Challenge: Emotion Competition

Emotion - Depression Letter - P

Hi All! Hope you like this little oneshot! My first Competition entry and actually my first story on FFNET. Hopefully you will enjoy and hopefully I will get somewhere with this. Thanks for reading :)

Harry stared blankly at the doors to his wardrobe. He sat on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest with his arms resting above them, each hand gripping the pale skin of his elbow.

He rarely left his room, the warning Mad Eye Moody gave his relatives before they left Kings Cross ensuring that they left him to his own devices. It was unusual, having so much time to himself and not being forced to do so many daunting chores during the day. There was a downside to having so much time to waste, however.

He allowed himself to wallow. The emotions wouldn't stop. They'd range from guilt, to sorrow, to boredom, back to guilt and sorrow and continue to change throughout the day. Sirius' death had been a blow to him; although he had spent so little time with him the grief was beginning to get unbearable.

It was unfair, he decided, that at fifteen; nearly sixteen years of age, he had so much on his plate (figuratively speaking, he had hardly eaten much since returning to the Dursley's). He blamed himself for his Godfather's death, he felt guilty that he had led his friends into mortal danger, some even receiving injuries because of his rash actions and to finish it all off Dumbledore had finally been truthful with him and have revealed the force behind Voldemort's actions.

One must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…

Basically, he had to kill a wizard who not only was many years his senior, but also had those extra years of magical training above him. Harry scoffed, a rubbed an irritated hand across his tired eyes. What power did he have that the Dark Lord knows not? Love?

He scoffed again. Love surely didn't save Sirius, he was the only Father figure Harry had left, and he loved him with all his being. It was his love for Sirius, and Sirius' love for him that actually led him to his death! No, love was certainly not the special power that Harry had.

His friends had tried to keep him happy, tried to make him see the bright side, but Harry was starting to look past that now. He had no family now, the only man Harry could see himself surviving for was Sirius and now he was gone. What did he have left even if he did have the strength to kill one of the most powerful wizards in the world? Sure, his friends would miss him but they would eventually move on. Why shouldn't he do Voldemort the favour? Save him the trouble of picking through everyone Harry loved before he finally managed to finish him off?

Because you know he wouldn't leave your friends alone if you were gone. Because you know that your death would only make them fight more, in revenge.

He sighed, the stubborn and more reasonable side of his mind forcing him into a mental argument. He rolled off his bed, dragging himself across the floor and to his trunk. Lifting the lid he sank his hand through the rumpled up robes and uniform, the strewn books and idle quills, reaching to the very bottom.

He hissed in pain as his finger caught something sharp. Retracting his hand he observed the blood pooling from the neat cut beside his nail. Frowning in curiosity he started moving the other things aside, searching the bottom of his trunk for the culprit.

Suddenly, his stomach sank and the guilt flooded anew. He pulled out the object that had cut his finger, staring at the dull green in the reflection. It was the mirror, the mirror that Sirius had given him last Christmas. A tear made its way down his cheek, his throat closing up in pain and recognition. Why hadn't he used the mirror? He'd have known Sirius was safe; he wouldn't have run unnecessarily into trouble and dragged his friends along for the ride!

He groaned in pain, more tears sliding down his cheeks in self-hatred. He drew in sharp angry breaths, his fingers paling from his tight grip on the mirror. He sat on the edge of his bed, heaving heavy breaths, staring at his reflection. It would only be too easy. He would see Sirius again; he would even see his Parents again! Why should he live hating himself forever when he could find happiness and never worry about the world.

His eyes caught the blood on his finger. He brought it closer to his face, inspecting the deep red of his blood. He let out a shaky breath of emotion, using the sleeve of his right arm to wipe his face. Yes, it would be easy, almost too easy to take his own life. He smiled at the cliché, the colour of his blood.

Not very Gryffindor though, it is?

That voice asked again. He let out a choked laugh and looked at the mirror again. Sure he'd see Sirius and his Parents, but at what cost? His friends would die anyway; The Order would have no hope for the future. And what would his parents say?

It's the coward's way out Harry! You're made of stronger stuff!

And Sirius? How would he react?

That's something a Slytherin would do Harry! Your parent's didn't sacrifice themselves just so you could give up when things started to get tough! Get your act back together!

He let out another shaky breath, his mind self-consciously pushing away those dark thoughts. Yes, Sirius would have hit him upside the head if he knew what he was thinking. That idea alone was enough to force those thoughts from his mind.

But it still hurts…

He pulled an old shirt from his trunk and wrapped the damaged mirror inside it before placing it gently at the bottom of his trunk. The mirror would always stay a memory; something that he could keep that his Godfather gave him.

Something to remind me that I have to carry on, even if I feel like giving up.

He made a new resolve. If and when he did eventually die (whether at Voldemort's hand or at old age) and he did see his Parents and Sirius again, he wanted them to tell him how proud of him they were, and how when he did feel like giving up he found the strength to carry on.

That was the power the Dark Lord knew not. The power to fight against what was easy and the strength to carry on at the darkest of times.