A/N: This is an angsty Harry fic. I'm bored of writing Tonks/Lupin right now so I thought I'd give it a go. Could be a one-shot but I don't really want it to be. Not really sure where to go from here. Please read and review, let me know what you think. Thanks :)
The Boy...
His pale green eyes stared hypnotically at the blank piece of parchment. The boy had been doing this for some time, and the summer evening had faded to night around him. His eyes stung from fatigue and from a lack of blinking. He screwed them up tightly causing them to sting further, and then opened them suddenly as if inspiration had suddenly hit him. Grabbing a quill, he pulled the piece of parchment closer to him on the desk. The boy dipped the nib into the dark indigo ink and began to scratch messily.
I don't know why I'm writing; he began. I guess the thing is I'm feeling so many things right now, if I don't get them out I might explode. I have no one to talk to about how I'm feeling. I guess that's my own fault. Maybe I should explain. Recently I lost someone close to me…I say recently, I've been losing people close to me all of my life. Why do I not expect it? Well, I guess I thought that one day I'd find someone who would stick around. I should have known that this was hoping for too much.
So, this person, he meant so much to me. I loved him, and I only see that now which makes it hurt so much more. At times he made me angry, he made me frustrated, and sometimes he could be downright unbearable. But I loved him and not a part of me is ashamed of this. I hope he knew. Well, I hope he still knows now, wherever he is. I'm not sure what's happened to him, and I don't have the strength to ask or know. All I know is that he's gone and it is my entire fault.
The boy paused, reflecting on his words, knowing the truth that lie in them. He shivered as the cool breeze of the night crept in through his window. Taking a deep breath, he continued.
I did not know this man long. That in itself is unfair. There were many times when I wished I knew him better. He was a great man…he was nothing like me. I wanted so much for him to be proud of me and see me as…well, to see me as he wanted me to be. In the end I let him down. I killed him.
Was he afraid? Did he regret leaving his shelter? In those final moments did he resent me? Blame me? I will never know.
A loud tear fell onto the dry parchment, causing the ink to run in places. The boy rubbed his eyes angrily. His vision was blurred, his eyes stung from the salty tears, but he kept writing.
I am dealing with this grief alone. I hate it. A part of me wishes to be with my friends, my real family, as I know they are suffering too; to a certain degree. But then I am reminded of those who knew him better than me, who loved him as a brother, as a life companion, those who remember losing him for the first time. They are not new to this pain, but I have no doubt that it is harder a second time around. Seeing the anguish on their faces, knowing that they feel they have to be strong for me…it's unbearable.
No, I won't go back there. I won't add to their misery. They blame me, they don't want to but they do. They should.
I wish this was over, all of it. My life…sometimes I wonder how simpler life would be if I had been killed, if my parents had not succeeded in protecting me with their lives. Maybe I should never have been born. My parents should never have met and fallen in lust. My mother hated my father. What made her change her mind? She shouldn't have. If only she had known…She should have stayed away.
Here I go again, blaming anybody else but me. My mother is dead. I never knew her, and still I would rather blame her for the way I'm feeling now than own up to being the one to blame.
I hate this world; I have to get out of it. But I have to live; I have to go on for others, for everyone. It is selfish, it is unfair but I want so much to die. I cut myself, I bleed… it is that simple. But I cannot end it, not right now. I must sit alone with my grief, and wait. Wait for what I do not know.
I am curious, if I took my life tonight what would happen? Would anyone even care? My friends would cry but life would go on. They would eventually see that I had done them a favour; that their lives would be so much safer, so much simpler without me. I would leave them, I would do it for them but I can't. I want to but I can't. My window is open; I am not afraid to fall. The blade by my bed is sharp, it cuts through skin but it will not scratch out this loathing. It will consume me forever. No one can help me. I am what I am.
He began to cry once more. Sobs shook his body and ached his rib cage as he tried so hard to mourn in silence. His family would not approve of this raw emotion.
I don't want your pity or concern; they would do me no good. Judge me, hate me, whatever. I'm beyond the point of caring. Fear for yourself, fear yourself. Love your friends, you may not have them for much longer. Do not anticipate tomorrow… regret today and resent yesterday. I've had enough. This world is too much.
I am the Boy Who Lived, and I'm living to die.
The young man read through his words, and gave a shuddering sigh as he sealed the envelope to contain them. His quill hesitated over the envelope. With a small nod he eventually wrote; Whoever, and dropped his quill with a sigh of exhaustion. He took off his glasses and rubbed his itchy eyes. The sky was beginning to lighten; it would soon be morning. It took all the energy he had to rise from his chair. Crossing the room he stopped by the occupied owl cage.
"Hedwig, take this. Take it to someone. I don't know who. Just… take it to someone who will understand." The snowy owl gave a gentle hoot before stretching her beautiful wings and flying off into the faint light.
Harry Potter watched her from his open window, hoping that there was somebody out there who would truly understand.
A/N: Please review :)