Whitefeater
Summary: When responsibility becomes too much, Harry kills himself. In Heaven, he's given a view of what life is like without him, and given a choice; he must choose between love and responsibility.
Notes: I wrote this in half and hour, while working on OWiH and Flight. It's a new style, and I wat to try it out, I've wanted to for a while. Tell me what you think. To my Beta, Briana, for being the coolest.
Usual disclaimers apply.
***
Dark.
Light.
Black.
White.
There are no such things.
All there is... shades of gray.
A dark white.
A lightened black.
The door shut downstairs. The three of them were off, off to a boxing match of Dudley's.
They were off, off as a family.
The one thing I wanted.
The one thing I never had.
I looked to the window. Outside, it was warm.
It was beautiful.
Inside, a storm raged.
I feel myself slipping... falling. Insanity.
The mirror Sirius had given me lay in thousands of shards on the floor. With it, the memories.
Memories I wanted to shatter. I wanted to break. I wanted to go away, forever.
And so I did.
A large shard of the mirror, sharp, glistened on the floor. It reflected my face; my eyes, lost, dark pools of green. I was changed. It was over.
My blood was dark. It looked as if it were paint, running over my pale flesh. And the pain? It wasn't there.
I was going to be with my mom and dad and Sirius again. The pain was bearable.
The floor met my eyes, and I felt as though a giant hand was taking my soul away. Was this death? Why did Voldemort fight it? My eyes are heavy... I feel the pain leaving as well.
I feel... nothing.
See nothing.
The pain is gone. I feel nothing. Floating, like the imperious. I'm free.
My eyes open.
And see...
Mom.
And she's dead.
Like me. I'm dead now.
Her eyes, they're sad.
Don't cry, Mom, I'm here. I'm with you.
I hadn't spoken, but I heard my voice.
And slowly, I began to regain sanity.
And I began to regret.
She stared at me, with sympathy, with sadness...
Nothing from Mom.
She knew.
She came over to me. Tears. Tears... in heaven? Why was she crying? Our family was here. I had a family. She shook her head.
My heart, filled with grief and suffering, broke. I had to justify myself.
You have no idea what the hell is going on. To go through my life. People, they see me as the Boy Who Lived. They see my scar. They see my past. They don't see me, Harry, a fifteen-year-old boy. Everyone wants me to be a general. Everyone wants me to be his or her savior. Everyone wants me to be their hope, their prayer, everything. I don't want any of it. I just want to be me, Harry James Potter. I don't want to be whom everyone looks to. I just want to be Harry Potter, and live my life.
I froze. I wanted to live? If... then why had I killed myself? To escape?
I'd forsaken my dreams, to run from reality.
So I lived neither reality nor dream.
What else was there?
My life.
But I'm dead.
She beckoned to me, and I looked below.
There was a funeral.
My funeral.
Everyone stood, not only with sadness, but fear.
People were crying.
Then... people were dying.
His followers raced in.
People I loved...
Were taken.
The world beneath us... it was the future.
Voldemort stood on a hill that day.
It was judgement time.
It was the Apocalypse.
Before him, were my friends?
Ron...Hermione...Neville...Luna...Ginny...
...Ginny...
And he laughed.
Dumbledore watched, chained and broken, with horror.
And he ripped the world apart.
Fast forward, to years later.
Nothing.
He still stood on that hill. He was immortal.
All about him, nothing.
The world had ended.
Because I had ended.
I cried, in Heaven.
Mum lifted her hand.
In it was a single tear.
She was a dream, but she was also harsh reality.
I took her tear.
I drank it.
I lived.
The floor beneath me came into view.
Scars formed over my wrists.
The mirror shards drew together.
And formed a reflection.
Of me.
Of the boy-who-lived.
Once again.
