I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. They belong to someone else whose mind is absolutely amazing. JKR, You ROCK!
Dark red blood covered white innocent hands and the knife clutched so desperately in one of them. The thick liquid covered the porcelain sink and formed a smeared hand print on the glassy surface of the mirror in front of her.
Arms had become numb with pain—she couldn't feel her fingers—she couldn't feel her heart.
Dull brown eyes looked up from the drastic red-on-white and met the eyes of the reflection behind the blood.
She swayed perilously and gripped the edge of the tiled counter for the second time, dropping the knife that landed with a soft thud next to her bare foot.
The only other sound in the room was that of the water rushing to fill the tub behind her before she bled to death on her own. The water seemed to be racing her fiercely beating heart as it pumped to get the blood out, knowing that the time had come to let go. The time had come to say goodbye to the cruel world that this one had been revealed to be.
She turned to the tub as the feeling of lightheadedness passed. She stepped over her clothes as she turned off the water to the tub before stepping in. She gasped at the extreme heat that greeted her as she slowly lowered herself into the scalding water.
She relaxed against the back of the tub as the water turned a deep red, drawing the rest of the blood out of her. She closed her eyes against the color, not willing to see it anymore. Not willing to see anything anymore…
"Did you have any idea?"
"Who would have thought she'd do something like this?"
"Harry and Ron are still…they've hardly spoken to anyone…"
"Can you blame them? They've just lost their best friend!"
Harry Potter listened to the voices as they passed by the room he shared with his best friend Ron Weasley at Grimmauld Place. Did they have to discuss the events of Hermione's suicide in hushed voices the whole world could hear? If so, did they have to do it near the two 17 year-olds?
Harry felt his heavy eyelids close as he prepared himself against the tears that would not come. He knew the tears needed to be shed, but he also knew that crying was not something he did. He wasn't about to start.
His shoulders shook with tear-less sobs over the death of the one steady person he had always been able to count on. Why did she die? Why did she feel the need to kill herself? What made life so bad for her?
He buried his face in his pillow and screamed. "WHY?" he shouted into it.
That was when the tears came, flooding him with their presence all at once. He wept, for the first time in his life, all alone in that dank and dusty room.
His tears were not just for Hermione—why give her that much? She was the one who couldn't handle the war. She was the one who refused to see. She was the one who was too weak to keep going.
Harry shed his tears for his parents, for Cedric, Cho, for all of the people lost and who have lost, and, most of all, for Sirius.
It was just over a year now, since the only family Harry had left was murdered. Harry had gotten his revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange only a few months ago, by casting the same curse and causing her to fall to her death, some hundred feet below.
Hermione and Ron had been there, with him, as well as a few members of the DA (which had a few Slytherin additions in the forms of Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini).
Under the headmaster's tutelage, Harry had mastered Occlumency, however that did not stop some images getting through to him, and when the orders for Bellatrix were gifted to Harry, he could not stop himself from avenging his godfather.
The hand on Harry's shoulder startled him and he froze, pillow soaked, throat raw, eyes red, mid sob.
"Hey," said a soft voice as the person it belonged to sat on the floor. "It's about time," he continued.
Harry knew who the person was and found he didn't give a damn what the Slytherin thought. If crying was a weakness…more fuel to the already raging fire….
However when the warm hand found his cold one, Harry couldn't help but care. He looked at the other seventh-year-to-be through blurry red-rimmed eyes and let out one final, quiet sob. "Why?" he whispered.
The blond shook his head. "No idea," he said softly. "There are a lot of reasons why, Harry, even if we never know them. All we can do is continue to live and fight, no matter what the odds are."
The door to the bedroom opened and the redheaded Ronald Weasley walked in, carrying three letters.
"Book lists," he explained, handing two of them to the outstretched pale hand.
The Slytherin took the letters and passed one of them behind him. Harry took the offered letter and sat up as he opened it, only to find the biggest shock of his life.
"What?" the Slytherin at his feet asked.
"I made Head Boy," Harry whispered, still in shock.
The appointment didn't make any sense to Harry; after all, the headmaster had confessed that he had though that Harry would be in over his head with prefect duties.
"Maybe Dumbledore's trying to make up for not making you a prefect," Ron said with a shrug. "Wonder who Head Girl will be…"
A heavy silence filled the room as all three boys knew to whom the job belonged. However, as she is no longer of this existence, she can't be Head Girl.
"I'll bet it's going to be a Ravenclaw," the Slytherin muttered, feeling the need to break the unbearable silence. He stood and walked over to the window. The last of the sunlight lit up his face and made his blond hair glow. "They're the only House with any hope."
"Is it possible for me to refuse this?" Harry asked, lying back down. He put his hands over his face and sighed deeply. "I can't do it…not when she should be there as well."
"I don't think so," Ron said from his spot on his bed. "Bill tried, he didn't want it. They made him do it anyway though. He wanted to have fun his last year, but they got him first."
"It'll help you with the DA, Harry," the blond said, still gazing out of the window to the darkening landscape. "If the Head Boy is leading classes, you're bound to get more support."
"Oh," Ron said suddenly. "Malfoy, your girlfriend sent you a letter today too. It's in the kitchen."
"She is not my girlfriend, Weasley," Draco snapped, glaring at Ron. "She never has been, and never will be either," he muttered, briskly walking out of the room.
"Damn," Ron muttered. "What crawled up his arse and died?"
"Draco's gay," Harry answered from under the pillow he had thrown over his head during Draco's pep talk.
"Oh," Ron said, making a mental note to stay out of reach from the Slytherin.
"I made Quidditch captain!" he said, trying to brighten the mood. "You're coming back, right?" he asked.
Harry nodded. He needed Quidditch to take his mind off of the hell that had become his life since his eleventh birthday.
"Mum wants to know if you're coming down to dinner," asked Ron's youngest sibling and only biological sister Ginny Weasley. "She says it's just about done, so you'll have to let her know quick."
"Tell her we'll be there," Ron answered. Ginny nodded and left, leaving Ron to look at Harry and wonder if the other teen would ever eat again.
Harry hadn't eaten much since Sirius' death and had nearly quit eating with Hermione's death. Ron had to admit that his own appetite had taken a dent with the loss of both of them, but he didn't understand Harry at all. How could someone just stop eating?
But then again, there were times when Harry just wasn't Harry.
Ron sighed and headed down to the kitchen, passing the runaway heir as he descended the staircase. Remembering Harry's words, Ron made sure to stay out of Draco's reach.
Everyone was pleased to hear that Harry had gotten to be Head Boy—just like his father. The atmosphere was quickly subdued when the subject of Head Girl approached the surface again.
That was when both Draco and Ron broke the silence by announcing their Quidditch captain status.
Cheers and smiles were forced to come back to the surface as the seventh years were congratulated on their various achievements. Everyone was careful to ensure that the subject of Hermione and Head Girl stayed well out of the kitchen.
The night before the return to Hogwarts came far sooner than any of the four school-aged occupants of the house would have liked.
The three boys stayed up late, knowing they would regret it, having to get up early the next morning, but not caring. Both Ron and Draco felt that Harry was quickly reaching the edge and needed to be carefully watched for signs of his own suicide. Something neither of the others could allow to happen for their own reasons.
Ron had been the first to fall asleep that night, leaving Harry and Draco alone. They sat rather close to each other, and that wasn't just because of the size of Harry's bed.
"Why'd you run?" Harry asked in a quiet voice as to not wake his snoring best friend.
"I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," came the cryptic answer. Draco was very good at giving everything away, and yet still saying nothing at the same time. It was something he was quite proud of.
"I know you hate your father, and I understand; I get that you want to be your own person, I respect that, but what I don't get is why run? You've fought him for so long, dealt with everything for so long, so why stop fighting?"
Draco sighed and pulled on the cuffs of his sleeves. He sighed then pulled the left one up to his elbow. He turned his arm over, exposing Harry to the milky white soft flesh. Harry, who had actually been expecting to see the Dark Mark, looked rather surprised by the absence of it.
"Don't let your eyes fool you, Harry, it's there," Draco said, somehow knowing what was going through Harry's head. He outlined a shadow with the forefinger of his right hand and Harry saw it clearly. "He didn't finish it," Draco said quietly. "He started it, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how I managed that…. I went to Diagon Alley and there you were…. Ready to forgive, forget, and save…."
The silence grew uncomfortable before Harry allowed himself to do what he had wanted to do since Draco came to stay with them at Grimmauld Place. Something that was probably best never happening at all….
He looked away from the aristocrat's arm and met his diamond gray eyes. Then, slowly, not sure if this was right, he moved to his knees. Slower still, he reached out to Draco and wiped the baby fine blond strands of hair out of his face.
He watched as Draco's eyes flickered down to his slightly parted lips before returning to the emerald eyes possessed only by Harry himself.
Harry had let his hand linger on Draco's cheek. Draco had smirked slightly at Harry before turning his head and, still looking at Harry, kissed his palm.
That was all Harry needed. That simple gesture of acceptance sent all of the blood in Harry's body to his groin and his instincts became far louder than his voice of reason.
Quickly, Harry had Draco locked in a kiss, fighting for control.
Smirking, Draco broke the kiss and began placing kisses on Harry's neck. Harry let out a low moan of pleasure, only distantly aware of his sleeping best friend a few feet away.
My mother sent this to me for Christmas this year. I don't really know why, perhaps it is just my unannounced need to get everything out before I explode.
I found out something today, something I never wanted to know. Corruption in this world goes far beyond the Ministry, it seems, and has reached Hogwarts in the guise of our latest DADA professor—Abram—who is also a member of the Order.
I heard the two of them, Dumbledore and that witch, talking about Harry. Oh, it was awful! They kept referring to Harry as an object! A tool! And they said they would use Ron and I as pawns to get Harry to do what they want!
They know they're losing him.
And Cho has lost him. I saw the final result of their relationship as I escaped the professors' conversation.
Harry and Cho were arguing—again. They're always arguing. It seems Harry's shut her out again—no surprise. He's been shutting us all out lately. I had just turned the corner when I saw it. Cho asked him why, Harry answered in two simple words I didn't hear but knew what they were. Cho ran off crying.
As she nearly knocked into me, Harry saw. I stared at him, bewildered after their confrontation and what I had overheard with Abram and Dumbledore.
The way he looked at me…. It was as if I should already know what those two words were without having to ask.
Indeed I do know.
Cho blames herself.