“Moribund is the core of my consciousness. Half-Heartedly I crawl through the strange forest until insecurities strip me of my fears. Suicide, Suicide, Suicide. Thou art my obsession.”

Thus were the thoughts that greeted Harry Potter as he woke that morning. He stared up at the canopy over his bed, a deep, penetrating sorrow filling his every moment. He lay for a moment, then looked at the bedside clock, informing him that he still had much time before he would need to get up.

Good. Today he would need that extra time.

He rose from his coverings and opened his trunk. His usual clothes simply would not do today. He dug further, finding his dress robes. Perfect. Except for the color. Red and Gold was simply too...cheerful. A wave of his wand and a quick chant of transformo aquilus fixed that problem. Next he dug around until he came up with the Wizard make up kit he’d bought in Hogsmeade for the Masquerade Ball on Halloween.

With his newly altered garments draped over his arm and the makeup kit held in his hand, he headed into the washroom. His clothes were easy, but he needed time to experiment with the rest of his appearance. He’d never actually done this before.

They call me the boy who lived. They all think it’s a miracle or something. Bullshit. What kind of life is this? The only family I’ve ever had that’s worthy of the name family is dead. And I must remain here in this world of hate. My Aunt is still jealous of my mother even after her death. My fat-ass cousin and Uncle are so afraid of what they can’t understand that they lash out at anything different. I’m plagued every year by madmen who want to kill me.

Through no fault of my own I am famous. And because of it I’m reviled. Ridiculed, called a liar, and crazy. They stare at me and think I don’t notice. And I’m supposed to just take it all on the chin, and smile. Not anymore. I’ll give them something to fucking stare at.

Ron came downstairs in his usual morning state. Barely awake and wishing it were Saturday already. He hadn’t seen Harry in the dorm that morning, so he assumed his friend had gotten up early for some reason.

He quickly came awake however, when he saw what Harry had done with the extra time.

His dress robes hung on him like one of those coats he’d seen in that Muggle movie his father had taken him to, and were about the same color as well. But that was only the half of it. He was wearing his quidditch uniform boots, which had also been charmed a dark ominous black. His hair, always unruly anyway, was now deliberately tousled and spiked, as if Harry had attempted to make it obey his commands by applying reverse psychology. Which drew it quite effectively away from his face, which was made pale with Wizard’s make up, but with black lipstick on his mouth, with ornate designs at the corners of his eyes. But what really drew his gaze was the scar. Which was done up in livid red, looking as if it were still fresh, and there was even fake blood filling it, with a drop running from the bottom of the lighting bolt, down Harry’s face, stopping just above his painted mouth.

“Bloody hell.” Ron said.

Everyone was staring. Colin Creevey was even too stunned to remember his camera.

“Take a good, long, look.” Harry said coldly to them, returning their stares ten-fold for a moment, then turning his back on them dismissively. “Morning Ron.” he said to his friend. “Ready for breakfast then?”

“Harry,” Hermione said tentatively as they approached the hall. “Don’t take this the wrong way but, are you sure about this?” They were nearing the great hall, and she dreaded what the Slytherins’ reactions would be. “Aren’t you afraid of people treating you like,” she took a deep breath. “Well like a freak?”

Harry stopped and turned to her. The makeup around his eyes made them seem more intense and, well, spooky.

“They’ve always treated me like a freak Hermione.” he said. “Now I just look the part.”

Naturally it was Malfoy that spotted him first.

“Well I’ll be a Muggle’s uncle.” Draco sneered, looking Harry up and down. “Did someone set your calendar back to Halloween Potter? Or did you just decide to become a pouf?”

Ron looked ready to start a fight, Hermione looked nervous. But Harry merely sneered right back, almost literally looking down his nose at the Slyltherin Prince. “Pouf?” he retorted. “Been having dreams about me again Malfoy?” And with that, he quite deliberately turned his back on his rival.

Malfoy gaped. Was Dumbledore’s golden boy possessed? That was a response worthy of a Slytherin.

“All right,” Ron said. “I dare anyone to deny how brilliant that was.”

*****

Snape had missed breakfast that morning, he’d overslept. Which put him in a decidedly bad mood. He couldn’t wait to dole out punishment and fear on his students that day. Especially Potter.

He swept into the room, his robes flying behind him like a cape. In his usual ominous, spooky way he made his way to the front of the room, looking neither left nor right. Then he stopped. And backed up. And looked at Potter. Then he looked ahead. And back at Potter.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor.” He said. And refused to look in Potters direction for the rest of the class.

*****

“So level with me Harry,” Ron said as they dressed for bed that night. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Harry asked incredulously. “Life happened Ron. Life happened.”

The End?