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Sorrow and Joy

"There are many joys in the world and also many sorrows."

It was something that he used to say to me whenever he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Twelve long years in Azkaban had made his heart heavy. I did not blame him for feeling as he did for I felt the same.

"It's not the same Harry. You're young. You have a long life ahead of you," Sirius would say.

He always said this whenever he saw me brooding.

"In a way it is the same. I have experienced much joy and much sorrow. Probably much more sorrow than joy," I would reply.

Often Sirius would say nothing. He would casually drape an arm around my shoulders and pull me close to him. I think it was his way of telling me that he didn't have all the answers to everything in life.

Other times he would reply.

"Yes, Harry, in a way it's much the same. But in another way it's different. You might have seen some bad times but your soul has not seen the darkest corners this world has to offer."

"True," I would say, then fall silent or drop the subject.

After Sirius' death I ceased to believe that there was any hope left in my world. I didn't feel young with a long life ahead of me. In fact I felt old beyond my years. My heart was heavy and pained.

Life ceased to be anything but bleak and desolate. I didn't eat much. I didn't sleep much either. Insomnia gripped me and I spent many a night wandering the floors of Grimauld Place and later Privet Drive.

My restlessness seemed related to my ceaseless musings about life. How could someone with such a good heart have deserved such a hard life? Twelve long years in Azkaban for something he didn't do. Twelve long years that I could have had a decent father figure in my life and they took him away from me.

Many a time anger bubbled up in me and I felt that I had to hurt something or go mad. Often times I would punch my pillow or the wall. Once I nearly broke my hand.

Now all I feel is grief, sorrow, and self-loathing. If I hadn't believed the nightmare I had during my exam this wouldn't have happened. Sirius wouldn't have come after me to save me. He wouldn't have died.

I wouldn't be alone.

I've taken to harming myself sometimes when life becomes too much. My arms and legs are full of scars, both small and large. I made them because I deserve them. If harm came to Sirius because of me then harm should come to me too.

Harm has come to me again today. It's come in the form of a slash across each of my wrists. If Sirius had to die because of me then I should die too. I am dying. Slowly and painfully as the blood runs from my wrists but I am dying.

The Boy who Lived will be no more.

END.