Falling Steadly

Sharp disaster in a fresh new coma.

How many more of these would Harry have to live through? This made two- whenever he seemed to get close to someone, they turned up dead. Who was going to be next?

Was it worth it when it was over?

He had made up his mind. Harry roused himself from his bed, tucked the Marauders Map and his wand in a pocket already occupied with ink, parchment, and a quill. He threw the invisibility cloak over his head. Harry wasn't concerned about making noise. He wasn't going to be punished for being out of bed at night, and he proceeded to the North Tower.

Proving yourself right, you make the biggest noise.

He couldn't deal with Hermione and her "I told you so" attitude. Well, he'd show her, she couldn't say "I told you so" after be completed what he was planning to do now. No one could say, "I told you so" after what he was going to do that night.

Well, I'd lock my hand behind my head; I'd cover my heart and hit the deck.

Harry paused and threw open the door he knew lead to the North Tower, the highest tower in the entire castle. The height was exactly what he needed.

I'd brace myself for the impact if I were you.

"I wonder if they would cry?" Harry asked himself out loud as he wound around a pole, slowly rising toward the pinprick of light at the top of the spiral staircase.

It's a long wait for an answer.

He needed to do it tonight. He had waited a long time for this moment. The need to do what he came to do was overwhelming, filling him up with a hunger that he will never rid of until the deed was done. Harry reached the top of the staircase, adrenaline pumping through his veins and his heart pounding a rhythm into his ears.

Is there any news? Is there any word?

Harry could imagine people asking others, pleading others, to find him before it was too late. They would not be fast enough. By morning, he would cease to feel the pain that filled him up, overtaking all rational thoughts. There was no dissuading him.

Was there trauma? Or a struggle?

They would think it was someone else. They would think that he was noble and brave. It gave Harry a grim sense of satisfaction as he thought about how clueless they were, how they turned their heads away from the truth, away from him. They never bothered to ask him how he was feeling, and that was part of the reason he was here now.

Am I missing? Or was the body found?

How long would it take? Who would be the first person to know the truth? Who would be the person to find him, to scream for help? He hoped that it would be Malfoy. It would serve the dirty little bastard right; it would be sort of like a last joke for Harry.

Is there anything worth looking for? Worth loving for? Worth lying for?

Should he even bother to stay and see how things turned out? Harry cast his invisibility cloak off, and took the writing utensils out of his pocket. He wrote on it, taking care to make it as neat as possible. He needed to hurry. His watch read 5:15, people would be getting up soon. A newly minted ray of sunshine hung on the horizon, young and pristine. Harry finished writing, reading over what he had printed.

If you are reading this, then it probably means that I'm dead. It is not anyone's fault but the Death Eaters who took Sirius and my parents. Ron, Hermione, do not blame yourselves for what happened. Ron, your family can have the money left in my bank vault, the key is in the pair of mustard-colored socks in my trunk. I know that you can make good use of it, better then anyone else. Hermione, you can have my books. You were always reading them anyways; you might as well make them yours.

To the Dursleys: I wish you had accepted me into your family before it was too late. I have to do this, and you must understand that I never really hated you. I guess you have what you have always wanted then- I won't be seeing you any time soon.

Harry

His name looked strangely alone at the bottom of the paper. He tried to think of words of salutation to put next to his name, but none came to his mind. His name, not for the first time in his life, was alone.

Is there anything worth waiting for? Worth living for? Worth dying for?

Harry folded up the note and put it with his wand and invisibility cloak on the floor. He took a few hesitant steps toward the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the room. He swallowed against the large knot of phlegm in his throat. Harry fiddled with the lock on the window, letting it fall open. A powerful gust of wind almost blew him over backwards. Harry took a deep breath and took a few minute steps, toeing the edge of the castle. His heart thudded in his ears, driven on by the adrenaline in his bloodstream. Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let his foot glide haltingly into the abyss in front of him. Gravity did the rest of the work for him. The last thing Harry remembered was the whoosh of the wind in his ears and the faint scream of a voice he wasn't entirely sure was someone else's and not his own. He felt a desperate desire for someone to come save him, he didn't want to die, he needed to live, to breath, to exist. No one came. Harry's arrival was greeted with a sickening thud as his body slammed into the ground, instantly breaking his neck and limbs. Harry Potter was no more.

I'm home.