Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue, just enjoy.
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Harry thought of his parents as he sat staring out the window at the sky. How nice it would be to see them again. Will be. How nice it will be.
He glanced sideways toward Ron for a moment before staring out the window again. How would he escape Ron? He'd been giving it a *lot* of thought lately. Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, he now wanted more than ever before to die, and knew he must thoroughly think it through this time.
Where could he go where no one could find him? And the longer he went unfound, the better, as so far he had been inturrupted far sooner than he'd expected. Where could he go?
The prefects' bathroom was a thought. It was a nice place, and hardly anyone could get into it. He could lock it, and he knew the password. Or at least, he hoped he knew the password. It may have been changed. That could be a problem. Also, people *could* access it. And then there's Moaning Myrtle and her spying tendancies.... No, no, that wouldn't work.
Where could no one find him? Of course. He was the only Parselmouth in the school, and where do you need to be a Parselmouth to get into? The Chamber of Secrets. It still exists, and no one could ever get into it except him. Or Voldemort, but he would never come near Hogwarts, especially to *save* Harry's life. But that's such an awful place, and it's so connected with Voldemort and Slytherin... There was no way he'd ever go in there again.
The secret passage into Hogsmeade... He could go far enough so he's off the map, or take the map with him... and only Fred and George knew how to get into it. Except they'd find him there for sure.
His best chance was the Forbidden Forest, and that is what he planned.
*************************************************
Should I write a letter? How could I write a letter that wouldn't be found before it's time? And what exactly would I say? And what should I leave behind? And who should I leave it all to?
These questions had been swirling around Harry's mind. They, too, he had figured out, though none of them were easy questions to answer.
It was after midnight, a Friday morning. Harry had been pretending to be asleep for hours. Ron was now asleep, and Harry was listening tensely to his steady breathing. Silently Harry reached under his pillow and took out the piece of parchment, ink bottle and quill he had stashed there for this moment. He flicked open the hangings on his four poster bed so that a bit of moonlight could shine through, and wrote his simple, well-rehearsed note.
Dear Ron,
I'm gone now. I'm leaving all my posessions to you and your family. You, Hermione, your family, were all very kind to me. Thank you.
-Harry
Short, simple, and saying everything he wanted to be said.
He got up silently and dressed, glancing nervously over to Ron's bed every few moments. Ron had become a very light sleeper, but Harry was even better at being silent, so Ron remained asleep.
Silently Harry hid the note under his mattress. Then he grabbed the Marauder's Map and hid it as well. Then he threw his Invisibility Cloak over himself, and set off through the castle and into the night.
"Lumos," he was forced to mutter as he entered the forest. Could light be seen from under an Invisibility Cloak? He ran down the path, his fastest way into the forest, and went for quite awhile, until he was deep into the forest and certainly no longer visibile on the Marauder's Map. Then he left the path.
He made his way slowly through the trees and brush, stepping over large roots and peering about uncertainly. The night was quiet.
He wandered through the forest and away from the path until a very pale, eerie grey light illuminated the forest, and Harry put away his wand. It was still extremely dark, but now he could at least see without his wand.
Harry knew it was rather likely for Ron to be up and panicking by now, and that he'd best get down to business.
He sat at the base of a large tree and leaned against the trunk. He was so happy, excited, relieved the end was coming. He would get to see his parents again, get to stop dealing with his guilt and with the world... Harry drew in a deep, shuttering breath. He closed his eyes, and again began to cry. After a few minutes, he shook his head, wiped his eyes so he could see, yet continued to cry, only more subdued and calm.
He pulled the knife out of his pocket and opened the blade. He turned it so it gleamed in the light.
He rolled up the sleeves of his robes. He examined the undersides of his arms, tracing the veins with his cold fingers.
Then he took up the knife. He took it in his hand and lay the blade lightly over the vein in his wrist. Then he pressed.
He intook his breath sharply as the first wave of pain came over him and he began to bleed. He began to feel peaceful. He watched the blood pouring out of him as he dragged the blade deeply up his arm, tracing the veins. Covered in blood, he repeated the process with his other arm while he still had the strength, starting at his wrist, and dragging the blade up his arm, tearing his veins and watching himself bleed.
His breathing was jagged. He wasn't afraid. He felt an odd combination of sorrow, joy, guilt, triumph, and peace. He watched with a peaceful satisfaction as he became bathed in his own blood. He slumped against the tree, and everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry thought of his parents as he sat staring out the window at the sky. How nice it would be to see them again. Will be. How nice it will be.
He glanced sideways toward Ron for a moment before staring out the window again. How would he escape Ron? He'd been giving it a *lot* of thought lately. Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, he now wanted more than ever before to die, and knew he must thoroughly think it through this time.
Where could he go where no one could find him? And the longer he went unfound, the better, as so far he had been inturrupted far sooner than he'd expected. Where could he go?
The prefects' bathroom was a thought. It was a nice place, and hardly anyone could get into it. He could lock it, and he knew the password. Or at least, he hoped he knew the password. It may have been changed. That could be a problem. Also, people *could* access it. And then there's Moaning Myrtle and her spying tendancies.... No, no, that wouldn't work.
Where could no one find him? Of course. He was the only Parselmouth in the school, and where do you need to be a Parselmouth to get into? The Chamber of Secrets. It still exists, and no one could ever get into it except him. Or Voldemort, but he would never come near Hogwarts, especially to *save* Harry's life. But that's such an awful place, and it's so connected with Voldemort and Slytherin... There was no way he'd ever go in there again.
The secret passage into Hogsmeade... He could go far enough so he's off the map, or take the map with him... and only Fred and George knew how to get into it. Except they'd find him there for sure.
His best chance was the Forbidden Forest, and that is what he planned.
*************************************************
Should I write a letter? How could I write a letter that wouldn't be found before it's time? And what exactly would I say? And what should I leave behind? And who should I leave it all to?
These questions had been swirling around Harry's mind. They, too, he had figured out, though none of them were easy questions to answer.
It was after midnight, a Friday morning. Harry had been pretending to be asleep for hours. Ron was now asleep, and Harry was listening tensely to his steady breathing. Silently Harry reached under his pillow and took out the piece of parchment, ink bottle and quill he had stashed there for this moment. He flicked open the hangings on his four poster bed so that a bit of moonlight could shine through, and wrote his simple, well-rehearsed note.
Dear Ron,
I'm gone now. I'm leaving all my posessions to you and your family. You, Hermione, your family, were all very kind to me. Thank you.
-Harry
Short, simple, and saying everything he wanted to be said.
He got up silently and dressed, glancing nervously over to Ron's bed every few moments. Ron had become a very light sleeper, but Harry was even better at being silent, so Ron remained asleep.
Silently Harry hid the note under his mattress. Then he grabbed the Marauder's Map and hid it as well. Then he threw his Invisibility Cloak over himself, and set off through the castle and into the night.
"Lumos," he was forced to mutter as he entered the forest. Could light be seen from under an Invisibility Cloak? He ran down the path, his fastest way into the forest, and went for quite awhile, until he was deep into the forest and certainly no longer visibile on the Marauder's Map. Then he left the path.
He made his way slowly through the trees and brush, stepping over large roots and peering about uncertainly. The night was quiet.
He wandered through the forest and away from the path until a very pale, eerie grey light illuminated the forest, and Harry put away his wand. It was still extremely dark, but now he could at least see without his wand.
Harry knew it was rather likely for Ron to be up and panicking by now, and that he'd best get down to business.
He sat at the base of a large tree and leaned against the trunk. He was so happy, excited, relieved the end was coming. He would get to see his parents again, get to stop dealing with his guilt and with the world... Harry drew in a deep, shuttering breath. He closed his eyes, and again began to cry. After a few minutes, he shook his head, wiped his eyes so he could see, yet continued to cry, only more subdued and calm.
He pulled the knife out of his pocket and opened the blade. He turned it so it gleamed in the light.
He rolled up the sleeves of his robes. He examined the undersides of his arms, tracing the veins with his cold fingers.
Then he took up the knife. He took it in his hand and lay the blade lightly over the vein in his wrist. Then he pressed.
He intook his breath sharply as the first wave of pain came over him and he began to bleed. He began to feel peaceful. He watched the blood pouring out of him as he dragged the blade deeply up his arm, tracing the veins. Covered in blood, he repeated the process with his other arm while he still had the strength, starting at his wrist, and dragging the blade up his arm, tearing his veins and watching himself bleed.
His breathing was jagged. He wasn't afraid. He felt an odd combination of sorrow, joy, guilt, triumph, and peace. He watched with a peaceful satisfaction as he became bathed in his own blood. He slumped against the tree, and everything went black.