I found this in my unsaved files. It was a pretty good chapter I think. Don't know why it was never saved.

Regardless, here you go...

Have fun,

~Loner

Sometimes, when the night was slow, and no matter what he did, it never sped up, Harry would play a game he sarcastically called 'What Not to Do.' Just as the name suggested, the game boiled down to doing every little mistake he could think of until it all boiled over into one huge mistake. Why exactly he constantly found himself playing this game, even Harry wasn't sure. It was natural instinct, he guessed, coupled with his so called 'Potter Luck.'

Now, don't get him wrong. Harry never set out to play the game of his own volition. Often times, he didn't even realize he had been playing the game until the next morning when he opened his eyes to a ponding headache, a huge chunk of his time missing, and the front door slamming close like the one going out it was pissed beyond belief at it. Sadly, the game had been a staple in his life after the Wizarding War.

It had started with just a night out with friends where they would drive (yes, drive) to the farthest reaches of the city and bar hop their way back. It was supposed to be recreational and fun, a way to release pint up frustration and stress as well as catch up with each other and create exciting new memories.

However, as time went on, people moved on. What was just one night with everyone as a whole gathering together turned into several night where select few would gather. Harry, unfortunately, ended up as the center of the network. Every outing, someone would inevitably guilt trip, bribe, or, even, black mail him into being there. It got so bad, Harry was spending every day out, it felt like, meeting one friend or another, going on their little adventures that often ended up with him face first into some sort of trouble.

Once, after a particularly bad adventure where his friend ended up, somehow, pushing him into a packed ladies bathroom, Harry decided to call it quits. He needed a day to detox from what ever foul poison his friends put in him in the name of having fun and sleep. Just one night of sleep. Just one night to unwind. Alone. One night that ended with the Aurora barging into his very muggle neighborhood, cloaks fluttering in a wind he was pretty sure they conjured for added effect, beating on his poor door like it was in the wrong for stopping them.

Needless to say, that nights 'What Not to Do' ended horribly. There was nothing even remotely fun and relaxing about that night. Harry understood his friends worried about him. Really, he did. Sometimes, he worried about himself. But, a trip to the interrogation chambers of the Aurora Headquarters was not how one should be allowed to show their concern.

Now, years after all his friends had finally settled down, grown old, and passed on, Harry found himself in the same cycle of going out, finding an adventure, or doing something new all on his own. He hadn't figured out why he did as there certainly wasn't anyone in this world making him do so anymore. He just… was. Maybe it was habit now? Possibly just his go too activity when he was bored with life. Either way, he was stuck in an endless loop: always networking, always finding something, always trying to 'have fun.'

People would view this habit of his as a good thing. It's great that he got out, they would have said if they knew. If only they knew, Harry had lost his ability to 'have fun' the day he woke up and realized he was alone. Not actually alone, as the bodies in the bed next to him contested to the fact that he wasn't truly alone in his bed. No, he was alone in life. He had no more friends to call up on in an emergency, no one to truly talk to, no old friends to reminisce with, nor lovers or kids running around the house as if it was their own.

Harry Potter had out lived them all.

All he had to show for his long life span was faded pictures on the wall and the scars on his body, mind and soul.

Chapter 1: I Guess….

Harry was doing it again, and he knew it. He could feel the dread creeping into him the moment he hit the send button on the schools web page. School. Harry hadn't seen the inside of a school in years… millennia, actually. He didn't know why he suddenly had the urge to fill out the application to become a student of, a decidedly boringly named, Forks High School. Maybe he was just bored and wanted some drama in his life?

Harry sighed, pushing himself away from the computer desk set up in the living room of his modest little home. "Well," he said to himself, shaking his head at his own stupidity, "it's too late now." Sometimes he really felt like he needed a minder, someone to made sure to stop him from doing spare of the moment things like sending in a completely fake application to a very real, very muggle high school.

Harry stood from the rolling desk chair and turned to navigate his way out of the living room. It would take a while for the school to process his information and send him his acceptance email and a list of supplies.

TIME SKIP –

Harry had just finished up all the paperwork that had piled up on the desk in the second bedroom turned office, which was a magic only room (meaning anything that had anything to do with magic was designated to that room and only that room). He was just about to reach out to grab his phone from the end table stationed by the door for all electrical based items (such as phones, watches, ect), when it suddenly chimed letting him know he had an email. The screen lit up and for a few seconds Harry found himself staring at a photo of the golden trio with a notification bar distorting the face of young Ron tall ass form. Then, as suddenly as it lit up, the screen with dark.

Hands finally curled around the phone, Harry jerkily opened the screen as he made his way down stairs to the kitchen. He tapped on the screen a few times before placing the phone down on the counter in the kitchen to rummage around for the bread. Pulling the toaster out from under the cabinets, he glanced at the phone, silently reading the acceptance email as he popped the bread in. Pausing for a moment, he tapped the attached file, then pressed the bread down into the toaster.

It was almost unnaturally quiet in the house outside of Harry's own movements in the kitchen. No one but he lived in the small 2 story house. Just as all the homes Harry had owned, he was the only one who inhabited the house. As a result, the house was sparse, carrying only what he needed to live and entertain guests briefly. The house itself wasn't grand or expensive looking nor was it humble and warm. At first glance, it was clear Harry hadn't done anything to temper the cold, show room look that the seller had undoubtedly set up for their viewers. He had no reason to change it. Outside of adding a few appliances and items needed for his standard living routine, Harry didn't feel like properly moving into the house.

His bread popped up and Harry grabbed one and bit into it while it was still hot. With one hand, Harry ate the plain toast; with the other, he grabbed his phone to continue looking over the list of supplies sent to him with the acceptance email. It all looked pretty basic: 3 ring binder, paper, pins, folders, ect. Not much different than what he had expected; though, he did raise an eyebrow at the requested cleaning supplies. Was that always a requirement to schooling? He wondered idly as he reached for the last piece of bread.

"Whatever," he said as he pressed the side button on the phone causing the phone to go dark. "Let's just go get this crap and waste away as we wait for this school term thing to start."

It had been so long since Harry had gone to any kind of school….

-TIME SKIP –

Harry felt every bit of his old, skeleton age as he shuffled his feet in clear reluctance towards the school the eccentric part of his brain chose to sign up for. Why was he here again? He wondered to himself, kicking one particularly odd shaped rock as he shuffled past parking spot after parking spot of old beaten up or second hand cars to get to the school building. The backpack on his back felt weird. The new shoes he bought just so he, at the very least, looked the part of a high schooler felt weird.

Fuck it, he just felt weird and awkward in general making his way into a muggle school when he knew for a damn fact he was old enough to be these kids ancestor. Eyeing up one particular child who looked vaguely like a well dressed Cedric in a group of students exiting a rather new looking vehicle two rows over from him, Harry really did feel like an old man in a teens body. He blinked and turned his eyes away from the child, er, teen, focusing on getting to the door. He just hoped today would go by faster than yesterday. He had shit to do he had enough angst in his life on his own. He didn't need other peoples added to it.

Harry completely missed the pair of Amber eyes that shot his way from the kid he was just giving the once over. So busy moping in his own world, Harry didn't notice how the kid seemed to sniff the air like a hell hound looking for pray before the kids attention was pulled to a dark haired girl at the entrance of the school building.

It was official, Harry thought as he walked down the bland and scarcely decorated halls of the school to his first class on the list, his drunken self needed a nanny. Granted, Harry didn't trust anyone around him to actually hang around him, let alone take charge of his personal 'dos' and 'don'ts' in life, but that's besides the point. Maybe if he had someone to keep him company every now and then, he wouldn't be in this mess.

Once upon a time, Harry had wondered what muggle school was like. He guessed, at some point, with a little alcohol and plenty of 'me' time to spare, Drunk Harry (as if Drunk Harry and Harry were two different people) thought why not? Thus, leading to the very sober Harry to deal with the aftermath. Right now, as Harry hesitantly knocked on the classroom door, he thought bitterly that anything Drunk Harry signed up to do should have been Drunk Harry's problem not Sober Harry's.

"Come in," a voice called from the other side of the door, clearly irritated by the interruption.

Probably the teacher, he guessed as he twisted the knob, only to realize the door wasn't fully closed to begin with. Sighing to himself, Harry let go of the door knob. Then, after a moment of struggling to get his thoughts under control, Harry, quite literally, poked the door. It was a simple jab of the finger, but to his surprise, it caused the door to whoosh open like he had added a banishing spell to the force. Honestly , he hadn't meant to put that much force behind his finger. He, seriously, just wanted to open the door while at the same time get a little frustration out.

Harry stood there for a moment, just staring at his finger like it was some alien from another planet. Mentally , he was cursing at it. Stupid finger. Stupid hand. Stupid door for being so light one could push it over with a flick of the finger. Stupid teacher for not properly closing the damn door like they were raised in a barn…

"Ahum," Harry cleared his throat, trying to hide the irritation at the offending door for embarrassing him. "Sorry," he offered the glaring teacher awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Damn it. He knew it was a bad idea going through with this 'High School' plan of his. Why did he do these things to himself? Somehow, Harry blamed Luna for this. Yes, she was dead, but this had to be her doing somehow. She always had a way of manipulating fate. Somewhere in the great beyond, Harry just knew, she was with that rumored Lady of Fate plotting against him. He would blame Dumbledore, but Dumbledore would have just sat by passively and watched as Luna and Lady Fate plotted against him like he always did when he was alive.

"Well?" the irritation in the Teacher's voice was growing into anger now as he tried to stare down the student at his door. "What do you want?" he couldn't help but sneer at the kid who had yet to do anything besides stand in his door way. He couldn't stand people wasting his time. If it wasn't for the paycheck provided by the school, he would have kicked everyone out of his class, save a select few who he felt actually worth teaching.

Harry cleared his voice again, mentally shaking his head of all the random thoughts, and walked into the room. "The office lady," that he never got the name to, he thought, "said you had to sign this. Something about first day transfer procedure…." Harry trailed off, awkwardly handing the guy his school schedule. He, personally, had no idea why he needed to have the schedule slip signed by his teachers. It wasn't like he was going to give it back to the lady. Hell, he didn't even think the lady cared if it was signed. She sounded a bit like she was reading from a script that was handed to her seconds before he walked in.

The teacher just clicked his tongue at him, creating the all too familiar sound of tsk, before snatching the paper from him. With a flurry of action, the teacher quickly scribbled something on the paper before passing it back to Harry so aggressively Harry had to blink a few times before he realized what happened. Carefully, eyeing the teacher for any sudden attacks, Harry took the paper back with slow and precise movements.

With another click of the tongue, the teacher pointed to an empty seat in the back of the classroom. "Go sit there." Then, without waiting for Harry to fully reach his seat, the teacher began his class again. "For those of you," he threw a glare at Harry, "who missed the first few minutes of class, my name is Mr. Jenkins. No you can not call me Mr. J." The teacher sneered to the class like he could already read the room. "I'm one of the very few teachers competent in Math and Science. For most of you, I will just be your home room teacher." He quietly added, "Thankfully," under his breath, but it wasn't so quiet as the whole room still heard it.

Harry sighed. Why is there always that one teacher in every school that hated their job? He wonder idly already turning his eyes away from the front. This time, Harry was sure, this was Dumbledore 's doing from the great beyond. Only he had the ability to find teachers like this one.

When the bell for lunch came, Harry almost jumped from his seat. Picking up his backpack, he almost ran out the door to his third, or was it his fourth, class. Whatever. He was running for it while it was legal to do so. Out the door, down the hall way, eventually, Harry was pushing the door to the outside of class and taking in the beautiful and bleak outside world of freedom. He didn't stop until he was on the sidewalk outside school grounds.

Fuck, was he mentally exhausted or what? All day, between trying to find one class room and the next, Harry had to brush off the students. Apparently, not only the school, but, also, this town was so small, people like him, who not only appeared out of nowhere but also came from a different country, were incredibly rare. Harry's social meter not only depleted by the beginning of the second class but was now in the negatives. He needed a drink. A strong one.

So far, the mantra of 'let me out' had began to play on repeat in his head, and he was pretty sure if he had let his nails grow out, he would have broken the skin on his palms.

Now, as he stood on the sidewalk, Harry took deep breaths: in, 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3, trying to settle his nerves. Every part of him had begun to sting with pain from how tense he was. Harry was reliving hell.

Luckily, Harry was in a muggle school meaning flashbacks weren't really a big problem. He knew all the attention would die down soon: two weeks top, he guessed. No, it was the thoughts that were eating at him.

Harry had come to terms with his past. He had embraced the pain, he had thought. Adopted the habits of his friends as a reminder even.

He was wrong.

Yes, Harry had accepted his past. Accepted that there was a war that killed off his people He accepted he was alone. One single wizard among creatures of a similar looking but vastly different race.

There were scars.

Today, everything just kept picking and scratching at him. It hurt to remember constantly. To have the thoughts scratching at the rough patches in his mentality. It started as a little itch. Something he could handle. A thought here and there. Nothing much. Then, as the day grew on, that little itch kept itching, and harry… kept scratching….

Now, he felt like he was bleeding inside.

He needed a moment. Just one.

Harry turned his head up to the sky, taking a little pleasure in the pain that came from the glare of the sunlight filtering into the glass of his silver wired frames, almost but not completely blinding him. Sadly, there wasn't enough sunlight out for the full blinding effect, he thought blinking a few times.

Harry was sadistic even to himself it seemed.

Unbeknownst to Harry, a pair of curious eyes watched him from a distance. He wasn't hiding, per say, but the dark hair teen was quite the distance away. It would be hard for a normal human to recognize who the teen was watching. If they happened to see him, they would probably just think the young man was in deep thought and go about their day.