Breaking the Habit

Based (and containing) the song by Linkin Park

JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and, as she has promised not to do certain things I intend to do, I'm clearly not her, there fore, I don't own.

Stay safe and Good Reading.

Harry was sitting in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, watching the shadows cast by the firelight play across everyone else's faces. They were all talking and laughing and making merry, save for those in the opposite corner, save for Sheamus and Neville and Ron and Hermione and Dean. Especially Dean. Dean had just lost his parents. Everyone mourned them, but they weren't about to get depressed over it; too many had been lost, lately, for everyone to mourn them all.

Memories consume

Guilt plagued Harry like the Creevy twins, and he was having trouble hiding it. He knew that, if he'd just told his rational mind to shove it, he could have saved Dean's family. He'd had a vision. He saw Dean's family being tortured, but he was let go before they were killed. His rational mind told him it could be a trap, you'd better just tell Dumbledore and leave it up to him. And so, Harry had, and the Thomas's turned up dead. Harry knew that it was his fault, if he'd left Hogwarts automatically, he could have gotten to Hogsmead, where the Thomas's had been staying; he could have saved them.

Like opening the wound

Just another couple of lives lost thanks to him. Just like Cedric, just like Sirius. Just like Lupin and Percy and Charlie and the Pattil twins.

I'm picking me apart again

He couldn't take it. He rose from his chair and, giving a quick smile of reassurance to Ron and Hermione, he headed up the stairs.

You all assume

He could hear the laughing as he draped his invisibility cloak across his shoulders and turned, and re-entered the common room.

I'm safe here in my room

No one looked up as he opened the portrait hole, no one had followed him to his room. He laughed to himself, a harsh, bitter sound, as he realized how trusting they all were, even in the middle of a war.

(Unless I try to start again)

Even when they knew what he did to himself. Ron had caught him at it one night, the night Lupin was captured and killed because Harry hesitated to act on a vision. Harry'd made his two best friends, and the other boys in his dormitory, swear not to tell, and in return he'd sworn not to do it again.

They were so naïve.

I don't want to be the one

Fucking Voldemort. Fucking Deatheaters. Fucking life. Why'd they all chosen him? Why was he the one who had to fight them?

The battles always choose

Why couldn't Voldemort have chosen Neville?

'Cause inside I realize

He wasn't capable of saving them all, he knew it. If they were to live, he couldn't be happy.

That I'm the one confused

It was his fault. It was all his fault.

I don't know what's worth fighting for

And the scariest thing about all this, was the fact that he had stopped hating the Slytherins. Oh sure, he'd still put on the act, but he now saw them as fellow students caught up in this war.

Or why I have to scream

It wasn't Fair! It wasn't right! He wasn't even sure, now WHY he did it! He just knew he had to, it was his way of letting out the pain he kept coiled so tightly inside of him.

I don't know why I instigate

The pain he knowingly caused others. He was sure Draco Malfoy felt the same way he did, He was sure Draco Malfoy knew the futility of their fighting; their need to pretend that everything was normal.

And say what I don't mean

And Harry knew Draco Malfoy was a death eater, he'd watched the other boy receive it on his seventeenth birthday. And he knew Draco Malfoy didn't want to be one, he'd overheard a conversation in the dungeons one night when Draco Malfoy had gone to confide in his godfather, Severus Snape.

I don't know how I got this way

Reaching into his pocket, Harry removed something. He watched the moonlight transform the blade into silver fire. Harry didn't know when he'd crossed that line, he didn't remember when he first needed that blade like oxygen.

I know it's not alright

Puling up a sleeve, he looked at the myriad of scars on his forearm. His friends had lectured him quite thoroughly about it, the scars now made him sick. Yet, the moonlight made even them look beautiful. And there weren't enough, there weren't nearly enough.

So I'm

He knew what he had to do.

Breaking the habit

He could never make them be enough; something else would have to work.


He ran up the stairs into his room.

Clutching my cure

The blade was grasped firmly in his hand. It had started to cut into his palm.

I tightly lock the door

He shut the door quietly and flung out his wand, muttering every locking spell he knew. Downstairs, Hermione knew what was happening, they would be coming for him.

I try to catch my breath again

He collapsed back against the solid wood, panting.

I hurt much more

This was so much worse than he had imagined. The blade ran quickly across his skin.

Than anytime before

Over and over, the lines of blood joined to form small streams as the hit the floor.

I had no options left again

Nothing else he could have done really.

I don't want to be the one

Not fair.

The battles always choose

It hurts.

'Cause inside I realize

Self knowledge.

That I'm the one confused

Too true.

I don't know what's worth fighting for

Blurred lines.

Or why I have to scream

Not working.

I don't know why I instigate

Damn slytherins.

And say what I don't mean

Damn Malfoy.

I don't know how I got this way


I'll never be alright


So I'm

Breaking the habit


He screamed.


He gashed harder, there were people pounding on the door.


The blood splashed against the walls. His magic broke free.


The room was spinning, his magic sought a target.


Ten miles away, Voldemort screamed. He felt Harry tearing himself apart as Harry's magic tore the Dark wizard apart. Across the continent, deatheaters screamed and clutched their marks.

I don't know what's worth fighting for

Or why I have to scream

But now I have some clarity

To show you what I mean

I don't know how I got this way

I'll never be alright


The room was going black, Harry could hear screaming.


Draco Malfoy writhed on the floor of his dungeon common room and tried to tear the mark, burning black as unstarred night, off of his arms with his fingernails.

I'm Breaking the habit

Hermione sobbed. Dark wizards screamed. Blood ran.


Harry Potter, magic and all, exploded.

A piece ran in the daily prophet.


Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, informed the prophet, today, of the true nature of the death of the savior of our world. He apparently committed suicide. Dumbledore spoke, today, at a funeral for Harry Potter.

"Because of our, and when I say our, I mean the whole wizarding world's, inability to get past our selves, we piled too many burdens upon one person. We crushed a seventeen-year-old wizard under our demands. Harry Potter committed suicide.

"And the amazing thing about it, the thing that proves his awe inspiring strength even in his worst moment, is the fact that he has saved us again. You may have noticed the decrease in dark activity. This is due to the fact that, when Harry Potter died, He took Voldemort with him. Wandlessly, subconsciously, and across a large distance and many wards, Harry Potter's magic sought out and destroyed the dark lord. He is never coming back. All those who were death eaters in his service have been redeemed; they no longer bare the dark mark. Harry Potter has given himself up, and because of that, all of us, dark and light wizards alike, are free.

"When you leave today, leave knowing that the world's a better place for all he's done. Later, we will celebrate the downfall of a killer. Now, however, let us mourn a savior. Any who wish to, you may now approach and pay your last respects to Harry Potter, the boy who spoke and wasn't heard, and yet, in whose silence we can sing."

Many of the other speeches were similar or spoke of what Harry was like in life; his bravery, his smile, but one other speech stood out. Towards the end of the funeral, and to the surprise of many, a blond man stood up.

"In life, I knew Harry well, better than many. I spoke with him often. He was the thing that kept me in check. Many here will laugh silently at me, wondering how I could dare get up here and lie like this. But I'm not lying. When Potter and I fought, his eyes were alive. When we fought, I could see the power he held. When we fought and cursed each other, his mask fell. I alone could see to the bottom of his soul. I could see the pain, the utter agony, he felt. And I could see that he didn't want to fight me.

"Please don't laugh, Weasley, I know you think I'm trying to insult him, but I'm not. Potter didn't want to fight me, I say, not because he was afraid of me, he could have wiped the floor with me, had he been so inclined. No, the reason, I say, that he didn't want to fight me, is that he knew I didn't want to fight him. Both of us, I think, began to realize that those on the other side were exactly the same as us. They, too, were just random school kids caught up in the war.

"I want to thank Harry for opening my eyes. Through his own eyes, he showed me things that have changed me. Because of him, I am not the person I once was. And also because of him, I have a chance to start over. I owe him more than I will ever be able to pay."

This reporter has to agree with Mr. Draco Malfoy, she herself was saved by the boy she once hated. I'd like to thank you, Harry Potter, for saving my soul as well. We all shall live through his death, Muggle and wizard alike, and we shall never forget.

-Pansy Parkinson