He paced back and forth, the dirty hardwood floor creaking with nearly every step. Pausing, he sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. Really, he thought, what was the point anymore? What was the point of trying? What was the point of life? To fight in a war he didn't even start?
He plopped down on his miserable excuse for a bed. His eyes looked over the room, searching for something though he didn't know what. Finding nothing to hold his interest, he closed his eyes. His friends? Was he living for them? He snorted. What friends? The ones that hadn't bothered to write him since summer started nearly a month ago? No. He wasn't living for them.
He certainly wasn't living for the family that locked him in this prison of a room. Hogwarts meant nothing to him anymore. He sighed again and opened his eyes.
The harder he searched for a reason to live the more he wanted to die. He felt the familiar heaviness clenching his heart. He stood up from his bed and knelt down next to floorboard that covered his hidden things. He pulled up the floor, grabbed the item he was looking for, and then put the board down.
He looked at his hand and twisted the knife he had taken from the kitchen in the air. He felt the edge of the blade was pleased with the sharpness of it.
"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."
Placing the tip of the knife to his wrist, a small bittersweet smile appeared on his face. Well, he wasn't exactly planning on ever being able to 'finally feel it'.
Okay. I don't really know what this is. I was having a moment (hence the account name) and wrote this. It's not well written or long, but I figure what-the-hell, I'll post it.