Stand By

    Harry hummed softly to himself as he carefully folded his black cloak. He lay it on the over-stuffed red couch, beside his wand and Gryffindor tie. Next came his shirt, a white button down dress shirt with a small lion embroidered on the right sleeve. It too was carefully folded and placed beside the rest.

    Now dressed only in a white undershirt and his black pants, Harry sat on a crimson chair opposite the couch. His back was to the warm fire, casting odd shadows on the wall in front of him.

    The common room was empty. It was Christmas break, and for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Harry was completely alone in the Gryffindor tower. Not even Hermione or Ron had stayed. Every single person, from the seventh years down to the first years was gone. In fact, all the houses were like that. Harry was fairly certain he was the only student left in the castle.

    He figured it had something to do with Dumbledore’s announcement concerning Voldermort’s return at the end of the previous year. People were scared. The number of students at Hogwarts had dropped dramatically in the new term.

    Not that it mattered to Harry. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not since…that night.

    Sighing, Harry brought his legs up to his chest. It had been months since that night, and yet, it felt as if it was yesterday. Memories burned in his mind so clearly, he could still feel them. Feel the horror as Cedric’s lifeless body fell to the ground, feel the pain as Crucio was cast on him again and again, feel the revulsion as Voldermort stood before him, feel fear and disgust as... Harry sighed again. He could feel it all.

    No one, not even his closest loved ones understood. No one knew the full story. Something inside Harry had changed that night. He was no longer Harry Potter, savior of the world, the-boy-who-lived. Now he was…the-boy-who-wanted-to-die.

    Harry was pretty sure everyone would go mental if they knew that. And that’s why he kept it hidden, very well. He smiled and laughed and joked right along with the rest of them, all the while dying a slow death inside.

    Harry sighed again, heavier. They’d know soon enough.

    Forcing his thoughts away, Harry stood. He glanced once at his carefully placed possessions on the couch. His cloak, his tie, his shirt, his wand, and there, in the corner, away from the rest, a shiny, metal blade.     

    The blade was cold to the touch as Harry gently picked it up. It seemed to hiss as it met his fevered flesh. Slowly, he pressed the side of it against his palm. It left dull marks where the edge bit in. For a moment, Harry stared in fascination at the marks.

    Finally, shaking himself out of it, Harry returned to the chair. He had already cast a stain-repellent charm. He didn’t think it fair to ruin the only furniture in the common room.

    “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice soft and pain filled. “I’m sorry for everything. All the fear, and pain. I’m sorry I didn’t destroy him. And I’m sorry I brought him back.” Now that he had started, he seemed unable to stop. His words rushed on, swelling over him like waves. “I’m sorry for the Quidditch games I lost, and the house points I had taken off. I’m sorry for Snape, the greasy git. I always managed to tick him off. Maybe he’ll be better. And I’m sorry for Cedric. So sorry. But most of all, I‘m sorry I made your life worse by being me. I never meant to hurt you, any of you. I‘m sorry I put you in danger by being the-boy-who-lived. I much wish I had died that night. I am so, so, terribly sorry.”    

    A sob threatened to escape, so Harry quickly clamped his mouth shut. Crying would do now good now. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he raised the cool blade so it rested gently against his wrist.

    “And I’m sorry,” he began, his voice steady and smooth, “that I’m taking the cowards way out. But perhaps, with me gone, the world might be that much more tolerable.”

    With one quick swish of the wrist, the blade cut into his skin. Warm blood instantly began to gush from the cut. It had been deep, he could tell. Spots began to flash before his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. Taking the blade in the other hand now, he repeated the quick movement.

    The blood fell and pooled around him, warm and sticky. He let the blade drop, his hand too weak to hold it any longer. The smallest smile played at his mouth. It seemed odd for him to be smiling, and yet appropriate. It was finally over. All his pain, suffering, was gone. And in a moment, he would be too.

    Blackness began to skirt around the edge of his vision, as if afraid to completely take over. Slowly, he felt himself drifting away. It’s almost like falling asleep, he mused silently.

    “Jeez!” The sudden cry rang through the room. “What the hell did you do, Potter?” A wry smile twisted Harry’s lips. Even before the person stepped into his line of vision, he knew who it was.

    Draco Malfoy. How oddly fitting that it would be he, Harry’s worst enemy, his arch-nemesis that would stumble upon the boy in his weakest hour. Wetting his lips, Harry tried to focus on the blond.

    “What are you doing here Malfoy?” The question came out weakly, lacking the threat Harry had meant for it to carry. Not that it mattered. In a moment, the Slytherin would just be a distant memory.

    “Are you trying to bloody off yourself?” Malfoy cried in disbelief.

    Harry laughed faintly. “Why don’t you use that famous Malfoy wit and figure it out?”

    Malfoy made a move towards Harry, but paused before he reached him. Emotions danced wildly in his silver eyes. Harry was nearly certain he saw concern behind the emotionless mask Malfoy usually wore.

    “There’s so much blood…gods, Potter,” Malfoy finally said, wincing as he took in the quickly spreading pool of blood below the chair.

    “Goway!” Harry growled, his vision blurring.

    “And get blamed for this? No bloody way!” Again Malfoy started forward, but stopped. “Look, Dumbledore knows I’m up here. If he finds you dead, he’ll know I didn’t stop it. So you have a choice.”

    “Choice?”

    “I can either scream bloody murder and get Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and a number of other professors in here, or I can heal you and let you off yourself some other time,” Malfoy shrugged. “Your choice.”

    “Why?”

    “If you’re going to kill yourself, do it on your own time. So choose, because I am not going to take the blame for your latest screw up.” A hint of annoyance crept into Malfoy’s cool voice.

    A sense of panic began to rise in Harry’s chest. Malfoy was serious about this. “Fine, heal me,” Harry sighed, leaning his head back. Darkness closed around him instantly, like a warm blanket. He felt himself sinking, deeper and deeper. Dimly, he felt Malfoy take hold of his arm, but then it was just blankness.