He stood at the entrance of the cave, with his loyal house elf beside him. In his pocket was a letter to the Dark Lord, about his betrayal. It's a note.

He stood on the edge of the rooftop, alone, his enemy's corpse behind him. He was clutching a phone. He had just spoken to his friend a moment ago. It's a note.

He was not a hero. He never was. He was just a Slytherin who had been crazy and foolish enough to join the Dark Lord. Now he regretted his choice.

He was not an angel, nor was he a demon. He was a high functioning sociopath, who solved crimes to get "high".

He was the one who walked on the thin grey line hung in the air that separate black and white, and he gladly, willingly did so.

How ironic. He came from a noble pureblood family, had parents who had high hopes on him, passed the OWL with flying colours, and had a bright future in front of him. Yet now he chose to kill himself, letting himself die alone.

He had a family who loved him (well, maybe not his brother), friends who cared for him, enemies who saved him from boredom, and a brilliant mind. And here he was, ready to jump, dying alone. How ironic.

Yet he never regretted his choice. He knew only one thing as he faced death: his death would save the lives of many others. The truly innocent ones, who did not deserve to die.

Then…

He stepped into the cave, and told his house elf what to do. He drank all the potion, while the loyal house elf completed his order. His last thought was: no one would know what happened here, not even Siri, and that was how it should have been.

An hour later, the cave was calm once more.

Now…

He threw away the phone. He still remembered his last death. It was a horrible one. It made deep water his greatest fear. This was so much better, so much quicker. He knew this would work. He had absolute trust in himself and his brother. He thought: no one would know what exactly happened here, and that was perfect. He took a deep breath and jumped.

An hour later, the rooftop was quiet once more.