A/N: Just a look at Harry using prescription drugs and his end. Really short, just a brief glimpse at his end.
The End of a World
Cheering voices come from Harry's window. He smirked and shook his head. What do they know? He thought, knowing that the people outside where celebrating the second anniversary of his defeat of "The Dark Lord", You-Know-Who, Voldemort, or Tom Riddle Jr.. You take your pick, he snorted.
Harry had been despondent after the Final Battle. Harry had lost, in the war, his parents, his godfather, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Ron, Ginny, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and the entire Weasley clan. It was hard, to say the least.
All Harry wanted, was not to feel so much anymore. After retreating into the Muggle world, Harry was determined to, at first, never use magic again. During that time period he had broken his arm, nothing to serious, but he still had to go to a Muggle doctor. When he was admitted he was given pain killers. And those made him forget his feelings for a while, and it was good.
Vicodin, Oxycotton, Codine…. Such wonderful little tablets, he smiled, popping three pills into his mouth. It wasn't hard to get more medication once he ran out. This problem had been solved quite easily, once he had become addicted. He used magic to manipulate doctors and various other people, to fuel his addiction. He was alone, no one new him anymore, and he went unchecked, for so long.
Harry sat down in his leather chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He jolted awake, thinking he had been asleep for a while he took about four more pills. Slowly, he drifted off in the chair. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat slowed even further. Color drained away from his face. He was dying. And no one alive really cared.
Three minutes later, he was gone. Completely. Just. Gone.