Giving Up

GIVING UP

Harry sat by his bedroom window at number four Privet Drive, staring down at the Muggles below. He spent a lot of time by his window lately, usually only taking his eyes off the street to go down to the kitchen for something to eat. He didn't like joining the Dursleys for meals though, instead he would go down to the kitchen late at night and help himself to leftovers. He rarely noticed what he was eating, and probably wouldn't have eaten at all if it weren't for the letters he got from his friends and mentors. It was them, and them alone that kept Harry from just letting himself waste away.

Harry heard a noise, from right outside his bedroom like a knock on the door. He tore his eyes away from the window.

"It can't be one of the Dursleys, they've gone to Aunt Marge's to stay the night..." he thought, as he went to check the hall.

He opened his door and stepped onto the brightly lit landing. It revealed that no one was at his door, and that the knock had been caused by a hung painting, blown down by the wind issuing from an open window. Harry strode over to the window and snapped it shut. He then picked the picture up of the floor and hung it back up on the wall. He stared at it for a moment. It was a picture of Dudley, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, standing in front of Privet Drive, taken about six years before. Only one year before he was informed that he was a wizard and would be attending Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I wonder if it would have been better if I had never found out I was a wizard," thought Harry, transfixed on the picture, even though he wasn't really taking it in.

He pulled himself away from the photo, trudged back into his room and resumed his position in front of the window. He stared down at the Muggles below taking part in their daily activities; a plump woman was tending to her flowerbed, a few small children were playing hopscotch, while a couple were riding their bikes and two old, grumpy looking men were playing a game of checkers on their porch.

"They have no idea," thought Harry bitterly as he stared resentfully at them, "that people are dying for them, people like Sirius." Harry blinked back tears. "There is pain all around them, but they don't see it. They don't feel it." The tears were more persistent now, they were starting to burn at the corners of his eyes, but he still held them back. "Damn, I wish I was one of them."

At this, Harry stopped fighting off his tears. They leaked out of his eyes and cut two small, salty paths down his cheeks. All the while he never took his eyes off the people below, now with an almost hungry expression on his face.

Despair. Pure, utter despair gripped Harry stronger than any other time that summer. He couldn't stare any longer at the people below. The happiness those kids were emanating was making him feel ill. He went over to his bed and collapsed onto his comforter, staring up at his ceiling through tear glazed eyes.

"Sirius?" he said thickly to the air. "Why did you go? Why did I have to believe that Voldemort had taken you? Why did you have to come and save me? Why couldn't you have just killed off that traitorous scum Kreacher?"

Harry suddenly traded in his despair for rage. "WHY DID THAT EVIL, VILE WOMAN HAVE TO KILL YOU? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ONLY WHEN YOU'VE JUST LEFT AZKABAN? HOW COULD YOU HAVE DIED BY FALLING THROUGH A DAMN VEIL!!?"

By now, Harry was fuming. He jumped off his bed and went back to the window. His rage ended just as quickly as it had started, and was now replaced by an all-to-familiar guilt.

"And why, did I have to be the one who killed you?"

Harry didn't think he could take the pain any longer. Dumbledore had told him that it was his own fault that Sirius was dead and that Harry wasn't to blame himself. But Harry knew only too well that it was his fault, no matter what Dumbledore said.

"How can I save the world, if I couldn't even save Sirius?"

Right then, Harry Potter gave up entirely. All hope left him. He could not fight anymore, it wasn't possible. He had had enough pain and sorrow in his sixteen years to last six lifetimes. He didn't want to be a hero, he didn't want to have to kill in order to live. It was fine with him to just sit by the window until he wasted away. All that faced him now was the aspect of dying sooner or later, and frankly, he didn't care which. He didn't care about anything.

"Let him come," Harry said softly, "let him just come and kill me and let it be over with. I can't take this anymore. Let someone else have the weight of the world on their shoulders."

Harry was once again staring blankly down at the Muggle street. The old men were no longer on the porch and the plump woman must have finished her pruning. The flowerbeds were looking marvelous, though Harry neither cared nor noticed. On the sidewalk though, a little girl of about seven was still riding her bike in circles, all alone on a steadily darkening street. Harry wasn't concerned though, he was concerned about nothing. The little girl continued to ride, until a call was heard from the house nearest her.

"Mary! Come in! It's time for bed!"

"Ok Mum!"

Mary turned, but her bike hit the curb hard and she flew over the handle bars with a loud thud on the pavement. Harry still tried not to be concerned, though he did keep his eyes on her. She rolled over, and sat up. Even through the dark Harry could see her face, she seemed to have cut her lip and her knees were badly scrapped and bleeding profusely. Mary looked at her knees, wiped the blood off her lip, and got up gingerly to her feet.

"Why isn't she crying?" Harry thought, forgetting he wasn't supposed to care. "If that were me when I was that young, I would have been bawling!"

Mary brushed the dirt from the street off of her clothes, then took a closer inspection of her knees. She then looked at her hands. Harry hadn't noticed, but her palms were bleeding pretty badly too. Mary started to swipe the dirt off from her palms, then turned her attention onto her bike. She righted it on the pavement, and it didn't seem to have been damaged by the fall. Just then, her mother called again.

"Mary! Are you OK dear? Did you put your bike in the garage?"

Harry expected that Mary would start to bawl at this point, and run to her mother, abandoning that dreadful bike on the street right then. He had a suspicion that he would never see Mary on that bike again, not after a fall like that. But then...

"O! I'm fine Mum! I'm putting it in now!"

And with that, Mary mounted her bike, and rode it right into the open garage, then opened the front door and disappeared inside.

Harry was struck as if by lightening. Understanding coursed through his brain as he was overcome with a new wave of hope, courage, and the will to go on.

"I am an idiot," he said, as what had to be his first smile in at least a month flickered across is face. "I can't give up because I've been dealt some hardships... even if they have been worse then what other people have had to deal with. I can grieve, I can be sad and I can cry but I can't give up hope. And I won't. Not anymore. Not when I'm needed. I'm done feeling sorry for myself"

Harry stood up. He knew he couldn't brood by the window any longer. And he was starving, he was going to go down to the kitchen and have a large dinner. He couldn't let himself waste away now could he?

As he was opening the door to his room, he looked out the window once more and said softly, "Thanks Mary."