Chapter 15
6 months.
181 days.
434 hours.
26040 minutes.
1562400 minutes.
It had seemed like more then enough. To be honest, he would have taken no time.
Hello death! Yes, you can take me now, no I don’t have anything to do, thank you for asking.
It wasn’t though. It really wasn’t.
He pulled out the note he had carefully placed in the pocket he had originally shoddily sewed in the back of a moving car, then painstakingly repaired, new salt and all.
All I ask is that you burry me with my jacket, and my guns.
Harry could have spent hours pouring his heart and soul into individual letters for each and every one he cared about, and he did for Sirius and Remus, but that would ruin what he had worked to create the last few months. He kept a respectful distance from everyone, making sure to not make any enemies, and those that wouldn’t leave with just that, would try help him. Well, he made sure they didn’t like him anymore.
God, he missed Ron and Hermione.
It was better this way. He saw firsthand what grief did to a person; Remus had isolated himself for thirteen years in a lonely house where he once grew up in. He couldn’t do that to his friends. So, he wouldn’t.
Remus got it both wrong, and right. Yes, he wasn’t strong enough to leave, to say no to Harry’s own stepfather, but he was only half of the problem.
So, Harry would be the strong one. Its what he’s always done, made the sacrifices no one else wanted to. Suffered so something greater than him could thrive.
Its why he protected the stone from Quirrell.
Its why he braved the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny.
Its why he followed Ron down into the Whomping Willow after he’d been dragged by a grim.
Its why he took the bullet for his dad.
Its why he made the deal.
Harry wasn’t a part of the family, he knew. He could’ve been, give it some more time, but two months did not allow enough time for family bonds to develop, his brothers, Sam and Dean, they loved each other, and no matter what, Harry could see the love both of them shared with their father.
He had to protect that.
Giving himself up for the greater good was what he did.
So, when given those six months, he knew what he had to do.
He couldn’t let them start to care for him more than they already had, form that bond that he wanted so badly. A clean break was best.
He had been hearing them ever since he made the deal, looking back, but he had first noticed them when he walked into the side room after the choosing ceremony.
Fleshy paws fitted with claws following him, their barks and growls- proof of their excitement for the upcoming meal.
Harry ducked into the entrance under the Whomping Willow having nimbly dodged its attempts to block him.
The reminder of his brothers training him sent a pain through his chest.
Crawling through the tunnel, nothing could distract him from his thoughts. His internal clock counting down without his consent. Twenty minutes. He would be dead in twenty minutes.
A snap of teeth so close he thought he had miscalculated made him jump, before he shook himself and continued.
He had never been scared of death; before Hogwarts it was, morbidly, something of a fantasy of his. Not so much the act of his death, he usually glossed over that part, though sometimes he died by his uncles’ hands. In the happy ones he would always be caught and sent to jail. No, what was important was that he would see his parents again. Even with his aunt’s comments about them being no good drunks, he had figured that they must have been better than his relatives. After starting Hogwarts, death had always been a possibility. The troll, Voldemort in the forest, Quirrell, the Basilisk, dementors, and so much more that he quite literally forgets some of them. He had assumed then, that he wouldn’t live to see graduation.
He made sure to never tell his friends that.
That didn’t, apparently, mean having a clock ticking away to his death in the form of ever louder rabid dogs would be easy to live with. He could feel himself cracking, sometimes very outwardly, under the pressure.
He wasn’t oblivious, he knew everyone thought he had more then a few screws loose.
That… performance after he was chosen made that a pretty easy assumption to make.
Harry thought it was a reasonable reaction considering the circumstances.
He finally breached the end of the tunnel breathing- well, not fresh air, but not the air of the tunnel, that was for sure.
He had meticulously planned this, he had chosen the Shrieking Shack not just because of its easy access, but because screams were expected to be heard coming from it.
He wasn’t stupid enough to think he would be able to hold back any.
He carefully pulled off his jacket, along with his holsters and guns and placed them on the edge of what had once been the living room. Well away from where he sat himself.
From what he read; this part was quite bloody.
“Tempus”
The flittering thought that this was his last piece of magic he would cast, not some combat spell, but a fancy wristwatch washed by him.
One minute left.
Perfect.
He let a small smile come to his face. The barking and snapping unable to be ignored, weighing on his nerves, couldn’t overcome the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. He had set up the perfect death.
A set of teeth clamped onto his throat and ripped the flesh away.
He collapsed.
The expected screams never came.
Replaced by a quiet gurgling as the rest of him was torn away.