Summary: Looking back, Severus notices just how obvious the signs of Harry's suicide were.
Disclaimer: I do not, have not, and will never own Harry Potter.
Warnings: Death. Angst. Slash. Don't like, don't read.
Death is always an out; but only the weak, the cowards, or the shattered souls willingly take it.
Now that he thought back at his life with Harry, Severus realized that all the signs were blatantly obvious.
The first sign was the dark, depressing poetry that Severus found on hundreds of scraps of parchment all over the house. All in Harry's messy scrawl.
The second sign was the way that Harry spoke of death; in a wistful, almost longing manor. But Severus had just never noticed.
The third sign was the most obvious, the most tell-tale sign; the scars that Harry sported.
They covered his entire body, minus his face, and his personal areas. Even most of his back had them. They were thin and fine, but there. It was impossible to see them from across the room, and hard when one was very close. They were just obvious when one was…oh say, licking every inch of skin.
When Harry slept and Severus was awake, the latter would often study the former's body. And at first, since it was always either late or early, and never fully lit in the room, Severus thought he was seeing things.
But after hours of seeing them again, he was sure; there were words as well.
Words like 'hero', 'alone', 'pain', 'escape', 'love', 'freak', 'afraid', 'why', and many more. Severus wrote them down, and after a time he had several sheets of them.
He never asked Harry about them, but when Harry found the papers, he knew Severus knew. So Harry rephrased what the Potions Master had written, turning the mindless, pointless words into a story.
It was barely a page long, and when he finished it, Harry titled it "My Story".
The next day he was dead. Found in the bathroom of his and Severus's house. He was drowned in the tub, pill bottles in easy reach. Muggle medicines that would kill when combined. And then next to those, deadly potions. Harry was leaving no chances.
It took weeks for Severus to be able to accept that Harry was dead, and months for him to start to move on.
It was almost six months after Harry's death when Severus came across the papers again.
He read what Harry had written, and cried his heart out. He owled the story to the Daily Prophet, and the next day it was in every single magazine in Wizarding Britain.
And all over the place, mourners read the true story of the Boy-Who-Lived.
My Story, by Harry James Potter
I was never good enough. I was beaten and starved by my family. Christened 'freak'. Ridiculed and feared by my peers. But I was named 'hero'. And when I found love the first time, it nearly killed me. I've face monsters so horrendous most adults would cower in terror. I've killed innocents for justice. I've hurt people I loved. And I was never loved. I tried to die. Again and again and again. But I couldn't. Not until Voldemort was dead. So I contented with trying anyways. No one knew. Not even my lover, who saw me every night and day. My friends were clueless. I wanted to escape my pain. But I was afraid. I was afraid of leaving. Of being alone again. I wondered why I had been chosen to suffer so, but then I realized the answer. I suffer, so you don't. It's a fair deal; one's boy's endless pain and misery for millions' happiness and safety. But now he's dead. I can die now. And I'm going to. I love you Severus. I love you Hermione, Ron. You helped me, but couldn't save me. Sorry.
-Harry J. Snape