a sadness runs through him

warning for suicidal ideation, abuse, bullying, and a suicide attempt
bit of a vent piece for me. sequel is 'the aftermath is both terrifying and surprising'


Harry's not okay.

It's nearing midnight on one of the many towers of Hogwarts and he is not okay.

Everything is spiraling out of control, like beads slipping through spread fingers-

Harry is not okay.

The wind blows through the wide open... window? Gap? He isn’t certain. He doesn’t particularly care. He steps forward with numb legs and then two more steps and he can see the grounds very clearly.

He wonders distantly if he shouldn’t have waited until after patrols were done.

He moves forward anyway. It’s too late to turn back to the warm Gryffindor dorm, back to the smothering worry and normalcy that threatens to choke him-

No.

No.

He can’t take it. He’s not okay.

Harry’s steps are mechanical as his hands automatically reach out to grasp that freezing stone ledge. Despite the Dursley-diet he (barely) survives on, he is more than capable of lifting himself up to stand, unsteady on top of the balcony. But he doesn’t. He is frozen.

The wind lifts his hair up, plays against his hollow cheeks and tired eyes, lined with nights of guilt and remembering and stomach growling-

Freak. Brat. Boy.

Harry’s fingers tighten around the balcony. Ghostly fingers tighten around his neck, and their voices won’t go away-

Harry’s in the bushes, he’s hot and Uncle Vernon is holding him by the neck and squeezing-

Dudley is puking and Vernon is going to hit him, Harry just knows it, so he stiffens up-

Draco sneering, Snape snapping, Umbridge glaring-

Aunt Petunia doesn’t say a word, doesn’t lift a finger (for once), but she looks at him and Harry feels like the world is breaking even though he knows he shouldn’t care anymore.

He’s so tired.

He pulls himself up onto the balcony ledge, balancing there.

He could fall now, he thinks. It would be over. The memories, the dreams, the guilt, everything- if he just...falls. It would be so simple. Hell, if he cast a numbing spell on himself before he fell, or maybe stupefied himself, he wouldn’t feel a thing. Maybe if he was lucky he’d even get to see his parents again.

It’s not like Harry is going to survive Voldemort anyway. At fifteen, he’s been lucky to survive time and time again- and that was against a weakened foe. A curious foe.

Cedric’s face flashes in front of his eyes and Harry wobbles for a second in the wind. Yeah.

Everyone is better off without him.

Just fall.

Who’s going to grieve for him? Ron? Hermione? Sirius?

Ron has his family; he’ll be fine.

Hermione has Ron; she’ll be fine.

Sirius has Lupin, and Molly, and Hermione, and Ron-

And by dying, Harry is protecting them, isn’t he? It’s selfless, isn’t it?

Harry’s tired of not being okay.

Harry’s tired of lying, “Fine.”

Harry takes a step forward, ready to fly.

“Accio Harry Potter!”

He’s yanked back, eyes wide. Suddenly, he hits a strong, solid body and for a moment, he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even react- just pure, unadulterated shock-

Then a hand wraps around his arm and he breaks.

He flails, struggling, furious-

How dare they!

Someone is sobbing-

No!

“Stop it, Potter!”

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand-

“Boy!”
Harry freezes, ice in his veins. Anger + Boy = Instant Cooperation or else. He suddenly realizes he hit whoever is holding him and he begins to shake.

I’m dead.

“Open your eyes, Potter,” the voice said, and Harry obeys.

Bright green looks into black.

He can’t speak; he stares into those dark, locked eyes, trembles.

“Severus, we should get him away from…” a voice says, a bit beyond them. Harry’s eyes slowly move away from those locked eyes and he sees a green robe and brown streaked gray hair and he knows who’s standing there.

He can’t bear to meet her eyes and refuses to think about who is holding him done and simply closes his eyes.

He’s lost. He’s done. He’s so damn tired.

He doesn’t want to fight anymore.

He trembles.

Harry is not okay.

“Please let me go,” he thinks he whispers hoarsely. His face feels wet. His eyes burn. His throat is on fire.

Snape says something, but Harry can’t make it out- he’s too scrambled.

He keeps jumping away- to the graveyard, to the bushes, to the Mirror, to the ledge-

Harry is not okay.

If he would just let go of Harry, it would be better, he knows- he’s not going to jump, he doesn’t think he has the energy to even stand-

“LET ME GO!”

And he breaks, again. His eyes burn. His lungs are sore. His nose itches. He’s so tired.

He just wants to sleep and never wake up.

It hurts.

It hurts.

“Just stupefy him, Minerva,” he thinks he hears a growl. “He’s not going to calm down.”

“But-”

“Just do it.”

Harry is not-

Everything’s dark.