Plea for Mercy: I don't own any characters or events in the past tense.
This is a work of fan fiction. Everything is copyrighted to J. K. Rowling,
her publishers, and editors. I make no claim to any of it. This work
contains spoilers for the fifth book, definitely, and maybe a couple others
also. This fic contains suicide, and cutting, and might be a trigger for
cutters or past cutters, and if you fall in to either of these categories,
you have been warned.
____________________
The Next Great Adventure
I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. I knew that I couldn't keep up my game, and I couldn't keep smiling at them and letting them think that maybe I'll be ok someday. Because I won't be ok someday, and I'm not ok today. But maybe if I'm not here anymore they can be ok someday. Sense they're certainly not ok while I am here.
By them selves they might be able to stop thinking about it. But I can't stop thinking about it, and theirs nothing they can do to stop me. Because everything reminds me of Sirius, and everything reminds me of Cedric, and everything reminds me of my Parents. And they can tell when I'm thinking about it, and it makes them think about it too.
I might get to see them. Someone told me once that people who are murdered go someplace else than people who just die. I hope it's true. I'll get to see everyone again. That'll be lovely.
I realize, that no one will think this fulfills the prophecy, and that I won't be able to do it. One must kill the other and all that, but it will. Because he has killed me, and I'm surprised that no one's realized it yet.
Ron's knocking on the door. He wants me to hurry up; he says he didn't get a chance to shower last night. Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up.
I walked over to my cubby and took out my razor. I rolled up my sleeves. I took a bar of soap over to the sink, and began to wash my hands, up my arms, to my elbows. I was careful to wash over the not quite healed cuts and the scars.
Hurry up
Lather rinse repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I hope if I focus on the soap I'll be able to forget, and I'll be able to walk out of the bathroom, and smile at Ron and Dean and we can go to breakfast, and everyone will be fine. Swirl. Bubble. Drip. Running down my arm and back into the sink. Repeat.
Hurry up.
I took out an alcohol wipe and wiped of the blade of my razor, and over a patch on my arm. I dropped it in the trashcan, pulled my thumb down over the edge of the blade. Took out another wipe. Repeat.
Hurry up.
I had another dream last night. I hope they didn't hear me screaming. I put up a sound proofing charm, and I hope it worked. They didn't even blink at me funny, so I think it did. When they hear me they usually say something. But I could see Sirius. And my mother. They were standing their blaming me. "It's your fault we died Harry." "Voldermort would have never have come to our house if it wasn't for you Harry" "I never would have been in the department of mysteries if you weren't so stupid Harry." And then I saw them die again, and again, and again, and I couldn't stop watching and sitting, and not doing anything about it.
It's not like I would have if I could have anyway. Anyone who got that many people killed must have wanted it to happen in the first place.
Hurry up.
I pressed the blade against the just whipped part of my arm. Blood. Again. Blood. And it was beautiful.
HURRY UP!
I positioned the blade over my wrist, and I pressed down, and I know I can do this, because he has killed me. He knew that I wouldn't be able to live with what he had left me. And now I won't be.
____________________
AN: I know this is short, but I wrote this in one sitting. It hasn't been beta'd, so any mistakes are my own fault. I also know that it might be a trigger for cutters. I did put a warning in the disclaimer; so if you read it and now your going to go off and kill your self, please don't blame me, because I'll feel terrible forever. Review if you want to, but I really don't care. BELIEVE me, if I had done this for reviews to boost my ego, everyone would fall in love with someone, Voldiething would die, and they would all live happily ever after.
____________________
The Next Great Adventure
I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. I knew that I couldn't keep up my game, and I couldn't keep smiling at them and letting them think that maybe I'll be ok someday. Because I won't be ok someday, and I'm not ok today. But maybe if I'm not here anymore they can be ok someday. Sense they're certainly not ok while I am here.
By them selves they might be able to stop thinking about it. But I can't stop thinking about it, and theirs nothing they can do to stop me. Because everything reminds me of Sirius, and everything reminds me of Cedric, and everything reminds me of my Parents. And they can tell when I'm thinking about it, and it makes them think about it too.
I might get to see them. Someone told me once that people who are murdered go someplace else than people who just die. I hope it's true. I'll get to see everyone again. That'll be lovely.
I realize, that no one will think this fulfills the prophecy, and that I won't be able to do it. One must kill the other and all that, but it will. Because he has killed me, and I'm surprised that no one's realized it yet.
Ron's knocking on the door. He wants me to hurry up; he says he didn't get a chance to shower last night. Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up.
I walked over to my cubby and took out my razor. I rolled up my sleeves. I took a bar of soap over to the sink, and began to wash my hands, up my arms, to my elbows. I was careful to wash over the not quite healed cuts and the scars.
Hurry up
Lather rinse repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I hope if I focus on the soap I'll be able to forget, and I'll be able to walk out of the bathroom, and smile at Ron and Dean and we can go to breakfast, and everyone will be fine. Swirl. Bubble. Drip. Running down my arm and back into the sink. Repeat.
Hurry up.
I took out an alcohol wipe and wiped of the blade of my razor, and over a patch on my arm. I dropped it in the trashcan, pulled my thumb down over the edge of the blade. Took out another wipe. Repeat.
Hurry up.
I had another dream last night. I hope they didn't hear me screaming. I put up a sound proofing charm, and I hope it worked. They didn't even blink at me funny, so I think it did. When they hear me they usually say something. But I could see Sirius. And my mother. They were standing their blaming me. "It's your fault we died Harry." "Voldermort would have never have come to our house if it wasn't for you Harry" "I never would have been in the department of mysteries if you weren't so stupid Harry." And then I saw them die again, and again, and again, and I couldn't stop watching and sitting, and not doing anything about it.
It's not like I would have if I could have anyway. Anyone who got that many people killed must have wanted it to happen in the first place.
Hurry up.
I pressed the blade against the just whipped part of my arm. Blood. Again. Blood. And it was beautiful.
HURRY UP!
I positioned the blade over my wrist, and I pressed down, and I know I can do this, because he has killed me. He knew that I wouldn't be able to live with what he had left me. And now I won't be.
____________________
AN: I know this is short, but I wrote this in one sitting. It hasn't been beta'd, so any mistakes are my own fault. I also know that it might be a trigger for cutters. I did put a warning in the disclaimer; so if you read it and now your going to go off and kill your self, please don't blame me, because I'll feel terrible forever. Review if you want to, but I really don't care. BELIEVE me, if I had done this for reviews to boost my ego, everyone would fall in love with someone, Voldiething would die, and they would all live happily ever after.