Chapter 5 - It's Over


Dumbledore dashed up the Astronomy tower surprisingly fast for someone so old. When the news had been brought to him that Harry was standing on the tallest tower of the castle, he had dearly wished to be able to Apparate to where he was needed. As this was impossible in Hogwarts, he had instead settled for hurrying there as quickly as possible. Breathing deeply to recover his breath, Dumbledore pushed open the trap door to the roof of the tower, and bravely met the sight before him.


he said, sounding concerned and worried. Harry glanced back at Dumbledore, and felt his guilt double. He didn't deserve concern from anybody; he was a murderer that the world would be glad to be rid of. What are you doing here? Dumbledore asked. Harry looked down at the ground far, far below him, remaining silent for a minute.


I'm tired, sir, he said at last. Dumbledore took a cautious step towards him.


Then go to your bed, he replied, a worried frown creasing his brow and the familiar twinkle in his eyes replaced with fear for the young teen in front of him.


A bed won't cure me, Harry answered. He took another step towards the edge of the roof, and scanned the scenery below him. It seemed the whole school was gathered there, each nameless face staring up at him. How high are we? Harry asked. Dumbledore's worry turned into a mild panic at Harry's distant voice, which he hid well.


Thirteen storeys, he answered at length. Harry nodded, looking down again.


Will it hurt? he murmured quietly. He silently scolded himself; what did it matter if it hurt? He was being selfish, avoiding pain. He was a murderer, and murderers had to be punished. He leaned forward to see where he would land, and Dumbledore sucked in a harsh breath.


Harry, we should go inside, he said, his voice as calm as possible. Harry shook his head, briefly looking back at his headmaster.


I'm not wanted. I cause nothing but pain, and the time has come to end it, he said softly. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose.


Who says you're not wanted? he asked, taking another inconspicuous step towards Harry. Harry shrugged, staring distantly out at the Forbidden Forest, lit gold with the rays of the setting sun.


The Dursley's have been saying it for fourteen years, but I never listened. I'm stupid and worthless, and no use to the world. Perhaps Lord Voldemort has been trying to do us a favour, he mused. Tears welled in his eyes as the truth registered; Lord Voldemort wasn't a bad wizard - he was trying to rid the world of the dratted Potter. Dumbledore was close now, a few more feet and he would be able to pull Harry away from the wall that stopped him toppling off the roof. Professor Snape said I was an idiot boy, too cocky for my own good, Harry said suddenly, a grim smile twisting his lips. Dumbledore stopped in his path to Harry. Severus had caused this?


Professor Snape has called you many things over the years. Why does this upset you now? he asked. Harry shrugged again.


I never believed it before, he answered simply. He stepped onto the foot-high wall, pulling further away from Dumbledore.


Harry, think about this, he said hurriedly. Let me help you. Please, he asked. Harry spread his arms wide, like a swimmer preparing to dive. Dumbledore racked his brain for something to prevent what appeared to be the inevitable. Don't let your mother's death be in vain, he came up with, and this made Harry falter. He stared at the ground and the crowd below, pointing at him and talking. He spotted a cluster of redheads - the Weasley's - and Hermione in the middle of their group. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle didn't point; they didn't even stand with the rest of the school. But they were looking, Harry could see. Step down, Harry, Dumbledore ordered in his most commanding tone. Harry shook his head, and straightened, preparing for the jump.


It's over, he said, and with that he leapt. Screams met his ears, but the wind rushing by blocked it out. He smiled and closed his eyes, and the fall seemed to take forever. He felt happy and calm. After so long feeling guilty and unworthy, he was finally doing something for the world: ridding it of himself. He felt laughter bubble up inside him as he plummeted. Dropping thirteen storeys felt like diving for the Snitch in a Quidditch match, the only time he ever felt remotely useful. He would miss that, he decided.


Silently, Harry apologised to all those people he had hurt and killed: Cedric, his parents, both dead because of him. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, all had been hurt by him, or because of him. What if Hermione had picked the poison in their first year? What if Ron had died when the Ford Anglia had crashed into the Whomping Willow, or when they went to look for Aragog in their second year? What if the Dementors had kissed Sirius in his third year? All weighed heavily on Harry's mind, and he shed tears for each and every one of them. Even Dudley, his overweight cousin, had suffered because of him. But no more, he thought to himself firmly. And Harry felt peace.


It was like a bubble of depression around him had suddenly burst, and all his sadness and guilt drained out. His eyes shot open as he stared at the approaching ground. A curse, he realised too late, his misery had been a magical curse. It felt like an eternity had been caged into the seconds his fall had taken, but the ground wasn't waiting any more. It neared him quickly, and Harry stretched out his hands to stop himself. With a sickening crunch, he landed, his arms and legs snapping like twigs under the power of his fall, even as they prevented his death. Keeling onto his side, Harry briefly saw the swimming faces in front of him, before he passed out.


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