Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Franchise belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter I: Attempt
He had to do it now. The trip to the Burrow took place today. If he went along with the rest... then he wouldn't be able to do it again.
He stood on top of the balcony, over-looking the vast expanses of the Forbidden Forest and the lake that housed the giant squid; glittering as if a thousand, sparkling diamonds were spread out on its surface, scattering about the first rays of morn.
A soft wind caressed his cheeks and pressed down on his rounded glasses, making sure that they wouldn't fall off and drop the long, long way down to the grounds below. The only thing that obstructed his own fall was a small stone railing that barely grasped his waist and felt as though it would give out at the first shove.
It would be so effortless. So simple to just put one leg over the other and finally fly without a broom out into the morning sky. He would be able to see his mother and father, Cedric, Sirius...
He gave a sigh.
Why wasn't he jumping?
One would think that he would imagine the sadness of his friends and those that he practically considered family if he were to die... but that just wasn't right. He knew in his heart that it wasn't the sorrow that was stopping him in this moment of indecision. He loved Ron and Hermione dearly but he would do what must be done, this was his choice and his alone.
If not friends and family, then maybe love? But that couldn't be it either. Cho... it just wasn't meant to be, if he had feelings for her then they had vanished in the wake of the Battle at the Department of Mysteries and DADA's betrayal by Cho's friend that she had vouched for. Ginny though... who was he kidding? It would be a miracle for anything to happen on that front.
A moment of lightning came over him. He thought that he finally got the answer. He hesitated because of Voldemort, who should by all accounts be one of the reasons why he needed to put one shoe over the other and fling himself off of one of Hogwarts' tallest towers.
A common barrow owl flew off in the distance, the only source of movement in the otherwise tranquil morning. He could be free. No responsibilities, no more fights to the death, no prophecies, no Chosen One, no more... no more having to witness those close to him murdered in cold blood.
He took a hold of the plain stone railing and lifted his right foot.
How many would follow him to his death?
He stopped cold. If he gave up now; many others, unquestionably including the Weasleys, would face torture and death. Magical Britain would be ruled by a tyrannical Dark Lord that would kill muggles by the thousands and cause untold pain and suffering. And of course, a school-boy was the one that was needed to stop the blood-thirsty psychopath.
Screw them.
He lifted himself up and had both of his feet planted on the narrow stone railings. He swayed slightly in the wind. One strong gust of air and... that would be the end of the-boy-who-lived.
He wondered if many people had jumped off of the school's towers in the past – If he would be unique in his death or just one of many. As his stare set upon the first smoke escaping the chimney of Hagrid's Hut, he realised that he wasn't sure which statement he would prefer more.
He just stood there, feeling the unending pressure barrelling into his form but his body didn't budge an inch. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he just... jump? Was he scared?
Then he would have to fall.
He spread his arms out, welcoming the silent applause of fallen Death Eaters and others who had long desired his death. He closed his eyes to the everlasting darkness that was always there when he woke and when he fell to inciting sleep and took in his last sharp breath of air. Now slowly, as if he was walking – he lifted his left foot forward...
A gale slammed into him, making him lose his balance and fall. His eyes flew open and he screamed at the sudden movement. The world moved at a snail's pace as he fell through the empty air, hands outstretched, his fingers curling around something to catch onto.
Within moments that had seemed an eternity, his back crunched against the stone work of the ancient balcony sending angry pulses all across his arms and back.
He closed his eyes and relaxed. Not today. Maybe not ever. Definitely not by jumping off of Hogwarts' tallest tower on the eve of morning. He shuddered. To think that if he had actually jumped, then the gale would have had him decorating the walls of the tower with every ounce of his blood as he would have undoubtedly crashed into the structure a half-dozen times while flailing to the ground.
He lost track of time before the school's bell gave seven gongs, heralding the coming of the sun. He would need to smile at Hermione's face and Ron's pointed looks and pretend that there was nothing going on – that there was nothing wrong with him.
It is not as if he had a half-filled letter that he had written with a short message to everybody that he cared about sitting in his robe. He pulled out his wand and had an Incendio on the tip of his tongue when he realised that he didn't have the letter on him. It was gone.
He jumped up and rushed off to the Gryffindor dorms as fast as his feet could take him, the worst scenarios already filling up his mind. He would arrive too late – Ron would be slack-jawed, Hermione would cry rivers of tears and by the end of the day everybody would know of his suicide attempt. This was the last thing that he needed. He could already imagine the Daily Prophet's headlines:
'The Fallen One'
'The Boy-Who-Learned-To-Fly'
'Suicide at Hogwarts!'
This would be balanced out with the Quibbler talking about Dark Unicorns in the Balkans and the Snut-Mused Barrs that had been spotted in Gottjland. Even if Dark Unicorns were unlikely to exist and Gottjland could only be gotten to by flying on a goose – it would still be better to read than the front page that his letter would garner if it fell into the wrong hands. It would be a down-right disaster, especially if Skeeter set her nose to it. Fifth year would have nothing on this.
Why did he even decide to attempt the bloody thing? He blamed the stupid magical tales that Hermione had him read to calm him down after the whole Unbreakable Vow incident. Like that plan didn't totally backfire. He slowed down as he approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
He whispered as loudly as he dared at the snoring Fat Lady, realising that most Gryffindors were still asleep in bed, "Griffin's Roost!"
The Fat Lady yawned and waved her hand before swinging open for him to enter. He was glad that she was drifting off and muttering about annoying early-risers.
He hurried past the common room, leaping up to the landing of the sixth year dorms and quietly entering the room. Ron's snoring drowned out any footsteps that he made and it looked like everybody was still asleep. He quickly tip-toed over to the lying parchment on his desk.
"What are you doing up so early, 'Arry?" Neville moaned.
By Morgana's... it was too early to swear. How could he forget that Neville was a light sleeper?! It was frankly a miracle that he could sleep with Ron's snores at all, never mind hear anything else.
"Shhh. Sleep, Neville, sleep. Everything's alright. I just needed to use the loo."
"Oh," and Neville dropped down dead in slumber – a Gryffindor through and through.
Wiping out the imagined sweat that literally couldn't be achieved in this freezing weather, his hand extended past the scuffs of the Weasley Jumper that he was wearing and tightly gripped the offending piece of parchment. He pulled it open.
It was empty.
He fell heavily onto his seat by the window. He had walked into his own Shock Rune as Hermione would say after losing an argument in one of her Rune classes by giving her opponent the ammunition that they so strived for.
It was empty.
Pitter-Patter. Pitter-Patter. The first drops of a light drizzle started coating the outside window glass in drops of liquid water. His corpse would have been drenched in rainwater to the bone. Somehow dying did not seem as appealing anymore.
It was empty.
That meant that someone had found the original. But who? There was no one in the common room and Ron and Neville were both asleep in the early hours of the winter holidays, Dean and Seamus having left earlier for home.
He covered his face with his hands.
It was empty.
He needed to get out. Wait for this to blow over. He would not be able to stand Hermione's and Ron's looks. Or that of the twins. Or Cho. Or anyone for that matter. He could hide out in Grimmauld Place-
His heart valve painfully constricted. No, too many memories.
He needed to leave. He needed to leave the country. At least for a week to let the steam blow off. He had never done this before and some would call this extreme but the fallout from this... it would be the Chamber of Secrets on muggle steroids but even Dumbledore's influence wouldn't help him here.
He brought out some ink and his eagle-feathered quill – a gift of Hermione's for last Christmas. He dipped in the quill and then blankly stared at the parchment. Who should he write? Sirius was –
He bit his tongue. He knew nobody on the mainland. He had never even left the United Kingdom. He racked his brain until a figurative lumos lit itself over his head. Fourth year. The Tri-Wizard Tournament. He could write Fleur or Victor, their correspondence was lacking anyways and he hadn't written them ever since Umbridge had taken over Hogwarts as her own personal playground.
Victor Krum had just finished schooling in Durmstang and would be busy with the Quidditch winter season training so he wouldn't do considering they would be travelling around a lot in frequently rough weather, constantly moving in-between countries and he would perpetually get in the way and just be a nuisance.
Fleur Delacour on the other hand, lived in London and was now engaged with Bill Weasley and if he moved in with her, the Weasleys would definitely find out where he was. Then again, it was better than staying at Hogwarts. Anything was better than staying at Hogwarts right now.
He got to work writing a simple letter, messing up and staining ink blots here and there from the hurried writing:
Dear Fleur,
Hey, its me Harry. A thing has come up and I need a place to stay at for a while. Think you can help?
A loud snore broke his concentration. He gave Ron a glance before quickly scribbling down the last line.
Post Scriptum. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Bill or the Weasleys!
The snoring stopped. Harry bolted in his seat to gaze at Ron, parchment twisting so that the words were upside down. The snoring started again. Harry let out a breath that he hadn't know that he had taken. It was a false alarm.
Noticing the upside down parchment but not caring in his haste; he folded it, stuck it in an envelope, addressed it to Fleur and was off to the Owlery before you could say, "The Morning Post". He was ready to avert a disaster in the making.