Title: Where did the Angels Go?

By: Bleeding Destruction

Began: October 2, 2013

Summary: "Everyday I wake up and I fall from grace… Every move has got me stuck in the darkest place… I pray for mercy but I love the fear… I should've listened while the angels were living here…" He's a murderer, and he deserves the punishment. AU for the summer between fifth and sixth year, but otherwise canon. Rated for self-harm and other triggering themes.

Warnings: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, extreme angst, etc.

Author's Notes: At some point there is a letter from Dumbledore to Harry- this is a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

Oh, by the way, I am secretly J.K. Rowling and the bands who own these songs and I am secretly making millions of dollars anytime you all read something I wrote. Ahahaha, just kidding! I am a poor sixteen year old college/high school student surviving off the good will of my parents and college scholarships.

This was inspired by We As Human's latest album, The Connection (Papa Roach's latest album), Rise (Skillet's latest album), Amaryllis (Shinedown's most recent album) and The Sound of Madness (Shinedown's album- not the newest one but definitely their best). Basically this whole thing was inspired by the Carnival of Madness (minus In This Moment, I don't like them…) Now that I'm done rambling, enjoy this angst filled tale! Please review if you enjoyed, and let me know if I should continue and make it a complete AU or leave it as it is.


I don't want to live

To waste another day

Underneath the shadow of mistakes I made

(Breaking Inside- Shinedown)


A day before leaving Hogwarts...

Harry sighed as he packed his trunk and prepared to leave Hogwarts- the only home he'd ever known. Thinking back on his past actions, he realized how many mistakes he'd made…

What was the point of everything again? Why did he ever smash up Dumbledore's office like that? Or go to the Department of Mysteries? Why hadn't he learned Occlumency? Why had he tried to share the Triwizard Cup with Cedric? Why had he been born?

Why? Why? Why?

So many mistakes he'd made… Harry Potter was supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world… But instead he was a failure.

Instead of being a saviour, he was a murderer.

Because of him, Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black- and so many others, like Lily and James Potter- were dead. Dead because of Harry's actions.

And Harry had to live with his mistakes- mistakes that had killed a countless number of people. How disgusting.

Harry didn't understand how Ron and Hermione could even stand the thought of the Boy-Who-Lived, let alone be in his presence. After all, he killed everyone he cared about eventually.

And with that thought, Harry's mind was made up. To protect his friends, he'd distance himself from them. He wouldn't write letters or talk to them on the train or contact them. In the end, if the war didn't kill him, Harry had a feeling he'd die young anyways. No point in letting them suffer with him.


My name is worthless like you told me I once was

My name is empty cause you drained away the love

My name is searching since you stole my only soul

My name is hatred and the reasons we both know

Worthless, empty, searching, hatred

Well who am I right now?

(My Name (Wearing Me Out)- Shinedown)


The first week of summer...

Summer was always difficult at best for Harry Potter. There was no love for him at Number Four Privet Drive. Only hate and anger and insults and abuse. And for once, Harry didn't mind. After all, he deserved it. He was a murderer- murderers didn't deserve affection or happiness.

And so Harry didn't mind when his uncle kicked and slapped and hit and beat him. Harry didn't mind it when the insults were thrown at him.

"You're worthless! What a freak!"

"You're crazy if you think I'll allow a freak like you to eat more than is absolutely necessary."

"Judging by those screams, I'd say you're pretty empty inside, Potter. Only a soulless freak could shriek like that."

"Everyone hates you. Even your parents hated you- they were probably glad to die if it meant they could escape a freak like you."

The insults hurt- oh, how they stung- but it was nothing more than Harry deserved. And so Harry took all that was given to him gratefully, selfishly, greedily, and he thrived on the abuse because he knew that he deserved so much more suffering than what he was getting.


Why do I got to learn the hard way

Why do I got to burn my bridges down

(Breathe You In- Papa Roach)


The second week of summer...

Harry knew he was making his life more difficult and some days he hated himself for that. Then he felt selfish and greedy and worthless for trying to convince himself he actually deserved good things. Ha! He was a murderer! He deserved it!

And when he thought such selfish thoughts, he found a knife and slid it over his wrists until the selfish thoughts when away and his wrists were mutilated and bleeding bright crimson rivers of red, red blood.

Then, he would patch himself up just enough to keep him from bleeding to death because death was too good for him.

With that done, he went outside to work in Petunia's garden until he was weak from thirst and hunger.


All messed up

And slightly twisted

(I'm Not Alright- Shinedown)


The third week of summer...

It was sick what he did, Harry knew, and his uncle and aunt never ceased to let him forget how messed up it was either. But Harry relished in the blood and the scars and the damaged flesh. Harry relished in the punishment.

Every cut had a reason- usually people.

Mum. Slice.

Dad. Cut.

Sirius. Stab. Rip. Tear.

Cedric. Slash. Chop.

But sometimes it was emotions- not even necessarily his own.

Anger. Slice.

Shame. Cut.

Sadness. Stab. Rip. Tear.

Insulting Ron and Hermione. Slash. Chop.

And the cycle went on. Harry bled and bled and bled for all the suffering he felt and for all the suffering he caused and tortured himself for all the deaths he caused.

And no one cared, which was just the way Harry wanted it. Because that way, everyone was safe. That way, he couldn't hurt anyone else.


Everyday I wake up and I fall from grace…

Every move has got me stuck in the darkest place…

(Where Did the Angels Go- Papa Roach)


The fourth week of summer...

Nothing Harry did could atone for everything he'd done. And sometimes he wanted to die and he was too miserable to move out of bed- not that he could have moved if he wanted to, not when everything was too much to handle.

On those days, the Dursleys ignored him or Vernon would drag Harry out of bed and beat him. Neither bothered Harry.

However, it did bother Harry when he received a letter from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the the remainder of your school holidays.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of the is owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,

I am, yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry could not go to the Burrow. Not after all the hard work he'd put in trying to avoid Ron and Hermione and keep them safe. So Harry sent back a letter saying that all this was fine, but he'd really prefer to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place. He hated his godfather's old home, and he didn't truly want to go, but that was all the better because if he suffered more then it would simply be another punishment he deserved.

Surprisingly enough, Dumbledore was okay with him staying at the old Black house as long as an Order member was there every night, and when Dumbledore arrived, he did not comment on all the bruises that Harry had but to reprimand the Dursley's and then say that he would still be coming back- though the Headmaster left a command to treat him better next time.

Harry sighed and accepted all this, because he intended to have Voldemort dead by next summer, and maybe himself too, if all went as planned.


This is how it feels when you're bent and broken

This is how it feels when your dignity's stolen

When everything you love is leaving

You hold on to what you believe in

The last thing I heard was you whispering goodbye

And then I heard you flatline

(Not Gonna Die- Skillet)


The fifth week of summer…

It was all over the papers. 'Harry Potter Missing?' Quotes were thrown in by an anonymous tip off, but Harry distinctly recognized the tone and way of speech as Ron's. Harry knew this was the youngest Weasley son's not-so-subtle way of saying, "Mate, talk to me. Or else."

In fact, one of the quotes was, "I wish he'd just owl me. He's my best mate, but I haven't heard from him since he came back from the Department of Mysteries. Everyone misses him."

Of course, Harry had no intention of speaking to Ron until the war was over and it was safe for him to contact his best friend- assuming he survived the war.

All that Ron had accomplished was reminding Harry exactly how much he missed the red-headed teen. Harry spent the night slicing his wrists until he was light-headed from the blood loss- which was nothing more than what he deserved anyways, seeing as he was hurting his best friend.


Yeah, I get it,

You're an outcast.

Always under attack.

Always coming in last,

Bringing up the past.

No one owes you anything.

(Sound of Madness- Shinedown)


The sixth week of summer…

Harry had his selfish days when he wondered why no one noticed how he was hurting himself. The order members Dumbledore had spend the night didn't care that Harry didn't eat or that he always wore long sleeves no matter how hot it was or that he looked like a skeleton. And sometimes, Harry would even go as far as to cry because no one cared. But then he remembered that no one owed him a thing because he was a murdered and nothing, nothing more.

A few more articles appeared in the paper about him missing, and some wondered if he'd been put in a mental hospital or committed suicide, and some said Voldemort had killed him and some said he went into hiding.

Harry thought they were hilarious. Every single article had a concerned undertone, as though the author actually cared whether Harry lived or died, and often after reading an article, he'd laugh until he cried, and eventually, he'd end up sobbing himself to sleep.

He wondered if he could continue to punish himself without breaking down and killing himself.

Would it be all that bad?

He deserved death for all the murders he'd committed… but he also deserved to suffer.

His response to feeling conflicted like this was to just go to sleep and let the nightmares torture him instead.


Am I worthless?

Am I filthy?

Am I too far gone for a remedy?

(Take the Bullets Away- We As Human)


The seventh week of summer…

Sitting on Sirius' old bed, spinning a knife in his fingers, Harry knew there was no hope for him. There was no hope to save him. His soul was too dirty from all the murders.

At this point, he may as well just kill himself.

And so Harry Potter took the blade to his wrists, digging in deep until blood rushed out in greater quantities than ever before and he fell back on the mattress, already lightheaded from the lack of eating and the blood loss and the pain of living itself.

It was Remus who found him a few minutes later, intending to make the boy eat seeing as no one else would.

"Harry?" He called, opening the door when he received no answer from knocking.

Remus almost cried- Harry looked so peaceful, so happy, unconscious and drenched in blood. For a moment the werewolf almost considered leaving Harry just because he looked happy for the first time in a very long time. But then with a shake of his head, Remus picked Harry up, and floo'ed to Hogwarts' Hospital Wing.


Because the mind is a weapon, see?

And it's got you on

Your hands and knees

(Cry for Help- Shinedown)


The eighth week of summer…

Harry was furious to wake up. He screamed and he sobbed and he tore at the scars on his wrist with all his force until Madam Pomfrey was forced to restrain him.

Harry spent many days that week, simply thinking- which was honestly the most dangerous thing for him to do. Ron and Hermione had tried to visit, but Harry had just sobbed and begged them to leave until the Matron of the Hospital Wing drove them out. He hadn't wanted them to see him weak, and he had failed to keep them safely away from him.

He received letters and gifts from all of his friends wishing him well and similar sentiments, but Harry threw them all away. Almost no one had tried to contact him when he was suffering before and he didn't want pity- or any help for that matter. He was trying to punish himself and protect everyone.

The only one of his professors that didn't come to visit him with well wishes was Snape, and Harry was grateful for this. Snape had simply asked one question- "Why?"

And Harry had replied: "Because I deserve it. Because I'm worthless, a freak, a murderer."

And Snape had left, murmuring to himself. "I'm sorry, Lily. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Though confused, Harry was grateful that there was no pity, no 'How are you feeling' or treating him as though he was fragile.

Snape became his favorite after that.


All I see is shattered pieces

I can't keep it hidden like a secret

I can't look away

From all this pain in a world we made!

(Rise- Skillet)


The ninth week of summer…

Harry had been allowed back to Grimmauld Place, where Remus spent every minute assuring Harry that Remus was there for the boy and that if Harry needed anything, Remus would get it for his adopted godson. Harry never tried to talk to Remus, but Harry did stop cutting after seeing the distress it caused the werewolf.

It was a quiet week- but it was better than weeks in the past, and so Remus was glad.


I know I'm a walking contradiction

I'm the truth that you wish was fiction

And this heart isn't known to hate me

I just want to disappear

I've been on a self-inflicted mission

To destroy everything I'm given

(Give Me Back My Life- Papa Roach)


The tenth week of summer- just before leaving for Hogwarts…

"Remus?" A quiet voice said.

The werewolf smiled and turned to face Harry Potter. "Yes, Harry?"

"I… Can I talk to you?" The boy asked, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt nervously.

Remus patted the seat next to him, indicating for his 'godson' to sit down. "Cub, you can talk to me about anything, anytime."

Harry sat down and replied, "I don't… I'm not sure where to start."

"Why don't you start with why you did this?" The lycan suggested, gesturing to Harry's very scarred and damaged arms.

Bright green eyes closed as Harry sighed. "I'm a murderer. I killed mum and dad and Cedric and Sirius and- and- and… I needed to be punished."

"Oh, Harry," Remus breathed out. "You're not a murderer. All those deaths are Voldemort's fault. He's the one who commanded it or lifted his wand to kill them and they are not your fault."

"But-" Harry began, but his 'godfather' cut him off.

"They are not your fault. They never were."

Hearing that was the thing Harry needed to begin healing.

Harry knew in that moment that things would be okay.

Harry knew that one day, all would be well.