Harry Potter sighed, with holding the tears that threatened to drip from his eyes. Tomorrow would be the last day of the term; his last day as a Gryffindor. A tear fell, marking the stone ledge beneath the window. The night was black, completely lightless. Dark clouds blocked the moon and stars, making the grounds look utterly deprived of what it needed... like him.
He no longer had any friends of family. Ron and Hermione had abandoned him from the start of the year. To this day he still had no idea why. Their indifference turned to dislike, dislike to hatred and hatred to outright loathing. And it hadn't just been them. The hate had spread through all of Gryffindor tower.
It had taken awhile, a thought that made him vaguely happy, but his two ex-friends and honorary family members had managed to convince every last Gryffindor to sign their petition to remove his "foul presence" from the house. He had been "corrupting" younger years from what it said. Another tear slipped out and Harry quickly wiped it away.
McGonagall had tried to ignore it, had even been about to give them detention, but, as usual, they were persistent. They took it to Dumbledore, who by ministry law, could not ignore it. Even if it had pained Dumbledore greatly to.
That had all been right after the holiday break. Dumbledore had attempted to postpone his decision, but that was when the attacks began. After getting locked into a room with a boggart-Dementor for a few hours, leaving Harry unconscious for two days, the Headmaster came to a decision.
Harry was to finish as a Gryffindor, but for the remaining two years he would spend his time in another house. Both Harry and Dumbledore knew what house that would be. The Gryffindors had been in an uproar, their attacks more brutal and getting fatal when everything just stopped.
Somehow, through all the pain, betrayal and backstabbing, he had lasted and not even the Slytherin's had a clue what was happening behind the portrait of the Fat Lady. He hadn't known why no lion had spread their deeds around, but he knew, somewhere, that they would make it twice as bad when it did come out. He swallowed a sob with difficulty.
Without any friends, plus being kicked off the quidditch team, Harry had steadily became more and more of a recluse. He was seen in the library often, and only spoke when spoken to by teachers. He never slept with his dorm mates, afraid of what could happen if he did.
Secretly, he wondered if his new dorm mates would talk to him. Deep down, he knew they wouldn't. Why would a self respecting Slytherin want to talk to an ex-Gryffindor anyways?
His birthday came and went uneventfully. There were no presents, no late night owls saying "Happy Birthday Harry!", but he hadn't expected any. Summer passed and to his great regret, the first of September arrived.
That night, he joined Slytherin. "Where he was meant to be," the hat had said to him indignantly.
The school, with the exception of the Gryffindors, had been in chaos. Snape, his horrid new Head of House, had raged to Dumbledore for weeks. Ultimately, it ended up with Harry being threatened to not shame the most noble house of snakes, or else.
His new house mates had hated him, which he had expected completely. So it didn't hurt him. As much.
He talked even less than the year before, his appetite dwindled. With nothing else to do, he threw himself into his academics, managing to top Malfoy and Granger, as they actually had lives. But even that small amount of joy had been short lived. Nightmares had begun to plague his nights, so violent that he made it a point to sleep in some unknown region of the castle if he had to sleep at all.
With his lack of sleep, his grades dropped drastically. No one payed any heed. Except, that is, Madame Pomfrey.
The medi-witch and he had gotten closer. She was very kind to him, in a mother hen sort of way. He learned many things about her, while she tried to get him back to normal: talking to people, eating properly, sleeping, all that. Though they were close, Harry refused to get any closer than they had. He would not allow himself to get hurt any further. Because he knew, he knew, that even though she promised to never leave him, that she would.
By the time summer arrived, he was changed. His sorrow had turned into a bitter shell, damning in the well of rage, hurt and betrayal within him. The well where he cast all his stray emotions, keeping it under lock and key. It made him colder than the ice prince himself.
He sustained himself on what little food the Dursley's gave him, and after July had passed, with energizer charms as well.
Then, out of no where, Voldemort attacked Privet Drive. Alone. Somehow, and he would swear to the day he died that he didn't have a bloody clue how, he defeated the snake faced bastard and revenged his parents death.
He had stayed at St. Mungo's for the majority of the summer. When he was released, Dumbledore allowed him to stay at Hogwarts, as number 4 was completely destroyed. Everything went normal again. Weasley and Granger had even apologized to him by owl before the term started, but the damage had already been done. And he became what he'd been told since he was little. Nothing.