aunt and uncle at how unfair it was to be the only one who was actually doing the work. But it seemed as if he thought this was his penitence for murdering his godfather. When he wasn't working he'd sit in his room staring out the window. He would stare listlessly into the sky. He was often given food through the cat flap in his door, but he'd never eat any of it or very little at the most. He'd more or less get really ill at the thought of eating.

All in all Harry was bad off. He was drowning in emotions he has never dealt with before, and he has no one to turn to.

In the dark of Brittany, a howl sounded in the darkness of night. It was a mournful sound. Ushering in both fear and sadness. If Harry could hear it, he'd think that the wolf was howling just for him.