Disclaimer: Anything that you see from Harry Potter is all Jo's.

Chapter Five: Choice

It's been a week since it happened and the memories have yet to fade away. I am disgusted with myself: not only am I a talent less disappointment to my parents; I had allowed this to happen. I failed to confront Timothy and went to the ball with him despite what he said. I went outside with him.

I did those things; I brought this on myself.

I am suffering, and it's my own fault.

When I was younger, around eleven or twelve, I was an optimist. The world was perhaps not a perfect place, but the good easily outweighed the bad. There was a smile for every tear; a joy for each pain; a friend for every enemy. An evil wizard had sought to rule the world, but he had been defeated by my own father.

Now I'm not so sure. I see the world through different eyes, through thoroughly disillusioned ones. I am an exception to my earlier rule - my bad points outweigh my good points. Now the world seems so different than I earlier thought it to be. Everything seems so different. It's as if I live frozen in my own bubble, watching everyone else as they go about their lives.

I am all alone in this bubble, and right now the world seems as if it is the farthest thing from perfect.

I am constantly numb. My latest reason for cutting is so that I can feel something, so thAT I can feel anything, just to prove to myself that I am still alive.

However, I must ask myself: do I want to live anymore?

I think the answer is no.

Wouldn't it be better for them all if I was dead? Kit would go on to make better friends - the type of friends she deserves, and Mum and Dad wouldn't have to see me every day, a constant reminder of what their daughter is - or rather, what their daughter is not.

And I wouldn't have to face the pain anymore. The pain of being a disappointment, inadequate; the pain of what happened after the Yule Ball - it would all disappear. It will all disappear as soon as I do.

My mind is made up.

I will not end my life in a quick manner. No, I deserve for it to be long and drawn out; I deserve to suffer. It must be a slow and painful process, and one that has no chance of going wrong.

Suddenly I have an idea, and I know how my life will end: I will use the cruciatus curse on myself. According to my defense against the dark arts textbook, in order for the curse to work, the person casting it must want to cause pain. That is what I want and what I will do: use the curse on myself until I loose consciousness and die.

Before I do it, there is a letter that I must write.

Dear Mum, Dad, and Kit,

If you are reading this, it means you know that I am dead by my own hand. The reason why I did it is both complicated and simple. This world is so full of pain and disappointment, and I just can't take it anymore. I can't stand another day of being alive.

I could leave it at that, but you deserve to know the entire truth, what I could not tell you before. I suppose what propelled me into this state was what happened after the Yule Ball. Timothy, he made me…he raped me. And since it happened, I relive it in my head everyday. It hurts so much, and I'm beginning to think that the pain will never stop.

You all deserve so much better than me. Kit, you deserve a better best friend. Mum and Dad, what you deserve in a daughter is so much more than what I can be. I am inadequate. I try and fail; I try and just can't. I know I'm always disappointing you, and I apologize for that. You deserve someone who wouldn't kill herself, and that is what I did. I'm sorry for the pain that this may cause you. Try to forget about me; eventually I will be nothing more than a distant memory of a girl, a girl who could not be what she needed to be.

Know that I loved you three more than anything in this life, and I will continue to love you in the afterlife.

Always,

Lucy

I go to the astronomy tower, carrying the note and my wand. The tower will be deserted; no one will be there on a cold winter evening at the start of the Christmas holidays. I stand in the tower alone, point my wand at myself, and whisper the word.

Crucio.

The pain is excruciating, but it doesn't stop me from continuing. I say it again and again until everything goes black.

Every part of my body feels as if it has been beaten to a pulp. My head feels as if it's splitting in two; the pain is so great that it prevents me from opening my eyes.

Where am I? I hear distant voices. I try to remember how I ended up here and fail. The voices become clearer.

"The cutting was a result of the rape, then?"

"No," another voice says, "From what I can gather, the assault took place about a week ago. Some of these cuts are nearly healed, while others are fresh. I would say that she started cutting before the rape and continued after. It's likely that the rape worsened the cutting."

A third voice, "Why didn't I notice that she was hurting so much?"

Then I remember: I was up on the tower. I had wanted to die there, but here I am. I'm alive.

I survived.

I had made my decision, but it didn't work out properly. Now here I am.

Here I am, alive.