TRIGGER WARNING! Mentions of depression, self-harm, and suicide. Very dark.
She was a little first year, just as excited as the rest of them. When it was her turn to be sorted her lithe figure raced to the stool and slammed the hat on her strawberry blonde hair.
My my my, another Weasley, the hat murmured inside her head. Although there does seem to be something different about you. The hat paused for a moment. You definitely have your mother's brains and your father's courage but I do sense something else in you.
What is it? The girl asked nervously.
You have a lot of potential, the hat replied. You certainly have the potential for great things, but you also have a potential for darkness. Use your talents wisely, the sorting hat warned before it shouted Ravenclaw and the young girl rushed over to her sister's table.
Over the next few months the girl did her best to ignore what the sorting hat had told her. She studied hard and tried to live up to her parents' expectations. By the time finals approached, the girl had mostly forgotten about what the sorting hat said. Mostly.
But the thought always came back to her. Normally it was when she was at her worst. There were times when the girl would wonder if her life was ever going to amount to anything. But she always came back from these thoughts. She always remembered that the hat said she could do great things.
At school, the girl was stuck in the same pattern, day after day. Now that the school year was over, the girl hoped her life would change. And it did, just not in the way she was hoping.
Over the summer, her extended family told stories of the second wizarding war. Stories of all the exciting battles they experienced. She had heard these stories a thousand time before, but this time the girl realized something new. She realized that her life would never be as exciting their lives were. She would never be able to get the same adrenaline rush that all her parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents had gotten. The girl became jealous. She wanted her life to be more interesting. She started to seek that adrenaline rush.
During her second year at Hogwarts, the girl started to live more dangerously. She became a chaser on the Ravenclaw quidditch team. Being a chaser gave her the adrenaline she desired but it was always over too soon.
And while there were times when she was still the happy, excited girl she used to be, she started to become even more depressed. The girl's friends were constantly worried about her, but she always brushed it off by saying she was just tired.
By the time the girl was in her third year, she had become moody and even more withdrawn. She was always tired and started to eat less. The only activity she enjoyed anymore was quidditch.
But at the first quidditch game in her fourth year, the girl was hit by a bludger and dislocated her shoulder. Instead of hating the pain she felt, the girl loved it. The pain made her feel stronger and helped give her that adrenaline she was constantly seeking.
Before long, the girl began to cut herself. She would etch long streaks in her arms with a razor blade to get her adrenaline fix. But this feeling came with a cost. The girl now had dozens of horrible scars on her arms and she hated them.
The girl's family had always told her that scars were nothing to be ashamed of. A bunch of people in her family had scars. But these scars were a sign of the girl's weakness, of her failure. Her failure to reach that greatness that the sorting hat mentioned.
The poor girl became more withdrawn than ever, and by the time she reached her fifth year she had shut herself out completely.
But the girl managed to hang on. At least until May of her fifth year. That was when the workload, and stress, reached a new high. All of her teachers were piling review packet upon review packet to make sure their students were ready for the OWLs. Eventually the girl couldn't take it anymore. She wanted, she needed, out.
"Dom please! We can help!" I heard my sister cry from behind me, but I kept my eyes glued to the busy freeway below.
"No" I called back it was too late. I couldn't take it anymore. I needed out.
"Please Dom!" This time it was brother who called out to me. "You don't have to do this. Just let us help you."
"No!" I yelled back. My life could never be the way I wanted it to be and I was tired of trying to make it that way. At this point I was fighting back tears. I didn't want to spend my last moments crying. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I turned around and looked at my sister and brother one last time. And then I jumped.