Alone in The Dark
Time had no meaning.
Nothing could get through the heavy gloom that lay over him. His pain was like a blackhole, sucking in everything and letting nothing out. A void where even time vanished and it seemed a moment was stretched to eternity.
Inside the torture chamber of his mind, Harry reeled. The endless parade of death and loss filled his waking thoughts. There was no way to stop them, no way to get them out of his mind. They were burned into his memory, carved into his thoughts.
Nothing could shake loose the thoughts. Nothing could shake loose the dreams that kept him awake night after night. Nothing could soothe the agony within him.
He tried to sob, but his throat closed up. He tried to cry, but his tears were all gone. He tried to let the pain go, but it hovered around him. He tried everything and the pain would not go away. It stayed with him, it haunted him, tortured him. And he knew he deserved it.
He didn't fight the pain anymore. He didn't try to hold it at bay anymore. It was his penance. It was his burden. Everyday he bore it and he lived it. Everyday he saw the deaths of those he loved, and everyday he was torn anew.
Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The bright spring days were dark and cold. The friendly talks with Ginny and the so few others that had managed to survive were halfhearted and listless at best. Instead of comfort they only brought back the memories. They went away, tears shedding for their friend who was trapped by his own misery.
Only Ginny stayed by his side. She talked to him. She tried to make him laugh, to enjoy the bright days, the glorious mornings.
But the pan was becoming unbearable. The pain was too much. Harry sat upon the cold stone floor; the bright moonlight spilling through an open window, and a soft breeze bringing the moist smell of plants and the soothing chirping of crickets. He sat there and watched as the moon grew fat and heavy in the sky and the diamond pinpricks of the stars vanished in its brilliance.
He sat there unblinking, unseeing. His mind was upon its well-worn path. A path that toured the horrors of the last days. The bloody battle for the castle and the screaming crying faces of the people who had trusted him to lead them to victory. All those students who had such faith in him. They were all dead and it was his fault.
He stared out the open window and wondered. What was he still doing here? What was the point of anything? What was the point of continuing at all, with all this pain?
The pain was becoming unbearable. The pain snuffed out any hope of happiness, any other feeling that sparked in his mind. It left him feeling empty and dead inside. There was only pain, there was only hurt. He didn't remember how it felt to laugh, to smile. They seemed like memories that belong to another person.
Did he actually ever laugh? Did he ever find joy in living? Was there ever a time where the pain wasn't sucking everything out of him?
"I can end it all." Harry muttered to himself. "I can just end it. There needs to be no more pain. There needs to be no more hurting. I can just end it all."
The realization dawned upon him. He didn't have to feel anymore. He didn't have to hurt for those that were gone anymore. All that he loved was gone, but he could join them. He could find happiness among them again. He just had to summon up the courage to do it. To cross that line and end it all.
It was so simple. His friends were not lost to him. His friends were not gone from him. They had crossed over and he could join them. For the first time in months he felt something that was not pain. He felt determination. He felt purpose.
Slowly he got up. His body was weak, not from the wounds. They were nearly healed. It was the weight of his pain that had drained more than emotions out of him. It had wasted his body and left him a hollow shell of a person. He got to his feet, fumbling in the dark and staggering like a drunk. Pain flared across his body, but he ignored it. He had a purpose and nothing would stop him.
Potions and spells raced through his mind. A hundred different ways to die. He collapsed near the window, trying to catch his fall and toppling a small table. A hundred ways to end the pain and yet he was too weak to do it. His body defied him again. First it wanted to live, now it was preventing him from ending his pain. He cursed its determination to live. Why couldn't it just give up? Why couldn't it realize that there was nothing to live for anymore, that everything was gone? Yet he continued to breath and he continued to hurt.
He groaned and tried getting back to his feet. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor again, something wet splashed beneath his fingers and pain bit into his hands. He jerked back, feeling the warm sensation of blood upon his hands. He laughed bitterly. He sought death, but still he reacted with fear to pain. He looked down at his hands and pulled out a small jagged piece of glass.
His blood oozed out slowly, a thick crimson trail that snaked its way across his palm and down his bared arm. A brilliant red that contrasted against his pale skin. He stared at it, fascinated. This was what kept him living. This was what kept his pain going?
He searched around him and found shattered pieces of glass. It looked to have been a vase that had sat upon the small table he knocked over. He hefted a large chunk of the glass. He single swipe and he could end it all. He glanced back at the broken vase and spotted something. Among the shattered glass lay a thin red rose. He blinked and picked it up. The petals were a brilliant red, brighter than the blood upon his hands.
He brought it to his face and breathed in its sweet perfume. It was heady and fragrant and the smell tickled his memory. Ginny. He breathed. The rose smelled of Ginny. He frowned for a moment. How would she feel when she found his body? How would she feel being left alone in this world? She had lost everything also, he was her last link to all those that they had known.
She alone had stayed by his side. She had tried to ease his pain and help him in mending the broken pieces of his life. How would she take the news of his death?
He shook his head. What was he doing? He dropped the piece of glass and pushed himself away from the broken vase. What was he doing? What was he doing? The thought raced through his mind. He had been trying to kill himself.
He felt a momentary sense of outrage and anger. He was taking a coward's way out. He was taking the easy way out of things. If things got to hard, give up? He shook his head violently. People had died. People had given their lives so that he could live. They had fought and died for him and this was how he repaid them, by killing himself?
Harry pushed himself against the wall, he sat there panting with exhaustion. His heart pounded and his mind was reeling with what he had been trying to do. He was so close. He would have sliced through his veins and spilled his life upon the cold floor. He shivered. How could he have been so foolish?
He felt the growing tide of his despair. It rose like a fog and buried him once more. He rocked against the stone wall and tried to shake off the clinging claws of pain. It grabbed him, it clawed at him, and it dragged him down.
It would always win. He thought in despair. His pain would never end. His pain would always be there. It didn't have to try to reach for him anymore, he reached for it. He was comforted by the hurt; it was like a blanket that kept out all other emotions. It let him not feel anything but his own misery. It allowed him not to face life again.
He looked down at the rose in his hands. Ginny was his lifeline. She was the rock that he clung to in the flood of his pain. He felt something, not pain, not hurt, but a strange sensation that filled him. He looked at the rose and felt something he never thought he could feel again. Love.
He got to his feet. His legs still buckling and flaring with pain, but they did not fold under him. His body did not betray him. He staggered to the broken vase and sat down upon the floor.
From his robes he pulled out his wand. He pointed at the shattered vase and whispered. "Reparo." The broken glass gathered together and turned back into a vase. Harry pointed to the water and it pooled back into the vase. After that he gently placed the rose back into it and set the table right.
He stared at the rose. Ginny had been at his side since he had awoken. She had cared for him, she had comforted him when the pain got too great. He couldn't just abandon her like this. He felt ashamed and he hung his head. He didn't deserve Ginny's loyalty to him. He didn't deserve her as a friend. He didn't deserve her determination to see that he lived.
He was a coward and he was a murderer. How could anyone wish to be around him? He rubbed his eyes and suddenly felt completely weary. His body ached for sleep, but he fought it. Sleep only brought nightmares and released the gates of his despair. He didn't know if he could survive another night of the endless pain.
In the end the fight was one sided. He couldn't fight the exhaustion of his body. He couldn't fight the nightmares that came with the closing of his eyes. The shocked expression of his best friend, the cruel laugh, and the terrible pain that tore at his being. He curled up against the wall and sobbed.
Time had no meaning.
Nothing could get through the heavy gloom that lay over him. His pain was like a blackhole, sucking in everything and letting nothing out. A void where even time vanished and it seemed a moment was stretched to eternity.
Inside the torture chamber of his mind, Harry reeled. The endless parade of death and loss filled his waking thoughts. There was no way to stop them, no way to get them out of his mind. They were burned into his memory, carved into his thoughts.
Nothing could shake loose the thoughts. Nothing could shake loose the dreams that kept him awake night after night. Nothing could soothe the agony within him.
He tried to sob, but his throat closed up. He tried to cry, but his tears were all gone. He tried to let the pain go, but it hovered around him. He tried everything and the pain would not go away. It stayed with him, it haunted him, tortured him. And he knew he deserved it.
He didn't fight the pain anymore. He didn't try to hold it at bay anymore. It was his penance. It was his burden. Everyday he bore it and he lived it. Everyday he saw the deaths of those he loved, and everyday he was torn anew.
Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The bright spring days were dark and cold. The friendly talks with Ginny and the so few others that had managed to survive were halfhearted and listless at best. Instead of comfort they only brought back the memories. They went away, tears shedding for their friend who was trapped by his own misery.
Only Ginny stayed by his side. She talked to him. She tried to make him laugh, to enjoy the bright days, the glorious mornings.
But the pan was becoming unbearable. The pain was too much. Harry sat upon the cold stone floor; the bright moonlight spilling through an open window, and a soft breeze bringing the moist smell of plants and the soothing chirping of crickets. He sat there and watched as the moon grew fat and heavy in the sky and the diamond pinpricks of the stars vanished in its brilliance.
He sat there unblinking, unseeing. His mind was upon its well-worn path. A path that toured the horrors of the last days. The bloody battle for the castle and the screaming crying faces of the people who had trusted him to lead them to victory. All those students who had such faith in him. They were all dead and it was his fault.
He stared out the open window and wondered. What was he still doing here? What was the point of anything? What was the point of continuing at all, with all this pain?
The pain was becoming unbearable. The pain snuffed out any hope of happiness, any other feeling that sparked in his mind. It left him feeling empty and dead inside. There was only pain, there was only hurt. He didn't remember how it felt to laugh, to smile. They seemed like memories that belong to another person.
Did he actually ever laugh? Did he ever find joy in living? Was there ever a time where the pain wasn't sucking everything out of him?
"I can end it all." Harry muttered to himself. "I can just end it. There needs to be no more pain. There needs to be no more hurting. I can just end it all."
The realization dawned upon him. He didn't have to feel anymore. He didn't have to hurt for those that were gone anymore. All that he loved was gone, but he could join them. He could find happiness among them again. He just had to summon up the courage to do it. To cross that line and end it all.
It was so simple. His friends were not lost to him. His friends were not gone from him. They had crossed over and he could join them. For the first time in months he felt something that was not pain. He felt determination. He felt purpose.
Slowly he got up. His body was weak, not from the wounds. They were nearly healed. It was the weight of his pain that had drained more than emotions out of him. It had wasted his body and left him a hollow shell of a person. He got to his feet, fumbling in the dark and staggering like a drunk. Pain flared across his body, but he ignored it. He had a purpose and nothing would stop him.
Potions and spells raced through his mind. A hundred different ways to die. He collapsed near the window, trying to catch his fall and toppling a small table. A hundred ways to end the pain and yet he was too weak to do it. His body defied him again. First it wanted to live, now it was preventing him from ending his pain. He cursed its determination to live. Why couldn't it just give up? Why couldn't it realize that there was nothing to live for anymore, that everything was gone? Yet he continued to breath and he continued to hurt.
He groaned and tried getting back to his feet. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor again, something wet splashed beneath his fingers and pain bit into his hands. He jerked back, feeling the warm sensation of blood upon his hands. He laughed bitterly. He sought death, but still he reacted with fear to pain. He looked down at his hands and pulled out a small jagged piece of glass.
His blood oozed out slowly, a thick crimson trail that snaked its way across his palm and down his bared arm. A brilliant red that contrasted against his pale skin. He stared at it, fascinated. This was what kept him living. This was what kept his pain going?
He searched around him and found shattered pieces of glass. It looked to have been a vase that had sat upon the small table he knocked over. He hefted a large chunk of the glass. He single swipe and he could end it all. He glanced back at the broken vase and spotted something. Among the shattered glass lay a thin red rose. He blinked and picked it up. The petals were a brilliant red, brighter than the blood upon his hands.
He brought it to his face and breathed in its sweet perfume. It was heady and fragrant and the smell tickled his memory. Ginny. He breathed. The rose smelled of Ginny. He frowned for a moment. How would she feel when she found his body? How would she feel being left alone in this world? She had lost everything also, he was her last link to all those that they had known.
She alone had stayed by his side. She had tried to ease his pain and help him in mending the broken pieces of his life. How would she take the news of his death?
He shook his head. What was he doing? He dropped the piece of glass and pushed himself away from the broken vase. What was he doing? What was he doing? The thought raced through his mind. He had been trying to kill himself.
He felt a momentary sense of outrage and anger. He was taking a coward's way out. He was taking the easy way out of things. If things got to hard, give up? He shook his head violently. People had died. People had given their lives so that he could live. They had fought and died for him and this was how he repaid them, by killing himself?
Harry pushed himself against the wall, he sat there panting with exhaustion. His heart pounded and his mind was reeling with what he had been trying to do. He was so close. He would have sliced through his veins and spilled his life upon the cold floor. He shivered. How could he have been so foolish?
He felt the growing tide of his despair. It rose like a fog and buried him once more. He rocked against the stone wall and tried to shake off the clinging claws of pain. It grabbed him, it clawed at him, and it dragged him down.
It would always win. He thought in despair. His pain would never end. His pain would always be there. It didn't have to try to reach for him anymore, he reached for it. He was comforted by the hurt; it was like a blanket that kept out all other emotions. It let him not feel anything but his own misery. It allowed him not to face life again.
He looked down at the rose in his hands. Ginny was his lifeline. She was the rock that he clung to in the flood of his pain. He felt something, not pain, not hurt, but a strange sensation that filled him. He looked at the rose and felt something he never thought he could feel again. Love.
He got to his feet. His legs still buckling and flaring with pain, but they did not fold under him. His body did not betray him. He staggered to the broken vase and sat down upon the floor.
From his robes he pulled out his wand. He pointed at the shattered vase and whispered. "Reparo." The broken glass gathered together and turned back into a vase. Harry pointed to the water and it pooled back into the vase. After that he gently placed the rose back into it and set the table right.
He stared at the rose. Ginny had been at his side since he had awoken. She had cared for him, she had comforted him when the pain got too great. He couldn't just abandon her like this. He felt ashamed and he hung his head. He didn't deserve Ginny's loyalty to him. He didn't deserve her as a friend. He didn't deserve her determination to see that he lived.
He was a coward and he was a murderer. How could anyone wish to be around him? He rubbed his eyes and suddenly felt completely weary. His body ached for sleep, but he fought it. Sleep only brought nightmares and released the gates of his despair. He didn't know if he could survive another night of the endless pain.
In the end the fight was one sided. He couldn't fight the exhaustion of his body. He couldn't fight the nightmares that came with the closing of his eyes. The shocked expression of his best friend, the cruel laugh, and the terrible pain that tore at his being. He curled up against the wall and sobbed.