Chapter 24 – The most important thing is not to feel anymore

Harry rose heavily from the sofa; it was already a few hours Hermione was gone. His mind had been somehow blurry and foggy lately, but it was clear now. After more than a month, finally, it was clear. He wasn't tormented by emotions any longer. He had taken a decision, and he knew it was the right one. That confidence had cancelled the confusion clouding his mind for so long. He felt tired, that much was true. Since his memory had started to get back, he hadn't been able to sleep, persecuted by it. There were still many details that surely were missing but at least he had been able to remember about Ginny and Lily. And it was the memory of them that triggered first his decision.
He walked into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took what he needed, then he headed for the bathroom. He didn't look about him, it was as if nothing was surrounding him. He didn't look at the pictures on the wall, he didn't see the children's drawings, he didn't linger in idle remembrances. There was only his motive.
Once in the bathroom he opened the tab to fill the bathtub. While waiting, listening to the hot water cascading, he rested his hands on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't read any expression on his face and, likely, it was because there weren't any thoughts swirling in his head, there was only emptiness. Probably it should have been filled with memories, regrets, hopes and images of any kind, maybe fear too? There should surely have been turmoil, but there was nothing. A deep quietness.
When the bathtub was full, he undressed and immersed himself in the hot water. He reclined his head enjoying the warmth and that much longed for blissful nothing in his mind.
He was weary of emotions; he didn't wish for any. That's why he was doing what he was about to do. He was weary of pain, anger, sorrow, and he was weary to inflict the same on others. Now, everybody could have finally been happy without his obnoxious presence that could only bring misery in the life of the people he cared most and, finally, he could have been serene.
He observed the shiny blade left on the tub's edge and studied it for a moment.
There had been ponderation on how to do this. He didn't wish for pain. He just wanted to slumber into nothingness like when falling asleep. And, for some reasons, this seemed appropriated. He wasn't sure why, maybe because it would have come gradually, or maybe because it almost seemed like a purification of body. He didn't know for certain, but it seemed appropriated. He rose his left arm from the water and observed the scar left when Peter Pettigrew had taken his blood. It had been used to give a body to evil, now it was dispersed to remove an evil from his family. Maybe that's why it was appropriated.
He pressed the tip of the blade on the top of his scar, a long vertical line on his forearm. The metal was cold against the skin heated by the water.
He wasn't scared or hesitant, not at all. It wasn't like when seventeen. He had needed a lot of courage to walk toward death, to say goodbye to life, it was dear to him back then, but he was young and life for young people is much more valuable. Or maybe it was just that regret of not having had the chance to love fully and to be loved back. He had tried it now, he knew what it meant, the torments that brings and he wasn't sorry to leave everything behind.
He pressed the blade deeper in his skin until he felt it slashing, it wasn't that painful, he had endured worst. He moved the blade down tracing the scar. When he got to the bottom of it, just to make sure everything was going to proceed smoothly, he drew another parallel cut and another one on the other side. While tracing this last line, he remembered in a flash about a promise made to Ginny when she was pregnant with Sunrise about doing his best not to do what he was doing, he had to take care of the children she had said.
Oh well, Molly and Arthur could do that for the boys, Ted could take care of Sunrise, they would have been fine, so much better than with a father with a shattered mind as his was.
And he had indeed tried his best. It was a long time already he was struggling against this, a maddening period full of bitterness and agony. But he had not the strength to keep on trying, nor there was any point to it. Ginny couldn't know what she was asking when she made him promise, otherwise she wouldn't have done it.
Once finished he dropped the knife on the floor that fell with a clatter. He stared briefly at the three red lines on his forearm: one for him, one for Lily and one for Ginny.
Blood was dripping already forming red swirls in the water. He lowered his arm under the surface that tinged immediately with a shade of pink.
He reclined his head again, closing his eyes. Now, he only ought to wait. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, and he opened an eye reflecting a moment on it. Perhaps he should leave a note. For the boys? For Hermione? For the Weasley? For Ron? But what could have written if not an apology to have ruined their lives? No, it was better not, he was removing himself from their sight. That was enough.
He closed his eye and relaxed. Now he was going to find out if the white place was indeed real. He hoped so, he remembered very well how nice it was. But he wasn't too fussy about it. He would have been pleasant to return there again but even if not, it was fine anyway. The most important thing was not to feel anymore, and death could provide that well enough thankfully.
It had been so difficult to live. So many unconquerable struggles. A battle after another in an endless succession. He was glad to have it finally over.
And a last clear question popped in his head before everything became hazy.
Is it the same for everybody or has it been so difficult only for me?