A/N: Warning, character death, slight mention of slash.
Disclamer: *sigh* unfortunately I own none of the characters. Otherwise I'd be a very very rich lady =]
They say that life goes on, that people will eventually get over things, but is that really true? Do people ever get over the death of a loved one, or a friendship bust-up, or heartbreak? People may act like it didn't affect them, that they are over it, but deep down it is slowly killing them inside. Slowly they are giving up on any hope of finding true happiness. Bit by bit they are giving up on the world entirely.
It was two years, and Harry had heard nothing from, or about him. Sure, there were plenty of times that Harry's heart had screamed to call him and tell him that the fight was stupid, that it all meant nothing if it meant he wasn't there anymore. But Harry's head told him to not follow his heart, that he had followed it once before, and look how that turned out.
He felt alone in the world. He had lost contact with all of his friends not long after he moved to England. And his family, well, he'd never known his parents, and now with Sirius and Remus dead after the war, he really didn't know where or whom he could turn to. He hadn't bothered to make any new friends in England, as he hadn't planned on staying in one place for too long and becoming attached to it. He had been attached to many things in his life, and each one had been snatched from him, as if it had not real importance in the world. Each time this happened, his heart was broken a little more, but he did the only thing he knew how to do: put on a brave face and soldier on.
But Harry never really moved on from losing any of it. The war had broken him well and truly, and he didn't know what he was going to do anymore. To Harry, losing him was the final straw. Harry had finally given up on everything, he had no family, no friends left to speak of, Harry had finally given up not only on himself, but also on the world. Harry's life was now full of nothingness, emptiness. Harry's body still functioned properly, and he did normal everyday things but Harry always felt incomplete and alone, and the only thing that could bring Harry back was him, the one he'd left behind, but Harry thought he'd moved on and forgotten all about him.
What Harry didn't know or realize was that he had been searching for Harry for the last two years, ever since Harry had left after he saw him hugging Cho, his best friend, and had jumped to the wrong conclusions. He loved Harry with all of his heart, and he knew that Harry, ever the stupid git, loved him back just as much. He just hoped that Harry wouldn't be completely opposed to being found, and that he'd hear reason and see the truth amongst the confusion.
But for Harry, it had all become too much. He got back to his apartment in the middle of London and he walked into the bathroom and took a long and hard look at himself in the mirror. Harry couldn't understand what people saw in him. He was no hero; he had no choice with his role in the war. Yes, he had vanquished the Dark Lord once and for all, and he did have friends, who were always there for him, and he had a boy who loved him, but where were they all now? He looked at his face, from his sullen, far too thin cheekbones, to the dark circles under his eyes, one of the many indications that the boy had not slept properly in many weeks. And his eyes, his eyes which were a gift from his mother, that were once a vibrant green, the colour of sparkling emeralds, were now a dull muddy green colour, with little to no life behind them at all. Instead of seeing himself the way that the boy who loved him saw him, Harry only saw a sad, broken soul who had no purpose on this earth. He smashed the mirror and grabbed a piece of the broken glass, preparing himself for what he was about to do.
Mere moments after Harry Potter's soul left the earth, Cedric Diggory came running into the room, but once again, he was too late. He was devastated to say the least. He stood there surveying the scene before him; the broken glass, the blood and Harry's body, with tears streaming down his face. He walked across to the once white bench that was now covered in blood, and noticed something sitting in the middle, a note which still had the warmth from Harry's hands imprinted onto it. Cedric fell to the floor, sobbing as he read the note, realising he was too late one too many times, that his love was gone.
"You may think that you knew me, but you didn't. Only one person did, but he doesn't care. Nobody does, not even me anymore. I'm just a lonely soul on this earth, a broken soldier."
FIN.
A/N: I warned you! Sorry its so morbid. I wrote this several years ago now, and have finally decided to put it out there. Flames are welcome, as long as their constructive. Anything I can learn from as this is my first uploaded fic would be fantastic. Thanks! xXx