Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, surprising though that may be. JK Rowling owns the character, I'm just expanding on what she provides.
Summary: Harry is depressed after his fifth year at Hogwarts. He blames himself for his godfather's death and thinks that nobody cares about him, other than to use him in the fight against Voldemort. This is all told from Harry's point of view.
Warnings: Character death, swearing, reference to child abuse.
Death and Reservations
He sends me here year after year. He knows the truth; he knows what they do to me. Dumbledore knows that I hate returning to the Dursley's, and he knows exactly why. He won't let me stay at Hogwarts. He won't let me stay at The Burrow. He knew since my first year, when the letter was addressed to 'the cupboard under the stairs'. He doesn't care, nobody cares, nobody gives a shit about their fucking savior.
They say I'm protected from Voldemort here. They say this is the safest place for me. But how safe is it really? What if I die here at the hands of my so-called 'relatives'? I'm already dieing, I haven't eaten for five days. If I died, nobody would know, not until next year. And then it would be too late. What could they do?
Or I could end it, right now. I could so easily cut myself, and bleed to death on this cold bathroom floor. Then those bastards would be sorry. They'd be sorry for putting the weight of the world on the shoulders of a teenager. They'd be sorry they fucked up. They'd be sorry they continuously placed me in a house with that sadistic bastard who is supposed to be my uncle. But it would be too late.
I can't stop thinking about the last time he came to my room. The last time he beat the crap out of me. I remember feeling the blood running down my back, I remember the sickening crunching as he stepped on my wrist and ground down so hard that the bones crushed and protruded through my skin. I remember him calling me a worthless freak and telling me that I deserved it.
I did deserve it though. It's my punishment, punishment for killing Sirius. People keep telling me it wasn't me fault, but it was my fault. It was my fault that my parents died, it was my fault that Cedric died, and it was my fault that Sirius died. Voldemort wasn't trying to kill them; he was trying to kill me.
And now I hold my future in my own hands. It's the one thing that I have control over, my own life and death. And I could end it, right now. It would be so easy. And in a few years, the boy-who-lived would just be another fairy tale. I could end my pain. I have been the cause of so many deaths, by doing this, I could prevent further deaths.
I'm sorry Ron for doing this, you'll have to find a new seeker for the team. I'm sorry Hermione for doing this, you'll have to find someone else to study with (I know Ron won't study with you). I'm sorry Ginny for doing this, I do love you, and always will. I'm sorry Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world for doing this, you'll have to find a new fucking savior.
I can feel the blade cutting my skin. I can see the blood running down my arm. I can feel the freedom. I know it will soon be over, I will soon be free of the burden placed upon from the moment the killing curse was aimed at me. I am going to be with my parents, I am going to be with Cedric, I'm going to be with Sirius. Where I belong.
Things are getting a bit foggy now, I think I'll cut again before I faint. I want to make sure I only have to do this once. More blood, so much blood. I tried to keep it in the sink but it's falling on the floor. I can't hold my hand up high enough to keep it in the sink. The floor is warm and wet with blood beneath my knees. But the tiles are cold and hard. I want to stand and move somewhere where I'll not be cold against the floor when I faint, but I don't have the strength to move.
The floor is coming at me, too fast. I can no longer keep my eyes open. I can feel my world ebbing away. Oh, fuck, maybe I shouldn't have done this. I think I'm having reservations, it's too late for that. My head just hit the tiles, but I barely felt it. I can't feel much right now, the world is going black. I know this is the end. I'm going to die. I can feel myself losing my tenuous grasp on consciousness.
Goodbye, I'm sorry.