Disclaimer: Not mine! All belongs to JKR, WB, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, etc.!(anyone else lucky enough) Also, I probably credit the basic idea to fanfic people out there who started this whole suicidal angst thing that I am now hooked on and so... I write.
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Harry was kept off the Dreamless Sleep potion every third night, as Dumbledore had ordered, much to the unhappiness of Mrs. Weasley. It worked fairly well, though. Harry was kept free from nightmares two thirds of the time, and remained quite sane, although privately quite depressed and suicidal. Harry always dreaded those third nights. He couldn't even try to stay awake all night because Mrs. Weasley would give him a bit of potion to start him off asleep. Often, though, he would wake up in the middle of the night and sit curled up with his knees to his chest on the cot for hours until the sun rose.
Tonight was a Third Night. Ron had already gone downstairs and settled himself on the couch to sleep, as he did on these nights. Harry always felt guilty and a bit embarrassed because of this, and also when he heard Mrs. Weasley mutter the silencing spell on the room. He knew, though, that Dumbledore had a reason, though Harry couldn't think what it could be.
Mrs. Weasley left, and Harry dreamed.
Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
"Where are we?" he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
His dream swirled, changed. Harry saw the figures in cloaks, and knew at once what was coming, but couldn't wake himself up.
Harry heard the high, cold, evil laugh, his scar burning. He could do nothing but watch.
They silently crept into the house and up the stairs. There were some muggle photographs on the walls. Voldemort and the Death Eaters reached the top of the stairs, turned, and creeped down a small hallway. Voldemort paused, reading a sign on one of the doors, then went inside.
They were in a young wizard's room. There were schoolbooks, parchment, quills - everywhere. The young wizard was sleeping in his bed.
One of the Death Eaters muttered a Silencing Charm on the room.
"Wake up!" hissed Voldemort, then hit the boy with the Cruciatus.
Harry's ears were filled with screams, and his scar was paining him terribly. Voldemort released the curse, and Harry saw the boy's face.
Colin Creevy.
"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter," Voldemort said slowly, silkily, dangerously quietly. Colin's eyes were round, and very afraid.
"You-know-who," he whispered finally, after breathing frantically for several seconds. Voldemort laughed again.
"Yes, mudblood, I am Lord Voldemort." He paused momentarily. "*Crucio!*"
The screaming filled Harry's ears again for several minutes. Finally, it stopped.
Colin lie on the floor, shaking, glistening with sweat in the pale moonlight that lit the room eerily. He stared boldly into the face of Lord Voldemort, and, beneath the tortured look he wore on his face, there was something else... anger.
Colin reached up to his dresser for his wand, and nearly grabbed it. His fingers two inches away, it suddenly flew through the air and into one of Voldemort's white hands.
"I have quite enjoyed this little game, mudblood. Shall we play again?" Voldemort waited, enjoying the look of terror on Colin's face. "Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked, then laughed with the pleasure that came with watching Colin there on the floor, listening to him scream...
It went on for so long. Too long. Harry tried and tried to wake himself up, but couldn't. Finally, after so long, it stopped. A thin smile came across Voldemort's snake-like face, and his red eyes glowed into the darkness.
"*Avada Kedarva!*" he screeched. There was the whooshing sound, the flash of green light, and Colin Creevy lay dead on the floor of his bedroom in the middle of the night.
*Wake up, wake up, wake up!* Harry told himself frantically, as Voldemort and the Death Eaters left, and Harry was forced to stare at the lifeless form of Colin. Harry went to the window, and saw them walk out to the front lawn, then apparate away. They liked doing this, apparating from the front lawn. Harry woke up.
Harry sat curled up on the cot, wide green eyes staring into the darkness, catching his breath. He knew what he had just seen had actually happened. Colin Creevy was dead. Sure, he was annoying, but he didn't deserve to *die.* Why?
Then something from the dream came back to Harry, hitting him with the force of a semi truck.
*"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter."*
Harry gasped for breath. *It was because of me. I killed him! And that's why his family got to live.*
Harry got up off the cot, ignoring the clock that said it was only three am. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up.
*It was me, it was me, I killed him!* Harry thought miserably. *Voldemort killed Colin because of me!!!* He squinted his eyes shut out of misery and leaned his head forward against the wall of the cold shower, where he stood, the icy water running over his miserable self until five am, when Arthur pounded on the door. Harry shut off the water, dressed, and left.
He drifted downstairs. He didn't know why. He sat quietly in a chair next to Ron still sleeping on the couch, and stared quietly off into space until six thirty, when some distant noise upstairs brought him from his trance.
I'll go flying, Harry decided. He got his broom, and went outside.
Harry ascended into the air, still dwelling on the dream, letting the horrors sink in.
I killed Colin. Colin's dead. He's dead, because of me! Well, that's two names directly to my list, him and Cedric. Not to mention all those other people. All dead, because of me, because I helped Voldemort return. I did this to all those people!
And here I'm with the Weasleys, endangering them, and they're going to so much trouble over me, over a murderer! It isn't fair to them. It's embarassing them going to so much trouble for me, though I'm grateful for it, I guess. They shouldn't do that! I don't deserve anything! I don't deserve to live. I don't *want* to live.
Harry casually glanced down. The answer came to him. He turned his broom to the left, and flew up, up to the top of the Weasley house. He landed on the roof, and set down his Firebolt carefully. He walked slowly to the edge of the roof, looking down...
He was so high up! It must be forty, fifty feet, at least.
Albus Dumbledore apparated to the Weasley kitchen.
"Oh! Hello, professor," said the startled Mrs. Weasley, still in her nightdress, having just come downstairs to prepare breakfast.
"Hello, Molly," he said, smiling kindly at the startled woman. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I just stopped by to talk to Harry, see how he's doing. Another night without the potion." He looked pointedly at Molly here. She nodded, indicating that she did, indeed, refuse Harry the potion, for his sanity's sake.
"Is he up yet?"
"Yes, Arthur said he's seen him."
"Very well," Albus said, then went into the living room.
It was the solution to everything. It was perfect. It would be so freeing. Harry smiled slightly, his first sincere smile in over a month.
"Why, hello, Arthur." Mr. Weasley looked up, surprised.
"Albus! Hello!" he said, smiling and leaping up to shake his hand. "What brings you here?"
"I've come to speak with Harry, see how he's been doing. You saw him this morning?"
"Yes, yes I did. I wonder where he's off to now. Probably in Ron's room." They then went upstairs.
Harry felt so exhilarated up there on the roof. A gentle breeze ran through his messy black hair. He was happy for the first time in weeks, happy because he was going to end it all, to end his life.
Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed when they heard two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs, and they parted quickly, Hermione moving to the floor just before the door opened.
"Hello, Dad. Professor Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed, open-mouthed. He realized this and closed it, then remembered how the Headmaster arrived several days earlier, and figured he wanted to talk to Harry.
"Have you two seen Harry?" Arthur asked, confirming Ron's thoughts.
Harry spread his arms wide, opened them like wings, closed his eyes, and turned his head to the sky. He stood there like this enjoying the feeling. He was doing his own small part to bring justice to the world, by ridding it of himself. His lungs filled with air and he felt the wonderful bittersweet pain that comes with suicide. He stood there, arms outstretched, awaiting his pleasant leap out of this world.
"I'm so happy I'll be seeing you again," Harry whispered, eyes closed, head turned toward the sky, to the wind, speaking to his parents. He lowered his arms to his sides, opened his eyes, and slowly moved his head down to look straight ahead again.
"His broom's gone, he probably went flying," Hermione said.
"Shall we look for him now?" Arthur asked Dumbledore. He paused.
"All right," he said. "Might as well."
Again Harry happily looked down. Breathing quickly, Harry grinned, looked in front of him, gently closed his eyes, and dived off the roof.
He moved his arms out like they were before. Everything was going in slow motion. Harry felt like he was flying, only without a broom. He heard the air whoosh past his ears, felt it go roughly through his hair. He enjoyed it's feel against his face, which was facing the earth.
Then, everything went black.
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Harry was kept off the Dreamless Sleep potion every third night, as Dumbledore had ordered, much to the unhappiness of Mrs. Weasley. It worked fairly well, though. Harry was kept free from nightmares two thirds of the time, and remained quite sane, although privately quite depressed and suicidal. Harry always dreaded those third nights. He couldn't even try to stay awake all night because Mrs. Weasley would give him a bit of potion to start him off asleep. Often, though, he would wake up in the middle of the night and sit curled up with his knees to his chest on the cot for hours until the sun rose.
Tonight was a Third Night. Ron had already gone downstairs and settled himself on the couch to sleep, as he did on these nights. Harry always felt guilty and a bit embarrassed because of this, and also when he heard Mrs. Weasley mutter the silencing spell on the room. He knew, though, that Dumbledore had a reason, though Harry couldn't think what it could be.
Mrs. Weasley left, and Harry dreamed.
Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
"Where are we?" he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
His dream swirled, changed. Harry saw the figures in cloaks, and knew at once what was coming, but couldn't wake himself up.
Harry heard the high, cold, evil laugh, his scar burning. He could do nothing but watch.
They silently crept into the house and up the stairs. There were some muggle photographs on the walls. Voldemort and the Death Eaters reached the top of the stairs, turned, and creeped down a small hallway. Voldemort paused, reading a sign on one of the doors, then went inside.
They were in a young wizard's room. There were schoolbooks, parchment, quills - everywhere. The young wizard was sleeping in his bed.
One of the Death Eaters muttered a Silencing Charm on the room.
"Wake up!" hissed Voldemort, then hit the boy with the Cruciatus.
Harry's ears were filled with screams, and his scar was paining him terribly. Voldemort released the curse, and Harry saw the boy's face.
Colin Creevy.
"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter," Voldemort said slowly, silkily, dangerously quietly. Colin's eyes were round, and very afraid.
"You-know-who," he whispered finally, after breathing frantically for several seconds. Voldemort laughed again.
"Yes, mudblood, I am Lord Voldemort." He paused momentarily. "*Crucio!*"
The screaming filled Harry's ears again for several minutes. Finally, it stopped.
Colin lie on the floor, shaking, glistening with sweat in the pale moonlight that lit the room eerily. He stared boldly into the face of Lord Voldemort, and, beneath the tortured look he wore on his face, there was something else... anger.
Colin reached up to his dresser for his wand, and nearly grabbed it. His fingers two inches away, it suddenly flew through the air and into one of Voldemort's white hands.
"I have quite enjoyed this little game, mudblood. Shall we play again?" Voldemort waited, enjoying the look of terror on Colin's face. "Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked, then laughed with the pleasure that came with watching Colin there on the floor, listening to him scream...
It went on for so long. Too long. Harry tried and tried to wake himself up, but couldn't. Finally, after so long, it stopped. A thin smile came across Voldemort's snake-like face, and his red eyes glowed into the darkness.
"*Avada Kedarva!*" he screeched. There was the whooshing sound, the flash of green light, and Colin Creevy lay dead on the floor of his bedroom in the middle of the night.
*Wake up, wake up, wake up!* Harry told himself frantically, as Voldemort and the Death Eaters left, and Harry was forced to stare at the lifeless form of Colin. Harry went to the window, and saw them walk out to the front lawn, then apparate away. They liked doing this, apparating from the front lawn. Harry woke up.
Harry sat curled up on the cot, wide green eyes staring into the darkness, catching his breath. He knew what he had just seen had actually happened. Colin Creevy was dead. Sure, he was annoying, but he didn't deserve to *die.* Why?
Then something from the dream came back to Harry, hitting him with the force of a semi truck.
*"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter."*
Harry gasped for breath. *It was because of me. I killed him! And that's why his family got to live.*
Harry got up off the cot, ignoring the clock that said it was only three am. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up.
*It was me, it was me, I killed him!* Harry thought miserably. *Voldemort killed Colin because of me!!!* He squinted his eyes shut out of misery and leaned his head forward against the wall of the cold shower, where he stood, the icy water running over his miserable self until five am, when Arthur pounded on the door. Harry shut off the water, dressed, and left.
He drifted downstairs. He didn't know why. He sat quietly in a chair next to Ron still sleeping on the couch, and stared quietly off into space until six thirty, when some distant noise upstairs brought him from his trance.
I'll go flying, Harry decided. He got his broom, and went outside.
Harry ascended into the air, still dwelling on the dream, letting the horrors sink in.
I killed Colin. Colin's dead. He's dead, because of me! Well, that's two names directly to my list, him and Cedric. Not to mention all those other people. All dead, because of me, because I helped Voldemort return. I did this to all those people!
And here I'm with the Weasleys, endangering them, and they're going to so much trouble over me, over a murderer! It isn't fair to them. It's embarassing them going to so much trouble for me, though I'm grateful for it, I guess. They shouldn't do that! I don't deserve anything! I don't deserve to live. I don't *want* to live.
Harry casually glanced down. The answer came to him. He turned his broom to the left, and flew up, up to the top of the Weasley house. He landed on the roof, and set down his Firebolt carefully. He walked slowly to the edge of the roof, looking down...
He was so high up! It must be forty, fifty feet, at least.
Albus Dumbledore apparated to the Weasley kitchen.
"Oh! Hello, professor," said the startled Mrs. Weasley, still in her nightdress, having just come downstairs to prepare breakfast.
"Hello, Molly," he said, smiling kindly at the startled woman. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I just stopped by to talk to Harry, see how he's doing. Another night without the potion." He looked pointedly at Molly here. She nodded, indicating that she did, indeed, refuse Harry the potion, for his sanity's sake.
"Is he up yet?"
"Yes, Arthur said he's seen him."
"Very well," Albus said, then went into the living room.
It was the solution to everything. It was perfect. It would be so freeing. Harry smiled slightly, his first sincere smile in over a month.
"Why, hello, Arthur." Mr. Weasley looked up, surprised.
"Albus! Hello!" he said, smiling and leaping up to shake his hand. "What brings you here?"
"I've come to speak with Harry, see how he's been doing. You saw him this morning?"
"Yes, yes I did. I wonder where he's off to now. Probably in Ron's room." They then went upstairs.
Harry felt so exhilarated up there on the roof. A gentle breeze ran through his messy black hair. He was happy for the first time in weeks, happy because he was going to end it all, to end his life.
Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed when they heard two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs, and they parted quickly, Hermione moving to the floor just before the door opened.
"Hello, Dad. Professor Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed, open-mouthed. He realized this and closed it, then remembered how the Headmaster arrived several days earlier, and figured he wanted to talk to Harry.
"Have you two seen Harry?" Arthur asked, confirming Ron's thoughts.
Harry spread his arms wide, opened them like wings, closed his eyes, and turned his head to the sky. He stood there like this enjoying the feeling. He was doing his own small part to bring justice to the world, by ridding it of himself. His lungs filled with air and he felt the wonderful bittersweet pain that comes with suicide. He stood there, arms outstretched, awaiting his pleasant leap out of this world.
"I'm so happy I'll be seeing you again," Harry whispered, eyes closed, head turned toward the sky, to the wind, speaking to his parents. He lowered his arms to his sides, opened his eyes, and slowly moved his head down to look straight ahead again.
"His broom's gone, he probably went flying," Hermione said.
"Shall we look for him now?" Arthur asked Dumbledore. He paused.
"All right," he said. "Might as well."
Again Harry happily looked down. Breathing quickly, Harry grinned, looked in front of him, gently closed his eyes, and dived off the roof.
He moved his arms out like they were before. Everything was going in slow motion. Harry felt like he was flying, only without a broom. He heard the air whoosh past his ears, felt it go roughly through his hair. He enjoyed it's feel against his face, which was facing the earth.
Then, everything went black.