A/N: My first story. It's a dark little one-shot fic, the brainchild of an overworked depressed teen listening to too much Evanescence. I was having a bad day, and our stupid school keeps pressing more crap on us. So instead of destroying something like I usually do, I decided to write, and this came out. Hope you like, please review, even flames.

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He sat by the window in his small room, silently fingering a silver dagger that had once belonged to his beloved godfather. Recently he had been pulled away to sort through the pile of school things, other belongings, and money left in his godfather's Gringotts vault.

His mind began to wander, concentrating on the painful memories, the only thing he knew or remembered anymore. His best friend furious with him, refusing to even talk to him. The beautiful young redhead lying as if dead on the cold chamber floor. Stepping through the flaming doorway to face the unknown alone, having had to leave his wounded friends behind. Viciously biting his best friends father, who he considered family, as a giant snake, and thinking he had actually done it. First witnessing the cruelty of Him in his first vision just before fourth year. The cruel voice stating 'kill the spare.' The glazed lifeless eyes of 'the spare' staring up at him from the ground. The cold dagger piercing his skin, drawing blood used to resurrect Him. The fight that followed. Hearing his parent's death replayed in his head, and the maniacal laughter of Him. The vision of his godfather being tortured. Seeing everyone of his friends hurt and knowing it was his fault. Watching as the man he loved as a father, brother, and friend fell through the veil, never to return. The feeling of dread, hopelessness, sorrow and anger that followed. Being possessed by Him. The memories kept coming, churning in his head as he turned the dagger over and over, staring at the moon.

He knew what he was going to do, had to do. Everything was his fault. All he did was cause pain and suffering to anyone who got close to him. Memories continued surfacing, memories of pain-his pain, others pain, pain that he had caused. He looked around him one last time. Checked his letter one last time, reading it over one last time.

Dear Remus,
When you get this I will be dead. How cliched. Don't worry, I'm
feeling better now. Remember the prophecy? 'Neither can live while the
other survives?' It's not true. I fulfilled the damn prophecy when he
attacked my house-you know it. But I cannot live even with him gone. I
have only caused pain, suffering and death to everyone who knows me.
Don't cry for me, I don't deserve it. I'm only a burden and a
murderer. The Death-Eaters are still after me, and will only continue
hurting those I love. Trust me, this is for the best. I love you, and
everyone else. Please tell everyone that. Maybe I'll see Sirius and my
parents. I probably don't deserve it. Goodbye.
Harry James Potter.

His thoughts turned to that fateful night roughly a week ago, when Voldemort had attacked. The order had arrived just as they began attacking. More memories surfaced. The sounds of battle surrounding him. The blasting apart of the street. His companions falling left and right. The piles of dead bodies, many of them belonging to those he knew well. McGonagall, Bill, Tonks, George, the list went on and on. The somber, half-dead eyes of Fred, his spark extinguished along with his twin brother.

Pulling himself out of his mind, he tied the letter onto Hedwig's leg, and practically pushed her out the window, as she seemingly didn't want to leave. He shifted the dagger to his right hand. He pressed the tip against the inside of his left wrist, drawing blood. Slowly and painfully he dragged the dagger the length of his arm, leaving a deep wound. He put the dagger back in his lap turned his gaze to the moon, and slumped back into his chair as his eyes glazed over. The moonlight glinted off his blood and his eyes, eyes that held a world of pain and suffering. And that's how he stayed until Remus showed up in the morning, weak from his transformation last night. He looked at Harry, the painful eyes, the pool of blood, and the small smile on his lips as his life was finally devoid of pain and suffering.

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