Andrew Joshua Talon

Disclaimer: Contrary to popualr belief (note the sarcasm), I do not own Harry Potter. Lady Rowling does.

Just something to break the writer's block...


I hate myself. I wish I was dead...

As I sit here on my uncomfortable, lumpy bed, staring out the barred window into the still night, those two sentences keep running through my head like ticker tape.

I hate myself. I wish I was dead...

I've decided that it was all my fault. I tried to ignore it, ignore the only possible, logical outcome of my musings and memory sorting over the past month. I tried to pin the blame on someone, anyone. Dumbledore, Snape, Bellatrix...

But it's my fault. It's no use hiding from it. It's all my fault.

I hate myself. I wish I was dead...

Why couldn't I have waited? Why couldn't I have just trusted Dumbledore? Why couldn't I have listened to Hermione? Why did I have to be so god-damned, bloody stupid?

I hate myself. I wish I was dead...

Not for the first time, suicide comes to my thoughts. A black balloon, floating just out of my reach. Go on, it croons, take me. End the pain. End the suffering.

I contemplate my wand, wrapped in my fist. I turn the tip towards my chest, right over my heart. Avada Kedavra...

Two simple words, really. A green flash, a rush of wind - And then there'd be nothing. Nothing left of the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. I consider the possibilities.

Ron wouldn't have to be in my shadow anymore. He could be the hero, maybe use the momentum of my death to catapult him to fame and fortune. He could help his family.

Speaking of which... I'd no longer be a burden, really, to the Weasleys. They wouldn't be in danger from my mere prescence, wouldn't have to expend any more effort towards some skinny, runty boy.

Hermione... She'd be away from me. Never in danger from my stupid fame and destiny again. Never have to contend with my stupidity.

I hate myself. I wish I was dead...

Then, from the back of my mind, the eerie prophecy of Proffessor Trelawney came twisting round.


Bah, I think back, Dumbledore's got plenty more power than I have. If he had the chance, he could do it. Kill Voldemort.

"In the end, it was not the power of your magic that saved you - It was the power of your heart..."

"My heart's gotten me nothing but trouble," I snarl into the darkness. "All it's done is hurt, and... And kill." I shake in anger, wishing I could do magic, wishing I could use Silencing Charms to cover my room. I'd scream and rage, roar out all this anger and self-loathing curled up in my chest like a fat tick. And then, it would all come back, as if I hadn't yelled at all in the first place.

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what I can do to ease my suffering and guilt.

All I can do is wait.

For sunrise.


Short, I know. Meh... R&R, please.