A/N: Hello, yet again!! This idea just popped into my head the other day and I've been most obviously unsuccessful in smothering it. I'm not sure if the translation of Harry's emotions will fit correctly into words but hell, it's worth a shot. Right? Ah well, I sure hope you guys like screwed up and insane Harry, as I know his friends will. (grins evilly) Mwahahaha!!!

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The moon was high in the pitch black sky and the stars were like gems sewn into cloth. Gentle beams graced the grassy lawns of number four Privet Drive, giving guidance to the four Order members who were creeping through the bushes below. Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Nymphadora Tonks, and Alastor Moody were positioned in a tight circle as they moved as one across the lawns, keeping close watch for any signs of Death Eater activity.

Voldemort had made his presence known in the passing months since the fiasco at the Ministry, and Fudge was finally forced to pull his head out of his ass and help the Order impede Voldemort's return. Just recently there had been an attack in muggle London, and Dumbledore has reason to believe that Little Whinging would be attacked in the near future.

The mission given to the foursome of Order members was to retrieve Harry Potter, and return to Grimmauld Place without alerting his relatives or any Death Eaters that might be in the area. Easy in, Easy out. Or, at least that's what was supposed to happen.

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Harry Potter was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his back resting against the bare mattress and bed frame of the makeshift cot he was given to sleep on. The room was completely dark around him, concealing him from the madness and insanity that tried to consume him every time he closed his eyes. Harry's mind was racing as he stared, unfocused, down at his arms. Cedric, Voldemort, Sirius, Voldemort, Prophecy, Voldemort, Wormtail, hatred, Bellatrix Lestrange, loathing.

Was he going mad? Harry questioned himself for what felt like the millionth time that night, the box cutter hanging loosely in his hand. Harry could feel the warm blood dripping from his left wrist and spiraling around his fingertips. Moon beams were glowing, sending a sickly glow down onto the almost black puddle of blood that collected beneath Harry's hand. Slowly, he grinned at the morbid scene before him.

Ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament Harry had been bottling up his depression and anger, storing it all away in a deep part of his mind that he neither cared for nor recognized. However, the Ministry episode had broken him completely and utterly. Harry felt lost inside his own mind and body since he had been manipulated by Voldemort, and the frustration with his own inability built up to the point that he just broke.

Every time reality got too much for him, Harry would fish the box cutter out from underneath the loose floorboard and cut himself open. He would let the blood spill from his arm and collect in a puddle in his hand, the pain disappearing as quickly as it came. And then he would grin again, that half insane lopsided grin that could frighten the sanest of wizards.

Tonight was different though. Harry knew, tonight was the night he wouldn't grab the towel from Hogwarts and press it against his bleeding arm. Tonight he wouldn't wrap his stinging wound in bandages he had managed to steal from the Dursely's bathroom. No, tonight he would bleed until there was no more blood left in his veins.

Cedric had died because of Harry's stupidity, Sirius had died because he had loved him, his friends were injured and almost killed because he had acted rashly. No more though, Harry thought to himself, I won't endanger them anymore. Tonight was the night to end it all. Tonight he could let the dizziness come and not be worried, tonight he would slip in unconsciousness and die with a grin on his lips. Harry's time had finally come.

Harry had to pull himself forcibly from his mental ramblings and half crazed thoughts. Switching the box cutter from his right to left hand, Harry let the cool metal rest on his scarred wrist for a single moment before raising it in one swift motion and slashing down…hard.

He hissed in pain as the sharp blade sliced through his skin, but shook the stinging sensation away as he looked down to examine his handiwork. A single angry red line lay across the pale and scarred skin of Harry's thin wrist. The laceration was bleeding profusely, and even Harry was amazed at how much blood was dripping from his arms. The dark blood fell from the fatal looking wound and splashed in rivulets down his arm and left spots on his ripped and overly large jeans.

Looking sluggishly over his shoulder, Harry spotted the letter he written earlier that night lying gently on top of his lumpy and dilapidated mattress. Forcing his limbs to work for one last time, Harry grabbed the folded parchment and laid it delicately in his lap. Grinning, Harry let his head fall back against the side of his cot, and drifted into the sweet blackened abyss, begging for unconsciousness to take him.

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Number four Privet Drive was being illuminated by the large and almost fully round moon as the four Order members crept onto the front lawn. It was unnaturally cold for July, and it wasn't helped by the strong breeze that swept across the landscape every few moments, but even if it hadn't been cold and windy, Remus Lupin would still be worried.

Something was very wrong, they could all feel it, even if they refused to admit it. Tonks was abnormally silent and Moody, if it were possible, was even more paranoid then usual. Remus could smell the apprehension rolling off of them in waves and it was rather disconcerting. Only Snape seemed to have his emotions under control but then again, Remus reasoned, he was undoubtedly talented at hiding his emotions.

"Hey, Remus?" Tonks asked, sounding slightly nervous. "Do you think that Harry's ok?"

"Of course I do." Remus lied quickly. "Why wouldn't I?"

Tonks was silent for a moment. "Well, he just sounded a bit…off in all of his letters that he sent." She paused in her thoughts for a moment. "Especially that last one. You know, how he was saying how much he was thankful that we were his friends and that he loved us? Well, not that I didn't appreciate it, but it didn't sound like the Harry I know. It sounded like he was saying…goodbye."

Remus immediately stiffened. "Why do think that?" He said, a little harsher then he would have liked. "He was probably feeling bad for what happened at the Ministry and grieving over Sirius. We were all a bit off after Sirius died." Remus would have continued, but his throat closed over. Thinking of Sirius was too hard just yet.

Tonks seemed to have noticed this and shut up quickly, letting the subject drop for the time being.

"Be quiet you two!" Moody hissed. "You want to bring Death Eaters down on us? Now come on, we need to get through those barriers. Snape? Dumbledore told you how to get though them right?"

Snape grunted in reply, and moved to the front of the group, feeling very disgruntled at being forced to come on the "Rescue Potter" mission. Dumbledore was most likely exaggerating the whole predicament concerning the stupid Potter boy, as always. Besides, there was no reason for him to be present. The boy hated him, and anybody with eyes could see that the feelings were mutual. So what good would it do to pay the boy a visit?

Snape muttered several Latin phrases under his breath and the wards weakened to the point that the four Order members could enter without experiencing significant amounts of pain. Well Snape and Remus were the only ones that might have been affected but all the same, the four adults crept through the house with surprising amounts of stealth, considering that Tonks was about as graceful as an elephant and Moody had a wooden leg. Casting silencing charms on the two Dursely inhabited rooms, Remus proceeded ahead of the group and tried to push the third door open.

The door did not budge. "Damn muggles." Remus cursed under his breath, but paused. That smell, what was it? He recognized it, but it had been so long…it was hard to remember. Then it clicked. Remus' eyes widened considerably. Blood. He was smelling blood.

"Shit!" Remus swore, taking the other three adults by surprise.

"What's the matter Remus?" Tonks asked him, confused.

"God damned muggles!" Remus said again, louder this time. Not bothering to answer Tonks, Remus grabbed his wand and cast a quick unlocking charm. The werewolf shoved the door aside, but met a sight that he had prayed he wouldn't see.

Harry Potter was sitting on the floor, completely covered in blood. Remus screamed, he couldn't help it. Tonks fell to the ground with her eyes bugged out and staring, Moody blanched a very sickly pale shade of whitish green, and Snape just stood in the doorway, frozen with shock.

Remus felt rooted to the spot. Harry, James' son, was lying in a puddle of his own blood. The baby boy that he had known before James and Lily were killed, the black haired green eyed child he had met at Hogwarts, the tortured soul he had seen during Harry's fifth year.

Memories were swirling around inside of Remus' head. A stag Patronus shooting out of a wand tip, an enraged looking boy in the shrieking shack, a frightened and confused boy collapsing on the train to Hogwarts when the Dementors got too close. James. James' son. Hardly 16 years old yet had seen things that no man should ever have to see, let alone a teenage boy. That last thought jerked Remus back to the present.

"Harry!" He yelled, completely panic struck. "Harry please wake up!" Remus ran over to Harry's still bleeding body and yanked out his wand. Pointing his trembling wand at Harry's wrist he said, "Infigos!"

The skin on Harry's wrists were slowly beginning to mend together and soon the cuts were non-existent. Bending his head to Harry's chest, Remus pressed his ear to where his heart might be, and listened.

It was beating. It was short, wild, and erratic, but still, Harry Potter was alive. Remus was now starting to panic again. Now what? They had no blood replenishing potion, and from the looks of it, Harry had lost a significant amount of blood. Lost, he looked to the others for any sort of direction.

"What in the bloody blazes happened to Potter?" Moody growled, but it lacked his usual paranoid vigor. He sounded drained, confused, and it did nothing to reassure the others.

"Isn't it obvious Moody?" Snape said, his usually snarling voice a mere whisper. "Potter tried to commit suicide."

"We need to go!" Tonks shrieked, completely terrified. "He's dying! We need to get him back to Grimmauld Place!"

Moody nodded, as though thankful for some sort of direction to follow. "Remus, you get Harry. Make sure you can floo with him. We cant apparate to HQ. Tonks, you help him. I'll go ahead and get everyone at HQ ready for the incoming. Pomfrey should still be there." With that, Moody swept from the room and ran as fast as his crippled body would let him to the fire place.

Remus gathered Harry in his arms, tears falling in rivulets down his face. How could this have happened? How could he have let it happen? "Tonks, help me out would you?" Remus asked, as he tried to shift Harry's dead weight.

Tonks rushed over to Remus' side and did her best to help support Harry's weight. The two quickly made their way out the door, completely forgetting their forth companion in their rush to get downstairs.

Snape still stood, completely stunned, staring at the bloody puddle that was oozing through the cracks in the wood floor. Potter, the boy who infuriated him since day one, the boy who was supposed to live a care-free and pampered life, the boy who was supposed to save them all.

Snape rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of the morbid scene. Why would Potter want to kill himself? Was it because of that fool, Black? No, that couldn't be it. The boy was made of tougher stuff than that, he knew, but what could it be then? A thought struck him suddenly. Did it have to do with this prophecy that Dumbledore kept talking about? No one but Potter and Dumbledore himself knew what the entire prophecy actually said, but it couldn't be that bad…could it?

Just as Snape was about to sweep from the room, he noticed a folded piece of parchment lying off to the side, covered in splotches of dark red blood. His curiosity piqued, he went over to it and picked it up. The front was addressed to "Whomever finds this." Frowning slightly, he pocketed it, figuring he would look at it later.

The very disturbed Potions Master hurriedly made his way down the stairs and, after doing a quick scan of the house, located the fireplace. Grabbing the small pouch of floo powder that Moody had obviously left behind, Snape threw it into the roaring fire and cried out, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place!" He stepped into the green flames, and let himself be sped away by the swirling emerald inferno.

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A/N: Well, I hope that you understood that. I'll write more later if you promise to review. Nobody reviewed my other story In the Wilds of Hell, and you all said that you wanted another chapter. (pouts) So much for that I suppose. (sighs) Oh well. Please review!!!