He wasn't bad, he knew what bad was and he wasn't bad. He didn't know why his parents thought he was bad: but, than again, he didn't know why his parents didn't hold him or look at him like they did his brother.
He didn't know why anyone didn't look at him, like they looked at his brother.
He needed to know why they thought he was bad -why they didn't love him- because he- he just needed to know. It was like when he was reading one of the many books on the lower shelves in the library (he couldn't reach the top) and he wanted to know why magic worked like it did: Why there were rules.
It was all very confusing.
He didn't want to do it;he couldn't even look at the knife in his hand, but he had to know. He had to fix it. He found out a way to be loved again, to stop being seen as bad although it would hurt a lot.
It was the only thing he could concentrate on and he had tried everything else. Everyday a little mantra would go round in his head "Be good. Be good" but it never worked. He was always…alone.
In a way it had led him here. He was always good at lurking in the shadows and being quite. He has overheard a lot of conversation; some , he didn't understand, after all adults were weird.
Some however, made perfect sense. Like how Daddy explained to his Brother that his Grandparents ,and all of the Potter family, were always watching over us all and knew whatever we did (so he should always be good, because someone is always around) and how when you die you go to them; like Quaffle -his brothers dog who died recently.
He also knew how you died, all you have to do is make yourself bleed form the wrist by cutting yourself. He knew that because his Mommy told his Daddy that's how some women she knew died.
She was very sad then, it was weird because she never cries.
So that's why he was here, in his bedroom that looked the same (although a lot shabbier) when he was one. With cartoon pealing wallpaper and worn out curtains. The cracks in the window let through a draft, and the beaten wood in the room made the room abandoned. A bed that'stood in the middle of the room ;the bad had pale colored sheet covers out of place in a boy's room, but it was the only thing that made the room look lived in.
It was also currently was he was sat on.
He took a deep breath and raised the knife slowly to his left wrist.He cut down hard in the skin and watch in amazement how the blood quickly flowed out ,staining the sheet a dark red. Tears flowed down his pale face as pain flowed through him. He nearly dropped the knife in shock put pulled it together and did the same to his right wrist. He slowly watched his blood pour out and spread across the sheets. It seemed to male a pattern on his bed and he hopes the house elfs that looked after him would be able to get it out.
It hurt so badly though and tears were slowly missing in with the blood on the sheets. His breathing was getting erratic now and panic was seeping in. He was sobbing now asweL,l he couldn't concentrate ,the pain was filling his entire body.
The room was getting Fuzzy now; he slowly closed his eyes, trying to get away from the pain. The last thing he heard was the thud, thud, thud of the blood dripping down onto the shabby carpet below.
Thud
Thud
Thud
Silence