As the darkness creeps closer I finally understand. Until now I felt so surreal, another nightmare I might wake up from at any time. His eyes are glazed with fury and the pieces fall into place inside my head. All of the avoiding me and the furtive glances. It all makes sense.
I can't feel the knife that he is holding into my chest, nor can I feel any of the other multiple stab wounds. In fact, when I have the energy to tilt my head to look at my wounds I almost believe it isn't happening to me. I almost feel as though it is somebody else, not me, not the immortal Harry Potter. I who evaded Voldemort so many times, I, who was, is, loved by every witch and wizard in the modern world, could not be killed by such a weakling. I was supposed to die at the hands of the most powerful ark wizard, not someone who has bumbled through their entire life to date.
I've never seen him this angry before, I spent countless hours with him, seen him laugh, seen him cry, but never have I seen him this angry. The anger has given him superhuman strength, as though he is sapping my energy to feed his anger. The more I struggle, the more I bleed, the more his face distorts in a childish grin, the more angry he gets the harder he hold me down.
Pinned to the ground in the middle of the quidditch pitch the irony is not lost on me. I loved this sport and I was good at it. I never had any skill at arithmacy or transfiguration, but I could fly. And here I am slowly bleeding to death in the same space I first managed to prove myself to the school in. When I first caught the snitch. How proud all of Gryffindor was. But they aren't here to help me now. This isn't a practical defence against the dark arts test, this is life, or perhaps I should say this is death.
Hermione would slap me for being so negative. Oh, Hermione, my sweet Hermione, I've failed her. I'll never laugh with her again at some joke that wasn't even funny. For that matter I'll never do anything again. What was the last meal I ate? Chicken and vegetables, not the house elves most impressive meal, but for me I will be the last I remember. The socks I'll die in? They don't even match. Dumbledore would not approve; perhaps he'll change them before anyone else sees me like this.
I assume he'll be the one to find me. If nobody else notices that I'm not really being dragged through the forbidden forest, kidnapped, Dumbledore will. In fact, they may even be heading back towards me now; maybe they'll make it-
He's stabbed the knife into me again. It's just a knife from the kitchens, sharp from the hose elves care. I'm not even going to die a magical death.
I can see another emotion in his eyes now. I think it's hate. Hate and jealousy. I never knew. How could I not have seen this betrayal coming? I never saw this burning jealousy that would be my eventual downfall. But what could I have done to avoid it? Can I rally be blamed for me own murder? He lived in my shadow for so long. He was the perfect best friend; he was made for the role of sidekick. I should have known he'd want what I had. I should have realised he just wanted something of his own to overshadow his brothers. Little did he know that I would have given it all up to him if I could've. If only it was so easy.
I feel so faint now, blood loss probably. I would happily sit through 100 more potions lessons if I thought it would let me rewind time and give me a chance to say goodbye. To tell the people who mattered how important to me they really were. I'm not naïve enough to wish I could go back and change the course of history, if I was meant to go then that is that. I just want a chance to finish my life properly.
It hurts me to keep my eyes open, so even as I try they drift closed.
So close, the dark draws so near.
I jerk my eyes open once more and manage to speak.
He snaps back from me, drawing the knife with him so it is still clutched in his hand. I watch him look first at me then the blood-covered knife in disbelief. The fury in his eyes is gone and he steps back up to me, throwing the knife on the ground, He covers me bloody chest with his equally bloody hands, a feeble attempt to stem the bleeding.
His eyes are wild, he is in denial.
My eyes close and I accept the darkness, The unknown can be no worse than watching your best friend of so many years, your murderer, try and save your life.
AN: I wanted to see Harry try and rationalise the situation of death without actually blaming someone for once, almost as though he is removed from the situation rather than a part of it. And the title is a Placebo song, from the album Black Market Music. I think I have a disability when it comes to thinking of titles for my writing, so I'm up to using song titles now.