A Foot of Rope
Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not a creative genius, or worth millions of dollars. So obviously I'm not J.K. Rowling.
The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
He stood shakily, head bent, knuckles going white from gripping onto the porcelain sink so tight. He tried to steady his rapid breathing. He slowly raised his head to face the mirror. The same reflection stared back at him; the messy black hair, the bright green eyes, but in a way it wasn't...him. Sure, they were his eyes, they belonged to Harry Potter- the old Harry Potter. Now they just looked like eyes. Just eyes. But wasn't that what they always were? He shook his head, feeling lost. Lost in his own body…was that possible?
He turned the metal faucet, letting the cold water hit the bottom of the sink and splatter onto his jumper. He cupped the cold water in his hands and splashed it against his pale face. He began to scrub his face, wanting to rid himself of the filth. He scrubbed harder and harder until he made his cheeks bleed, but he couldn't get rid of that dirty feeling. His entire body felt tainted.
He backed up into the side of the wall and slid down to the floor. He should be happy. He should be celebrating. He had defeated the dark side. They had won the war. He had killed Voldemort. It was all he ever wanted. It was all anyone ever wanted. So why did he feel this way?
Because you're a murderer, a voice echoed in his head. But he deserved it, didn't he? After all he did? Surely he deserved to die, after what he did to all those innocent people. You still killed someone. Thou shall not murder. The voice nagged.
The struggle to reason it all out felt like a wrestling match inside his head. He stepped out into the dark hallway and ripped a portrait off the wall. He threw it violently across the room. The portrait hit a table, splitting in two and sending glass ornaments shattering to the floor.
'WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?' He yelled loud enough for the gods to hear. 'I didn't ask to be the bloody saviour of the wizarding world!' He didn't ask for any of it, and he had paid for it with everything and everyone that he had loved.
Remus and Sirius. Gone. Hagrid, Dumbledore, McGonagall. Gone. Molly, Charlie, Fred, Percy. Gone. R... He choked back a tear. All gone.
He walked over to the broken table and picked up a picture frame among the broken glass. Tears stung his eyes as he gripped the frame tighter. He didn't ever wince in pain as the small pieces of glass embedded themselves in his palm. In fact, he didn't even notice the small trail of blood trickling down his arm. He was transfixed upon the faces in the picture. Their faces.
It's all my fault. If they hadn't come along. If I hadn't dragged them along. I should have just stayed away, gone alone. I'M the reason they're dead. I'm the reason they're all dead.
He walked to the attic with a new sense of vigour. He pocketed a coil of rope off a shelf and climbed up into the attic. He began to push all the boxes to the outskirts of the room, leaving one box in the middle of the room...one large enough to reach the rafters.
'I'm here to finish what I started.' He looked towards the heavens. 'What you started. I didn't start this.'
He stifled a manic laugh, and with that he stepped onto the box. A large cracking sound filled the dusty room, and sent him off balance. He jumped down off the box and pried it open. Inside, was the newly cracked picture of his parents.
I'll be seeing them soon anyway, he thought as he threw the picture aside. He was closing the lid just as the red book caught his attention. He pulled it out, and flicked through its crisp pages. Familiar faces smiled back at him. Faces of family, friends...lovers.
A small envelope fell out of the back of the album. He bent down and scooped up the parchment envelope, slowly breaking the seal. He pulled out the note, and flattened it against the box, revealing the minute black writing. Tears flowed freely down his face as he read the letter. When he was finished, he pocketed the letter.
I can't do this. You're right. I can't just give up this easily after what everyone's sacrificed. After everyone who's died...for me.
He ran down the attic stairs, and all the way out the door, the weight of the rope still evident in his pocket. He didn't stop running until he came to an iron gate. He pushed it open and walked in, carefully walking down the worn rock path. He stopped as he came to a newly dug grave. He knelt down in front of the tombstone, and gently placed the coil of rope next to a bouquet of hand-picked flowers. He took in a deep breath and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his jumper.
'Merlin, I need you,' he said tearily, bending in to trace his fingers over the name on the stone. G-I-N-N-Y.
A/N: So, what did you think? Please tell me. I thought it was...okay. It was my first fic, and I'm still sort of self-conscious about my writing, so I can use all the help I can get. Words of encouragement help me, you know. So please click on that little purple button! Thanks.