1Tell me where our time went
And if it was time well spent
Just don't let me fall asleep
Feeling empty again
Harry Potter was sick of it all. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and watch the world pass in a blur of black and grey and white until he finally wasted away in a fit of his own depression. I can't handle this... he thought. I'm supposed to be 'The Chosen One', the one that was predestined to kill Voldemort... but I just can't! The Final Battle approaches and I know I won't be ready. Even though I have destroyed the Horcruxes, I still won't be able to. He's more powerful than I.
Harry lay down on his bed and watched the snow fall out the window. He shivered, curling up into a ball. The dormitories were always toasty warm, but he was always cold nowadays. An urge crept over him... he shut his bed curtains with a thin arm and withdrew a small blade from under his pillow. It was of a fine make, with a long blade and an excruciatingly sharp point.
Cause I fear I might break
And I fear I can't take it
Tonight I'll lie awake
Feeling empty
He raised the arm of his left sleeve. It was marred and carved into a rough, scabby, auburn and crimson statue. The little skin between the cuts was either pale white, purple, or pink from still-healing cuts. It was an addiction, he knew, but his escape, his joy, his passion. Harry had never felt like this when he did anything, not even Quidditch could bring on this adrenaline rush, the amazing lightheadedness, the desire for more.
Harry ran the point along the length of his arm as a trail of glistening red appeared. It twinkled at him, saying "Let forth my brethren, for we will satisfy your every hunger, meet to your every need, fulfill all your earthly desires." And he listened to that little trail of blood, as he always did. Straight lines, haphazard lines, deep lines, shallow lines, lines on his forearm, wrist, elbow... he was a whirlwind of crimson with a streak of silver.
I can feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without you
I can feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without you
Harry suddenly heard noises outside his dormitory. "Shit," he muttered darkly, roughly shoving the knife back under his pillow, rolling down his long sleeves, and scrambling under his covers. He quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep as he heard Hermione and Ron come into the door.
"He's asleep, Hermione," Harry heard Ron say.
"Are you sure?" Hermione sounded concerned.
"Here, watch." Harry heard his bed curtains being pulled back and felt something small and hard pelt the side of his head.
Quickly, he made his throat groggy and said, "Izzit mornin' already?"
"Of course not," soothed Hermione, "we just wanted to see if you-Harry, what is that?" For the edge of Harry's sheet poked out from under his comforter, the sheet covered in smears of red.
"It's nothing, Hermione," he said firmly.
She frowned at him. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" he half-shouted irritably. "Now could I please get some sleep?"
Hermione backed off and retreated to the girls' dorms. Ron however, remained, staring and frowning at Harry. "Harry..." he began tentatively, "whatever it is... you can tell me... you know I'm not as much of a prat as Hermione is."
Harry forced a smile, then replied, "Ron, I'm telling you the same thing I told her: I'm fine. It's nothing to worry about!"
"Well, if it's nothing to worry about, can you tell me what it is that's on your sheets?"
Harry searched for a quick answer. "I don't know either. I think Crookshanks must've eaten another rat and decided to dispose of its remains on my bed this time."
Ron uttered a laugh. "Okay, I believe you," he said, but Harry could still see the uncertainty in his voice.
"Good, then I'm going to bed."
Now that I'm losing hope
And there's nothing else to show
For all of the days that we spent
Carried away from home
The next day passed in a blur. Hermione still acted as though something might be wrong, and tried to catch him off-guard at every possible moment, irritating him to his last nerves, even after Ron explained to her what Harry had told him the previous night. He did horrible in all his classes because of a combination of Hermione's pestering and inability to concentrate. All he could think about was something sharp piercing his skin. Scissors, knives, razors ... It tortured him. So, just before dinner, Harry excused himself from his two friends and went to the prefect's bathroom, which he has access to as Quidditch Captain. There was a cupboard there, with stockpiles of bathroom necessities stacked neatly on the shelves, including a number of razors.
He grabbed one, and crawled into a stall. This is it... he thought. Harry was ready. It was his time to die.
Some things I'll never know
And I had to let them go
I'm sitting all alone, feeling empty.
Harry slashed at his wrist repeatedly, tearing at his skin, his veins, desperate to reveal the concealed blood beneath. It rushed out in a torrent of crimson, streaking down his arm and dripping onto the tiled floor. He repeated the action on his left wrist, too.
Suddenly there was nothing left to do but to watch the blood pour and drip and snake out his dying wrists and onto the tiles. He sat down, leaning against the toilet, watching a puddle of crimson grow bigger and wider, his wrists feeding it like a river would feed a lake.
Harry didn't know how long he sat there, how long it was until he finally collapsed as a pair of brown eyes appeared and shrieked, "Harry!"
I can feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without you
I can feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without you
Without you
His soul drifted from his body, rising up and hovering above his body. He looked down to see Hermione screaming for someone to help amidst an ever-growing pool of red that took up a large chunk of the tiled floor. He watched as Dumbledore burst in, his calm features turning grave, and conjured a stretcher from thin air and waved Harry's motionless body onto it. With a wave of his wand, the stretcher and the figure disappeared.
Everything went black, and then he found himself in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey healing his cuts and saying, "His future looks bleak, Professor. I'm not sure if he'll make it through the night."
He watched as Hermione burst in, her robes stained by Harry's blood, tugging Ron by his wrist. Harry saw Dumbledore and Hermione both fill Ron in, and heard Ron say, "No... it can't be," as Hermione pressed her face into his shoulder. He heard Hermione's muffled sobs as she wailed about how she should have figured it out, how she should have realized from the beginning.
A wave of guilt washed over Harry. He knew how many people cared about him defeating Voldemort – the entire Wizarding world! But he hadn't realized that people actually cared about him as an actual person. If only he had known... he wouldn't have done this. Or maybe if he hadn't been wrapped up in his own problems, he would have realized how many people needed him for things other than being 'The Chosen One.'
Harry knew what he had to do. With every ounce of determination he had, he forced his soul back into his body, and once again, everything went black.
I can feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without you
Hours later, or so it seemed to Harry, he felt consciousness return to his body. His arms were in pain, his head groggy. But he was alive. He opened his eyes.
There was a shriek. "RON! HE'S AWAKE! HE'S ALIVE!"
He felt his glasses being slid onto his nose, and the image of a teary Hermione and a shaky Ron came into view. Hermione grasped his hand and he cried out in pain. Alarmed, Hermione let go.
"I'm...alive?" he croaked.
There was a billow of violet robes and a flash of silver, and Albus Dumbledore stood above Harry, surveying him above the tops of his half – mooned spectacles. "Yes," he said serenely, "you lived. You're going to be okay, Harry. It won't be easy, but you'll be okay."
And it was.
Feel the pressure
It's getting closer now
We're better off without me.