So This Is It

theoretical gutter is proud to present...

 

So This Is It

 

The things that go through a persons mind when first attempting are always the craziest things. Or maybe not. Maybe it was the most reasonable thing that ever crossed the persons mind. Maybe right now, what I'm thinking right now, is the best thing I'm ever to come up with, and having the thought of attempting just brought forth my more thoughtful side. Or maybe this state just brought forth babbling on a larger proportion. Of course it's not really babbling when it's just my conscience running through every single thought I've had from every angle I've ever missed before. It'll bring life to a deeper meaning once I'm gone. Maybe they'll sigh with happiness and the World is suddenly a better place when I'm gone, or maybe there'll be a select few who'll shed a few tears for the funeral, then feel all better and realize they never needed me. That I was useless because I wouldn't do any dark bidding. That I was thoughtless because I wanted to be a better person. That I should have listened to my father a little more and got into kissing the hems of Voldemort's robes.

That's right. Voldemort. And he's at the height of his power and I'm still disobeying him. What does that say about me? That's I'm a rebellious teenager? That I'm really a good person? Or maybe that I'm just plain stupid. Senseless acts of violence aren't really me, but I guess there's just not much I can do about that. If I had a little more power I could stop people from killing random muggles they pull off of the street. If I had been a 9 or 10 years older I could have stopped the stupid things some of the Death Eaters did. Maybe Longbottom would have parents that weren't drooling on themselves and pissing their pants without any restraint. There's not much I could have really done, though. Maybe throw myself in the way and end up in St. Mungo's as well, doing absolutely no good except Father terrorizes the Death Eaters that did it. I was too young to do anything, though. To young to do absolutely anything now, still. I sit around the house and refuse to do anything. Sometimes I'll take a trip to Diagon Alley for a book or two, or down to the kitchen for a cup of hot cocoa.

My friends from school they would always ask. How are they? Its not like I know or anything. They should know that. I don't go anywhere, they've witnessed that. Why should I go anywhere when I know I'm not wanted.

Not Wanted.

Of course I'm not. Father tells me all the time. Nobody wants you. You're useless. If my Lord didn't say otherwise, you would have been out on your arse ages ago! My Mother always says different, though. Son, I love you. But why don't you just do it any get it over with? Your Father just doesn't know how to express his love. He really does love you, though. She would always look away, though, a worried expression on her face and I knew that he hated me. You get this feeling when you know someone's looking at you. It's sort of like that, but I'm better at knowing who hates me. I first got the feeling coming from my Father in seventh year when I made a friend out of Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Thought that would happen, didn't you? Well you're wrong, because we're not even friends anymore. It was maybe 5 months at the end of the year that we were friends. I don't even know what happened.

One final thought ran through my mind as I sat up on my bed, slammed the cover to my journal shut and put the cork into the ink well; I don't even know what happened. Of course, it was probably my father, or they just came to their senses or something. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and opened the drawer in the top of my bedside table with the antique lamp on it. Out of the drawer I picked up my Father's dagger and a bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of aspirin. I shut the drawer and looked hard at the lamp. What's one more way of hurting my father? The thought ran across my eyes starkers and I picked up the lamp and threw it at a wall, picking up a shard of the glass and scratched words across the walls and through painting after painting that decorated my room. I slashed through the comforter and the drapes covering the window and around the bed. Feeling satisfied I walked into the bathroom. My reflection looked ghastly white and my blonde hair hung slightly limp. Glaring at my reflection I punched the mirror. Apparently harder than I should have, but it felt good, the glass shattering into the sink and cutting my knuckles. One last chance at vengeance towards my family, I uncapped both bottles and swallowed half of each bottled. Grinning stupidly, I walked back into my room and sat down in the middle of the floor and fingered the dagger between my thumb and forefinger. Without thinking any thing else, I grabbed it by the handle and slashed both of my wrists several time and laid down on the rock floor.

So this is it, then. See you in the afterworld. I thought, before shutting my eyes and falling asleep.

* * * * *

I sat in my bathtub running my hands gently against the porcelain sides. My mind alone disturbed the warm water causing ripples to crash around me. I stared darkly at the tiles at the opposite end of the bath and poked it with a bronze painted toenail. The tiles were lilac-colored, and the bath curtain was ivory colored, decorated with lilacs. The porcelain toilet and sink were ivory colored with lilac coloring. Why my mother the dentist's assistant chose those colors was beyond me. Maybe she wanted me to be someone I'm not. Someone more her. Or maybe someone she could never be when she was my age. My room was in a sufficiently large set of purple hues. Lavender, lilac, purple, royal purple as well as some in between colors I didn't even know the names of. My Mother the dentist's assistant and my Father the dentist always wanted me to be their perfect little girl. Maybe I just couldn't be that.

I wanted to be a doctor. When I first told my parents that they tried to sway my mind to a nurse or a flight attendant. Something that would suit my gender more. I stared hard at them and turned around and ran up to my room, slamming my door shut and pulling out another book to read.

Books were my get-away. My safe place no one could penetrate unless they themselves wrote a book and told me something, demanding for me to believe it. It's something none of my friends can ever understand. Could. Was. I don't have any more friends. I don't know what happened. The end of seventh year and we all just stopped talking. Even Malfoy who had become particularly nice to the three of us I considered a friend. And he was. Was. That's it. We all just split up.

There was nothing I could do with my life now. Everything I could do would result in books and libraries and a house full of cats and smelling of cabbage. I couldn't let that happen. My life was completely ruined because of the way my parents tried to raise me. I knew that. They obviously didn't. I just prayed to God that they didn't have anymore children and ruin their lives as well. Or maybe the new child will like being treated like a child for the entire of their life. It was a matter of individuality, that's all. I'm sure that not everyone hates being a child all of his or her life, but I minded. I really did. I wanted to grow up and have my own life, but being connected to my dentist parents would drag me down until I was relieved of them. Either they would have to die or I would.

I lifted myself out of the bath and pulled a robe over my shoulders. Grabbing my diary off of my desk and grabbing a quill and ink well, I set to work, quickly writing down my feeling. Scrawling quickly at the bottom of the page, the inkwell tipped over and covered the desk. I gazed sorely at it, shut my diary and dropped it in the middle of the growing puddle of ink, dropped the quill on top and went back to the bathroom.

Shrugging my arms back out of the bathrobe, I lowered myself back into the bath and slid down, by head just above the water. With one last look at the door, I slid completely into the water. I opened my eyes and stared through the water at the purple painted ceiling. Glaring at it, I opened my mouth and inhaled strongly. As the water overtook my lungs I tried to cough and sputter but to not avail. I couldn't turn back. One thought crossed my mind.

So this is it, then. See you in the afterworld.

* * * * *

 

I watched as Fred and George de-gnomed the garden from my bedroom window. They laughed and joked together as I watched them, past the tank of frogspawn on my windowsill. I turned around and headed towards my trunk, where I lifted the lid and pulled out a roll of parchment and a bottle of green ink. I scrawled loopily over it, quoting from various things and writing what I thought nobody would see.

Of course nobody would see it. No one ever cared what I did except if it shamed the family even more. That's all we had. We had a status that only included dignity. Harry had the name and the talent. I had nothing. I was just Harry's sidekick, chess master extraordinaire. But where would chess get me in this world? No where, really. All I was in this world was Harry Potter's best friend. Not much I could do with that, either. Everything that I was, was Harry's first, and that's the best that I could ever do. I live in a family with 6 other children, all better than me. They're all going somewhere and the most I can amount to is record keeper for the Three W's Joke Shop. No much doing there, especially since I don't get pain much because it all goes to the family. My room hasn't changed at all. We can't exactly afford to change much, though 6 months ago when I first arrived home I cleaned it up and put patching charms on my orange quilt and charmed my bed to grow as I grew. It was increasingly too large for the room, however.

I was still being treated as an 11-year-old and no one respects me. They won't miss me at all. I'm just a burden in this household taking up more space than needed. Yeah. My small room that could only accommodate for a 7 year old is too much space for me to be using. As if.

Every morning at 6 I get up, take a shower, yawn all the way through breakfast and then apparate into Hogsmeade to get to the shop. Working in the shop is incredibly dull unless it's a Hogsmeade Weekend with the school .

Increasing dullness in my life and a family that doesn't care. Yay.

I scrawled lightly at the bottom of the parchment roll and signed my name. I dropped the roll onto my bedspread and threw the inkwell at the wall over my bed where it shattered and splashed my orange quilt in green ink. As the dark descended through my window I went onto the staircase and shut my door and climbed slowly towards the attic, feeling better with each step. As I pushed open the trap door the ghost immediately came down on me with chains, trying to scare me away. I waved it away and continued onto the balcony at the highest end of the house. Glancing over the balcony I saw the front entrance to the house, the forest to the left, and Ottery St. Catchpole directly infront of me. Grinning for the first time in days I pulled myself onto the outside of the railing and just stood for a moment. The sun was just dipping down behind the trees and the darkness made me want to jump even more. So I did. I flung myself from the platform, one thought running through my mind as the ground came nearer and nearer.

So this is it, then. See you in the afterworld.

* * * * *

 

I sat in the now empty house called Number 4, Privet Drive. The evacuated house due to the Dursley's recent trip to the coast of Portugal. In Uncle Vernon's Lazy Boy chair I sat, staring blankly out the blackening window. A sharp knock on the door and a peering face on the other side of the glass startled me and I toppled out of the chair. The face quickly disappeared, though another sharp knock on the door echoed throughout the room as I stood up and went to answer the door. Outside the door stood a mass of men in standard black robes and cloaks. One stepped inside the door, and in a flat, deep voice, asked:

"Are you Harry Potter?"

I nodded dumbly, still in shock. A troop of wizards at my front door? What would the neighbors think? I shook my head. I wasn't like that. I stepped back and allowed them to walk into the living room, after directing them to take of their shoes. The last thing I needed was a muddy carpet to clean. Arranging themselves around the room, perching on chairs, end tables, and even on top of the television, a bunch of them started talking at once.

"So you're Harry Potter?"

"Do you know Ronald A. Weasley?"

"Does the name Hermione A. Granger. Was she an acquaintance?"

"Draco J. Malfoy. Were you a friend of his?"

"Are you aware of where your friends are?"

"When was the last time you spoke to Ronald Weasley? How about Hermione Granger or Draco Malfoy?"

"Are you aware that your friends are dead?"

All other thoughts shot from my mind as the last words died on one wizard's lips. Are you aware that your friends are dead? This has got to be a joke, I thought, thinking about it. It's not possible. I just talked to them last week. Why?

"It's a joke..." I muttered. "Why would they kill themselves? I just spoke to them last week..."

I glanced around, confused, at the wizards sitting it what was, 5 minutes ago, an empty living room. A portion of them shifted nervously under my gaze, however none of them moved or even tried to speak. The wizard nearest me sighed, pulled out his wallet, and stepped forward.

"We are the entire Suicide Division of WOIC." He flipped his wallet open, displaying a green and yellow badge, before flipping it back and pocketing it. "Not to scare you or anything, but we were called in when not one, but three suicides happen within the same hour. All three connected to you, as well as to each other, it seems. First, Draco J. Malfoy takes a bottle of both aspirin and sleeping pills, then slits his wrists and falls asleep. Then, Hermione A. Granger, while taking a bath, drowns herself. Next is Ronald A. Weasley. After a climb to the attic of his house, ignoring the ghost that resides there, steps onto the balcony and jumps. Just before sundown on all three. All three wrote suicide notes, signed at the bottom with the same phrase."

Confused, as well as absolutely freaked out about what I had just been told, I fell into the chair, my legs completely giving out.

"What?" I asked nervously, glancing around at them all. Another wizard, stepping forward and pulling out three plastic bags from an inner pocket of his cloak, handed them to me.

"Arnie Birch, head of Evidence."

I nodded and opened the first plastic bag. A leather bound journal with gold binding sat, slightly bloodstained. Leafing through the entries, I found the last one, with drawings of knives and bottles on its margin. The next thing I noticed about it was the tight handwriting filling up the last three pages. Ranting and raving about his family, his acceptance, his friends, Draco scribbled down his thoughts. Opening the next plastic bag, a diary bound in red cloth feel out, stained with red ink, still wet. The very first entry, as well as the last, was in Hermione's loopy, tight scrawl across two pages. How she could never be what she wanted to. The color lavender had scared her for life. How her parents never accepted her normality. What books were to her, what Ron, Draco, and I were to her. Dropping the diary on top of the journal next to me, I opened the last grey plastic bag. A roll of parchment dripping with emerald colored ink rolled onto my lap. Logically, my mind screamed Ron. And I knew that's who wrote it. Slowly, I unrolled the parchment. A few loopy written lines, ending with a signature.

Flipping back to the diary and journal, the endings of the entries were always the same. The last line was "So this is it, then. See you in the afterworld." As well, as the very bottom of the last page, underneath the signature, stood the same line, which repeated itself over and over in my mind.

"Anything that is mine, is Harry Potter's..."

I looked darkly up and the wizard that had said it. His brightly colored eyes, tanned skin, and sandy brown hair stood out against the rest of the contents of the room. It also clashed with the look he was giving me. His eyes showed sorrow and pity. His disheveled hair showed concern, and the way he moved his hands, the way he walked when he moved towards me, they all showed sadness. Just as he reached me and touched my shoulder, I jerked back, nearly falling out the back of the chair. Quickly gathering the books and parchment, I stumbled out of the room and up the stairs towards my room. I felt stupid, however I continued to open my wardrobe, pull out a stack of jeans and sweaters that littered the bottom of it and sat down inside, shutting the door smoothly.

The darkness ensuing, I felt comforted as I was left alone. Bringing back old memories of the cupboard beneath the stairs, I felt oddly safe. Away from the world, before I knew what I was. I was completely relaxed, leaning my head back against the wall of the wardrobe. Slowly I drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * * * *

Draco!

The scream pierced through the sky as it twisted black and purple, finally revealing a tall manor. In an instant, I stood inside a stone circular room decked out in green, silver, and black. A lone figure sat in the middle of the room on the stone, a dagger and two pill bottles in his lap. Silently I circled the room until I stood infront of him.

"I have to, Harry. It's the only way." He muttered, completely startling me. He looked right up into my eyes. His pale cheeks were tear streaked with hints of red blotches on his face.

"I have to. You understand that, don't you, Harry? Everything that I have is Harry Potter's..."

He swallowed each bottle of pills and cut his wrists, lying back on the stone.

"Because everything I am, Harry, is because of you. Without you, I am nothing."

The room drifted out of view, swirling in and out of an array of purple colors. The room gently swirled back into view. Purple was everywhere, as far as I could see. Leaning over a desk, Hermione, only clad in a bathrobe hanging off of her shoulders stood, knocking over a bottle of ink, disturbed. She walked into the adjoined bathroom and I followed, seeing her as she lowered herself into the bath.

"You don't have to, Hermione..." My sentence ran on as she mumbled.

"Yes Harry. I have to escape. They don't understand. You can't believe it. Ever."

"No Hermione," I muttered.

"Yes, because they only see me as you. I owe everything to you. Because you are what I am..."

"Hermione..."

She dunked herself under the water, leaving bubbles floating up to the top as she inhaled. I shut my eyes to block out the horror.

Opening my eyes, a swirl of red, orange, and brown met my eyes, swirling in and out of focus onto the narrow stairway of The Burrow that led up to the attic. Slowly Ron's shoulders came into view as I climbed the stairs. Following him, I moved out onto the balcony. Knowing what was to happen, I shut my eyes quickly.

"No, Ron. Don't. Please. You're the last..."

"I have to. Because I'm you. I'm your shadow, and I can't get loose. I need to be my own person."

Clenching my eyes shut, I felt the weight lift off the balcony as he jumped.

* * * * *

 

My eyes flicked open wide, tears slowly trickling down my cheeks. Calmly, I told myself that I couldn't have changed anything, unless I had never existed. Or never been a wizard. Banging the door to the wardrobe open, I stepped out, books and parchment clutched to my chest, Ron's last words echoing in my head.

Sighing, I made my way slowly down the stairs where the WOIC members stood, discontented. One of them tapped his watch.

"The will reading will be in 6 hours, Mr. Potter. I suggest you sleep for a bit more, and be ready. A company car will be picking you up in 5 hours. Bring the evidence or we will have them confiscated from you."

He nodded at me, turned around, and left. As did the rest of them, all filing out into the street, then around the corner.

The End

 

Kim - 09/28/01