He hadn't meant for this to happen, not in the way it did. He always thought he would end up dying by saving the world from Lord Voldemort yet again, but here he was. Drenched in his own blood.
Only minutes before he had put a razor blade to his wrists and drank half a bottle of Fire whiskey, in an attempt to lessen the pain. He had again lost another person close to him. Not only was the person his godfather but also the one he killed because of his own stupidity.
His vision was getting blurry and he could no longer stand on his own, but he thought it was what he deserved for killing his own godfather.
Stumbling to the ground of the room he once shared with Ron back in the summer before the fifth year. He saw only the wood flooring before collapsing on the dusty bed.
It felt like only seconds ago that he saw his godfather die when in reality it was days. He couldn't tell the date or time anymore. Everything felt distant and bleak. The only man to accept Harry and love him for who he was and not as The-Boy-Who-Lived, was gone.
These dark thoughts followed him everywhere and everyone seemed worried about him but he knew better. He knew the wistful looks from Remus was only an act because he too blamed Harry for his best friend's death. And Hermione and Ron's attempts at reassuring him that it wasn't his fault were lies.
It seemed like the only thing Harry thought he was good at was getting people killed. Even as an infant he had gotten his parents killed by being a target during Voldemort's war.
He tried to lift the Fire Whiskey to finish the bottle off but it seemed he had no strength left. The blood loss was dwindling his strength. He felt his body shutting down and his breathing getting shallow. He dropped the bottle no longer having the strength to hold it.
He closed his eyes feeling drained and exhausted. But feeling as though someone was watching him, he opened his eyes with difficulty and saw something that made his heart ache.
Standing above him was the only person in the world that he missed more than ever. But that was impossible. Sirius Black was dead. Slaughtered like the rest of his friends and family by malicious death eaters. He wanted to plead to this ghost and ask for its forgiveness. Tears were forming in his eyes because he knew he didn't deserve forgiveness from the man he led to his death.
Blinking the tears away, he knew what he was seeing had to be a trick of his mind. It was absurd. The man he considered his father was standing before him, smiling with his right hand outstretched to him. But this had to be a dream or vision...or maybe...maybe...he was...finally dying. It wasn't a terribly sad thought. He hadn't expected to live this long, so really it exceeded his expectations.
Still, that didn't explain why his deceased friend was here. He felt weak and tired. He wanted to give in and let his eyes shut again and let go of all the pain. Perhaps he could join his godfather in his seemingly painless world.
The war has taken everything from him. His friends, his classmates, and now his very own life. Then again it was his fault that he was dying at the moment. He could stop the blood from draining his body and call for someone to save his life. But the room was spinning and he knew he wouldn't be able to walk in his condition. In the end, the least that he could do was to let go and accept his death with grace.
The room felt hot compared to his cold, clammy body. The bed he laid on was stiff, but that was to be anticipated. He was at 12 Grimmauld Place in London. The first place he went to after Sirius hadn't reappeared from The Veil.
Immersed in his thoughts he hadn't noticed that his godfather had kneeled next to his battered body. He was still smiling and had his hand outstretched. Though upon closer inspection, he saw tears streaming down his face.
Oh, Sirius. So much has happened since I last saw you.
With the last of his strength, Harry looked into the apparition of Sirius and softly spoke his last words before losing consciousness.
"I'm sorry"