It wasn't the killing that had done it. No, I was fine with doing away with Voldemort, that bastard. It wasn't the terror of the battlefield or the death of everything I held dear. I had been dealing with death my whole life. Mom. Dad. Remus. Sirius. And now Ginny.

So what. I knew he was cursed from the moment I fought Quirrell. Ah Quirrell. My first murder. Now that death in particular came very close to breaking me. I was eleven for god's sake. Then Dumbledore walks in and acts like I didn't murder a man, please! I had to touch him. I felt his skin crumble to ash, felt the heat radiating off of the quickly decaying body. The life drained out of him so quickly yet so slowly. The pain in his eyes.

Yeah that came to close for comfort. It put a crack in the glass that was my sanity, that's for sure. And that was just first year. Second year hurt me in a different way. Let me tell you you do not know true terror until you face certain death. People in the battle may say that they know how it feels, but let me be the first to tell you, they are wrong. In the battle they had a chance to live, no matter how miniscule it was. When you have been poisoned by the most potent poison in the wizarding world, hell, maybe the entire world, well that is a different story.

There I was apologising to a bird of all things, and this time it wasn't somebody else's life force that I felt draining, but it was mine. It wasn't exactly a peaceful "go into the light situation". Sure, some part of me wanted so desperately to die right then and there. Death called like a siren. So sweet and seductive. It whispered things, made promises. Fueled hopes that I had buried so deep that I didn't know they existed.

Have a family

Get revenge

Never be weak again

After all this was going to be my paradise, my heaven. I could do whatever I wanted, be whoever I wanted to be. I could have the one thing that I had always craved. Freedom. But alas there was a girl. A stupid, stupid, beautiful girl lying there dying. And of course there was a bird. A fucking dipshit of a bird who just happened to have magical healing powers that would purge me of the poison traveling through my veins. So I put duct tape over the cracks and moved on. I fought against my own death and lived. Once again, for the third time in my life.

Woohoo year number three. No serious attempts on my life. My god that sounds depressing, But holy shit the emotional havoc. Not only was the literal embodiment of depression nearby at all times, but no there has to be some drama for little Harry Potter to be involved in. Naturally.

Exhibit A. Sirius fucking Black. I'll be the first to tell you that I liked the guy, eventually. But in that moment when he told me that he had been at the scene, that he had held me in his arms, and he still left me, that was crushing. Imagine hearing that revenge was more important than you were. Imagine being abandoned by your godfather that swore to your parents to raise you if anything went wrong. Well guess what, the shit hit the fan, where were you. Oh yeah, one word from old Dumbles and you left me with a Half-Giant that doesn't know that a dragon is more dangerous than a Flobberworm. God I was so angry, so full of rage. So hurt. I couldn't possibly be betrayed anymore. But hey, I am Harry freakin Potter and it was show and tell in the feelings department. Remus Lupin walked in.

Exhibit B: Quite frankly I loved the man so very much. He was kind, a good teacher, a real father figure you know. He was patient. He helped me through some tough moments. He brought some light into my life. Turns out that that light was the fires of hell. I really thought that I had a chance to make a first impression with the guy. Everyone had grown up reading about me, but this man treated me like any other student that was struggling to keep his head above the water. We were a blank slate. An empty notebook just waiting to be written on.

Or not. He was another man who betrayed me. Oops. there goes my ability to trust people. He left me too. And he did it by choice. He wasn't taken away by guards. He wasn't dead. He chose to not raise me, and he chose to not visit me. It was his choice. Not mine. Not my parents. Not that damned wolf. His. And I don't give a Peter Pettigrew's ass about laws regarding werewolves. He was a marauder. He lived to break the rules. No. Remus Lupin stung me and stung me hard.

Most people would assume that the last years of my Hogwarts experience would be when I gave up but they would be wrong. By that point in time I was a hardened soldier. I could barely feel. Everything rushed by me in a show of colors and sounds. I was the golden boy. Their rock, their constant. I threw myself into anything that could make me feel again. That just happened to be Ginny. By the gods she was my real light. She was the reason I got up, the reason I fought. The reason that I didn't break into a million pieces. She was the fire to my darkness. In the midst of war and death, I finally started to heal.

Sadly enough the months after the was were the best of my life. I felt complete, I felt nearly whole. I didn't get there by myself. Don't start thinking awwww that's so sweet Ginny helped him through the rough time after the war. No. she was just as messed up as I was. We started getting professional help. Surprise surprise I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD. I mean it makes sense. I'm not even scratching the surface of how I was feeling. Sure I was better than ever but I was still messed up. At this point I would have tried anything to make the pain go away for good. And it helped a lot. I could function normally which is a lot more than most survives could say at the time.

Give it a few years and I was married. After years of being told that I was unlovable, I was married to this bombshell of a woman with a kid on the way. The old me was terrified of having children. I didn't know what parents did. I didn't know what parental love even felt like. What if I made the same mistakes that the Dursleys did. History repeats itself after all. What if I Hurt them. But know I knew that I wouldn't make those mistakes because unlike the Dursleys I would love this child with everything that I had. I was ready to be a father. And much like everything that I loved, I threw my entire soul into it.

That's when they attacked. It happened so quickly. Flashes of green whizzed by my ear. Sounds and colors blended into to one. Time both stood still and rushed pass all at once. When it was over, my Ginny, my beautiful, stupid, pregnant Ginny was dead. My child my innocent child who currently had my soul gripped in their tiny fingers was dead. Gone. Not coming back.

I was broken

So no. it was not the death of my parents. The death. The murders. The killing. The near death experiences. The tournament. The betrayal. The emotional abuse. The physical abuse. The starvation. None of those truly broke me. It was the demise of my child. The one that I fully intended to bring into this world as my pride and joy. The was I gave my all to. The one that broke me. I lost all motivation. I can't bother getting out of bed. I can't be bothered to get food. It feels like ropes are loosely tied around my wrists. I could slip out of them if I really tried but I can't muster up the energy. I feel a pull in my heart, in my very soul calling me. It tells me that I could have saved them, and I could have if I had been prepared. I fantasize about death. And it pains me to admit that because it tells me that I am weak, that I am selfish, but I want it so bad. So yeah if you are reading this I am dead. Its as simple as that. You are reading the last letter of a broken man.

Harry James Potter