Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for theresnomeaning for the September Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry it's so short.
Warnings - Suicide, Alcohol Abuse.
Foolish Boy
Harry woke slowly, his head pounding, his mouth dry. His face seemed to be sticking to whatever surface he must have passed out on, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nothing mattered anymore, not really.
He sat himself up slowly, straightening his glasses. He was in the bathroom. His memory of the night before was hazy at best, but that was probably a good thing. He didn't care to remember his life now anyway. His life was done. His life was empty.
They all said it was just the beginning. He was free to live his life as he wanted. The war was over and everything could be sunshine and fucking roses. They didn't understand that Harry's life had ended with his.
"You need to stop drinking, Harry."
"You should be out, showing the world that the war didn't break you, Harry."
"I thought you were going to be an auror, Harry?"
"Why are you locking yourself away, Harry?"
They asked question after question, wanted, expected him to say he'd get his shit together and be the hero the wizarding world wanted him to be. Well, fuck them.
Harry had done as they'd wanted. He'd done as they'd expected. And it cost him everything.
They'd carry on without him, he knew. It wouldn't take long and they'd forget all about him and get on with post-war life. Then he'd be free and clear to drink himself into oblivion and forget. Forget the war. Forget the death. Forget him.
Except the whisky didn't work. Nor did Vodka, or Rum, or Brandy for that matter. Nothing could make Harry forget him. He was a constant, always on Harry's mind, always in his thoughts, always in his dreams. And nightmares.
"Look at me..."
The words haunted Harry. He heard them everywhere. In his kitchen, in the living room, in his bedroom. He heard them when it was silent, and he heard them in a crowd.
He couldn't rid himself of them. In all honesty, he wasn't altogether sure he wanted too.
They were all that was left of the life he could have had, of the life he should have had.
Time passed, and Harry drank. His friends stopped coming, the mail lessened to the point of almost nothing. He didn't know about the Prophet, he didn't receive it, but he imagined he was now yesterdays news. It was better that way, he was sure. It would hurt less.
He didn't want to hurt anyone, of course.
He just couldn't do it anymore.
The poison was easy to procure, he still lived in a Black property after all, and it didn't hurt.
He sat in the armchair, the bottle still held loosely in his hand, his eyes on the fire. He didn't feel the warmth. He was frozen, though it wasn't painful, and he could feel the life draining from him as the seconds ticked by.
And then he blinked.
And he wasn't alone.
"You're a foolish boy, Harry," Severus murmured quietly, pulling Harry up from his seat. Glancing behind him, Harry wasn't surprised to see his body remained in the chair.
"You're here. I'm not that foolish," Harry replied, finding the comfort he'd lacked in Severus' arms. "I love you."
"I love you too. Come on," Severus said, holding Harry tightly.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"You won't leave me?"
"Never again."