Disclaimer: All things pertaining to the wonderful world of Harry Potter obviously doesn't belong to me. All characters and/or basic plots belong to the amazing, even richer then the Queen of England, J.K. Rowling and anyone else she has signed with.

Title: Coping: Quaint Tranquility

Authoress: AshenWolf

Rating: Pg-13

Warnings: Spoilers for OotP, character death, mentions of blood, and major Angst.

Pairings: None

On with the show...


Narrator's PoV

A small fragile looking boy sat propped up by the side of his worn out, old, moth-eaten bed. He was glaring out the only window in his room at the darkened sky, darkened even more by big black rain clouds. Despite his small stature and size, he looked very old. Much older then his mere 15 years of living. His brilliant emerald eyes that once shone with such innocence and love, now shone with nothing but, grief, hatred, and traces of left over residue of past horrors that could never be erased. If not for these hurtful feelings showing through, you would think those green depths of his dead. Mentally and emotionally he was dead, but medically he wasn't. His heart failed to cease its beating and his organs failed to shut down, but his spiritual self and will to live had died a long time ago. Starting with Cedric and now forever gone with the passing of his beloved godfather... Sirius.

Sirius... he had been his only reason to keep moving on in this world, on this plane, when Cedric died. He was one of the last links to his parents and his only male role model in the parental department. It was because of him that he was about to do what he was about to do.

Harry Potter, the teen who had been dubbed "The-Boy-Who-Lived" when he was a mere 15 months old, slowly got up off the floor and walked at an unnaturally slow pace to his beat up trunk. Unlatching the top with shaking hands, he reached in and found what he was looking for: Sirius' present to him, Sirius' knife. The blade glistened in the moonlight pouring in from the barred windows. It was sharp, so very sharp. Yes, it was this boy's baby. He took very good care of it, he did. Whenever he used it he would wipe it off and gently put it back resting on an old Hogwarts robe as if it were placed on a shrine.

He ran his pale finger along the edge and barely winced when he drew blood. He held his finger up and watched as the cut let loose a small stream of crimson. it flowed freely, but it was but a tiny incision and he wanted a much larger one. He did it initially just to feel again. After the incident he had felt so numb, he couldn't take it. Now...now he craved it, craved it above all else. If it was taken from him, he would surely die. That is how much he felt for this small piece of metal...a nice shiny metal that brought him temporary release from his grief, from the overbearing numbness that overtook him. Now, though he wanted a bigger release...a more permanent one. But before he could have it, he had some things to do.

He gently laid the blade lovingly on his bed and walked back over to his trunk. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and ink and quill, before sitting resolutely at the scratched and wobbly table the Dursley's seemed fit to give to there unworthy, ungrateful, freak of a nephew. The quill hung limply in his hand dripping slightly for a moment before he put quill to paper and began to write.

June 29, 1996


I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused Sirius' death and I'm sorry I caused you more pain. You are undoubtedly the stronger of us all, Remus. Of this I am sure, for if you weren't you would most likely have done what I'm about to do a long time ago. By the time you see this I will already be gone... for how long? I don't know. The Dursley's could care less about me and probably won't check up on me at all, unless they want house work done, but they have laid off me quite a bit since the Order's warnings.

I just wish I had more faith in Dumbledore's wishes. If I only hadn't been so selfish, so stubborn, I could have learned the Occulmency lessons. If only I had trusted and hadn't hated Professor Snape so much, things could be different. I could be laughing with you and Sirius at this very moment. I screwed up Remus, and I know that. I just can't take the consequence. Not this time, Moony. I just can't cope.

It was Sirius who got me through Cedric's death and Voldemort's rebirth and that's only because I barely recovered. I never truly healed from that, just covered up the wound with smiles and grins, so no one could see the pain I sheltered inside. It wasn't too long before I had even myself fooled.

With Sirius' passing my 'old wound' bust right open again and this time it can't be stitched up. It's too much of a gaping hole... bleeding too freely to fix. I feel so numb Remus. I can barely feel anything but anguish and self-hate. My heart is dead and my will is gone.

I just hope you can understand why I'm doing this... why I'm ending it all. Please Remus; never once think this was in anyway your fault. I know you well enough to know that you will think it was your fault and I want you to know that it isn't. In no way or fashion. Remember that.

I never did tell you, at least not in words, but I do care for you and I look up to you tremendously. You are a great person Remus, much better then you give your self credit for. Don't let the creature within you rule your life. You are not dark, you're not evil, and you are better than most people out there. Please, for me as a last request, believe in what I tell you and don't be weak like me. From now on, I hope you have a better life, than the one destiny has dealt you thus far.

My last will and testament is laid out with this letter, please make sure it is followed accordingly. You are the only one I trust and the only one that my numbed state of existence permits any feelings of love for. I love you, Remus. I hope to see you many years from now all old and gray and not a moment sooner. Goodbye Moony and again: I'm sorry.


Harry stared at the letter for a moment before laying out another piece of parchment. He dipped his quill in the ink bottle once more before writing once more.

I, Harry James Potter, hereby state that I am of sound state of mind and body. The following is my last will and testament, written on this day June 29, 1996.

I, Harry James Evans Potter, leave all Potter heirlooms, estates, money, assets, and anything else bearing any emblem of the Potter family to one, Remus John Lupin.

I also leave any of my personal things, such as my family album, invisibility cloak, wand, and Firebolt to one Remus John Lupin to do with as he wishes.

If I was to inherit anything from any other source besides any family inheritance, I would also have it forwarded to one Remus John Lupin.

Thank you,

Harry James Potter

Harry sighed. He was done, finally. The will was anything but perfect and he tried to make it as formal as possible so that it would pass as official at the Ministry. He had never seen an official one before and this would have to do. It's not like he could really bring himself to care much at the moment. His eyes traveled from the ink drying on the parchment in front of him to the gleaming blade sitting oh so innocently on his bed sheets.

Without a backwards glance at the two letters he had just written, he rose as if in a trance from the wooden chair. He glided over to his prize... his baby... his release, with a brief flash of anticipation before the numbness took control of his emotions once more. He kneeled before his bed and with slightly trembling hands carefully picked up Sirius' knife.

With it in his hands, he slowly turned until he was in the same position as before: propped up against the side of the bed. The difference this time was that his eyes weren't staring out the window, where now even the moon was being engulfed in darkness, nor did he look as dead as before. His eyes glittered with some foreign emotion and a smile... a truly happy looking smile began to tug at his lips. A now study hand reverently floated over the back edge around to the front sharp edge and back again. He did this little ritual every time he would cut, but this time it seemed to mean so much more.

For a few minutes he did nothing but stare at it with a weird sense of love and caring before taking the highly decorated hilt in his left hand. He made sure he had a steady and firm grip on it before bringing the sharp edge over the large pumping vein situated on the inside of his right wrist. The vein that would end it all for him. His eyes glossed over for a mere second as he brought it down in one swift stroke. He hissed in pain, but he didn't regret it at all. He didn't even give himself time to see the fast moving river streaming down his hand and fingers in gushes to pool on the tiled floor beneath, before repeating the same action on his left wrist.

His grip on the blade loosened and it fell to the floor before him with a sickening clang. He pulled his two bleeding wrists to him and curled into a fetal position as his vision began to blur beyond anything recognizable. He closed his eyes as he slumped sideways and slid slowly to the left, his back still to his bed.

His arms slowly opened falling lucidly as blood still flowed, though not nearly as fast as before. His round, taped glasses laid skewed off the bridge of his nose and a wry smile decorating his parched, pale lips. Eyelashes fluttered and a leg kicked before returning to its place in its master's curled position before slowly becoming lax. Skin became an abnormal white and the moon no longer radiated its gentle light on the small 15 year old boy in the darkened room.

A fierce thunder was finally unshackled from burly black clouds outside as rain finally began to fall all around Little Whinging Surrey. They seemed to be crying...crying for a great loss... a massive grief they could not forget. Their grief took control of the elements for some time before anger began to ignite within the centers of their very being.

The thunder was soon accompanied by belligerent clashes of lightning. One massive bolt of lightning struck in the grossingly normal looking front yard of Four Privet Drive right in front the room that hosted the Wizarding World's last hope. The light illuminated the pitch black room for one instant, showing the still state of it. Nothing moved in the room… nothing at all. One would have to think time had frozen, for not even the chest of the young human whom occupied the striking bare room moved.

– Fin –

Hey guys, go easy on me about the Will and Testament. I've never seen one, nor have I actually heard one being read or anything of the kind in all my life, which is a mere 15 years. Also, obviously Harry isn't in the right state of mind, but I believe that piece is in a Will. Be nice, please!

Read and Review please! This is a first fic for me, at least in the HP fandom. This is technically my second fic, ever. Just put an "I read" in a review and I will be happy. I would also love to know if I make it to anyone's Fav list! It would make me happy to know I'm not a complete failure at writing! Thanks for reading!

- AshenWolf -