Hi there! I'm Heart. and this is my new story.
Some of you may have already read the first chapter, however,


I realised that after losing quite a few readers after the first chapter,
I've decided to re-write it. There's not much different, I think it's just worded and set out better.

After suffering an abusive summer with the Dursely's Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts changed.
His friends don't understand and he finds himself in the company of none other than Draco Malfoy.
Is Harry's change for the good, or the bad? It's seems the real him, has been hiding in the shadows.

I do not own Harry Potter, as much as I dearly wish I did!

There are abusive descriptions later on in the story as well as some bad language.
Rated M for precaution.


Call it teenage rebellion, angst or downright crazy, whatever you want, but the facts remain the same- the summer had changed Harry Potter, the one everyone called 'The Chosen One.' To different people his new image would be seen in different ways. Good or bad? Well, really, only time would tell . . .

Harry walked past the house that he had christened 'The Hell House.' It was a dreadful house filled with pain and bad memories and given the opportunity; Harry would leave and never go back. But rules were in place, and laws holding him back. Nevertheless, Harry escaped for as long as he could.

Throughout the summer he'd seen and felt himself change. His hair grew longer, covering up his trademark of glory. His scar. He'd gotten piercings. Just one, to start with, then it grew to become two, then three, and now his body held a total of five piercings. His choice in clothes, music, and his style all together had changed. 'The Golden Boy' wore things now he'd never even consider wearing or listening to music before and things that would no doubt send rumours of his changing of faith, but he didn't care what anyone else thought of him. Harry dressed the way he did because he liked it and he felt it suited him.

Even bigger a transformation was the absence of his other trademark: his glasses. After taking some of his galleons out of his account, he had exchanged it for Muggle money. Then he took himself to optometrists who prescribed contact lenses. When they had finally arrived, Harry gratefully threw out his trademark old and broken spectacles (but not before jumping on them a few times.)

As if to add more to his new image, not only did he wear different clothes, he had also accustomed him to wearing make-up. Like the piercings, it had started with a little, then become a lot. Now, you wouldn't see Harry leaving the Hell House with out having his eyes rimmed skilfully with eyeliner and foundation covering his face. He made a special point to cover up his scar with concealer.

Of course, he could have used his magic, now being in 6th year and able to use magic outside of school (which frightening the Durselys to their wits ends) but like every other year his wand was taken from him as soon as he got off the train (threats from Moody be damned) and hidden.

Harry kept walking from his nightmare house, his mind void from emotions and thoughts, keeping his hands in his pockets of his black hooded jumper and looked at the ground.

With his black hooded jumper and black skinny-legged jeans, and multiple piercings and make-up he was hardly recognisable as the "Boy-Who-Lived." That was perfectly fine by Harry.

As if everything else wasn't enough and the death of his godfather, Sirius, didn't give Harry enough to stress about, his jumper hid many secrets; bruises and scars which had only gotten bigger and sorer as the summer went on. Harry would never tell anyone of the happenings in the night, for who would believe him? No one had believed him when he told everyone that Voldemort had returned until the Minister had seen Voldemort in the flesh.

Harry knew to keep his mouth shut; it would only bring him more trouble if he opened it and blabbed about being beaten. It would only cause more pain and suffering he didn't want.

Some could say his attitude was reflecting emotions. His music had turned to loud, heavy metal/punk rock type music, which was at easy access with his new iPod. Music became his newest escape, his escape from everything, and everyone. The lyrics singing out in words that he could relate to and the beautifully thought out lyrics which made him forget he had a crazed wizard after his blood . . . if only for a few minutes.

Harry didn't care what everyone else thought of him but he hated it when everyone stared- that's why he liked the darkness better, less strangers. He always felt as if he had a sign on his back saying, 'I'm a freak! Feel welcome to stare!'

Nights seemed to be his only source of solace. On nights, such as these, Harry often found himself wandering the streets.

Harry continued walking until he found an abandoned building, one that he'd been coming to as many nights he could. He climbed in through the broken window and looked around. Nothing had changed. There were a few boxes, coverings, nothing of use.

What Harry wanted, lay beyond. With a small sigh, he began to climb the stairs. They were old and made of stone, cold moss and dead weeds seeping up from the cracks.

He emerged from the stairwell and strode to the edge. Harry looked down upon the empty street below- to jump had crossed his mind many times.

Harry sat upon the ledge of the building, his feet dangling down, and laid back. He stared at the moon and tried to clear his mind and tried to focus of the beautiful stars that were shining though wispy clouds.

The stars fascinated Harry. He always wished he could touch one, put it in his pocket, his to keep, forever. Are they really just pointy stars or are they gods, looking down upon him, watching?

Harry thought about happier moments in his life but when tragedy seemed to overcome happiness, he gave up on thinking his life would have meaning to him. He wondered how different he life would have been if he had accepted Malfoy's hand in friendship, if he had chosen to be sorted into Slytherin. The one thing Harry never wondered about was how different his life would have been if his parents had lived. It was impossible to change and it hurt Harry even to think about it.

Harry took his earphones out of his ears, turned his iPod off, and listened to the sounds around him. Every now and then, he would hear a car race by or a cat meowing.

Harry played with his tongue ring, the ball bearing toying between his teeth. He had to lie to get it done, but even without the piercings, Harry could definitely pass for 21.

Harry checked the time on his iPod, sighed heavily and got up. He brushed himself off, took one more look at the moon, and began to descend the stairs.

Harry wandered slowly back towards the Hell House. He sighed and looked down. He was back, back to Hell. He took a deep breath before entering. The house was eerily silent and that scared Harry. The last time he'd come home to a silent and dark house, the Dursely's, well, just Uncle Vernon and Dudley, had taken him by surprise and hit him with a saucepan. The attack had rendered Harry unconscious but painfully aware of the attack when he woke again.

Harry shut the door softly behind him, his bright emerald eyes scanning the hallway for signs of movement. The house was silent. Harry could hear his heart pumping in his chest, alarm bells were going off in his head.

He pounded up the stairs and quickly opened his door before locking the door behind him. He pressed his ear to the door.

He couldn't hear anything, not a wheezing cough from Vernon, or a snore from Dudley.

Something was terrible wrong.

Harry opened his door and crept to the end of the hallway. He flicked on the lights. There was still no movement. Harry prepared himself. He pushed opened Dudley's door. Harry was relieved, temporarily- Dudley's room was clear. Just as messy as ever, clothes lying everywhere, magazines ripped. It was messy, even if a bit more so than usual.

"No," Harry whispered harshly to himself before spinning round and running to Petunia and Vernon's room. He rushed in. Petunia's vanity table was almost empty. Only a small amount of perfume and jewellery, otherwise, it was empty.

Harry exhaled sharply and ran downstairs.

He turned on the kitchen light and his heart sank. On the table, there was a small piece of paper. With shaking hands, Harry opened it and began to read the short message.

"Dear Harry,
I'm sorry to say that we've gone on vacation without you.

We don't know when we'll return.

Love, your caring Aunt and Uncle."

Harry was so completely shocked and amazed at the note that he cracked up laughing at the absurdity of it before the meaning of the note focused in Harry's mind. He couldn't believe it. They'd gone! And Harry knew they wouldn't return until Harry would leave for Hogwarts on September 1st, which was three months away.

Strangely, Harry felt like crying, instead of celebrating. The Dursely's were gone, leaving him and empty house. But what use is an empty house if you have no one to share it with?

Was he that terrible they had to leave?

Harry stormed angrily upstairs.

Were they really going to leave him here, alone?

The answer was apparent. Yes, they were just going to leave him here. He ran to his room, slamming the door angrily behind him.

Hedwig hooted and Harry turned to face her.

"I guess I can let you out now," he murmured.

First, he needed to get his wand which he knew was in the cupboard under the stairs as it was heavily locked with a padlock. Harry never tried to open it, knowing Vernon checked it every morning and night.

Harry smiled slightly to himself and got a couple of bobby pins from the bathroom, he tried not to notice all the missing toiletries. Then, he proceeded to go downstairs and pick the lock on the cupboard. He quickly gathered his wand and broomstick that Vernon had also taken. He didn't take his books off him, wanting to keep Harry occupied and out of their way.

It worked for the most part. If Harry wasn't outside wandering the streets, he was inside his room, studying his books until he knew them off by heart. Dumbledore had given them to him before he left. But it was only during the first week of the holidays that Harry had asked for the grade 6th Potions book. Dumbledore sent it to him without question, as well as most of the ingredients needed for all the potions in the book.

He'd been studying it intensely and found it rather quite enjoyable. That was after he studied without a snarky, greasy haired bat looking over his work.

By this time, Harry had muttered an unlocking charm and with a hoot of thanks Hedwig was flying out the window.

Harry followed her with his eyes before she disappeared in the night sky. He sighed and collapsed on his bed. Only taking off his black converse shoes and taking out his contact lenses. He didn't want to undress. He was now, just too exhausted to care. He curled into a ball, like a foetal position, he hands resting on his arms, his hidden bruises. He wept silently into his pillow and then he fell into a restless sleep.

The afternoon brought bright sunshine that woke Harry. He got up and stumbled blindly to the bathroom before quickly finding his lenses and putting them in. He washed his face then used a simple cleaning charm to get rid of his smudged face. Then, rather then spend ages doing his own make-up he used another cleaver spell to do his make-up for him.

Harry removed his shirt, only replacing it with another, not caring about his pants. He checked his bruises. They would no doubt be gone by the time school started, but the memories would remain. Some scars, like the one on his shoulder blade that he had gotten the moment he'd arrived home, came from Dudley, having smashed a glass bottle on his back, would last forever.

He sighed heavily. What was he going to do now?

He had a house to himself so he might as well use it.

Harry descended downstairs and proceeded to cook bacon and eggs, but after the aroma of the cooking food, his appetite was lost, taking only a couple of bites before he threw it all in the bin.

He fiddled with his piercings, his tongue ring, his double pierced ear, with an extra piecing on the rim on it and his nose pieced, only a stud. To top it off, he also had gotten a lip ring. Strangely enough, with his new choice of dress and attitude, it suited him.

Not being bothered to go back to his room, he simply summoned all his Potions items downstairs. Usually, he would have escaped his Uncle's wrath by leaving the house with his iPod but now, he'd rather get into the more practical uses of Potions.

The raven-haired wizard didn't have anything else to do. He didn't have to write, or reply to any letters, having received none to reply too. He hadn't heard from Ron and Hermione yet, no doubt, they were busy . . . together. He felt no reason to expect any letters now.

His normal reliance, Sirius, was no longer able to write, having died the year before. And even now, several weeks on, there were days when Harry would stare out the window, waiting for a letter with Sirius's unruly penmanship.

But none ever came.

As far as he knew, Voldemort hadn't been attacking Muggles but numerous witches and witches had been reported missing and the Aurors had no leads or suspects.

So, it went like that for the rest of the week. Harry did what he wanted (usually studied and practiced Potions, getting better every time), ate when and what he wanted and could do as much and as little magic as he wanted.

He started christening the use of his wand by turning all the pictures of Dudley that the house held, into pictures of fat, ugly pigs as a nice surprise for when they returned.

He also charmed their alarm clock to go off at random intervals at night a soon as they returned. Harry was having a rather mellow summer now.

It wasn't until later that week, two weeks before Harry's birthday, did something big happen.

He'd gotten the Daily Prophet, as per usual, but today, he almost dropped it in shock.

"Death Eaters, Attack Ministry," it read.

"Earlier this week, at approximately 8:52pm the Ministry Of Magic, which is now believed to being infiltrated from the inside, was attacked by Death Eaters who went on a wild rampage throughout the entire Ministry, killing several workers and leaving others seriously injured.

As far as reports go, no Death Eaters were caught alive. They are also rumours that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did appear, only briefly, before disappearing again, moments later. Some younger workers are now in therapy for shock in St. Mungos.

It is unsure why the Death Eaters attacked, but it's certainly playing with our minds. Some are curious as to why they left so abruptly, leaving so many people.

Nevertheless, all our hearts go out to the families and friend of the victims.

Lists of victims turn to page three.

For more theories on why he attacked, turn to page two. "

Harry read the rather short article twice, shock going through his body.

He looked briefly at the theories. Some stuck out.
"Publicity Stunt." Harry scoffed at this one and didn't even bother to read the following few chapters that would, no doubt, try to explain their reasoning behind their theory. It was Voldemort for Merlin's sake. He doesn't need publicity!

"Looking for followers." Another stupid reason- he doesn't need to attack the Ministry to gain followers.

Then, he turned to the victim's page, only relieved for a few moments, noticing that Arthur Weasley wasn't hurt before a pang of jealously shot through his blood like ice. No one cared if Harry was injured, so why should Harry care about them?

He sighed heavily and threw the newspaper on the floor.

Voldemort was just getting so annoying. Why couldn't he just kill me already? Harry wondered, annoyed.

He'd already failed 4 times. Would this year be lucky number 5?

Harry collapsed on his bed from sheet exhaustion. He hadn't been getting enough sleep lately, being woken up by recurring nightmares 4 to 5 times a night.

It was only moment later before another owl flew into his room, this time bearing a letter, addressed to Harry in a loopy handwriting only Dumbledore could have.

He sighed and got up to unattached it from the owl, which then flew back out the window.

Dear Harry, it read. He sat down on his bed and began to read.
You may have already read the Daily Prophet. Unfortunately, it's all true. Voldemort attacked the Ministry, which has now resulted in causing havoc in the Wizarding world.

Out of precaution, I must advise you not to leave your house. Please stay in the house that holds your mother's protection as well as your Aunt and Uncles.

I am still trying to figure out why he attacked. Therefore, until I know, you must stay inside your mothers' protection.

Yours' Truly

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry growled and scrunched up the letter.

Trust Dumbledore to order his around when he hadn't heard from him since the start of the holidays. In addition, what was that shit about staying inside his mothers protection, and his Aunts and Uncle's? This clearly means he doesn't know they are gone.

Aurours were watching him…weren't they?

Then something clicked. No one could have been watching him because otherwise they would have stopped the Dursely's, wouldn't they?

Suddenly, Harry felt more alone than ever.

But Harry knew that he couldn't be lazy anymore. Now, whenever he felt lonely, he turned to Potions, strangely enough. It was a shame; because he didn't have a high, enough mark in he O.W.L test to go for N.E.W.T. lessons. He'd only gotten an E when he needed an O. Now, the more he practised, the better he felt he got. It was hardly different from Muggle cooking.

To be honest, Harry just wanted to get better so he could persuade Snape to re-do the test, or let him in his class at least. His chances for that were slim to nothing, but it was the slim chance that kept him going.

He went upstairs and pulled out all his potion items from the loose floorboard under his bed and took them downstairs. He'd have to find a way to get to Diagon Alley for new supplies as he was running low.

He heated his cauldron on low and carefully followed the instructions to the exact measurement. 45 minutes through and his potion had turned the exact colour it was supposed to. Proud of himself, he let it simmer for the prescribed 25 minutes.

He studied. It used to be strange for him, to get out his books and read, but now it's almost all he did. He'd practically mastered all the Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms spells. He'd had more trouble with Transfiguration but Harry knew he'd be better by the start of the term. Harry also decided to start Ancient Ruins. But as he didn't have the textbook it made his hard for him to study. The only reason he'd gotten the other textbooks was that he'd asked Dumbledore for them. He had sent them quickly, without a note.

Harry sighed and summoned some parchment from his room. He finally had some letters to write.

Dumbledore, his first letter read.

Yes, I'm aware of the current, Voldemort situation. But I'm afraid I'm already running low on Potion supplies and I would really like to start learning Ancient Ruins, but I don't have the textbook. I would take the Knight Bus into Diagon Alley, but you have told me of the circumstances, because of Voldemort. Therefore, if you aren't too busy, could I please have you get them for me. I shall pay you back, of course.

Harry Potter.

It was good enough. It still sounded like Harry trusted him and was still his little soldier. It wasn't really the case anymore.

Harry sighed before getting another piece of parchment.

Dear Professor Snape.

Now, before you dismiss this letter before reading it and burn it, please, just hear me out.

I would really like a place in your class this year. Stop. I know I didn't get a high enough score, but I over the holidays I have been studying intensely and to my surprise (and yours, I'm sure), I found it rather enjoyable.

I know not why my opinion has changed, but it has.

I've made many potions these holidays correctly. So please, Professor Snape. Just look at the potions. If it isn't up to your standards, I understand. I just want a chance.

If you aren't satisfied you can set any potion for me, provided that I have all the ingredients and instructions.

Please sir, don't be bias.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter.

Harry re-read the letter, happy with it; he placed it on the table to send when the potion was done.

He went back to his potion. The book described the exact shade.

Smiling slightly to himself, he bottled up a sample of his now finished potion and sealed it.

He placed all his samples on his letter and continued to clear away his potions, but putting the remainder of the potion in another bottle for later use.

Harry rolled his tongue ring around in his mouth. He'd gotten very used to the feeling of it and he couldn't wait to see Ron and Hermione's face when they say him. But then a sad thought kept coming forward in his head.

What will happen if they don't talk to me? He wondered.

Dismissing the thought, he went back to clearing away his potion.

When everything was packed away, Harry took his letters and potion sample upstairs.

He smiled at Hedwig who had returned from flying the day before. Harry gathered his samples in a secure bag, placing some simple non-breakage charms on them before tying them to Hedwig's leg.

"One with the bag is for Professor Snape, and the other is for Dumbledore. Do you understand?" Harry told her. She hooted which Harry took for a 'yes.'

"Good girl," he whispered, scratching her chin.

Then, she flew out his open window and soared through the afternoon sky.

Harry grabbed his iPod.

Yeah, like Dumbledore is going to stop me from leaving the house. Nice try Dumbles, Harry thought to himself as he walked out the front door.

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Love Heart