We Met In Detention ✓

Forty-Four | Attempt

look at the title and consider what this tw might be for

tw

~Harry's POV

For the first time in a while, I woke up from a dreamless sleep. Not a single nightmare, or flashback. It was peaceful.

What was strange was I woke up alone. Draco wasn't there. Was it possible that what happened last night was simply a fragment of my imagination?

And then I heard crying.

I sat up, trying to figure out what was going on, and suddenly it was crystal clear.

My glamour.

My sleeves.

"Harry?"

No no no no no no no no no.

Every single cut on my wrists were exposed. I always thought the red looked pretty against the white of my skin, but that was because only I saw them.

Draco must've been disgusted. He must be sick. He must think I'm some psychotic bitch. He probably won't want me anymore.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

Shit.

No.

Without thinking, I dashed out of his room, not caring that it was dark and everyone must be sleeping. I probably woke up half of the Slytherins, but I didn't care.

I had to get out of there. I had to be anywhere but with him.

Because he knows.

He fucking knows.

No one else knew. Just me. Just Harry.

No one was supposed to know.

All of my fucking secrets have been exposed now.

The abuse, the rape, the anorexia and now the self harm. 

Nothing's staying hidden. I kept it hidden for years, from everyone, and now everything's out in the open. Like I'm just some messed up book you can read.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen.

I was supposed to kill noseless and then toss myself off the Astronomy Tower.

Fuck that, fuck noseless, fuck everyone.

I'm putting myself first now.

It could've been a minute, it could've been an hour, but I was now at the tower, sitting on the ledge.

With the shard of the mirror that was here previously, I'd created more messy lines of red onto my arms, and I was close to hitting an artery. I didn't feel like ending my life that way, not this time. I wanted to feel the thrill of falling.

My arms were incredibly sore, however, for obvious reasons.

It was calm for however long I was here for. The birds were tweeting, the world was sleeping. Stars coated the sky like the soft blanket Dudley had growing up. 

It was beautiful, and I knew it had to be today. But I was still sitting on the railing, just waiting, my thoughts and I in silence.

Would Hermione cry? Would Ron cry?

Would Draco cry?

no, they don't matter right now.

My secrets are out now, and the rest of the world can know if they want. Because I'll be dead. Nothing matters now. Because I'll be dead. 

I'll be dead.

Wishing the world a silent goodbye, I let myself fall off the tower. I'm smiling as I feel the world drown out against the sound of wind and my thoughts. Gravity weighs me down at a lightning pace, but in the moment it feels like forever.

It's just me, just Harry. I'm the only thing I'm thinking of, other than this finally being the end. And fucking hell it feels amazing.

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

Okay well fuck that.

My body genuinely falls slower than before, but the thrill is still there. As long as I undo the charm in a few seconds, the damage will still be done and I'll be dead.

I'll be dead.

"IMMOBULUS!"

Oh fuck off, whoever's doing this. Can I not just have one, life-ending moment of peace? Just one? Literally all I'm asking for.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

I'm falling in reverse, and the thrill has worn off. I'm being saved. 

Why the fuck am I being saved?

When I reach the top of the tower, the first thing I do is punch the motherfucker who hugs me and climb back onto the ledge. I want to do this, and nobody is allowed to stop me.

The saving process repeats a second time.

I'm beyond angry. People might "care", but clearly they don't care enough to let me do the one thing that will make me happy. 

Suicide might be "selfish", but they don't get it. It would relieve me of the pain I'm constantly in by still being here. Rid me of every burden I have. Take the weight of the world off my shoulders.

My life is not happy. Yeah, maybe I have people, few might I add, but it doesn't mean I'm not constantly hurting. For once I should be allowed to be selfish.

I'm being brought up simply to die; my only purpose here is to kill a bald man with psycho problems. No one needs me other than to get rid of the living mould stain, so why should I still be here.

Dumblefuck doesn't actually care about me. He just needs me to save the world. Why can't he do it himself? He doesn't care about me. He'll have to learn how to do it himself. 

I mean, come on, really? A teenager versus a "dark lord". Who do you think would win, if the battle was one that would have to end with death?

Honestly, I was ready to wait and do it after I, unrealistically, defeated him. But it seems like now, that's unnecessary. I needed to die to beat him, but what if I sped it up? When I'm dead, someone like Neville could finish the job.

Dumblefuck raised me like a pig for slaughter, and went so far as leaving me in a household he knew was abusive. I mean, come on, thirteenth reason. He really should've expected me to grow up mentally-fucked and actively suicidal.

He only sees me as a saviour. He only needs me as a saviour.

Well fuck that, fuck everyone, fuck everything.

I want to fucking die.

"Harry, stop."

At this point, I'm livid, and all I see is dark: dark, dark red. 

The thoughts of being raised to die, despite that being my one true wish, makes me even angrier than beforehand. Nothing is going my way. I need something to go my way.

I don't care who this person is. They stopped me from doing what would make me happy, finally happy, so they'll pay for it.

Said person from before is now holding me in their arms, and I don't dare to look up at them. Instead, I attempt to push them off and keep blindly hitting them with my aching, bloody arms until finally, they let go.

The opportunity arises once more and I feel myself lunge towards the railing and jump over it, hitting my head hard against the bricks when an arm grips mine.