Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)

This is an alternate ending to the story, if Harry did decide to take action on his thoughts

Chapter warnings: suicide attempt

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Harry wasn't sure why, but he made a decision then.

What if he didn't have to go back to Hogwarts at all?

He wasn't exactly sure how, but he found himself walking, as if his legs were moving of their own accord. Into the corridor, down the stairs, through the front door, past the old crabapple tree on the hill, and across the meadow. Harry remembered how Ron had spoken about a bridge near the house – according to him it was haunted, and anyone who travelled over it walked away cursed. However, seeing as his sources appeared to be Fred and George, the myth was almost certainly just that – a myth. Nonetheless, a bridge was a bridge, and cursed or not, it would get the job done fine. With any luck, that is.

As Harry walked, he mulled over the irony of the situation. He had always wondered how he would die. Since Voldemort had been repeatedly trying to get him killed for the past four years, death by an evil wizard had seemed the most likely option. And if by some small miracle Harry triumphed and defeated the dark lord once and for all, then perhaps he would just die in his sleep, having led a long, well-lived like. He never for one moment thought that what killed him, would be him.

When Harry was younger, he couldn't fathom why anyone would want to take their own life. He didn't understand how someone could be in so much mental anguish that they wished for death – but now, walking towards his own demise, Harry thought he knew. Suicide isn't about wanting to die – no one wants to die, not really. It's about wanting to escape from the pain, and not seeing any way out except death. Harry didn't want to die; he just couldn't live like this anymore. He knew that there were people who would miss him – he didn't doubt that for one second. Harry loved his friends, and his adoptive family, the Weasleys. He loved his godfather, and his kind ex-professor. But he couldn't imagine how they could possibly love him when all he was was a burden on them; a problem without a solution. If he wasn't hurting himself, he was hurting everyone around him and there was nothing he could do about it. It was him that was wrong, and now he finally knew what he had to do to make it right. He didn't think he'd go to heaven, if such a place even existed, but he was okay with that, because anything, even nothing, was better than what he was living through every single day he spent alive. No more "one more day"s – this was it. He was sick of that voice constantly screaming in his ear, telling him he's not good enough. Sick of starving himself to try and lose weight, even though he knew the number would never be low enough, that he would never be small enough. Sick of messing things up, again and again. Sick of being "The Chosen One", and being expected to defeat one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time at just 15 years old.

More than anything, Harry was sick of himself. He had gone insane, and he didn't think he could come back this time.

Harry didn't realise he had reached his final destination until he was almost on top of it. He walked to the middle of the rickety old bridge and hauled himself up onto the crumbling railings, wobbling slightly as he stood upright. Walking on tip toes, back and forth on the rusty metal railing, swaying dangerously in the cold morning breeze, Harry felt more alive than he had in months. Something about the risk; balancing precariously on the ledge which separates life from death, knowing that any second he could stumble and lose his balance – even just for a second – and plummet to his death in the icy river below. Harry smiled at the thought, and lowered himself into a sitting position, his legs hanging down towards the murky water. Even in the pitch black of nigh, he could still see the jagged rocks beneath the water's surface, the moon's rays bouncing off of the serrated edged and rough, uneven surfaces. All it would take was one small step…

And this time, Harry didn't hesitate.

The wind rushed through his hair, his flimsy pyjamas billowing out as he fell. It was only about five seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Images flashed through his head; of Ron and Hermione, laughing in the Gryffindor common room. Of Sirius, comforting him after a bad dream. Mrs Weasley, always taking care of him and making sure his needs were met. Of Quidditch, and butterbeer, and Hagrid and Hogwarts.

As the water drew nearer, Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, a sob wrenching free from his chest as he awaited the impact.

There was a loud splash and a sickening crunch as Harry's body made contact with the rocks below the surface. The water was shallow – nowhere near deep enough to drown in. Harry had hoped the fall itself would be enough. He lay still in the river, soaked and freezing. There was a metallic taste in his mouth and he could feel warm liquid pooling around his head. He kept fading in and out of consciousness, his vision blurred with dark spots and his breathing rough and uneven. Although the water was freezing cold, a warm sensation spread through Harry's body, radiating outwards from his chest. A sense of calm washed over him as his breathing began to settle, and his eyes fluttered closed. A small smile was on his face as his chest grew still and he exhaled for the last time, going limp against the rocks.

Harry could only imagine what he looked like to any unfortunate passerby – like a rag doll, strewn across the rocks, his arms and legs bent at horrifying angles and crimson water surrounding his broken body.

Harry Potter,

The Boy Who Lived…

Dead.

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Thanks for reading! Take care 3

P.S the story will continue in the next chapter, this is an alternate ending, so the rest if the story will continue as though it didn't happen x