His fault

Harry sighed staring up at the ceiling of his small room at his relatives. Sirius was dead. Tears poured from Harry's jaded eyes and down his pale face before reaching his thin pillow. Padfoot was dead. It felt like someone was stabbing his heart. His Uncle Paddy was gone. Harry sat up and looked out his barred window out into the night his hallowed face being illuminated by the moon. Moony was running alone tonight. Harry winced and ran a hand through his raggedy black hair. He wondered what Remus would do if he died as well as Pads. Harry reached under his pillow and brought out a small shard of mirror, the one Sirius had given him and brought it down on his thin wrist. Harry hated himself for doing it, for giving in to the pain and for causing Moony more pain. It was after all his fault Sirius was dead. Harry cut his arm again and again smiling at least he was hurting for what he did to Siri. But it wasn't enough he had killed Sirius so shouldn't he die too? Harry wondered bringing the knife down again would it hurt to die? What is death like? Will Sirius and my parents forgive me for killing them? The last one he deliberated on the most, would they forgive him? He was there son after all. Having convinced himself they would forgive him he started cutting himself more than before, until his arms were covered in blood, staining them red. Harry smiled as he brought the shard down on his arm before falling backwards in his own blood so he was lying on his bed. Harry sighed staring up at the ceiling of his small room at his relatives. Sirius was dead and so was he.