AN: Hi guys! It's been so long since I have written on here wow! I am going to do my best to update very frequently! I have a lot of ideas for this story and I know it's been a while, so pardon me if I am a little rusty! I hope you all enjoy this! Don't forget to add it to your library and vote and comment!

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Harry

        I was only fourteen when it happened. Although it was many years ago, it lives on in my brain as vividly as the day that it happened. The day that my mom was taken from me, and from this world.

      It was a hot summer night, our air conditioning was out yet again, and my mother and I began propping old books upon the windowsill to hold them open and let some sort of breeze in, anything would be better than the stifling house flooded with humidity that we had right now. 

    "Harry, no! Not that book! That book is special!" My mother gasped, reaching out to grab the leatherbound journal I had found in a chest of drawers, its only purpose seemingly being to collect dust. 

     "Mom, is it actually special, or is it just you being your good old sentimental self?" I teased, chuckling as she rolled her eyes and clutched the book to her chest, walking over to put it back in the drawer that I had found it in.

        "Okay, smart ass!" She teased, lightly smacking my shoulder as she returned with some old magazines to use instead. "For your information, it is special. It actually...," her voice began to fade, her smile being replaced with a frown.

        I furrowed my brow in confusion, placing my hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slowly. "It actually what mom?" I asked softly, dropping my sarcastic tone and being filled with concern at her sudden change in mood.

     She looked up at me, her eyes glassy. "It was your father's."

    My hand stopped rubbing her shoulder then. My body beginning to tense and my jaw clenching at her words. 

  I never knew my father. He died when I was just a baby, too young to remember anything about him. My mom didn't like to talk about him too much, not because she didn't like him, but because she was so in love with him, even thinking about his death was enough to make her break. That was really hard on me growing up, I think part of me has always craved that father-son relationship that most boys my age had. I always wanted to ask her about him, to know more, but it was too hard for her to talk about.

    When I was really young and would ask about him, she'd always tell me, "He had your eyes, bright, glimmering, and green, and even though you don't remember him, from the moment you were born, he loved you so deeply. You and I were his whole world, and even though he had to leave us so soon, he still watches over us, like a guardian angel."

        I'm snapped out of my thoughts by my mother's hand cupping my cheek, smiling weakly up at me. 

   I clear my throat and take the stack of old magazines from her small hands, smiling back at her, before continuing to prop the windows open. 

  It had always just been my mom and me, she never remarried or even dated anyone else, her heart seeming to forever belong to my father, even after his death. I became the man of the house from the time that I understood what it meant. Always trying to protect my mom, to look out for her, and be a son that she was proud of. 

     I loved her with my whole heart, and she loved me right back. Most guys my age weren't close with their moms like I was, but I didn't care. I wasn't gonna be a dick to her just to seem cool, that always seemed dumb to me. She was my mom, she was my whole world. 

And then, my whole world was taken from me. 

 It was a few hours later, my mom was in the kitchen putting away the last of the dishes we had just washed together, and I was taking the trash out for her. 

    I reached over the counter to grab some crumpled up napkins and threw them in the trash bag that was already threatening to break. I then walked over to the sink where my mother stood and kissed her on the cheek. 

   "I love you mom," I smiled.

Her eyes lit up and her lips spread into a grin. "I love you right back."

I went out the back door and began to walk down the driveway, holding the trash bag from underneath as it was very close to bursting open. I kicked the lid to the trashcan up with my foot, almost losing my balance, but recovering, then tossing the bag in and shutting it again. 

   I dusted my hands off and began to walk back to my house, humming to myself and enjoying the sound of the crickets and the peace and quiet of the night. Since the sun had gone down, it was finally cooler out, a light breeze ruffling through the leaves, and I was looking forward to that breeze providing some cooler air in the house.

I was about halfway up the driveway when I heard a blood-curdling scream. My mother's scream

   The scream came first, the gunshots came second, my world came crashing down third. 

The only sound I could hear was my mother's scream on repeat, echoing in my ears, painfully loud, ringing and seemingly more shrill each time it echoed. I was sprinting at this point, practically knocking the backdoor down, not caring what danger could await me inside the house, my only concern being my mother.

    I frantically ran into the kitchen, my heart dropping all the way down to my feet, and then further, perhaps dropping as low as the very core of the earth. My mother was curled against the kitchen cabinet, blood pouring out of her abdomen, her attackers nowhere in sight. 

   Her once bright and cheery blue eyes looked up at me, now tired and quickly fading. She looked so scared. 

"M-mom, w-what..." I choked, feeling the sobs beginning to fall from my lips. 

She opened up her mouth to speak, and it took a second for the words to come out of her mouth. 

"Harry, y-you need to get out of here. Y-you n-need.....you need to get as far away from here as possible," she demanded with an urgency I had never heard from her before.

"No. I'm not leaving you, I-I... I can't leave you. I won't. I'll call an ambulance, you are gonna be okay." My breathing was as ragged as hers at this point.

"No. You can't call an ambulance Harry, you can't, okay? You need to disappear for now. I can't have people knowing where you are. They will only come for you next. I can't let that happen to you." 

My heartbeat was ringing in my ears, fast, and out of control, and I swear I could hear my mother's heartbeat slowing down, which only caused mine to speed up more. 

"Who? Who did this to you? Where are they? What do they want? W-who......" I was uncontrollably sobbing at this point, sorrow and confusion overwhelming me.

"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh," my mother reached forward to grab my hand, lightly stroking it with her thumb, using the other hand to clutch her abdomen, which was now overflowing with blood.  "You're going to be okay. You're like your dad, you're tough, you're so much tougher than you know."

   "I can't leave you, mom," my voice strained, clinging onto her hand, pleading with her to stay, even though I knew I was losing her, and fast.

"You have to Harry. You have to. For me." She squeezed my hand and demanded my attention with her eyes. 

"Get out of here. Run as fast and as far as you can."

I nodded my head, scooting over so that I was sitting next to her, and I gently placed her head on my shoulder, reaching up to stroke her long, dark brown hair, stifled sobs escaping my lips, even though I was trying to hard to be strong, to be strong for her.

"Okay Mom, I will, I promise."

I waited a second, allowing myself to gather a large breath of air, a new set of tears welling up in my eyes as I prepared myself to say what would be my last words to my mom.

"I love you mom."

Her breathing was slow and shallow, and I knew her time was only moments away, but even still, she took in one final gasp, before opening up her mouth to speak.

"I love you right back."

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     I buried my mom the night of her death. Despite her numerous requests for me to start running immediately, I couldn't leave without giving her a proper burial. I put flowers from her garden on her grave, and I sat on my knees and wept for what felt like years.

A few hours must have passed before I finally stood up, my knees cracking as I did so. Although I was still overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, there was a new emotion in the mix...anger.

My emotions were so heightened, my face hot with rage as I turned from my mother's grave and marched back into the house, past the pool of blood in the kitchen, going into my room and grabbing my duffle bag, throwing some clothes in, then going to the laundry room and opening the old empty detergent bottle where my mother and I had stored all of our savings, and dumped the cash in the bag. I only grabbed the necessities, not wanting to stop long enough to let the sadness take over again.

I was about to walk out of my childhood home for good, no turning back, my hand grasping the front door handle when something caught my eye. It was a picture of me and my mother, from last spring. We had gone down to the pond in our neighborhood and had a picnic together. It was such a great day. In the picture I had my arm around her shoulder, smiling so big, her smile matching mine as she leaned her head on my shoulder, just like she had moments ago before her death.

I grabbed the picture and gently tucked it into my bag, then I paused to look at the chest of drawers. I walked up to it and opened the drawer that contained my father's journal, pausing to debate my actions, before deciding to go with my instinct and take it with me, putting it in my bag. I then turned around one last time, taking a good long look at my home, about to exit when I noticed something on the floor. A knife. I picked it up and inspected it. It was engraved with the initials R.G.M.

This had to be from my mother's killer. My blood was fuming. I slipped the knife into my bag, knowing that I had a new destiny. I was fuming as I slammed the door shut, leaving behind everything I knew and beginning to journey to the rest of my life.

The sadness ached through my bones as I began the long and lonely walk to the bus station. I didn't know if the ache would ever stop. But another wave of feelings was flooding over me as well. Overwhelming anger and rage sat right on top of the sadness, seeming to grow stronger and stronger with each step I took. I gripped my bag tightly, causing my knuckles to turn white.

I didn't know why someone would want to kill my mother. She was the purest human being I knew. I didn't understand why she was so scared for my life when hers was the one that was quickly fading. And I definitely didn't know who I was supposed to be running from.

But I would run, I would get as far from here as possible, just like my mother begged me to.

However, I would not be running from the people who killed her, I would be running to them. I would make them pay no matter what it took. I was determined.

I got to the bus station and bought a ticket to wherever. I didn't care. I just mumbled sure to the driver and handed him my money, going to the back of the bus, and sitting down. I pulled the knife out of my bag, the cool metal sending chills through my body, and I traced my thumb over the engraved initials, anger seeping in even stronger than before. I set my gaze straight ahead and zoned out. I no longer felt like the young boy that I was, I felt like a man. A man with a mission, a mission to get justice for his mother.

I didn't care how long it took, or what I had to do, one day, I would stand before the owner of this knife, and I would drive it into his heart.

My whole body felt cold, and I guess that would be the perfect word to describe me after the day that my mother died. Bitter, angry, cruel, numb, and cold. If revenge was a dish best served cold, then mine would be like ice.

AN: Hi guys! This is just a little intro and backstory so that you can understand a lot of other parts of the story and why harry is the way that he is before I really get into the action of the story! Don't forget to vote and comment to let me know what you think!