Lil' Sphinx: Just updating, fixing all the errors. Thanks to Queru, Rae, and musicgirl141 for pointing them out.
Harry Potter and the Night Creatures
By: Lil' Sphinx
Harry Potter wasn't what you'd call normal. The truth was he was a wizard and not just any wizard but the Boy-Who-Lived. The only person to survive Voldemort's attack; the killing curse, and he had only been a year old when it happened. During this time he had lost both his parents and was sent to live with his only other living relatives. Now his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley weren't what you'd call the friendliest of people. In fact they hated anything that had to do with magic or was they perceived it, 'abnormal,' and to them Harry was abnormal as they came. They did everything in their power to squash the magic from Harry. So as he grew up his relatives neglected him, abused him both mentally and physically, and locked him away in a cupboard under the stairs. But still the magic remained in Harry.
As the years went by Harry learned all about the Wizarding world, his parents, and Voldemort. He went to a school of witchcraft and wizardry, made friends for the first time in his life, gained enemies, and learned magic. He soon gained a family, one that was connected by more than blood. But that, like many things in his life, was taken away from him. His best friends were too consumed with each other to notice how miserable he had become. His godfather, Sirius Black, was killed in front of him and that was the final straw. The death of Sirius, the one person who loved and cared for him just like a parent would, destroyed something in Harry and had left a hollow place in his heart.
With the destruction of his heart, Harry became numb. Returning to his relatives' house for the summer, he went through the chores assigned to him as a quiet shadow. The beatings his uncle doled out were no longer felt and the verbal abuse simply bounced off the cold shell he had created around his tattered heart. He simple went through every day numb. Not even the thought of returning to Hogwarts could bring him out of his depression. To put it plainly he just didn't care anymore. If he lived or died no longer mattered, whether or not he measured up to other people's expectations no longer seemed important. Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived was numb, dead inside.
The days dragged by, one by one, bleeding into each other, until they were a haze of blood, pain, and bitterness. Every night as Harry lay on the sagging bed in Dudley's old second bedroom with his body bruised and broken, he prayed for death. That's right, the savior of the wizarding world wished for nothing more than death, wished to fall asleep and never again wake-up. He even wished a few times for Voldemort to show up on Privet drive and kill him. Hell, he wished the Dark Lord had killed him along with his parents when he was a baby. That way, he wouldn't have to be Harry Potter the Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived.
It was on one of those nights, close to the end of summer that Harry finally gave in. Slowly, his aching body screaming in protest to the movement, he climbed from the bed. Standing in the middle of the tiny closet-like room he looked around. Spotting the shattered mirror, the one Uncle Vernon had thrown him into only days earlier he shuffled towards it. Plucking a shard of glass from the mirror he sat down holding it loosely with his back against the wall. He shifted the fragment of glass in his hands watching as the pale moonlight glittered off its sharp jagged edges. Then without hesitation he stabbed the glass shard into the inside of his left wrist and dragged it downward, all the way to the hollow of his elbow. The piece of glass, now stained and dripping with blood, was dropped to the floor where it shattered with a soft twinkling sound.
Harry watched in morbid fascination as blood, warm and deep red, spilled from the gash to run down his tanned skin and on to the floor staining everything it touched crimson. He watched as the puddle on the floor grew and spread like a dark angry cloud over the wood flooring and he smiled. His eyes grew heavy and his body began to slump but the smile never slipped from his lips.
It was ending. Harry Potter was dying. Finally. No more being the bloody hero everyone expected him to be or having to save the world; it was going to hell in a hand basket anyway. No more watching people die because of him. Voldemort was going to win that kind of irked Harry, just because he hated to lose. He didn't really care about all the muggles, or the muggle-borns, or the wizards that were going to die by Voldemort's hand. After all, he wouldn't be there to see it. Not to mention, what had any of them ever done for him? Nothing, that's what! They simply sat back, belittled him, hated him, or worshiped the ground he walked on which pissed him off to no end, and expected him, a sixteen year old boy, to save them all. Well, fuck that. It was going to be a rude awakening when news of his suicide got out. Not even Dumbledore, who was so on Harry's shit list, would be able to lie about it. Though Merlin knew the old goat was good at lying and telling half-truths. The smile on Harry's face twisted into a cruel smirk. Run, he thought, you're all going to die. If he had, had the energy to laugh he would have. It was probably a good thing he didn't, for his laugh could have rivaled Voldemort's in the chill factor.
His next thought in his stuttering mind brought a calming peace and the smirk died into a soft smile. His parents, he'd be able to finally see them. And Sirius. He'd see Sirius again.
"He's not dead," a soft voice whispered in his head.
But he is, Harry thought sadly. Sirius fell through the veil and he didn't come back. If Sirius were alive he'd be here. Harry would have been living with him this summer instead of here at the Dursley's. But Sirius wasn't and hadn't been for months.
"But he isn't dead," the voice whispered again.
"He isn't?" Harry thought; hope starting to form in his laboring heart. The haze covering his mind lifted just a bit.
"If you wish to see him again you must live. I can save you if you so desire. But you have to want to live," the voice murmured.
"I want to see Siri again. But it's too late. I'm already dead," Harry thought.
"I'll save you, green-eyes," the voice whispered softly into the darkness of his mind.
The scream of rage and pain echoed off the walls of the supposedly abandoned house and floated out to the cemetery beyond. His head felt like someone had poured liquid fire into his brain, but the throbbing pain was nothing compared to the rage. His plan had been flawless, utterly flawless. He had been slowly wearing the Potter brat down, had been so subtle that the boy hadn't even realized that his thoughts weren't all his own nor were his actions. But someone or something had interfered; something powerful had forced him out of the Potter brat's mind. And now his only thought was; had his plan been successful? There had been blood, a lot of blood before he had been shoved out, but had it been enough to kill the boy? He had no answer and there was no connection back to the brat to get that answer. There was just a void, an empty space that could mean everything and nothing.
He hissed in fury. Only time would tell.
Lil' Sphinx: I'm going back through the story fixing some of the grammar and added scenes that didn't make it in the first time or I didn't think about until long after. Hopefully the added scenes will help with some of the unanswered questioned and also, just be entertaining. Enjoy.