It all started Harry's 6th year, he started to take meds and dying his hair. He spent his time doing crazy things.  But it never worked. They never saw Harry, they saw Harry Potter the boy to live.

Even now as he's going aginst a crazy dark lord who has years of magical knowlage on him, he was just a kid. He was so thin, like the walking dead. He had tried it all, to make them see HIM. But everyone wanted a hero, and inside Harry was dying.

He didn't want to be invisible, he didn't want to be alone. Summer after summer he returned to his hell. Every start of the school year he tried to call for help but they where so quiet. They only saw a mask. Cuts after cuts, cries after cries, and colors after colors, nothing worked.

Sometimes when he was alone and no one was around he would pretend. Pretend that he had a warm, happy home to come home to. A mum that had kissed the pain away, a dad that told him to stand up for himself. Parents that loved him. If he dreamt about it long enough it was so almost real. He just wanted one person to see him for him.

A year later, a month after the death of Voldmort.

A man was looking out at the lake from Hogwarts and noticed something floating.

Rushing to the lake, he found a horrble sight. In the lake laid a dead, cold body, arms laid peaceful on its chest, eyes closed, scars covered the body.

The dark, black hair floated on the water, a knife in the heart.

He brought the boy out of the water holding back tears.

Harry Potter was dead, and he had failed.