)Hi!!!!!!!! I'm kinda hyper. Want to know why? I had English today. I
always act high after English. Probably cause my teacher is kinda crazy.
I personally think that this chapteris not one I should be writing while
I'm hyper, but . I'm doin' it anyway!
HAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahahahahahah.giggle.giggle giggle.snicker.giggle.
Okay, I'm done now. I am way to hyper for this chapter.
))Disclaimer: I own no HP copyright. Unfortunately. Tragically. Despite many efforts. Oh, well. Maybe I'll try world domination. Sounds fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Sunday.
The trip to Hagsmeade had been cancelledHarry knew, as he lay on his bed, that everyone else in the school was eating dinner in the Great Hall.
But he didn't care. Cho was dead.
Over and over, Harry saw Cho's death, saw her falling, falling 50 feet, landing on her head. Heard the sickening thud that had echoed through the silent stadium.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
The thought of the parents he had never known, who had died to protect him. He thought of his godfather Sirius, who had been locked away in Azkaban for 13 years, for a crime he had not committed. He thought of Cedric Diggory, is face frozen it horrified surprise. He thought of Bartemus Crouch, of Frank Bryce, of Bertha Jorkins. Of Hermione, petrified; of Ron, lying in a heap, his leg bent the wrong way.
And he thought of Cho, lying in a sodden heap on the wet ground, her blood pooling beneath her.
Harry was drowning in a whirlpool of thoughts, of images, of accusing, staring eyes. He nearly screamed.
But then the raging torrent eased. The shadow upon his soul grew darker, but it no longer tormented him.
Everyone gets hurt because of me. If I'm gone, everyone's hurt will go away.
Harry got up and dug around in his trunk until he found the penknife Sirius had given him. He sat back down in the middle of his bed, and caressed the blade lightly.
No more pain, he thought, and slit his wrists.
The blood ran down his arms, pooled in his palms, flowed through his fingers to stain his sheets crimson.
It's always been the blood of others on my hands. Now that blood is my own.
Harry began to get light-headed and dizzy. He shut his eyes, embracing death. He heard the door bang open, Ron's voice.
"Harry? Harry! Oh, shit, Harry! Wake up, please don't be dead, wake up!"
Harry's eyes fluttered open. He saw Ron's terrified face, felt pressure against his wrists.
That won't help me. I'm already dead.
"No more pain." Harry whispered. "Good-bye."
"Harry, no." Ron said, eyes spilling over. "Hermione's getting help, you'll be okay."
But Harry wasn't listening. His conciousness was slipping away; only a thread remained.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, then flew away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
)No, that is not the end. This is just the big, turning point thingie. What a great word. Thingie. Heh heh heh.
Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review!
HAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahahahahahah.giggle.giggle giggle.snicker.giggle.
Okay, I'm done now. I am way to hyper for this chapter.
))Disclaimer: I own no HP copyright. Unfortunately. Tragically. Despite many efforts. Oh, well. Maybe I'll try world domination. Sounds fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Sunday.
The trip to Hagsmeade had been cancelledHarry knew, as he lay on his bed, that everyone else in the school was eating dinner in the Great Hall.
But he didn't care. Cho was dead.
Over and over, Harry saw Cho's death, saw her falling, falling 50 feet, landing on her head. Heard the sickening thud that had echoed through the silent stadium.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
The thought of the parents he had never known, who had died to protect him. He thought of his godfather Sirius, who had been locked away in Azkaban for 13 years, for a crime he had not committed. He thought of Cedric Diggory, is face frozen it horrified surprise. He thought of Bartemus Crouch, of Frank Bryce, of Bertha Jorkins. Of Hermione, petrified; of Ron, lying in a heap, his leg bent the wrong way.
And he thought of Cho, lying in a sodden heap on the wet ground, her blood pooling beneath her.
Harry was drowning in a whirlpool of thoughts, of images, of accusing, staring eyes. He nearly screamed.
But then the raging torrent eased. The shadow upon his soul grew darker, but it no longer tormented him.
Everyone gets hurt because of me. If I'm gone, everyone's hurt will go away.
Harry got up and dug around in his trunk until he found the penknife Sirius had given him. He sat back down in the middle of his bed, and caressed the blade lightly.
No more pain, he thought, and slit his wrists.
The blood ran down his arms, pooled in his palms, flowed through his fingers to stain his sheets crimson.
It's always been the blood of others on my hands. Now that blood is my own.
Harry began to get light-headed and dizzy. He shut his eyes, embracing death. He heard the door bang open, Ron's voice.
"Harry? Harry! Oh, shit, Harry! Wake up, please don't be dead, wake up!"
Harry's eyes fluttered open. He saw Ron's terrified face, felt pressure against his wrists.
That won't help me. I'm already dead.
"No more pain." Harry whispered. "Good-bye."
"Harry, no." Ron said, eyes spilling over. "Hermione's getting help, you'll be okay."
But Harry wasn't listening. His conciousness was slipping away; only a thread remained.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, then flew away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
)No, that is not the end. This is just the big, turning point thingie. What a great word. Thingie. Heh heh heh.
Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review!