Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry held the blade to his bleeding wrist, considering what he had done. One slice for every life lost because of him. Because of his stupidity...

Cedric. That slice was old, wavering, the first time he wished death would take him, but it didn't.

James and Lilly. Those slices were after Cedric because he believed himself to be a survivor out of luck, but it was because of his parents. The second time he wished that fate would let him die.

Sirius. That one was deep, and it nearly did bleed out before his natural healing kicked in to save him. Like it always did. Why it wouldn't let him die, he was never sure.

Cut after cut. One cut for every time he was given a vision of death and destruction. One cut for every life lost because he couldn't kill the bloody bastard.

One cut for every life he lost.

Harry held the blade over his wrist, then made his decision. The last cut was for him. And that one was much deeper, and finally, he felt the blackness. Because finally, his healing didn't work fast enough.

Maybe that was the only cut he'd ever had to make, to truly die.

To make the cut that said that Harry had died.

And maybe someday, Hermione or Ron, someone, would figure out what the cuts meant.

No, Not Hermione. She was lost in the last battle.

Not Ron, he lost his sight that day.

Maybe someone would, eventually, and they'd know why he did it.