Author's Notes: Um. Yes, well. What can one say? It's a classic "Harry commits suicide" ficcy - I was in a bad mood, so sue me. Ums. I really don't think it makes much sense; it's so badly written too, but reading some of the crap on here, I don't think it matters.

Warning: This is a pointless warning, but seeing as some people are so totally dense on here, I'll spell it out. C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R D-E-A-T-H - gee, ya think so? Beware of the evil spelling and grammar mistakes that will jump out randomly and beat you around the head with a Smeltings Stick. Hums. Ohs! Bitterness! Muwahah. What else? Oh, it sucks. Get over it.

Summary: Post-OotP. After the events in the Department of Mysteries, Harry could be found sinking further and further into depression. And it only took one careless comment to finally push The-Boy-Who-Lived over the edge. Suicide fic.

Notes: This is a re-post. See profile for more information.

Dedication: This is to both Britt and Lala. Or Lala and Britt. Whichever way, I don't care. Because without their encouragement, I wouldn't have posted it. Title courtesy of Lala. So go and throw rotten eggs at them.

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Imagine the possibilities if they were though!

On the Edge
By Pickled Rellish

Ron trudged up to the Sixth Year boy's dormitories for the soul reason of talking to Harry. He hadn't moved out of his bed for six and a half days, ever since Ginny had made the comment, "I wish you'd just get over it already!" the red head had exclaimed one day as she watched Harry stare broodingly into the fire. "You hardly knew him! Two and a bit years, if that." Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus and Neville had to physically restrain a screaming, struggling Harry as he lunged at the girl, shouting out that she didn't know anything, that she was just a stupid little girl who didn't know when to butt out of other people's business.

Ron didn't know who to be more pissed at; a crying, visibly shaken Ginny, or Harry who had shrugged everyone off him and stormed upstairs, slamming the door so hard that dust fluttered down from the ceiling. Harry's temper was well-know, as it seemed to have escalated from last years tantrums, but Ron was obliged to sit and comfort Ginny; she was his sister… besides, Harry needed time to cool down. He didn't want to admit that a tiny part of him agreed with Ginny's outburst.

Going up to bed that night had only ended in an argument between Ron and Harry; the other lads standing warily on the sidelines.

"What the fuck is with you?" Ron had screamed. "You went to attack my little sister! You don't hit girls!"

"Then she should have kept her mouth shut about things that have nothing to do with her!"

"Well she has a point, Harry! You haven't been yourself since we got to Hogwarts. You hardly eat, hardly sleep - don't think I can't hear you shuffling in your bed or around the room - and you rarely talk to me and Hermione anymore!"

The sneer that had crossed Harry's face was more suited for Draco Malfoy. "Oh, so you've finally noticed that I'm not lagging behind you two lovebirds, like some lost puppy, have you?"

"What is up with you?! He wouldn't want you moping around like this, Harry - you know that, don't you?"

"How can I know that, Ron? He's dead because of me, so forgive me if I don't go and ask his permission."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry! Is this why you're in such a bad mood? Because you think it's your fault; because you feel guilty?"

"You try living with guilt day in and day out Ron. You try being responsible for someone's death."

"I never would be."

"Well lucky you." And that had been the final word Harry had said as he climbed back into bed. Glaring at the closed hangings, Ron had got into his own, while the other boys stood and looked at each other, blinking.

Of course, Ron and Hermione had tried to speak with him the next day, if just to persuade him to attend lessons. Harry would have none of it, and told the two, to more-or-less, piss off. And that was when he'd chucked a book at them through his bed hangings, screaming at them to leave him alone, to go and snog in some shadowed corner when they thought no one was looking.

Ron had held Hermione after that, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she sobbed, silently seething. He just didn't understand why Harry was acting this way. Sure, he was bound to be upset about Sirius, everyone was, but why did he have to react to it in such a violent way? A tiny part of Ron whispered that he was doing it all for the attention. Poor little Potty.

Everyone left Harry alone after that, but just for a day or two, and that was when Ron ventured into the room, a small portion of food for Harry, who should be, by all rights, starving after not eating for two to three days on the trot. "Uh, Harry?" he muttered, hiding his annoyance at the situation, Ginny had only made a comment after all!

"Go away, Ron." Harry answered coolly. "I told you to leave me alone."

Count to ten… count to ten… "I brought you some food, mate, I thought you'd be hungry--"

"-- well you thought wrong, Ron. Leave. Me. Alone."

Ron didn't understand. He was trying to be condoling, and all he got in return was it thrown back in his face. He'd thrown the food to the floor in anger, yelled some obscenities at his best friend, and stormed out, relaying everything to a concerned Hermione.

And now, three days later, Ron was climbing the steps to the dorms with the intent of speaking to Harry once more. Everyone was worried. Teachers wouldn't stop asking about him; McGonagall was planning to come up later to have words with Harry; Madam Pomfrey was nearly ripping her hair out with worry after hearing about one of her more frequent visitors, screaming at Dumbledore and everyone else that 'possibly' The-Boy-Who-Lived was depressed and needed help; Dumbledore's eyes turned grey as Dobby sadly informed him that no, Mr Harry Potter Sir hadn't come down for any food; Hagrid was over his head with worry, going as far to cancel class and hand out a weeks worth of detentions to Malfoy when he'd made a snide remark referring to Harry; hell, even Snape seemed concerned, his dark eyes glinting ever-so-slightly when the boy was mentioned.

Hermione was waiting down in the Common Room anxiously.

Ron pushed the door open and took in the room; all the beds were neatly made, Harry's being the only one that curtains were shut. The window was wide open which allowed the light breeze to drift in and the watery sunlight to hit the pitcher of water, causing a rainbow type effect as it sparkled. He coughed nervously. "Harry?" he tried uncertainly. He got no answered. "Harry… are you alright? Everyone's worried about you. Aren't you hungry? Don't you miss Hagrid, or flying… or… Hermione and I?" the last was uttered in a whisper.

Again, Harry didn't answer, which was strange in itself. Why wasn't he shouting for him to get lost, to leave him alone? "It's been weird, without you, you know…" Ron finally muttered, taking advantage of Harry's silence to speak. "I mean, Hermione's nice to be around, you know… but, well, she's my girlfriend," here he blushed an adorable shade of pink, "and well, I just miss you I guess. I mean, I go to say something sarcastic about something, only to suddenly realise that you're not there."

Ron favoured that he heard Harry shift, but he wasn't sure. "I'm sorry, you know. I've not really been a good best friend these past few days, have I? I've tried to understand Harry, really I have. But I just can't grasp on why you react to things like you do. It's just, I don't know… I've never lost anyone close to me, so I don't know what you're going through, but can it possibly be so bad that you lash out at everyone?"

The wind lapped soothingly through Ron's hair and tinkled Harry's bed curtains ever-so-slightly. "Hermione's waiting in the Common Room, you know; she's besides herself with worry. Everyone is really. Even Snape!" There was a moment of total and utter silence. "Ginny feels awful. She didn't mean what she said; I think she was just upset, seeing you so… so… depressed, I guess. She thinks this is all her fault. Everyone misses you."

"C'mon Harry," Ron suddenly exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You've been in a funk for ages, and I miss you - as does Hermione. Let's go down to see how Hagrid's doing, he's been asking about you." Predictably, Ron got no answer. Not deterred, he ripped the deep maroon bed curtains apart, still grinning from ear to ear. "I forgot to say that I won't take 'no' for an answer, sorry mate!" Eyes, the colour of melted chocolate landed upon his long time friend, and nearly gagged at the sight.

Harry was sat up against the headboard, his head hanging limply as it rested on his chest, shaggy hair covering his face up yet the slight glimmer of his glasses flickered through. His sleeves had been bunched up to the top of his bony arms and they lay lifelessly at his sides; his legs were straight, sock covered feet tipping over to the left. And the blood. There was so much. His wrists had been sliced; from palm to elbow, and the sticky, coppery substance coated the otherwise pale arms and bed sheets; dry and cracking on the skin, yet staining and forever lasting on the sheets. The cuts where deep, obviously intended suicide, and the skin seemed to peel away from each side, in sick mockery of gift wrapper when it's tore open. The soft lining of the inside of his arms were on display as they glistened with thick, red and oh-so-sweet blood.

On his lap, there was a piece of parchment, and with shaky hands, Ron picked it up as he swallowed bile. There, in Harry's messy, untidy script was one of the shortest notes Ron had seen Harry write:

Lets see how you handle losing someone close to you.