Title: So Long And Goodnight
Author: TearsOfEcstasy (why, that's me!)
Summary: Harry's been tormented for a long, long time. His mind haunts him, it mocks him, it pains him. And one day, he decides to end it. Sitting in the hospital wing, on his deathbed he's confronted by those he loves the most. Will it be enough to convince him to live?
Rating: PG-13... I think. I dunno. Whatever.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by people who happened to not be me... the only thing I own is the story line!
A/N: Yes. My first slash. I'm a big fan of Ron/Harry slashes, so here's one for all you RWHP lovers. I feel I should warn you, it's not full on, guy on guy action. There's a little affection between the two throughout the better part of the story. At the end it's a bit more open, but there isn't any full on hardcore, X-Rated stuff (Or any R-Rated stuff for that matter) in this story.
There is a bit of an AU though, this takes place after the 5th book. Not the sixth. Um, yeah. This is pretty much writing it's self... I think I might make a sequel, but perhaps Harry's story has already been told. I don't really know. It all depends on if I'm pleased with the closure.
I tried to avoid cliches, but I'm afraid that this is still severely cliched. -sigh- Well, I tried, now didn't I?
This story is actually the longest one-shot I think I've ever written. Which I suppose is good. Normally, I would break this story down, but it felt better if I just left it all together. Also, this is some of my best writing. I've grown a lot as a writer in the time that I've been writing this. So, yay for me. I've had a lot of fun writing this, especially the flashbacks. Those are really fun. The dreams, were my favorite though. I wrote those while listening to a non-stop feed of My Chemical Romance, The Used and The White Stripes. (This song is named after a line from Helena, overused but a good song all the same). I think they're all pretty much in character, let me know if it feels otherwise.
God it's taking me a long time to edit this, but it will be put up eventually!
I went through three different titles (Beautiful Pills, Sweet Dreams and Suicide Valley) before coming to this, and I think I like it. Well, I hope you guys do too!
"Why'd you do it, Harry? Why'd you do it?"
Why must she ask that question? Why must they all? But he supposed he had best grace her with an answer, only because she was one of his best friends. "Because. I want this shit to end." Harry moaned for the thousandth time. He hardly had the strength to move, and his head was pounding. But it would all be over very soon. Hermione started crying all over again. Harry didn't mean for her to cry, but she kept doing it whenever he answered any of her bloody questions. He was getting sick of it. If she was going to ask a question, she'd better be prepared for the answer. "What shit?" She whimpered, her lip quivering as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Honestly, what a stupid question. Especially from Hermione. What shit? All the shit! But he didn't get angry with her, in stead he simply said, "Everything." Three... two... one. He counted silently. She started bawling. He was getting good at this. "Why? Why?" Came her muffled sobs.
Wouldn't that be the question?
Why had perfect little Harry Potter decided to slit his wrists and swallow a bottle of pills, so now he was laying in the hospital wing, dying? Why hadn't he told anyone he was feeling so alone? Why hadn't someone been there for him? All the shit that came with a suicide and a bag of chips. Bleh. He had an answer. Not like he was going to tell anyone.
"So, it is true."
Right on cue there Draco. Now, someone had come who would scoff and spit on his grave properly. Instead of cry over his bedside like Hermione, or stand in silence like Neville, or sit in the corner staring at him coldly like Ron.
"Ickle 'Arry Potty couldn't take it, could he? Slit his wrists, did he? Washed down the pain with a muggle potion, did he?" Malfoy laughed. A gleam of happiness shone in his eyes. Just how he'd imagined Malfoy's reaction. Happiness, and mockery. All at once. A new low for any other person, but it was only the usual from the boy who had held so much hatred for him all his life. "Yeah. He did." Harry said cooly. Draco raised his eyebrow, obviously he wasn't expecting that type of reaction. His look spelt it all. He thought that Harry was a nutter.
Then again, he was.
"So, when's ickle Potty's miraculous recovery going to happen? Then you'll get to be The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. Won't that be nice? More media attention for little 'Arry. Isn't that just what you need, Potty!" Malfoy jeered, trying a fresh new approach. Media attention. A tad cliche for Draco, but a nice try. But somewhere he had been misinformed. There was no miraculous recovery, no happy ending in his future. He was going to die. Just like he had intended. What else was suicide meant for, besides a way to die? "No, I think they take that title away when you die." Harry said with just a hint of sarcasm. The gleam in Malfoy's eyes seemed to shrink. It seemed he'd let the air out of Malfoy's balloon.
Harry would have smiled if he had the energy left.
The Night Before...
"Ickle Potty, how can he even eat in the same room as us? I mean, it's truly an honor and all, but shouldn't he sit up next to Dumbledore?"
"Oh no, he's too good for Dumbledore!"
"Not too good, too crazy!"
"No one is too crazy for Dumbledore!"
The entire Slytherin table laughed at that last jeer. It was an enormous eruption of laughter that even a few rather malicious Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws added their two cents to. Fortunately, none of the Gryffindors did anything more than scoff. Well, save Ginny. Who yelled angrily back "Your nothing but a bunch of trolls!" But the Slytherin's had been expecting this, she said it everyday, and retorted "Like you're not dressed like one!"
Harry cringed.
He wanted to sock them all. Send them reeling so hard they'd never speak ill about the Weasley's, or Dumbledore, or anyone ever again. But he couldn't, all he could do was silently push around the noodles in his soup. He felt so weak. So stupid for being weak. "Hey mate, look on the bright side." Ron said with false cheerfulness. Yeah. That was Ron for you. Harry might have believe him, if Ron had believed himself. "What bright side?" He muttered pushing away his plate. He wasn't hungry. All he wanted to do was go up to his room and sleep. Or pretend to sleep. For he never really slept anymore. He couldn't sleep, because at night was the only time he could spend alone. And sometimes you needed to be alone.
Lately, Harry needed to be alone a lot. He hadn't been feeling quite right since Sirius died... he thought he was just grieving until the week before.
He'd cut his palm on a broken glass at Sunday dinner. And as he walked into the Hospital Wing he suddenly had a realization. If he hadn't come here, he would have bled to death.
But that wasn't the strange part.
That night, he'd taken out his quill. He stared at it in the moonlight for a minute. It was new. Never been dipped in ink. And that's what made it perfect. He pressed it against his wrist, he paused, fully enjoying the pressure in his wrist. He pressed it down harder, it felt almost like a pinching. But no blood flowed, he looked away before slowly dragging it across his skin. He couldn't look at what he was doing. It was so taboo. So forbidden, so strange to him that he could barely believe he was doing it. Making himself bleed. But when he opened his eyes he only saw a white line across his pale skin. He set his quill again, praying for the courage to press down harder. But that night he didn't have it.
The next night he did.
It was a strange sensation. He liked it very much. It was like skirting death, but he never did bleed too badly. He'd watch the blood flow for a minute. Then he'd just wrap it up and go back to his rest. That's what he called it. Because it really wasn't sleep. It was... a series of nightmares that he woke from incessantly. And in the morning, if Ron saw the thin line he'd make up a story about something happening in potions, or at Quidditch practice, or in care of magical creatures. He wasn't all that sure Ron believed him, but he never pressed the subject.
And that Harry was thankful for.
"I'm not really sure." Ron admitted. Harry nodded, standing up from the table. ("Oh look, Potty's too good for our food now.") It was all he wanted to go upstairs and bleed. But he knew he'd have to wait. "Harry, you haven't eaten at all." Hermione said, not even looking up from her book. Couldn't she put it down for just a minute? Maybe he wouldn't have ended up this way if she actually looked at him once in awhile. "Well, I'm not hungry." He muttered, stalking away from the table. He really wasn't hungry. But he never was anymore.
Why couldn't they all just leave him alone? Wouldn't it have been for the better?
Probably.
"Hey! Harry! Wait up!" Ron called, just as he always did. He would follow Harry upstairs, and he wouldn't get to be alone.
But he needed to be alone.
"Where you going, mate?"
Apparently, he was the only one that thought so.
"What's wrong with Harry?" The walls seemed to whisper... whisper and mock him so. Everything mocked him. The ceiling laughed at his weakness. And the floor hissed horrible names. "What's wrong with Harry?" the walls asked again. They were the loudest. But then he realized that those were just the calls from the students on the other side. Naturally they would be interested in gawking at him, laying there, dying at his own hands. It was just human nature. He didn't blame them, he'd be interested in his death if he was them. "Out! Everyone out!" Madame Pomfrey blustered, practically shoving a large group of gawking visitors out the door. He didn't even know half of them. He recognized a few faces, but only a few people he could actually call friends. Not many though. But still, "No... let some of them stay." Harry called hoarsely. He wanted someone to talk to in his final hour. He didn't like being alone in the day as much as he did at night. But at night he felt different. It was like another part of him awakened. A beast of some sort. One who found sadistic pleasure in it's own pain.
Madame Pomfrey starred down at him. Considering his request. He could tell she was torn between his request, and her sanity. "Very well. Pick who you'd like to stay while I get the curtains." She said curtly. It was obvious she wasn't too pleased, but had granted him a dying wish. He almost felt happy. "Luna, Ginny, Neville, 'Mione and Ron." He called hoarsely. His throat was aching, and he could hardly breath. He was surprised he could speak at all. His chest was closing up on him... he knew the end was coming. "No, too many." Madame Pomfrey said sternly. She came over to his bedside. "Sit up, if you can." She directed. He tried to pull himself forward, but as he did his head started spinning. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steading him as she propped him up with several pillows. "What if they didn't come in all at once? Like in groups?" He asked, straining his voice to be audible as she crossed the room for his curtains. Madame Pomfrey seemed ambivalent once more, she didn't want him to exert himself too much, or get upset, but at the same time she knew he'd be happier if he had a visitor. Reluctantly, she nodded. Harry silently cheered. That was something worth living just a little longer for. Not surviving for, but living a bit longer for. "But the Weasley's and your Aunt and Uncle were contacted. In fact, the Weasley's should be arriving by floo any minute." She reminded him as she set up the last of the curtains. They were just far enough from his bed to allow for a few chairs, but he was still masked from the outside. So people couldn't gawk like they always did. "And Professor Dumbledore also asked to see you." Madame Pomfrey continued. Harry weakly nodded. That was fine with him. "Much too many people..." She muttered, opening his curtains slightly. "Mr. Lupin, Ms. Tonks, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore will be arriving shortly." She sighed. By then she had shooed everyone away, and he was alone.
Great... he'd get some type of lecture about going on and how the world needed him and blah blah blah from this group. And Mrs. Weasley would start crying, Fred and George would say some lame jokes and Dumbledore would be disappointed.
As usual.
But he could imagine the Dursley's would be thrilled. He could imagine it right then...
"Vernon! Great news! I just received a bloody owl from that... that school!" Uncle Vernon would be confused on how that could be "great". But he'd bustle into the kitchen as best he could and say "What do you mean Petunia dear?" He'd asked, glancing at the bird on the window sill. It'd be a barn owl who'd get feathers all over the place when he cleaned his wings. Uncle Vernon would try to shoo it away but it'd just hop out of reach. After several tries at wringing it's neck, Aunt Petunia would chime in joyously, "The boy swallowed a bunch of pills and is about to kick the bucket!" He could imagine the look of joy on his uncle's face so clearly he could almost heart him say "The boy killed himself? Not that Voldiewort?" Aunt Petunia would nod happily, putting some tea on. "Isn't that just great!" She'd cry, kissing her husband squarely on the cheek. "Great? That's the best news I've heard since Dudley came home for the holidays! Speaking of which, where is the little tyke? Dudley!" He'd call. And the stairs would creak as Dudley slowly waddled down the steps. "What?" He'd ask stupidly as he plopped down on one of the dining chairs, which was much too small for his fat arse. The barn owl would hoot angrily for he was waiting for a reply. Aunt Petunia would scowl and scribble down a little note on paper reading something along the lines of "Sell the boy's stuff and send us the money. None of those weird little coins either. Real money. Bury his body there. We don't want it." as her husband cried happily "Harry's gonna kick the bucket!". Aunt Petunia would shoo the owl out as her son said in his usual half-witted manor "Can I have my room back?"
They wouldn't bother to come if that's what Madame Pomfrey thought. They'd be throwing a party in celebration. Not that he cared. He didn't want his dead corpse anywhere near their slimy, filthy, wretched hands.
"Harry?" Tonks called softly. He looked up. Her hair was black today, cropped in a nice straight bob. Her features were straight and normal and her clothes bland. He wished she come with her usual pink hair and wild clothes, bright eyes and even a pig nose. But then again, maybe she didn't think it "respectful". But when had she ever cared about being respectful? "Wotcher, Harry." She smiled weakly, sitting on his left. Behind her was McGonagall who's usual stern mouth had been replaced with a frown and gentle, watery eyes. "Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore will be in shortly, Harry." Lupin said gingerly as he sat by his bedside. Harry nodded weakly. He mentally braced himself for whatever they were going to say as the door flew open and Hagrid came stumbling in. He was crying and puffy eyed and over all looked like a mess. He was carrying a swashed box of tissues with him as well, and it looked like several more in his pockets. Following him was Dumbledore who carried himself with his usual grace and air. But the twinkle in his eyes were gone and instead replaced with a sad glimmer. "Hello Harry." Dumbledore said softly, sitting at the very end of his bed. He did not meet Harry's eyes, instead he looked very intently at Lupin, who was sweating nervously next to Harry. "You know Harry... I tried to kill myself once." He said quietly.
Harry allowed himself to feel shocked, only because he was so unprepared for something like that. He'd been expecting the usual lecture "You have to fight!" "Everything's gonna be okay!" "Don't worry! Be happy!" and shit like that not "I tried to kill myself." Especially not from Lupin.
"Yes. It was just after we had left Hogwarts for our fourth summer. I was fifteen and careless." He said with a hint of a laugh. "One month... well, I didn't track the moon properly, and I forgot to lock the door to my room that night and I left the window open. My mom and dad had done everything to ensure that when I was a werewolf I couldn't get out and bite my sister or little brother. They made sure I knew it wasn't a punishment, and that I understood it was a precaution. Which I understood, but I took for granted that they would always remind me. My sister was getting married and my brother had been sick, I should have known to track the moon myself-"
Harry noticed McGonagall tap Lupin's hand as he tearfully recalled his blunder. Lupin seemed to tense up, realizing that he had been ranting. He dispelled tears from his eyes as he continued once more,
"That night, I got out of my room and bit someone. My dad's business partner, who was a house guest at the time. My dad had his memory erased and it was all fine and dandy, but something else happened. My baby brother, who was three at the time, had been up with my sister. She'd been downstairs reading him a story for he couldn't go to sleep. After biting Mr. Thompson, I crept down the stairs and pounced on them. I didn't bite them, thankfully, but I scarred her face pretty badly. Sure we fixed it with a bit of tonic and a trip to St. Mungos, but it was the principle. I'd hurt my own older sister. Who'd cared for me when I was sick with fever, who'd read me stories when I couldn't get to sleep. She kept saying it wasn't my fault, and that I shouldn't blame myself. And I might not have felt so bad if Todd hadn't been there. Until he was seventeen he was terrified of me. He thought I was going to pounce at any moment, so that summer I moved out into the garage. I didn't go near the house, for fear of seeing Todd cry when I walked into the room."
Harry listened in awe. He didn't know what to think. Lupin had actually bitten someone. He'd actually bitten another human. He could barely comprehend it.
"That's when I finally cracked. I realized I'd made my parent's lives a living hell, so I took my dad's belt and tried to hang myself." Lupin's voice cracked with emotion. Harry didn't want to press him. He'd said enough. He wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn't have to tell him. Harry knew he wasn't ready to talk to anyone, and Lupin certainly didn't want to. It wasn't like they had some "suicide bond" or anything cheesy like that. He was still Harry. And Lupin was still Lupin. Not much of a change. Save Harry's new respect for him.
"My sister came in with my dinner. She talked me out of it. Made me realize it would only get worse for them if I killed myself."
Harry finally looked up at Lupin for the first time since he started. The man was silently crying as he reached out and put his hand on Harry's. "This isn't the answer." He smiled. It looked odd, that Lupin was smiled softly as tears ran down his face.
Harry almost believed him.
"'m so s'rry 'Arry! I didn' kno' ye were feel'ng like tha'! I didn' kno'! I shou'dn' 'ave been so stupid!" Hagrid's blubbering broke in. McGonagall took him by the arm into the hall to calm down. Harry felt bad for making Hagrid cry, but he'd be happier later. Harry knew he would be. He'd written a small will, Hedwig was soon to be Hagrid's. He knew how much he loved the snowy bird, how well he'd take care of it. He wouldn't leave it to anyone else.
Now, he was left with only Tonks, Dumbledore and Lupin. Harry didn't expect Lupin to talk anymore, it sounded much too painful for him. The werewolf now refused to meet anyone's gaze, and he was muttering softly to himself and breathing shallowly. He felt sorry for him, wishing he had more to leave him besides the Marauder's map. Being the only one of the Marauder's left that wasn't under the service of the dark lord, it seemed fit that he received it.
Tonks cleared her throat loudly, but didn't speak. And Dumbledore stared at a paper in his lap.
He kind of wished they'd all just go away...
But he'd be gone soon, so he might as well spare a minute his time.
"Harry... when you recover, would you like to come with me to visit my brother? He plays Quidditch. A real nice bloke. He's been dying to meet you." Tonks offered half heartedly. Harry nodded, knowing he wouldn't live to see the night of tomorrow.
He expected Dumbledore to say any minute "I'd like to speak to Harry alone." But he didn't, instead he said, "Harry, if you let yourself die, Voldemort will win. You spent all these years fighting him, only to let him over power you?"
Harry shook his head. They just didn't understand.
No one did.
"Harry, mate, you want to play chess? Or exploding snap? Or- Hey! Look! A package from the twins!" Ron said, shoving a brown parcel under his nose. Harry shook his head. He was tired of Ron's endless suggestions. Play a game! Read a book! Study! Bleck! He didn't see why he just couldn't be left alone to wallow in his own misery, but Ron didn't seem to want him to. He had half a mind to scream "Fuck off! I want to go to bed!" but he wasn't really in the mood to deal with a hurt and angry Ron Weasley. Or Hermione the shrink. Her new title. For the past week she'd been hassling him, "How do you feel? Are you alright?" Of course he wasn't! "Really, Ron, I'm thrilled." His voice dripped in sarcasm, but Ron wasn't the least bit hurt or offended.
"Well, you know you do have a test tomorrow." Hermione's voice was icy, but there was a touch of concern in her words. But Harry shrugged it off, he'd learned to do that over time. "I'll fail like I always do." Ron said unhappily, plopping down on a neighboring chair. Finally, the conversation was going somewhere, away from him. Maybe he could slip away from them, go to the dorm without them noticing. "Yeah, yeah." Harry moaned, making a move to head to his dorm, but unfortunately Ginny blocked his way this time. "Tea?" She asked politely, holding out a steaming pot that looked to have come from the kitchen. This was only reassured by the appearance of Dobby, "Harry Potter is doing well?" He asked excitedly, how many hats was he wearing? A dozen? Maybe more. "Yes, Dobby, I'm fine." Fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. That's what fine really stands for. "Dobby is glad to see that Harry Potter is doing well. Dobby has missed Harry Potter very much." Dobby said, with his hands behind his back. "Well... I've missed you too Dobby." It was a lie, sort of. He did miss Dobby a bit... but he wasn't all that eager for him to save his life again. Unfortunately, he forgot he wasn't suppose to compliment Dobby. He gasped loudly, exclaiming, "Dobby has never been missed before!" and promptly started sobbing into his oversized gym shorts Harry had given him as a gift the week earlier. He probably should have given him some tissues too. "Well, Dobby, I've missed you too. I just wish you'd ask for more pay." Hermione said gently. "Dobby has been missed twice!" He sobbed. "Thrice." Ron sighed. "Harry Potter's Wheezy has missed Dobby too! Dobby is sad he did not bring gifts!" Hermione took Dobby over to the corner, probably talking to him about SPEW again. When would she give that up?
But at least Dobby had done something right. He now had a chance to slip away, but he forgot that Ginny was still there. He promptly walked into her tray of tea, nearly spilling the lot. But she didn't seem to mind."Tea?" She asked again. He sighed. Couldn't they all just fuck off? He asked for the millionth time that night.
All the same, he took the tea and sat back on the couch next to Ron. "Ah, a Weasley woman's tea is not of this world." He sighed, taking a cup for himself. Steam rose from either cup gently as Ron took a sip. Ginny nodded, but he couldn't help but notice her smug look at Hermione.
He sniffed the tea, nothing too different. It smelled a bit sweet, but could that be what Ron was referring to? Probably. Ron had a love for sugar that was simply unnatural at times.
"Dobby must be going now, Harry Potter. Dobby hopes Harry Potter likes his Wheezy's tea." Harry nodded, sipping the liquid as Dobby retreated out the portrait hole. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. But after the first few sips he realized that there was something very different about the tea. A warm sleepiness was beginning to wash over him for the first time since Sirius's death. His eyes fluttered open and close... as visions splattered in front of him, Mum and dad... Professor Lupin... Sirius... Dumbledore... Mr. And Mrs. Weasley... Hermione... Ginny... the twins... Bill... Charlie... Tonks... Hagrid... Ron... Dobby... "What's in this stuff?" He moaned, fall into the arm of the couch in exhaustion. "Oh... just a little pinch of this and that. Mum's secret recipe. Ensures a good night's sleep." Ginny smiled at Hermione.
He felt himself jolt. How dare they! He wanted to scream! They had no right to take away his alone time! The only time he really felt alive!
"Why'd you do that?" He yawned, he would have screamed, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Hermione looked at Ron, he looked a bit panicked but it didn't seem to affect her. "Ron said you'd been having nightmares, screaming in your sleep, falling out of bed. He said he once found you up with your arm bleeding." Hermione said gently, pulling a blanket over him. Ron seemed to mouth, "Sorry mate." Harry had half a mind to tell them he did it on purpose, but realized they'd know he was psycho if he said so. So he let the tea's effects wash over him.
Tomorrow night he'd bleed a little extra though.
"Headmaster, the Weasley's are here. They seem a bit peaky. I think we'd best let them in." Madame Pomfrey said as she passed by. Harry's heart sank. They came? Oh he didn't want them to... He didn't want them to see him like this. In his last hour, barely able to stand, unable to breath, paining himself with every movement. He was so weak, so fragile. Mrs. Weasley would hardly be able to stand it. "Yes, that's a good idea, Poppy. Just give Harry a little rest before they come in. He's definitely going to be exerting himself, you know how tight Molly's hugs the poor boy whenever he's ill." Dumbledore chuckled, motioning for Tonks and Lupin to follow him. "Bye, Harry." They said quietly, and there was a scrapping of chairs as they left. Finally! They were gone!
But before he could celebrate his aloneness Madame Pomfrey swooping down and began to check his vitals again. "Oh dear, you are having a time breathing." She said in worry. She waved her wand, and then he suddenly felt air pulsing in his lungs. True, it was more pleasant. But it was keeping him alive. Tied to the world. But he might as well let them try to keep him here, he was going to die soon anyways. "Can you feel this, dear?" She asked, putting pressure on his calf. He felt a tingle, but that was it. He suspected it was from the blood loss. He had been unconscious, bleeding for quite a while after all. He shook his head, a worried look crossed her face. She looked over the vials in the potions cabinet, examining each one before picking up one made of yellow glass. It was smaller than the others, but he suspected it to be stronger. He could already smell it, and he hadn't even opened it. "Drink this, it'll restore some feeling to your limbs. I'll call the Weasley's in when you've finished." She handed him a small vial before closing his curtains.
He held the vial up the light, staring at it. Here was his chance to live, to breath with ease, to stop his vivid nightmare and to go back to normality.
But he couldn't do that.
His hands shook as he opened it, and gently poured it out by his bedside. He wasn't going to be saved. He wasn't going to be the hero. He was going to die, just like he was suppose to. He put the cap back on, and placed it on his table. He took his wand in his trembling hand, "Scourgify." He mumbled, and the liquid disappeared.
The evidence was gone.
"Are you alright dear? A bit nauseous perhaps?" She asked, putting her palm to his profusely sweating cheeks. He was sweating, and yet he was so cold. He was shivering horribly and he felt as if there was a draft of arctic air blowing in on his bed. He shook his head, he wasn't nauseous. At least, not yet. She nodded, moving to her closet again.
He was so cold... and the sheets were so thin. He looked up at Madame Pomfrey with an open mouth, but she looked busy, and she probably had a lot on her mind. Besides, he was probably just imagining it. He curled into a tighter ball under the crisp linen. But doing so, he began to cough horribly. The bed rattled as he hacked out whatever gunk was residing in his lungs. He felt sick to the bone, but what should he have expected? Swallow three bottles of aspirin and slight your wrists, what else is going to happen?
Madame Pomfrey
She'd been a debutante of some sort in her own days, not to mention got straight "O"s on all her OWLs. She could have gone into any field, but she chose medicine. And when she was through with her studies, she chose Hogwarts, as apposed to St. Mungos. She chose it because of the students. And her love for them. But over time, they'd taken a toll on her. Her beautiful, feminine features grew older and more weathered with each new patient. Her eyes still had the spark, determination and care that they always held, but she looked more tired. Less rested. Honestly, she felt that way too. She felt like she'd had a thousand birthdays, and learned all there was to know.
And yet, she was so unprepared for what had happened today.
It'd started out normal, with a simple cup of tea. Just like always. Susan Bones had a bit of a cold, and Lauren Daniels (a small, blonde Hufflepuff first year) had spilled a bit of wart potion on herself. It seemed to be a slow day. And by nine, only Neville Longbottom had come in, aside from Susan and Lauren. But he was a usual around here, so she wasn't too worried. Not an hour later she heard screams, yells, cries, coming from the hall. She peered out to see Minerva, Severus and Dumbledore rushing up a stairwell, headed to the Gryffindor common. She didn't see why at the time, all the students were in class. But as they disappeared behind the portrait, Neville came puffing by. He looked flushed, worried, and horror stricken all at once. A strange expression to be seen. She had asked him what the matter was, expecting that his toad had died or something. And received an answer she had never expected, "I -puff- I found Harry! -puff- He was -puff- laying -puff- on his -puff- bed! His wrists -puff- were -puff- bleeding and -puff- he was -puff- holding a -puff- bottle! -puff- I think -puff- I think he might -puff- be dead!" the boy gasped, pausing every word or so for breath. Poppy felt jarred, dead? The-Boy-Who-Lived, the very hope for the world, could be dead? "What did Professor McGonagall, say?" She asked, she was a bit shaken. But she hoped it didn't show. Neville seemed reluctant to answer, for he pursed his lip and chewed his cheek, a sure sign of worry on Neville's part, but slowly said "She thinks he might have done that... to himself." And that for Poppy was all she needed to hear. There had been four suicide attempts before during her reign at Hogwarts. Only one had been successful, the other three had recovered very smoothly, and transferred to St. Mungo's psychiatry unit temporarily.
But none had been quite as famous, or popular, as Harry Potter.
Just then, Minerva came rushing down the hall with an agility Poppy had never seen out of the older woman. She slid to a halt, and leaning on the wall for support she had said quickly, "Potter tried to kill himself, get a hospital bed ready! Get something to combat blood loss! The potions master is already on his way with a fresh batch of potions!" Poppy nodded, throwing a glance at Neville, who was rushing back up the stairwell. She had readied a bed, had several potions ready, but she still felt nervous, jittery and overall, very unprepared. The feeling on increased when Harry, being levitated by Flitwick, had been brought into the small chamber. His wrists had been slit from the heel of his hand to his inner elbow, followed by several small incisions on his upper arm. Those seemed a few days old. And that's what disturbed her the most. "He was clutching this." McGonagall said, holding out a strange white bottle. The label had been torn off, but she knew what it was. Ass-pern. "Take these to Severus, have him find an antidote." She had replied as she sped the healing process of his wounds with a flick of her wand. McGonagall nodded, running out the door quickly.
After that, news spread like wildfire. Most of what she heard were lies ("Voldemort killed Harry!" "He tried to hang himself!" "He was poisoned!" "He was acting under the Imperius curse!"), but some held truth. And the students started pouring in. She had only let a few of them in, only ones she knew were his actual friends, but still Collin and Dennis Creevy had struggled to get a photo until she had the two brothers banished from the room. People kept asking her questions, but she knew it best not to answer. It would only make things worse in the end.
For nearly an hour it raged on, Harry had come about and was able to talk, but the students just kept coming! Of course, she'd had them removed from the room. They were addling his recovery severely.
In only two hours, she'd gone from spelling away little Lauren's warts, to treating Harry Potter's suicide attempt!
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, are you feeling alright? Are you cold?" Madame Pomfrey asked, bending over the shaking teen. Was he having some type of seizure? Poppy worried. The young man had curled into a small ball and was shaking horribly, not to mention the strange hoarseness in his voice. It could all be signs of an epileptic seizure. Dealt with easily, if it in fact was a seizure. But if it wasn't, then the potions and charms used in anti-seizure therapy could be potentially fatal. It was always best to know for sure. After all, it could be shock. Or hopefully, he was just a bit chilly. Well... very chilly. No one rattled their beds like that if they were only a bit chilly.
Madame Pomfrey felt heavy relief as the wizard-to-be looked up at her and nodded weakly. He looked feverish, Poppy felt so sorry for him. So sick, so weak. She knew that without a doubt she should be treating him... but a lingering question kept invading her thoughts, why had he done this to himself? And why had he used those muggle things... those pills? They had no idea how to reverse their effects! She wasn't entirely sure he was going to pull through.
She'd sent them out to the potions master, who was trying to find an antidote. But there were only a few pills left by the time Mr. Longbottom had found him, his sheets soaked in his own blood, and his stomach in knots from those damn pills. She'd heard about ass-pern her studies, but she didn't fully understand it, even after hearing about it from the muggle borns she didn't know exactly what ass-pern did.
But apparently, it killed.
She'd thought of maybe transferring him to St. Mungos. They were a bigger hospital with more staff. But she doubted they'd be able to do much better there. And they were always so busy, and Harry's medical attention probably couldn't wait. Not to mention it wasn't safe... But, perhaps a Healer could come to Hogwarts. That on the other hand, might work out.
She'd send them an owl the next time she got a chance.
"There, don't do anything. I'm going to get the Weasley's. Molly's already cried herself a river..." He didn't catch the last part as Madame Pomfrey pulled a blanket over him. It did nothing though, he was still very chilled and unwell feeling.
His head was pounding, his vision was unfocused, and his limbs tingled with numbness. Weakness had crept through his every vein, into the very essence of him, and it pained him so.
It was all he could do to bury himself further under the layers. He felt horrible. If he wasn't going to die, then he'd find another way. It wasn't worth it to be this sick, and not die.
Voices kept invading his darkness, his space.
"Well, we can't move him." Hermione's voice sighed heavily.
"Then we'll just have to leave him here." Ginny's voice on the other hand, was resolute.
"But what if he starts bleeding again?" Ron's voice held concern. Worry.
"Someone'll have to stay up with him then." Hermione sighed again.
"I'll do it. I have to study anyways." Ron was a little too quick.
But no one seemed to notice.
Then, the voices stopped, and his darkness was back.
He felt a slight surprise at the fact he was enjoying this newfound sleep. He hadn't slept in so long, he'd forgotten what it really was. A chance to rest. To reflect. To feel.
He sort of liked it.
"Harry? Mate? You awake?"
He opened his eyes, just a little, at the sound of Ron's voice. "Yeah. I'm awake." His voice cracked. Well, now he was. But he really wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. He was too tired for it, too. "You feeling alright?" Ron asked, ruffling the smaller boy's hair with a worried look across his face. Harry felt himself wanting to relieve his worry, but he didn't know how. But all the same, he nodded, after all he was feeling pretty okay. "Why?" He asked, trying to sit up. Only to be pushed back down by Ron onto the warm leather of the couch. "You just look... well, a bit different." Ron explained, putting another blanket over Harry's small body. "Different good? Or different bad?" He asked, burrowing into a little ball under the throws. Now that he was awake, he realized the fire had been put out and he was terribly chilly. But he wasn't too bothered by it. He was more curious for Ron to answer his question. "Different... good I suppose." Ron sighed after several minutes of thought. Harry felt a bit of relief sink into him. He wasn't sure why, but he did. "Here. Have some more tea." Ron said, holding out his teacup. Harry took it in his hands and took another sip of the sleeping draft. It was still steaming, even after the fifteen minutes or so he'd been asleep. Truly, that tea was magical. He passed it back to Ron, who also took a gulp of the sweet tea, and waited for it's effects to come over him again. Ron seemed to stare back at his text book while Harry idly picked at the lose threads of the blankets. There they sat in silence for a minute.
"God, I can barely keep my eyes focused." Ron moaned, slapping his book shut with a loud crack. Harry was too tired to care that they had a test which neither of them had studied for the next day, and that their books were now sitting, discarded at the end of the couch. It seemed natural that Ron would go sleep on the other couch, now that studying was out of the picture. But Ron seemed reluctant to leave where he sat. "Scootch over." He yawned, falling next to Harry as the warmness washed over him all over again. He hardly cared as the redhead nestled closer to him. In fact, it was comforting. Considering all his life he'd slept in a too small single bed without enough blankets or any pillows for that matter. He had little comfort for his nighttime scares... or his dreams of death and destruction. This may have been just what he needed. He rested his head on the larger boy's chest, who responded by resting his chin on his head. He felt the boy's arms wrap around him, holding him close. He breathed in all of Ron's scents, feeling his spirit lifted as he fell into sleep once more.
"Oh Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, embracing him in a well meant hug. Unfortunately, she forgot he couldn't breath very well. But he didn't say anything, he didn't want her to feel bad, or start crying anymore than she was. Which was fairly bad, for his shoulders were soaked with salty tears. "Molly, let him go. Give him some room to breath." Mr. Weasley said gently. His face was tainted with worry, and he looked far older than the last time Harry saw him. Harry felt guilty once more, for causing Mr. Weasley to age that much in such a short time. But he knew what he had to do. And he knew how much better everything would be without him. "Yeah, mum, he's probably feeling very crushed right about now." Bill smiled, gently pulling his mother off the boy. He had also aged unreasonably since Harry had last seen him. But there was, at the very least, an inner youth left in Bill. For that, Harry was glad. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry, Harry." She dried her eyes on one of her many handkerchiefs before sitting down next to him. "It's alright." He croaked. Really, it was.
Mr. Weasley and Bill smiled weakly, they seemed to be searching for something to say. But Harry knew there was nothing left to say. It was only the usual "Why'd you do it?" "Why didn't you tell me?" and trying to convince him to live. As if that was going to happen. "Harry, if you were feeling bad... why didn't you talk to me? Or Mrs. Weasley? Or Ron? Or Hermione, or Ginny, or... or Dumbledore? We would have understood, we would have tried to help you." Mr. Weasley asked tearfully, resting his hand on Harry's. He knew Mr. Weasley meant well, but he didn't understand. You didn't just go up to someone and say "Hi, I think I want to kill myself, can you help me?" They lock you in the looney bin for that one. He probably should be locked up there anyways.
"Dad, I don't think Harry wants to talk about it." Bill said, he seemed to be the only one who had managed to keep his head on. Probably one of the few who had. "Oh, oh. Alright." Mr. Weasley seemed slightly taken back, and retreated back to his chair. Not even looking at the raven haired teen. He looked hurt... defeated... and confused. Mrs. Weasley looked about the same.
Now, there was nothing left say. It was all over but the crying. He just wished they'd leave. They shouldn't have come. He didn't plan for them to come. But then again, he didn't plan for anyone to come. What he had planned for, was for him to die almost instantly. But it seemed the big guy upstairs had a different idea. Curse God. Curse whoever it was controlling them like puppets. They always did it all wrong.
All Harry wanted to do was crawl to the bathroom and heave his guts out. The nausea was starting to get to him. It felt like his stomach was shriveling inside his body. Probably from the pills... oh the pills. It'd taken him a while to get his hands on enough of them. But he managed. He managed well.
St. Mungos had taken a recent interest in muggle medicine. Aspirin, novocaine, anesthesia, etc. Some Healers, traveling from the far east, happened to pass through Hogsmeade. Sounded easy... but it really wasn't. They were only there for two days, two days they were not permitted in the small village. He couldn't exactly go through Honeydukes in the dead of night, so he had to take the Whipping Willow passage, with the help of Crookshanks. It seemed the ginger cat still visited the Shrieking Shack from time to time.
He crept out the front door, under the Invisibility Cloak, and into the sleeping village. It seemed that the Healers were having a late night meeting at the Hog's Head. It wasn't like he could have just asked for the aspirin, they would have never given it to him. So, he had to nick it.
He waited under a nearby table for almost an hour before the only witch in the group set down her bag, which had the aspirin in it. It was so close he could have reached out and taken them if he wanted. But he would have been caught. It wasn't worth it.
As Madame Rosemerta walked by, he simply sent the glasses flying across the room, crashing against the wall. In the confusion that followed, he nicked the bottles.
And that was how Harry Potter became a thief. And the beginning of his time as "Harry Potter, The Suicidal Maniac". That stint lasted a bit longer.
His eyes cracked open as light flooded the room. He found himself staring into a pallet of red. Which he immediately recognized as Ron's hair. Harry felt himself jerk, Ron's hair! What the- And then he remembered. The tea, sleep... Ron. He shifted a little, trying not to wake the other boy. The others would be there any minute. How could they see them like this?
"Ron!" He whispered harshly. The redhead also jerked awake, crashing to the ground with a sudden thud. Harry was slightly amused by the sight of Ron's flailing arms, but all the same he was glad his friend was down on the floor. He didn't want it to look like something. Which it wasn't. They'd just fallen asleep together... accidently. Because of Ginny's tea. That was it. "Don't do that!" Ron scolded with rough vexation. The blue eyed boy pulled himself to his knees as Harry lifted himself up as well. Harry reached out and ran his fingers through Ron's red-orange strands. He knew it pushed his friend's buttons. "Cut it out." Ron smiled, pulling Harry's hand away. Just by chance, Harry's sleeve slid up his arm, baring his forearm. Harry immediately tried to wrench himself out of Ron's grasp. But Ron didn't let go, instead he only gripped Harry's forearm harder. He knew this was going to happen... but he never expected Ron to be the one to figure it out. It would have guessed Hermione, or Lupin or McGonagall. Not his best friend of six years. "What's this?" Ron's voice was hard, and his face stony. "Nothing." Harry said, pulling away. He was out of excuses now. He knew it.
"It's not nothing," Ron stood up, towering over the smaller boy. "What is it?" He repeated, Harry flinched as Ron rolled down the raven haired boy's sleeve to reveal a criss-cross of scars. Some new, some old. But they were all done by his own hand. But he couldn't tell Ron. He couldn't tell anyone. They'd think he was crazy, they'd lock him away. None of them could possibly understand. So why should he tell them anyways? "Nothing!" Harry protested. But he knew Ron didn't believe him, because Ron was smarter than that. To believe a lie as hollow as that was to be extremely gullible. "Did you do this? Did you do this to yourself?" Ron questioned, stepping closer. He had to get out here, find Hermione. Or Malfoy, he'd treat him like shit. Just like they all should. Harry took several steps back, until he was pressed against the wall. There was no exit."No! No!" Harry said just too quick. Ron looked angry, insulted and hurt all at once. And Harry felt afraid.
"You do, don't you? Don't lie to me!" Ron accused, pushing his hands against Harry's shoulders. Harry cringed, looking away. He couldn't bear it. His secret was out. Soon, everyone would know. He'd be nothing but a looney. Looney Lovegood and Half-Baked Harry. "No, I don't." Harry objected. But he did. He knew he did. But they just didn't understand that this was the only thing keeping him there, grounding him. That it was a survival mechanism. It set back his suicide just a little more everyday. And he was getting better. He didn't do it nearly as much as he did when he started. He only did it a little. Just enough to get by. "You do! Harry, that's not right! You can't keep doing this to yourself!" Ron was blunt, but Harry knew he had it coming. He was stupid. Such an idiot. He was nothing but a crazy, stupid, self-indulgent boy who tortured himself to deal with his little "problems". So what if he was lonely? So what if he was stressed out? So what if he was losing all his friends? That wasn't as big as... as AIDs and cancer, and epilepsy, and... and people in third world countries! And the people who's families were killed by...
On second thought... maybe he had a right to his own coping mechanism.
"I can. And I will." Harry was shaking inside, but he managed to say that with such a stone cold demeanor that Ron let go. Harry turned without a second glance and stomped up to the dorms. He hung his head as he walked in the door. Seamus, Dean and Neville were slowly making their way to the door. Where they'd have reasonably normal day. They'd take a few spills, have a few laughs, but they wouldn't see Half-Baked Harry. Because Half-Baked Harry was going to die today.
"You know Harry, we all love you very much." Mrs. Weasley said, rubbing his forearm affectionately. Her eyes were watery and her voice was soft. No. They didn't understand. All the love and tears in the world wouldn't change him. It was too late for him. Too late for everything. Because he made a promise. He promised he was going die without any regret. With closure. But they just didn't understand that.
"You're a part of the family." Bill offered.
They were just making it harder to keep his promise. He had wanted a family. A real family, for a long time. But... he wasn't really part of the family. The Weasley's all had red hair, blue or brown eyes, freckles and the same last name. He had black hair, green eyes, pale skin and he was a Potter. His parents, his family, was dead. And there couldn't be a replacement.
"Harry... we have to go now. But we'll be back." Mr. Weasley said, walking as casually as possible to Madame Pomfrey.
He knew what they were doing, they wanted to know if he was gonna make it. But he didn't care. The answer was no. They all knew it. Madame Pomfrey knew it, Dumbledore knew it, they all did. There was no denying it. Harry Potter was gonna die.
He knew he was. He had to. Shaking, Harry slipped his hand under the blankets laying on top of his small frame, there his fingers traveled into his pocket. They had not searched any of his pockets yet. How stupid of them. He fingered his own little piece of death lovingly. Yeah, he had enough for one last go around the park.
And yeah. Harry Potter was gonna die.
Ron Weasley
"How's he doing?" He asked as his mother, father and Bill exited the room. They looked grave. He feared the worst. That his best friend in the world had in fact, died. But there was a sliver of hope left in him, that Harry would pull through.
He hadn't believed it at first. He thought Draco had made up some rumor and fed it to Neville, it wasn't uncommon. But Neville swore he saw it. And Neville wasn't one to lie. At least, as long as Ron had known him. By the time he and Hermione had made their way to the Hospital Wing, there was a huge group of kids outside it. He had the urge to jinx them all, right then and there, but Hermione pulled him through the crowd before he could pull out his wand. And then, there they were. Standing at the foot of Harry's bed while he was dying.
His emotions had been so mixed... so foreign to him. He felt protective of his friend. He felt sad that he had done that to himself. He felt guilt for not stopping him. He felt angry at Harry for trying to die. And there was a strange awakening inside him... it was unnatural, or so he thought, for the circumstance. So he banished it to the back of his mind, and watched Hermione cry, and Harry die.
But, before too long they were shooed out. The anger had risen in Ron once more, but he suppressed it. But they just couldn't go back to class, with their friend dying. It wasn't right. So, Madame Pomfrey had let them stay outside and wait for her to allow them back in. But until she did, they were stuck here, sitting on the cold wood. Waiting. Ron would wait forever, if he could only hear that Harry was gonna be alright. Why did he have to do it? Why? It wasn't like there weren't people that cared about him. Harry had him, and Hermione, Ginny, the twins, Bill, Charlie, his mum and dad, and even Luna and Neville. They all cared about Harry, so why did he do it? He wanted to ask someone, but he knew their guess was as good as his.
Actually, his was probably better.
They had sat there for nearly an hour, and he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. He glanced at Hermione. He hoped she felt the same. He wanted to throw something at the girl, she had sat, scribbling on parchment the entire time. Not even casting a glance at Ron or any of the passerby.
"Ron, Hermione, we spoke with Madame Pomfrey." Mr. Weasley started gently, he bent down and put his hand on his son's knee. "There's a 50/50 chance that he's gonna pull through, and there's a 50/50 chance he won't. They have every element at their finger tips aiding them, but if he's health doesn't at the very least plateau in the next two hours, they're going to transfer him to St. Mungos. A Healer is on his way right now, and Professor Snape is doing his best to whip up an antidote for the pills he took. But there is still a chance that... that Harry will die."
Ron knew his father hadn't spared him anything, just as he would have wished but somehow he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to know more. He had to. But he knew that his dad had told him everything. And that now, all they could do was wait.
He had the feeling they would be waiting a long time.
"We're going to go talk to Dumbledore... about Harry's guardianship. We'll be back soon." Mr. Weasley said, taking his wife's hand and walking away. Harry's guardianship? Did that mean what he thought it meant? That... that Harry could be staying at the Burrow over the entirety of the summer holidays? That they might become... his guardians? His sliver of hope grew, just a little bit. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes too high... but he couldn't help it.
Ron heard the roaring of flames through the wall. The Healer probably. That was good, right? A Healer could make Harry better. Maybe... maybe Harry was gonna be okay after all. He hoped so... at the very least they should be allowed to go in and see Harry soon. Dumbledore and his parents had already been in there, so it was only a matter of time before they were allowed in.
But a thought struck him, what was he suppose to say when he went in and saw Harry?
It's not like he could just say "Hey Harry, don't try to kill yourself again." Could he? Maybe Hermione would know. She read an awful lot. But, she didn't really read anything that would help. She read textbooks. That type of stuff. She wouldn't really know anything about suicide, or what to say, or who to say it to. She knew things like when the Goblin Rebellion was, the exact recipe for a Perlit's potion, the cycle of a werewolf. She was textbook smart.
He needed someone with a good sense of empathy. Did he even know anyone who could even feel empathy? Probably not. So, it looked like Ron was on his own... first of all, what would he want to hear if he had tried to kill himself? He didn't know, he'd never thought of killing himself. Well... once. But he hadn't really been thinking "Oh, I'm gonna go and kill myself." He had just wished he was dead at the time. It wasn't really a serious thought of suicide. Really, that wasn't the point. If he did kill himself -try to kill himself- He'd want to hear a lot of things. He'd want... he'd want people to be nice about it. Like... not to focus on it too much. But to be affectionate... to tell them they loved him.
But if that could have saved Harry, they'd probably be down in the Great Hall eating lunch, instead of waiting outside the hospital wing to hear if his best friend haddied.
"Where's Potty?"
"Too good to come down with us, I suppose. Being Dumbledore's pet and all."
Ron did his best to ignore the Slytherins as he crossed the hall to Hermione. He was still simmering from his encounter with Harry, how could someone do something like that to themselves? Especially Harry, he had so many people pulling for him.
"Where's Harry?" Like that. "It's a long story." He sighed, plopping down next to Hermione. Reading as usual. Long, long story. "Well, you'd better make it short. I have to go to the library." She said without casting him a glance. Short? How does one make the story short?
"I saw you two this morning, you know. So don't feel embarrassed." Her voice was casual, like it was normal for two boys to sleep in the same bed together... But if she saw them, did anyone else? No, they would have laughed at them... something. "Did anyone else see us?" Ron asked nervously, buttering his toast so hard that it broke into and fell unto his robes. Butter-side down. "Shit." He mumbled, wiping off his robes. His mother was going to kill him for that one. "No. No one did, I was up early. Now, if your going to tell me where Harry is, that would be great." Her voice dripped in sarcasm as she shoved Arithmancy: The Root Of Modern Magic into her bag. She was going to give him her full attention. Which was probably good...
"Well... I think Harry's cutting himself." Ron said slowly, as the words came out he felt a sudden shock. He felt the realization of what this meant. What it meant for him. Hermione looked shocked herself, she pulled him away from the table, out into the hallway, by his butter stained robes. "How do you know that?" She hissed, throwing him against the stone wall of the deserted hallway. "I saw his scars." Ron hissed with equal vexation. How dare she not believe him? Why would he lie? He had no reason to lie! "And, there was this look he had on his face... I just knew he was lying." Ron added.
Hermione looked stunned, but that quickly turned to anger, "Why'd you leave him alone? He could be doing it right now!" She cried. He hadn't thought of that, god he was so stupid! Harry was probably upstairs cutting himself! And it was all his fault! He made a move to run up to the dorms, "No, the damage has been done. You have to leave him alone now." She said quietly. What the fuck? He couldn't just leave him up there, cutting himself! "What? Hermione, he's up there cutting himself!" Ron's voice was just a tad shrill. A sure sign that he was angry. "How do you think he's gonna react if you come upstairs, looking for him?" She retorted with equal wrath in her articulation. Ron stopped dead in his tracks. "Exactly."
"Hello, Mr. Potter." A voice said hauntingly as Harry glared at his reflection in the mirror. It was not his own, it had a darkness, a depth his did not. Then again, change was possible. Change was always possible.
He had practically crawled his way to the washroom, claiming he was nauseous. Which he was. But that wasn't why he was really there. He was there to finish the job. He hadn't done a proper job, he was so stupid. If only he'd hidden himself away, then Neville wouldn't have seen him. And then he'd be dead. Just like he should be. But no! Neville just had to forget his potions book! Gah! It made him want to scream!
Somewhere inside him, a switch had flipped. He wasn't sure when, or why, but it'd flipped. And something new had come out. This... this thing! It had changed him, oh God it had changed him. Before he was perfect little Harry Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived, the media prince. So innocent. So wholesome. So pitied by the world. Now? He belonged in a mental institution. He was something out of a fucking movie. He wasn't even human anymore.
He felt his stomach turn inside out before he could make a move of any sort, though. And the tea from the night before came turning out, as well as a good part of the aspirin he had worked so hard to retain. But it didn't stop there, he continued to dry heave painfully, even after his stomach was emptied. The sound of his awful retching echoed against the walls until his stomach gave, leaving his weakly holding himself up by pressing himself against the tile. "Shit." He swore, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Sixteen years of self inflicted pain reflected in his eyes as he slipped a razor out of his pocket. He always carried it with him. He didn't even flinch as he dragged the edge up his arm, painfully slow. He did the same on the opposite arm as well, his brain registering no pain as blood poured into the white sink. But it wasn't enough, not for Harry.
Here's one because Mum's dead.
He slashed his arm once more, the blood poured from the small cut. Only an inch long... but it bled. Oh it bled. How perfect it seemed.
Here's one because Dad's dead.
Slash. Another red line across his white skin.
One because Sirius is dead.
Slash. Red against white.
One because Voldemort's not dead.
Slash.
Because the world's fucked up.
Slash.
Because I'm fucked up.
He paused. Was there anything left? Well...
One because I'm not dead yet.
Slash.
And another.
Slash.
Another
Slash
And one cause I feel trigger happy.
Slash, he laughed. Trigger happy. If only.
Oh... what the hell?
He raised the rusted metal to his neck, could he do it? Was there still enough human left in him to stop himself? He breathed in himself, his human. His being. Was there any human left in him?
Slash.
No. The slit across his neck was not nearly as deep as the slits up and down his arms, but it was enough. Enough for the world to go black. Enough for Harry to fall.
And keep falling.
Down... down... down...
"Good bye Mr. Potter." That same haunting voice called as the dark end of the tunnel enclosed him.
Swirling pink waters were all around Harry, it was so peaceful, he'd completely forgotten what the events of the day had brought on him. It was probably for the best. He looked up, there was a strange green light above him. He felt the water rush, pulling him up to the shimmering surface. He had to go there. He absolutely had to, there was... there was the thing he had been waiting for, for a long time now.
It didn't for a second seem strange to the raven haired boy, that the water was pink and the light was green. It all seemed natural.
It was a dream after all.
As he came crashing through the waves, he realize it wasn't water at all, but light. A sea of light. A cold breeze crossed the water, pushing the waves at him. But inside of pulling him under, the waves carried him to the shore, where there was a field of tall grasses. They swayed in the breeze, giving Harry a carefree feeling as he stepped unto the shore. With the water lapping his feet, he watched the orange sunset in front of him. It was the same beautiful pink as the sea of light. As the sun disappeared behind the forest, Harry took a minute to look at his surroundings. To his left, there was a thicket of trees. To his right were rolling hills, and three trees all in a row. In between the two, was a clearing of thick grass. There, stood a woman. No, an angel, she had to be. She had a circle of light around her. Her hair was auburn, with shadows playing across it and her olive complexion glowed in the light. Her dress looked to be partially black, and partially white. Bright shimmering jewels shone from her neck, her fingers, her wrists and she smiled and beckoned him forth.
He was to go to her. She had something to tell him. He didn't know how he knew, but the green eyed youth knew that he had to go to the woman. That she would tell him something important. With each step he took, the grasses seemed to part, making way from him.
As he stepped closer, he saw she was not the angel he thougt her to be. Her dress was torn, ripped, and that it was caked with dirt. It was not shadows across her hair, but blood and mud. Her eyes were darkened with makeup and she was crying. But she smiled, even through her tears.
She was the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen.
She smiled and pointed at one of her many rings, it was heavily adorned with diamonds and gold. It sat with grace upon her right ring finger. Right ring finger... that meant... that meant her husband or fiancé was dead. Harry supposed that was why she was crying, but she still smiled and twirled the ring on her finger loosely. It twirled for a minute, shining in all it's beauty, but then reddened blood poured from beneath it. As if the ring was cutting her into her finger. He watched in awe. She did not flinch, nor did her smile leave her face.
Was this what she was trying to tell him? What did it mean? He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips. She lifted her hand, so it was next to her cheek. He watched as blood poured from the ever whirling ring and trickled down her arm. It was so... so upsetting and yet so beautiful.
Her skirt rustled just a little, and Harry realized a small girl stood beside her. Had she been there the whole time? Or had she just come? If she had just come, she had not made a sound. Harry looked her over slowly. Probably about thirteen. She wore a similar white dress, and had the same auburn hair. She was looked like the woman's daughter. But her eyes were a bright green, much like his, to her mother's grey. And no dirt or blood or tears tainted her pale white skin. Nor any diamonds or gold. He thought her perhaps even more beautiful than her mother. She looked so young, so innocent. She did not smile like her mother, but she did not frown either. Her mouth was a line, and her eyes were dull. Emotionless. She pointed at a tree. It was the last one, in the row of the three trees. It's leaves were the fullest, and apples hung from it's branch. A rope swung from it's lowest bough, and from the rope hung a body.
"Daddy." She mouthed.
Her father. He had done that to himself? How could he, with a little girl and beautiful wife? He turned back to the girl's mother, only to find she had disappeared. Where could she have gone? There was nothing but an open field, she couldn't have gone off without them knowing. He looked down at the little girl, "Where's your Mom?" He tried to say, but no sound escaped his lips. She shook her head, pointing at the second tree. A second body.
That beautiful woman, she killed herself? He looked down at the little girl, but before him now stood a little boy. About eight years old. His mother's grey eyes, her olive-toned skin but his hair was jet black. Also like his own. "Mommy." He mouthed. Harry nodded. "Where's your sister?" He asked, still unable to speak. Suddenly, he felt a tug on his sleeve, she was on his other side. "Come with us." She pulled on his sleeve, and her brother on his other sleeve. He followed the two children to the third tree. He saw no body on this tree. Yet.
He doubled over with shock and horror as he looked into the vacant eyes. His hair was rumpled, awfully messy, and blood trickled down his arms. His robes were torn, and his shoes hung limply on his feet.
It was Harry.
He looked to either side, but the children had slipped away somewhere.
But he could hear their voices, or what he could only assume was their voices, crying out, "Mommy! Daddy!" He wanted to make it stop, it had to stop! "Stop!" He screamed, running into the thicket, away from the bodies. But they continued to cry, again and again they cried out, "Harry! Harry!"
"Harry!"
He awoke with a cold sweat, tangled in the hospital bed sheets. Hermione and Ron were looking over with worried eyes. He twisted frantically, his mind racing. Where was the little girl? And her brother? Had they hung themselves, like their parents? Or had they found safe haven? "Harry!" Hermione cried, hugging him tightly. Suddenly, he realized where he was, what the girl and boy were and what that meant. It was only a dream then. They were not real. But they felt so real. He was sure they were real! But maybe... maybe he was just going crazy. He probably already was, for that matter. "Madame Pomfrey let us in." Hermione said, pulling up a chair next to his bed with eyes full of sympathy. Great, just great. That was just what he needed! Pity! He didn't want pity! He wanted to be dead!
It made him want to scream! Why couldn't they all just leave him the hell alone! Maybe he wouldn't have done this to himself if they could have all just fucked off! "Harry, you look flushed." Hermione pressed her palm to his cheek, "My god, your burning up!" She cried. Well, shouldn't he be? He'd cut himself with a dirty razor, infection and fever was only natural. "I'm going to go get Healer Arnold!" She declared, standing up and running from his bedside. Healers? They brought in Healer's now? Oh just perfect. Just fucking perfect! The icing on his suicide cake! He'd wanted a quiet death. A quiet death! But no! There was going to be hospitals, and healers, and reporters left and right! Just fucking great for him! Thank you God! Really, thanks!
Why did God hate him? Why couldn't God just let him die? What was his problem! If someone wants to die, you should let them die! Torturing them for your own pleasure, God, is not cool! Not at all!
"Hey, mate." Ron said quietly. Harry glared at him, he forgot Ron was there. But wasn't that even better? A witness! He just couldn't have a nice, peaceful suicide, could he? No! Because he was the "hope for the world" "The-Boy-Who-Lived" or whatever bullshit the media was calling him now.
Oh God the media. They were going to have a field day when they found out about this one. He could see the headlines "Harry Potter: Crazed Loon!" "The-Boy-Who-Lived: Wants to Die?" all that shit. The prophet would have a nice lengthy article on his "suicide struggle" and they'd call in professionals to theorize why he did what he did. And good old Rita Skeeter would be right on it! Writing from an angle, just like she always wanted. Wouldn't that just be perfect? Abso-fucking-lutely perfect? To smear his name through the mud after his own self-death. Thanks God. Thanks Rita. Thanks media. Thanks world!
And thank you to you Ron! The boy was still sitting, watching him. He opened his mouth to tell him off, tell him to go take a long walk off a short cliff (which everyone really should have done at that point) but before he could get the words out, Ron leaned down at softly kissed his forehead.
What the hell? Harry's immediate instinct was to push Ron away, boys weren't suppose to kiss boys! It was wrong! Not... not right, at all! But Harry felt a strange sensation travel up his chest. What was happening to him? Was he just sick? Or was he enjoying Ron's closeness? His touch? Was it really all that wrong? "You'll be alright, Harry." Ron smiled, holding Harry's hand in his own.
That moment was so peaceful, so perfect, Harry wanted it never to end. It was probably, the best moment of his day so far. Maybe that was why God had been keeping him around, so he could feel this moment before he died. Yes, that was right. Give him a moment of happiness before he died. That was good. But just as the peaceful happiness fell over him, Hermione and a man he didn't no recognize were leaning over him. The man was obviously young, with tanned olive skin, dark brown hair and deep chocolate brown eyes. Almost like the woman in his dreams... He had the beginnings of a mustache and a beard across his face, probably trying to look older. He peered at Harry with a mixture of worry and wonder. He'd probably never been this close to a "celebrity" before.
He still held unto Ron's hand tightly, for the first time in a while he felt fearful. What were they going to do to him? Where they going to save him? Or shove potions down his throat? Did they know he didn't take the potion before? What did they know?
It scared Harry, not knowing what they were going to do with him. But it angered him that Hermione was taking part in their little game. She was one of his best friends, after all. Best friends let best friends pull the trigger. Or at the very least, they should. But then again, Hermione wasn't that conventional. Ron would have let him pull the trigger, wouldn't he have?
"Mr. Potter, we're going to transfer you to St. Mungo's. To avoid further complications, I'm going to have to stun you." The man said. Stun? He didn't want to be stunned! He wouldn't let them! But then for the third time that day, he slipped away into a deep sleep.
He didn't need Ron, he didn't need anyone. Because they were nothing but a bunch of fucked up losers, and he? He was kind of the losers! Therefore, he didn't need anyone! Especially not Ron.
He didn't need anyone. What he needed was to die.
Harry stopped, could he... could he do it today?
"You know what? Today is the day." He said loudly, to no one in particular. He'd been sitting here alone, crying, bleeding and screaming for an hour, or two, maybe three. God, he didn't know! He didn't want to know! He didn't want anything but to die anymore. Was that natural? Probably not. But who cared? "Who cares?" He asked, he unfolded his legs from underneath him and slipped off the bed and unto the gray wood. "No one would care if I fell of the face of the earth." He mumbled, throwing open his trunk, underneath his robes, his books, his parchments and the photo album of his parents, was a small ebony case. He cracked it open anxiously. Three bottles of aspirin and a razor. Only one. He tossed them onto his bed carelessly.
"Fuck all of this shit." He moaned, falling beside his little bits of suicide. He fingered each one lovingly. Here it was. His answer, his salvation, his savior. Here it was. He smiled, popping open the first bottle. He poured a bit into his palm, and chugged them. He did it again, and again, and again. His head was pounding and spinning, but he couldn't stop. Nothing would make it stop at this point.
He'd waited for this for a long time, he'd imagined it a thousand times. He'd relish the pain, and tongue each pill. But now that it was happening... he felt numb. He felt disembodied. "Why don't I feel?" He screamed, throwing the empty bottle against the wall. It ponged against the wall.
"Fuck this shit! Fuck it all!" He raged, throwing the contents of his trunk across the room. He felt satisfied by this gesture, much more satisfied then popping a bottle of aspirin. He smiled, and ripped away the wall hangings. There. The perfect scene for his suicide.
What would they think, seeing him across his bed, dead? Would they cry? Would they scream? Would they even care that he was gone? Probably not, they'd care that The-Boy-Who-Lived was dead. But no one would care that Harry Potter was dead. Because he wasn't even a person. He was this thing. This thing he'd become. He couldn't even name it. But they would be horrified to find him dead, it'd only embody his legend. The-Crazy-Boy-Who-Lived. What a way to go out.
He picked up the second bottle, he didn't even bother to pour them into his hand. He simply raised the rim to his lips, and allowed his mouth to fill. He stopped every so often to chew the little white circles, and when he properly swallowed them he began the process all over again. He was going to die. That wasn't negotiable by any means.
After the third bottle, he came to the razor. His favorite part.
He lined it up to the center of his forearm, just touching the heel of his hand. It was his own little ritual, for each cut to have it's own reason. So it was only natural to continue this ritual in his self-death.
For life, love, joy, happiness, beauty, affection, pleasure, felicity and ignorant bliss.
He pressed it to his skin, and dragged it down. He felt so numb to the pain, that it didn't matter how deeply he cut, how much his hand shook. He was simply infatuated with his own blood. He allowed himself to bleed a little, before wiping away the red, sticky, liquid and putting the razor in his opposite hand. His hand shook as he lined it up again.
For death, hate, sadness, depression, fear, pain, tears, blood and the unforgivable sin.
His hand shook as it dragged down his skin, causing unnecessary nicks here and there. But that wasn't really a problem for Harry. He slipped the razor away, should he tire of waiting. He closed his eyes. He would wait as long as needed for death. But he wouldn't have to wait long, everything was already floating away...
Light flooded the walls as the sun peaked out the windows of St. Mungo's room 437. Reports had stood outside, pining to get a look inside this very room. Flashbulbs had turned the lobby into nothing more than one giant light. Questions were thrown out left and right, and people threw press passes at anyone they could get their hands on. They all wanted to see St. Mungo's new celebrity patient.
A few of the orderlies had been offered huge sums of money for the patient's report, and the Head Nurse of St. Mungo's Potions and Plant Poisoning ward was forced to transfer him to a private room, so his roommate could get proper rest.
But Harry was unaware of the events of the past few hours as his eyes cracked open. He blinked rapidly, the room was unusually bright. Horribly, unnaturally bright. Harry had never been that strongly religious, but he knew suicide was the "unforgivable sin", so any thought this was heaven was immediately dispelled. No, he was in St. Mungo's. So wonderful. So great. So abso-fucking-lutely perfect.
He glanced around the room, a painting of a daisy hung on one of the baby-blue walls and the floor was a scuffed white. There was a group of folding chairs in the corner of the room, each one with another of Harry's friends collapsed in it's arms. Lupin, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and... the last chair was empty. But it looked like it had been recently inhabited, because a stack of papers and a black bag laid on the seat of the chair. Probably Hermione. Couldn't live without her school work.
Closest to the door, an asleep Mrs. Weasley was clutching her husband's arm and a copy of Witch Weekly, while drowsing Mr. Weasley held an article from the Daily Prophet. The headline read, just as he had predicted, "The-Boy-Who-Lived: Wants To Die?" it included a nice picture of his pale, twisted body being taken into St. Mungo's. How sweet. Lupin (also asleep), was clutching the funnies and his weathered bag, he had used his old coat as a stand in blanket. He looked just as unraveled as usual, which was a bit of comfort. Being that not much had changed in the time that he had been asleep. Next to Lupin, Ginny was simply curled up with her knees to her chest, wrapped in her mother's shawl, snoring softly. It was nice, that they were here. Though it wasn't so nice he was here.
He'd failed again. He couldn't even kill himself properly. How stupid was that? Really, really stupid. Neville could have probably killed himself better! He had tried twice, and failed, more than most people probably try.
"Hey."
Harry looked up from his silent rant, Ron was sitting next to him. Harry quickly realized he was clutching his friend's hand, he immediately recoiled. Boys weren't suppose to hold hands. It was simple as that. But then again... back at Hogwarts... but he had been feverish. It didn't matter, as far as he was concerned, it never happened. "Hey." He said softly, fingering his sheets. They were also a stark white, to match the ceiling. Why is it, Harry wondered, that hospitals never had interesting or bright colors? It would have cheered him up a deal, which he desperately needed at this point. "Hermione went to go get breakfast. She said she'd be back in a minute." Ron mumbled, he looked at the tile, scuffing it with his shoe. Yeah... this was getting way more awkward every time. If the next one didn't work he'd just cast Avada Kedavra on himself. He was sick and tired of the traditional suicide attempts, the ones that never worked. The one that he always woke up from. Arg! How did the muggles do it? Really! Razor's never cut far enough, river's aren't deep enough, drugs just come right back up, nooses can give, gun's misfire, God, he might as well live if it was going to take this many attempts to get it right!
"We've been real worried about you, mate." Ron offered. Worried. Yeah, worried about The-Boy-Who-Lived. No one was worried about Harry Potter. As far as he was concerned, Harry Potter didn't exist. All because his parents were killed by Voldemort and he lived. Which was not all it was cracked up to be, really. His parents were dead. He was an orphan. He lived with the Dursley's for Christ's sake! "You know..." Ron started trailing off into incoherent muttering. Harry didn't know what it was, but the redhead refused to meet his eyes. Couldn't be good. "What?" Harry prompted, still not meeting his friend's gaze, his friend not meeting his either. It was such an awkward moment, but it was about it get worse, "I love you." Ron muttered, barely audible to Harry's ears.
Did he hear what he thought he heard? From Ron? From Ron! "What?" Harry sputtered, looking up at Ron with deep confusion. Boys... and boys... that wasn't right. Was it? It'd never seemed quite... quite ethical, but then again, neither had self injury. Neither had suicide. And he practiced both. Views do change, after all. "Harry James Potter, I love you." Ron said, this time he said it loudly, more sure of himself. This time there was no doubting Ron's words. He had said it plainly, I. Love. You. Ron took the raven haired boy's hands in his own, "Harry, there are people who love you, you can't... you can't do this to us. To me." He begged, his eyes were watering with emotion.
Harry felt stunned. It made him want to stop the cycle of suicide he'd long ago put in motion, but at the same time he didn't want to be another miracle psychiatric case. Another cliche in the breeze, another typical teenage phase. But one look at Ron's blue eyes, made him see that everything the redhead had said was sincere. That someone really did love Harry. That they cared. That if Harry Potter died, someone would mourn him. That meant a lot to Harry. It really did
He didn't know if he felt the same way about Ron that Ron did about him, but as he held his best friend's hand, he knew what he felt. And he knew he couldn't change it. "Alright." Harry choked softly. Maybe there was hope for Lord Voldemort's adversary, and maybe he could love and dream and fuck and cry and feel happy again. Maybe he was gonna turn out okay. Maybe... maybe he could get better. A piece of him still wanted suicide, death, but another part of him wanted to live, to feel, to be. Just like he had done so long ago.
"Here, they left this for you." Ron said, handing him a purple potion bottle. What were they going to do to him now? Sedate him? Make him less of a danger to himself? Just great, they probably thought he was psycho! "It's to help you sleep." Ron explained, seeing the strange expression on Harry's face. He stroked Harry's hair fondly, "I love you." He said, it seemed like Ron could hardly believe it himself. Harry smiled, "I love you too." Warm sleepiness washed over him again. He was going to have a rest, a real rest, and that sounded nice. "Night." Ron said, thought it was morning, as he kissed Harry's forehead affectionately. "Night." Harry yawned. Three trees, all in a row, flickered across his vision as the world fell out from under him.
He was back in his dreams. He stood, staring at the trees. His body no longer hung from the third, instead a swing dangled from it's boughs. A little boy of about eight swung back and forth as his sister pushed him gently. The sun had completely set over the trees, now it was nearly morning. And the stars shone bright, and the moon glowed with warmth. The girl caught sight of Harry, and she pulled her brother with her to meet him.
"Daddy." The little boy mouthed, taking his left hand as his sister took his right. They lead him past the trees, past their parents' bodies and past the ocean of light, through the tall grass to a beaten trail. "Come." The girl mouthed, tugging at his sleeve. She and her brother guided him up the path, to the top of the hill. He tossed a backward glance at the valley below. It was so beautiful, it's promise, but what it was, really was, was ugly.
And so Harry walked with the two children to the rising sun, leaving behind the valley of their parents' suicides. He wasn't sure where he was going, or what was going to happen. He only knew he'd never go back to where he had been. There was too much pain, too much loss, too many tears for him to ever return.
A/N 2: I'm pretty happy with this closure, but I think I have a pretty good idea for a sequel... hmm, I'll have to think on this one. I look forward to your reviews!