The-Teen-Who-Died
Harry stared out into the harsh cold night. The moon illuminating his pale face and the wind brushing at his hair, almost pleading with him to step forward into the dark night and off the tall astronomy tower. He had been up here for hours just dreaming of falling. No one would care, no one ever had. Ron would say he was doing this for attention and Hermione would just agree with him, even though they had been friends for years. A lone tear trickled down Harry's hallow cheek. He haden't eaten for over a week. No one cared. Harry almost wished someone would save him from himself. He was fifteen and probably wouldn't live to see sixteen, if all worked out. Harry smiled sadly to himself and looked up at the stars, lighting up his jadded green eyes. He would see his parents and Sirius again soon, his real family. Harry glanced at Hagrid's hut sadly and started stepping forward off of the tower looking every bit like the broken angel he was. His raven hair was trickling in to his sad green eyes and his pale skin was marred with the crimson blood dripping from his arms, he had a note clutched in his hand. Harry stepped off the tower and gasped, he felt like he was flying, Harry smiled as the ground came rushing up to meet him, he was finaly free...
The crumpled note in his hand said:
To everyone and anyone,
Why can't you save yourselves, do you really to expect a teenager to do that, do you really want teenagers to become murderers because the entire wizarding world can't kill one man and a group of his followers.
From The-Teen-Who-Died