Harry slipped away from the feast silently, taking advantage of Ron and Hermione's distraction with each other. Walking as silently as he could, he walked out of the Great Hall, hoping desperately that no one else would notice. Making sure his wand, map, and cloak with him, he made his way up to the astronomy tower, using passages he had spent the last few weeks finding, whenever he could get away from his shadows.
Yes, he knew exactly what they were up to; After all, friends don't follow other friends and send the Great and Mighty Albus Dumbledore nightly reports on the health of aforementioned friends. Ron and Hermione had been spying on him, ever since the incident at the Ministry. Did they truly think he was too stupid to realize? Were they under the impression that he was deaf, not hearing when their whispers grew too loud? Had they believed that he wouldn't notice their obvious relationship?
Weaving a quick Silencing Veil around his body, Harry began to run, pushing his scarred, malnourished form as hard as he could, reveling in the burning desperation that was blossoming in his lungs, a call for more oxygen. He smiled in grim satisfaction as the pain spread from his chest down his slightly shaking body and flared within his legs. Wonderful.
~All Citius Omne Finietur~
Reaching the stairs to the tower, Harry pulled out his favorite silver potions knife, enjoying the slightly tainted gleam of the sharp blade by the handle- the only sign of a less innocent use the knife was used for. Pressing the blade against the very first scar he had given himself, he reopened his and slid his wrist against the doorway of the stairs and thanked his last trips to the forbidden section in the Library whilst he cast the Until the Death ward, a blood ward designed to give a suicidal person peace until the last vestiges of warmth was gone from their body and would only fall after that.
~Mors Donec Compleatur~
Fighting the urge to end everything right then and there, Harry entered the tower. He sat in the center of the room, contemplating everything his life had been. Beaten, starved, endangered. He had been betrayed by his friends, been told that he was nothing but a pig to be put out to slaughter. He had been the death of his parents, a Hogwarts teacher, a fellow student and his Godfather. He'd nearly killed his so called best friends several times, and their families as well. Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that he deserved to die.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the faces of everyone he had caused harm to, hearing them hiss profanities at him just as they did in his nightmares. Justice had to be served for them, and that was exactly what his death would accomplish. Peace for the dead, peace for the living. A stray thought entered his head: Should he have left a note? Then he snorted. Notes were too dramatic; one would have made him seem like he was only looking for publicity. And it would have allowed him to be found before he wanted to be.
~Lorem Ipsum, Dolor Sit Perfectus~
Calming his mind, Harry settled. It was time. Pulling out his knife, he wiped the old blood off and tested the blade lightly against his thumb to ensure it was at its sharpest. Rolling up the sleeves of his robes Harry began to lightly peel and slice through several layers of skin to reveal the tissue underneath. With a twisted smile, he set the knife on his knees and began to pull at the newly exposed nerve ending, which had previously been stinging and was now burning like fire. Deciding he was wasting too much time, Harry stopped pulling at the nerve and picked up the knife again. Plunging it into the crease of his arm and giving a hiss of pleasure at the pain, he carved the word WORTHLESS into his left arm, sawing the tissue savagely.
Finishing with his left arm, Harry turned his attentions to his legs, finding the sensitive flesh that carried the major arteries easily. He let out a twisted shout of laughter as the little knife filléd his upper thighs and tore them to shreds. Beginning to feel light headed from the pool of blood forming underneath and around him, Harry sought to finish his task. Transferring the knife to his left hand, Harry stabbed it into his right arm as hard as he could and dragged it down fast, enjoying the well deserved pain as the injured muscles in his left arm burned and pulled, and the pain in his right as he quickly, viciously, yet methodically, destroyed it by plunging the knife in and dragging it to his wrist several times. Finally, after almost an hour of stabbing and slashing at his flesh, Harry's numbed fingers dropped the knife and he slumped sideways, losing consciousness before his head had hit the ground. Five minutes later, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was dead.
~Postremo, Factum Est.~
Translations:
1: All too soon, Everything shall End.
2: Until death is Completed
3: Soon, everything will be finished.
4: Finally, it is Done.