Title: L' Estate di Suicidio
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes and some cursing. Rating may, but probably won't, go up.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I'm not making any money off of them.
Author's Notes: Attempted suicide, much angst. This is my first HP fic, please review. If I'm not updating fast enough, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org Nagging will get you everywhere. Enjoy.
Sometimes, I awaken in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, as my mind replays those last few moments before he died. They tried to tell me, afterwards, that it wasn't my fault, that I did everything that could be expected of me and more. I know the truth. I didn't stop it in time, I didn't protect him, and it is because of my failure that he is gone. Sometimes, my nightmares refuse to end, even when I wake. I walk about in a dazed state, seeing it over and over in the back of my head. I can't eat, anymore. My survival cost his life, and anything to sustain my life tastes bitter. With every breath I take, it is a struggle not to choke. I wonder why I fight it, why I stay alive. Perhaps even now, I don't have the courage to die. The Dursleys haven't noticed, yet, that I am growing thinner, or that I cry out in the night as they all sleep. They haven't realized that my nocturnal screams are the only sounds I've uttered since I returned from school this summer. It doesn't bother me now, the way it once would have. I have too much emotion invested in the past to care much for the present.
It is nearly two o'clock in the morning. I struggle to remain awake each night, attempting to exhaust myself so much that no dreams will come. I haven't managed to make it to that point, though I have gone many nights without any sleep at all. I wish with all my heart for a sleeping potion, something that will give me just one night's peace, but I know I don't deserve it. I killed a boy, though not directly, and every night, I suffer, not even as much as I deserve. I can feel myself slipping, now, and sleep is taking over. The nightmare is coming. Tonight, it is not about Cedric. Tonight, my dreams take me to a time after he is dead, when Voldemort looks at me, straight in the eyes and gives me what I now long for. The pain was burning and fierce, no one could have avoided feeling it. I didn't understand then, but now that its too late, I do. Now I want another chance, to take my punishment as I know I should. But even in my dreams, I'm not capable. I manage to wake myself with my own screaming, and I am infuriated with myself. Finally, I allow my own self-loathing to take control. I don't need this anymore. It doesn't matter if death is too good for me, I'm too weak to fight anymore.
I make my way down to the Dursley's kitchen. I've done their dishes for them often enough, I know where the knives are. I reach carefully for the one I know is sharpest. Its blade gleams silver in the moonlight that pours in through the window. An intense relief flows through me, and I'm glad it will finally be over. No more nightmares, a nice peaceful sleep for once. I'll never have to look into the sun again, or into the faces of people who think they love me. If they knew who I was inside, they wouldn't love me. I know it. They will never have to find out. There is a slight smile on my face as I dig the knife deeply down my arm. One long line of a deep red liquid flows forth, and a smile at the warmth of it pouring over my arm. I pull the knife away, and pause to admire the beauty of it, before continuing. As I begin to press into the next arm, I feel the knife slip out of my fingers. Though I try to hold on, it flies away, into the grasp of someone who I can't quite make out in the darkness. I try to yell at them, to get my knife back and finish the job, but I can't even do that. I've lost too much blood, and I slip out of consciousness, cursing my own weakness.