Disclaimer:  Nothing you recognize is mine, it belongs to J.K Rowling and Harry's new name is from the Dragonlance series.  Also, the name of Harry's new guardian came from Madeline L'Engle's A Swiftly Tilting Planet.  I only own the plot, the clans and their members, as well as all of Grey Tower.

This is my first fanfiction, so don't worry, I won't be offended if it comes out bad.  Just flame with a reason and if possible, give me some constructive criticism.  There's always room for improvement.

I had a different idea of what should happen to Harry.  So here it is.  This is an AU about Harry's fifth year summer.


Chapter One:  Falling into the Abyss

            All he wanted to do at the moment was die.  He wanted to slip into that dark abyss and find some peace in empty oblivion.  But no, he couldn't do that.  He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all.  The perfect savior of the wizarding world couldn't die.  He had to live on and on, never minding the agony he always one way or another ended up receiving.  After all, he WAS their hero.

            Such were the melancholy thoughts of one fourteen year-old Harry James Potter, lying stiff and bloody on the hard floor of his tiny bedroom.  Well, fourteen now, but in three days time, on July 31st, he would be a proud fifteen.  That is, if he managed to live until then.  It was a private hope of his that he wouldn't.  Life and light were made to be so rejuvenating and vitalizing, but why was it slowly killing him?  He didn't care.  He stopped caring a long time ago.  What he wanted in life never mattered.  Destiny loved to screw with him.

            You see, this morose young man was no ordinary teenager, but he was also a wizard.  For most of the year he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  There was his true home.  His friends were there, as well as the people who actually cared for his well-being.  The Dursley residence at number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey wasn't home, it was hell on Earth.

            Harry was a sharp contrast to his relatives since he greatly resembled his father, which certainly didn't endear him anymore to them.  He was left in their care because the evil dark lord Voldemort killed his parents.  His father, James Potter, tried to give his family enough time to escape, but died in vain.  His mother, Lily, had pleaded for his life, but Lord Voldemort never showed mercy.  After disposing of the woman, he cast the Killing Curse at the then baby Harry.  However, the curse backfired onto the dark wizard himself, reducing him to little more than a spirit.  Powerless and weakened, he fled.  Harry earned instant celebrity status as well as a lightning shaped scar on his forehead from the encounter.  An orphan, he was sent to live with his mother's non-magical sister, Petunia, and her extremely large husband and son.  He didn't found out about his magical abilities until Hogwarts contacted him when he was eleven.  His messy black hair, skinny build, and green eyes clashed violently with his "family's" pale looks and light hair.

            Currently, those green eyes were dulled dark and glazed over in pain.  His hair stuck to his forehead in an odd mixture of blood and sweat.  His already thin body was now skeletal and had an emaciated appearance, since he hadn't eaten in quite a while.  But he didn't care about that:  he had more important things on his mind.  Last year, he had been included in participating in the dangerous Triwizard Tournament as a fourth competitor.  He did his best even if he was only a wet-behind-the-ears fourth year with incredible luck and tied for first place.  During the last challenge, he and fellow schoolmate/competitor Cedric Diggory chose to take the cup together since both of them felt that they deserved it.  This was a fateful decision.  The cup was a port-key and sent them straight to a graveyard, where Voldemort was waiting.  Peter Pettigrew or Wormtail, a spineless coward devoted to the Dark Lord, killed Cedric and used the already injured Harry to revive his old master.  Harry barely made it out alive and because his blood was used in raising Voldemort back into his old body, the protection his mother gave him was cancelled.  The Ministry of Magic, unlike the Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore, didn't believe his story.  All Harry got was a large pile of gold for "winning" the Tournament, the knowledge that Voldemort was out terrorizing millions of people, and a huge load of guilt on his conscience.  No, he forgot.  Smiling ruefully, he remembered he gave that gold to Fred and George Weasley, the twin prankster brothers of his best friend Ron, for their joke shop.

            Why was death so merciless?  It had seemed that last year also didn't go well for the Dursleys.  A large firm from America had forced his uncle Vernon's drill company, Grunnings, out of business.  Unemployed, the savings that the family had been living off of were almost depleted.  Also, Dudley's large girth and poor eating habits had finally taken its toll.  He had developed a serious heart condition and would need a major surgery to save his life.  This cost a great deal of money; money that the Dursleys didn't have.  Somehow, his uncle saw him as the cause of his misfortune.  Harry could accept being the reason of Cedric's death, but not of this.  So, everyday, he had been receiving "punishment" for something that was beyond the control of any human being.  Aunt Petunia tried to help him at first, but she had to go take care of her "widdle Duddy".  Harry knew better:  Vernon had threatened her.

            Poor Harry couldn't even call for help.  Vernon had strangled his faithful owl, Hedwig, as soon as he got home off of the Hogwarts Express.  He couldn't even give the bird a decent burial since her charred remains were thrown out with the rubbish.  Contacting his godfather Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, or his friends were now out of the question.  Neither Ron nor Hermione had written to him, probably under Dumbledore's orders.  No, he was trapped.

            Lying on the floor waiting to kick the bucket was extremely boring, so he wrote "HELP" in various places around the room.  He wrote in the only available substance since his trunk was locked in the cupboard under the stairs:  his own blood.  The rest of the time he spent staring up at the ceiling, praying that he would just die at that very second.  Those prayers remained unanswered.  He endured days of pain while at night experienced horrific nightmares.  Or, as his scar's red burning reminded him, watched Voldemort kill innocent people.

            He heard heavy footfalls on the stairs.  It begins again.  The door crashed open and his burly, purple-faced uncle commenced his self-appointed task of "disciplining the freak".  Harry barely heard his uncle's fevered ranting.  He didn't care.  He didn't scream, because Harry didn't care.  Harry didn't care for life anymore, he longed for death.

            "Don't give up yet," a melodic whisper said to his ears.  As his uncle's foot continued to batter his weak lungs and ribcage, above him he saw a woman kneeling down near his head.  His uncle apparently couldn't see her.  With a dark beauty that lured the soul, she murmured encouragement to him, telling him to survive.  He voice was like and unlike phoenix song:  healing and strengthening, yet silvery and mysterious.  Silver tendrils mingled with dark blacks and brown strands of hair that didn't refer to age.  Dark blue eyes flecked with silver and gold shone with tears.  Tears, for him?  A regal goddess, she was taking pity on him.  Maybe she was Death…no.  She was telling, pleading, for him to live.  He'd do so.  Only for her, he will continue to live on.

            Vernon Dursley backed away as his nephew began to glow silver.  Powerful winds somehow appeared and surrounded the boy, not letting the violent older man through.  Then it all stopped.  Lowering the arms he flung up to protect his face, he saw that the boy was gone.  Utterly and totally gone. 

            Vernon Dursley fled from the room, feeling more than mortal eyes glare at him.  At night, those invisible eyes would haunt his dreams, accusing him of countless crimes and felonies.  During the day, they would follow him, cursing his soul for its very existence.  He couldn't explain this paranoia, so he of course blamed it on that freak of a nephew.

He gasped as his body hit the cold stone hard.  The night sky above him was a beautiful sight.  He grinned back at the lady, who benignly smiled back at him before he blacked out.  Harry Potter fell into the abyss.


How was it?  Please review and let me know if I should continue. –Raven Dragonclaw