Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warning: Character death, AU, wrong!BWL

Summary: He knew they didn't want him. Knew they'd be happier without him or the war to worry about. One-shot, AU, wrong!BWL, dark!Harry

‚Mummy?' A handsome teen, maybe around fifteen years old, was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, observing a woman washing the dishes. She looked beautiful, her long hair hanging in long curls down to her waist, softly waving when she moved. She had her back turned towards him and didn't look up when he called her. The boy hadn't called her that name in a long time. In fact, they hadn't even talked in a long time either.

'What!' she snapped harshly, not even bothering to look at her son.

'I – I wanted to know if you cared about me,' the boy began uncertainly, a nervous look gracing his stunning features.

'I am your mother. I am supposed to,' she retorted curtly.

At her sharp tone, the boy had to bite back tears that were threatening to fall from his beautiful, jaded eyes. He guessed he should be used to it by now. At least, that was what he told himself. He had to stay strong. It was only a matter of minutes now. It seemed like the end of an eternity to him. His final choice would be made today.

'Do you want to see me happy living the life I'll choose?' The soft tremble in his voice was nearly not audible but still there.

'I am your mother. I am supposed to.'

The boy flinched. Still so cold… so uncaring… Why?

'I am supposed to though I will not support you. I have more important things to attend than carrying you through your life.' She said it as if she couldn't care less. It clawed at the boy's heart, tearing what was left of it into shreds. He wished she would look at him one last time so he could see her soothing eyes. Pretending one last time that she cared about him… His whole body was trembling as he said:

'Then I wish you, father and my brother a joyful life. Good luck surviving the war.' He hesitated a moment waiting for his mother to –please, please – turn around, waiting for her to ask where he was going, stopping him from what he was going to do, please!… It never happened. He turned around; left the house and its huge, gorgeous garden in which he knew his father and brother were playing Quidditch. He left with nothing but his wand and the black cloak he was wearing.

'My lord.' The boy kneeled in front of a devilishly handsome man, his angelic features hidden under his hood, his head bowed in submission. The man was twirling his wand with his long, slender fingers, his face framed with wavy dark brown hair, seemingly black in the sparsely illuminated throne room. His red eyes were sparking curiosity and surprise. He tilted his head.

'Am I given permission to join your ranks?'

The man's thin lips curled into a cruel smirk, completely destroying his saintlike features.

'Yes, you are.'

Months later, the boy stood in front of the manor he'd never thought of seeing again. But he had a task to fulfill.

After a quick Alohomora the door swung open and the familiar staircase came into his view. The house was not warded against him. No one in his family had ever wondered about what had happened to him after he left. They didn't know that he turned on them; didn't know that it was them who caused him to take the Mark. They never cared.

He briefly considered leaving again but dismissed the thought immediately. They didn't deserve his lord's mercy. He could cope with his past. There were no feelings left for them. At least, that was what he told himself.

With his wand slightly raised he made his way silently into the kitchen.

There she stood. Her shining hair waving slightly in the wind that came from the window right next to her. He could hear his father's and brother's laughter from outside.

It was as if he never left them. It was as if he was only gone for a few minutes. It was as if there was no war raging. It seemed to be the perfect idyll.

Biting his lip, the boy raised his wand a little bit higher and pointed at his oblivious mother. The woman who had given birth to him. The woman who had cared for him, at least, until that day. The woman who had abandoned him for his brother, who had forgotten him after that fateful night so many years ago.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and summoned all of his courage. Now or never. Opening his eyes again, he cast the curse. The awfully beautiful green light of the deadliest of all curses hit her back. The boy watched, distanced, as her body hit the floor. Although it only lasted a few seconds it seemed like eternity to him. When he looked closer, he saw a small smile gracing her expression. It tugged at his heart. Forgotten…

He stared at the woman a few minutes before turning around and heading towards the happy voices sounding from the backyard.

Outside the sunset bathed the world in an orange-red colour gracing the sky. It seemed idyllic; beauty and peace.

The boy stood in the doorframe which led to the garden, observing father and son sitting on the grass, joking around. Their brooms lay beside them. When they noticed him they stared at him in surprise.

The boy lifted his wand once again and sent off two Killing Curses without great effort. They hadn't had their wands with them and hadn't even known that there was a death eater in their house for that matter. The wards would have had alarmed them. But they didn't know because they hadn't cared. So there were no wards against him. Even if he was neglected most of his life by his family, he still had access to their Manor.

Father and son dropped lifelessly to the ground, a shocked expression on their faces.

When the green light dissolved into nothingness the sun had set and the night approached.

And with that the boy stood in his family's dark garden with his wand loosely held in his hand, a lonely tear that he had held back since the day he left them sliding down his cheek, wishing he could just follow his family. He knew they didn't want him. Knew they'd be happier without him or the war to worry about.

Harry Potter stood alone in the cold darkness.

He had always been.

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