I open my eyes.

White. White, white, white. It is everywhere and in everything. It creeps up the walls. Slithers across the floor. Poisons the sheets, the curtains. Stains my hands. But my hands are pink. I feel confused. Why aren't they white?

I fumble for glasses. Clarity. Nothing blurry, nothing smudged. Mistake.

They stare. They stare. And stare. Stare…

They are disappointed. Why? Oh yes.

Midnight. Astronomy tower. Jumping up on the balustrade. Looking down. Down, down, down below I can see every blade of grass perfectly, every insect, every drop of dew. My foot is moving forward, into open space. The other is following. And I soar. Black.

They want to say something. Their mouths are moving, moving. Bugs that crawl under the skin and create waves and dimples in the flesh. Bugs that move along, jumping from one person to the next, no fidelity. Putrid rot flowing in the veins, the arteries. My poison to your poison.

They look so horrified. But I can hear the whispers. They were wishing I would die. They loathe my arrogance in living.

"Why, Harry?" Remus looks so sad. Hypocrite.

"I didn't. Voldemort made me jump." How odd my voice sounds.