It was a dreary night, cool and bleak as he lay on the ground. Sirius's room was blanketed in dust, as harry caressed a bottle of odins strongest, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, wondering- how- how can his life turn so undesirable, so miserable, so useless? Wasting away in his dark and filthy house tainted with dark magic, memories pleasant and grim. So alone, left to decay in his neglect, crumbling into the arms of depression as it carried him into his demise. A drunken stupor was the only way to stop the voices, finding the pounding of his head a suitable replacement.
but they wouldn't go away.
You killed us, harry.
It's been a month now, since his argument with the Weasleys, an intervention of sorts. Words were spoken, words better left locked away deep into the caves of his mind. It was only a matter of time really, he was bound to fall from his makeshift crown of misery. Harry just didn't think it would leave him so broken, lifeless, and numb.
No one's come to see him since then, not even to check if he's alive and breathing. Harry supposes, maybe they just want to give him some space to clear his mind.
But, how was he to clear his mind when it was never so in the first place? when they're around the corner, screaming, mocking him? He assumes it was meant to be this way, life had shown him that, over and over again. Never meant to be loved always the unwanted freak, a useless nobody that kills everyone around him. Maybe it was best the Weasleys stayed away from him, then they wouldn't die so soon like the many others he's killed.
Taking a last swig, harry threw the bottle against the wall watching it shatter reminiscent of his own pitiful life, Wearing a sneer harry stood muscles and bones aching as he drunkenly stumbled, joints popping as the brunette moved to leave the room he wailed in. turning to glance around from the door frame glaring at the nearly naked muggle woman, and its Griffendore adornments he sneered at its reminder with glowered green-eyes Harry slammed the door. Walking down his abandoned halls, to his own claimed room his safe heaven.
Reaching his dresser harry searched for a small bottle buried within, dragging himself towards his bed slowly sitting down as his body ached in the worst of ways.
It wasn't worth living a life of misery and lonesome, to have every waking moment be a living nightmare. his mind so cluttered as everyone screamed at him blaming him for their demise.
Taunting him, whispering in his ears.
It's your fault, you've killed us
Useless, freak, vermin
It should have been you
you killed me
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he screamed "Please go away I said I was sorry! Leave me alone!" Harry wailed, curling into a tight ball of anguish disheveled, and distraught. Pulling at his dark-oiled unkempt hair, clenching his teeth as he mourned, tormented by every death he's caused.
It's his fault.
There was only one way out, Harry thought. The desperation for freedom, he wants to break from the shackles of his tormenters rattling his mind. he found a way, the green-eyed martyr discovered it in passing. A simple draught for a small price, hidden deep within the black library. harry had found it as he was rummaging within its shelves breaking every nook and cranny to find the source, crazed whispers, talking to him taunting him.
His life for a better simpler world, he wasn't crazy like the Weasleys told him. Harry was fine, fred was still alive he can hear him - blaming him. He's right he knows he's right, he's not crazy. he can make it all better, he knows he can they've told him how to make it right. for a sacrifice of course, it was a no-brainer to harry. His life meant so little to the world around him the least he could do was is sacrifice himself for the greater good.
The abandoned draught didn't require much they said, just his life. On a full moon and it had to be on a Celtic holiday. Ironically Samhain had come up, October thirty-first when it all began. it was perfect, Harry thought, to rewrite time as it was and simply implant what should've been on the day of his undoing.
Perhaps, if Harry hadn't been so broken and tired. he'd had turned the draught into the ministry. Ridding himself of something so unthinkable so dark, sacrilegious, and vile. Had it been long ago, before his decline Harry wouldn't have entertained the thought. But he never really had the fortitude, always so weak and willing it's all he's ever known since the Dursleys that is.
So with a trembling hand, the brunette popped the cork open, lifting his unsteady hand to his mouth. leaning his head back as he drank the small shot, exhaling a sharp sigh in relief. Harry leaned back and laid down, staring at the ceiling as his breath was shallower and his heart slowed. quirking his lips as the silence echoed throughout his mind, torment done and gone he smiled. A crazed burst of laughter left his lungs leaving little air left in him, as he closed his eyes. Embracing his death once more with open arms, smiling for what felt like the first time in years.
And then Harry Potter breathed no more, with a grin on his face.