A/N: This is something that just popped out when I sat in front of my computer. I was watching Medium and the episode was, as usual, sad and this just spilled out. Sometimes I get in these moods of what kind of stories I want to read, could be angst, or slash, or Severitus or even these macabre suicide stories. This story is not gory. I leave that part to the imagination. Just wanted to write down what he could be thinking in his head and what would steer him to take his own life. I'm not an expert on the subject and I don't mean to offend anyone with this story. If you think it will offend you please don't read it. However, if you do choose to read please leave a review. I would greatly appreciate it.
Also, working on a couple stories, one slash and one Severitus. I'm trying to get at least half the story written before I start posting. Thanks to all you who have favorited my stories and me, that means a lot to me.
Ok, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters and I certainly don't make any money off my stories.
This takes place after the Ministry incident. Harry returns to the Dursley's and their abuse.
Enjoy.
Summary: Harry's last journal entry.
Dear Journal,
Have you ever wondered about life and how all the people in the world have unique ones? I do. I mean, no two people have the same life, right? It's baffling when you think about it. Each living person has a unique life only for themselves, governed mostly by the choices they face. Their choices. Quality of life depends on if we make the right choice when the time comes, but what about those who have no say in any of the decision making? What about those kids that have to live with the horrible decisions of the adults in their life?
What about me?
It doesn't seem fair, but then again, life isn't fair is it?
It makes me sad to think that had the decisions earlier in my life been different, my circumstances today would be different too. I'm a sad boy…a defeated man...a tired victim...whatever I am, I don't want it anymore. I don't think I would know what happiness truly is if it slapped me in the face. But maybe, for me, it would mean no pain or having food in my stomach or even a roof over my head when the weather is bad. To dream that things could or would change now, at this point in my life, is beyond belief. Just like that song 'I Dreamed a Dream' my life is doomed to get worse. My dreams never come true.
Ever.
It's hard for me, sometimes, to look at the other students and wonder 'what do they have that I don't?'. How is it that I'm The-Boy-Who-Lived but I haven't lived at all? It makes me mad inside to watch how the they take what they have for granted, when I have to scrape and steal, not to mention heal thy self, just to survive on a normal day. They would never understand what it feels like to starve, to live in constant pain, or to live on the streets without shelter. I am stronger than them in that regard and I suppose that that would help me, in the long run, to defeat Voldemort, but is that something to be proud of? To gloat about? To say, 'I can take pain better than you, so ha!'. No. It pisses me off that I can't have a fourth of the love, the caring, and the safety that they have in spades. Why aren't I good enough to have that? Why haven't I ever been good enough?
Because I'm a Freak.
You know, I shouldn't even be here. I should have died the same night my parents did, therefore, my life doesn't count for anything. It's a borrowed life, really, so the quality of it doesn't really matter anyway. That's why the Headmaster makes me stay here, out of the way, out of his hair, out of sight out of mind. He's must be right, right? I mean, he's the Headmaster of the best Wizarding school in Britain so he must know what he's doing. He must know the real me, the slave, the lacky, the disposable pawn on his stupid chess board. Yeah, old man, I know about that, but I really can't complain about it too much if it ends this stupid war. I know it will end me.
Dispensable.
To be fair, I have lived a long time on this borrowed life of mine. Longer than I thought I would. I've even found a few friends; Ron, and Hermione, that seem to like me for me and not for what I did as a baby. But still I have doubts. I'm being bred to complete one task, one very dangerous task. Most people are bred to procreate, to have lovers, and jobs and…fun. All of this with no real expectations from the masses-unlike me. Just the expectations to not disappoint your parents, or to be the best you can be at something, anything really, but no one is born into a life that is useless.
Except me.
Some would think I'm pitying myself. Well, damn straight I am! I don't deserve to be treated the way I am! I don't deserve to be thrown away at the end of the day! And I especially DO deserve to feel happiness and to be loved! What the hell! Last term, when some of my home life with my Aunt and Uncle came to be known, I prayed something would be done, that someone would care enough to question what they were seeing and hearing. But, of course, I was expecting too much. How could I look for assurances that the life I have lived thus far should have been better when no one cared enough when the truth came to light. I'm in no way looking for pity. I'm going to show people that even though I've been through hell and back…alone…that I can still be strong and walk with my head held high. They don't need to know that underneath that exterior there's self-loathing, self-doubt, and loneliness.
I'm a faker.
So now I get to the crux of this journal entry. 'What would life be like if I wasn't here anymore?' Would my friends miss me? Would anyone? Would they learn of my 'home' life and feel sorry for me? Would they hate me more? Would they call me selfish for not finishing the job for them and taking the easy way out?
I am a Coward.
Would I have a crowd at my funeral? Or just Albus and the Weasleys, or maybe no one? Would they think less of me? I don't think that's possible, they already think fairly less of me, look how they treat me. I want to believe they would miss me even cry over me, but I don't think so. I think everyone knows that my life is forfeit, that I'm a little pawn on that big chess board of life, that I'm tasked to kill the Dark Lord and that said job will probably kill me too.
I know it will.
So, here I am. Thinking about my life and what it means. Why I'm really here. Who I love and who loves me. And you know what? There's no one. My life is meaningless to me. I have nothing to live for…I have no one to live for and isn't that just sad.
Yes, sad. Even a waste you could say.
Since the Triwizard Tournament, I've known my life doesn't matter. Who in their right mind would let a fourteen year old compete in a tournament that is meant for adult wizards and witches? Who would allow a child with limited knowledge of spells to face a full grown dragon! I tried to blow it off, tried to tell myself that everything was okay, but I knew, deep down that I didn't matter enough. So, why should I do anything for people who don't care? Why am I doing this at all? Why am I putting myself though all this shite if in the end I won't be any more. And that's when it dawned on me. I don't have to do any of this. I don't have to be that stupid pawn anymore. I don't want to be a pawn anymore.
Relief.
I know what I'm going to do now. I've known since I came back here, to this hell-hole. I've thought about this many times before, but I always felt I needed to complete my destined task first, but now I see the truth. There's no one living that loves me, and I them, enough to go through this hell. Writing this journal entry has helped me to realize that I don't owe them anything, either. I don't have to deal with Voldemort, and I don't have to live like this if I don't want to—and I don't want to anymore. They can't depend on me-they shouldn't depend on me, I'm just a boy who is living on borrowed time. I'm not smart, I'm not strong, I'm not loved, and I'm not wanted. What do I owe them?
Nothing.
I finally feel peace with myself. Wow, I never knew what it felt like to feel this way. Is this how happy people feel every day? I don't know but probably. I know most people will hate me for this and some people will be happy about it. But you know what? I don't care. For once in my life, I don't care what anyone will think about me. That's how I know that I'm making the right choice. I'm making it for me and not them.
Liberating.
To anyone who reads this entry, bugger off. You didn't care enough when I was alive, and you shouldn't care when I'm dead. I'm looking forward to being with my parents and Sirius again. I can't wait to feel like a whole person again, finally.
Anticipation.
Good bye Ron and Hermione, I feel I should at least acknowledge your effort to be my friend. I just can't keep going, not even for you. I have to do this for me, and to be honest, I'm kinda excited about my next journey. Today is a good day to die, so the Klingons say.
xxXXxx
Albus was sitting in his office going over the paperwork for the new term when a snowy white owl flew in his window. Looking over the owl, he seemed to remember Harry having an owl similar to this one. Wondering if his favorite student wrote him a letter he looked to the legs of the owl. There was no letter, but there was a muggle newspaper.
Curious as to why he was being delivered a muggle paper, he carefully took the paper that was dropped on his desk. It wasn't tied on by anyone? So, the bird took it upon itself to bring him the paper? Now he's a bit nervous. This seems out of sorts.
Unrolling the paper, the first thing he noticed was it wasn't the whole paper. Only the obituary section. The second thing he looked at was the date, a week ago. What? Looking up to the owl with confusion, what is looking at? What is he supposed to read? The owl hooted and hopped on his wrist before pecking at the paper laid across his desk. Albus looked to where the owl pecked and lost his breath.
There, in the obituary section of a muggle newspaper, he read the two lines that would change his life forever. Harry Potter's dead. He committed suicide in his suburban home. He must have read it several times before he jumped out of his seat ran to the floo.
xxXXxx
The wizarding world held a funeral for the most famous boy who lived. The feelings of despair and true sadness overwhelmed everyone. His friends unable to hold their grief in, led the mourners in words as well as in tears. Albus presided over the funeral, wanting to give his student the best send-off, since he didn't give him the best life. The child was loved very much, how could he not see that? Why didn't he notice how the child was feeling?
He was oblivious.
They didn't know the truth. Albus couldn't tell them. He found the journal when he went to number four Privet Drive to talk to the relatives. Petunia found the boy, he could see she was fairly upset even though he knew she didn't love the boy. He found the journal under the bed in Harry's room. He cried when he read the last entry. How could Harry feel he like he wasn't loved? Albus loved him, dearly. He wasn't the only one who loved the raven haired child either.
Complete devastation.
Clutching the journal to his chest, Albus watched the mourners file away from the grave site, all but one. His friend, Severus, stood at the site just staring at the coffin. What was he thinking? Albus wondered if he should tell him and the Order the truth, but quickly brushed that thought away. This is what Harry wanted; to be at peace with himself. Who is Albus to take that away from him? Plus, the wizarding world needed to move on and prepare for war. If he told them what really happened, there would be outrage and backlash and no peace for Harry or for him. He loved that boy too much to do that to his memory. Harry deserved better in the afterlife and maybe he didn't want to tell because he wasn't ready to face the music of what he'd done…or not done.
He's a Coward.
Albus decided this is his burden to bare alone. He didn't do right by Harry. It was his job to protect the child, and he failed, on so many levels. He didn't talk to him, he wasn't there for him and most of all…he didn't listen to him. But he's listening now. Looking back to Severus, he can imagine the man must be feeling the same way, he too vowed to protect the boy and neither of them did a good job. He learned a valuable lesson the hard way. Failure is never easy and almost always hurts.
I'm so sorry child.
Rest in Peace Harry.
XXxxXX
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