We have to find the Horcruxes to destroy Voldemort,” Harry told Hermione, Ron and Ginny, who was his new girlfriend.
The others weren’t as sure as he, but after hearing him so confident, they believed that they could as well.
“Besides,” he added, “Who else can save the wizarding world? They need us. I can’t do this alone, but together, we’re unstoppable.”
He looked at Ginny and smiled. Having a girlfriend who you truly loved was great, especially when she was helping you save the world. He then glanced over at his two best friends. The two were always there for him. Together, they had endured many life-threatening adventures, earning them the nickname ‘The Golden Trio’. Surely, this would just be another one to add onto the ever-growing list, and surely nothing would ever put an end to the unstoppable trio.
He rolled out of bed,
And went out to change the world,
Her head on his shoulders,
He settles her down,
It all started over and over again.
Harry shook his head at the thought. He had been so naïve then. He couldn’t believe that he had thought that having a girlfriend would be good in a time of war. It didn’t make any sense now.
This spurred a memory of the events that had helped him to realize that it wasn’t such a great idea.
Harry and Dumbledore were going to the cave where one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes was. When they got inside, and Dumbledore had to drink the potion, Harry realized it wasn’t going to be easy. Dumbledore was one of the strongest men that Harry knew, but he seemed incredibly frail that day. He wondered while he was making Dumbledore drink that dreadful potion why this all had to happen to him: why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t this happen to someone else? Forcing Dumbledore to drink had been terrible, but the guilt was even worse now that he now knew that if he hadn’t made Dumbledore continue drinking the potion then Dumbledore might have lived.
Gets on the bus,
Goes out to see the world,
Lies on the ground and wipes blood off his nose and
Wonders why he’s the one that doesn’t fit into,
The pictures he drew,
But if only they told him,
You’re never going to be like anyone,
And that’s okay.
Give into your feelings,
Don’t give into the ones who own ya,
Sometimes they just don’t go away.
Remembering this, Harry felt guilt tug at his heart. He still blamed himself for Dumbledore’s death, even though everyone told him that it wasn’t his fault. No matter what anyone else told him, he couldn’t make himself believe them. He had made Dumbledore drink the potion making him weak. He didn’t prevent Snape from killing Dumbledore. He hadn’t stop Snape from escaping.
It was just like Sirius’s death with only slight variations: he had fallen for Voldemort’s trick, he had caused Sirius to go to the Department of Mysteries and he hadn’t stopped Bellatrix Lestrange from killing his godfather. He didn’t kill her so that she couldn’t devastate more families. Harry was the cause of the death of his parents. If it weren’t for him, Voldemort wouldn’t have come after his parents that night at Godric’s Hollow. No matter what anyone told him, he knew it was his fault. His mind wouldn’t shut down for five seconds to give him a moment of peace. Harry knew he was at fault for all of the deaths of nearly all of the people who had loved him.
Harry blinked his eyes hard, trying to prevent the tears from coming. He did what he always did when this happened, and snuck down to the liquor cabinet for a firewhiskey. He’d been pilfering them for about two months when no one was looking, to help and ease the pain. The adults always assumed it was someone else, someone who couldn’t sleep, someone who just needed to relax, someone over seventeen. Harry qualified for two of the three, and he figured that that was good enough. He grabbed the bottle and held it up in a mock toast. “To those who are dead because of me,” Harry muttered, and then drank it all in one gulp.
The familiar burning in his throat made him feel better. He should suffer for all of those that died because of him. Harry lay down to go back to sleep, or rather to think for hours until he could sleep. Even with alcohol, Harry could never fall asleep. He had too many damn thoughts in his head all the time. Harry wished for many things, such as a Pensieve, that would help him to forget. He also wished that this responsibility of saving the entire wizarding world lay on the shoulders of someone else, anyone else, just not him. He gave a wry laugh when he remembered that Dumbledore told him a while ago that it was almost Neville who could have been the Boy Who Lived. Now he wish it was. Why couldn’t Trelawney be a complete fraud? If she were, then maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Or, couldn’t she have at least said, “Don’t force the weight of the world on the shoulders of a teen, wait until he’s older and more mature!”
A night on the town,
Sure makes the mornings long.
He never imagined,
A lifetime like this would be,
The only thing to let him get in to,
The pictures he drew,
But if only they told him,
You’re never going to be like anyone,
And that’s okay.
Give into your feelings,
Don’t give into the ones who one ya,
Sometimes they just don’t go away.
Harry thought about all that Voldemort had taken away from him: his parents, his godfather, his favorite teacher, his chance at having a girlfriend without her being on a hit list because of him, his chance at a normal life. Sometimes Harry just wanted to die, because it wasn’t worth it to live. His entire purpose was to kill, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live for that. All that was going to happen was that everyone he loved was going to die, as many of them already had. He contemplated doing so, and he saw the broken firewhiskey bottle on the ground. It had sharp edges: he may be able to kill himself with it. He picked up one of the shards on the ground. He ran the sharp edges along his wrist, and he felt the blood slowly trickle out. He sighed in relief as some of his mental anguish was released. He grabbed another firewhiskey and guzzled it down. He didn’t care about the open cut on his arm, and just let the blood flow freely.
After feeling his throat burn again, Harry realized that he shouldn’t be the one to suffer all of this, it should be Voldemort, forhe had caused all this, he had caused everything. The bastard deserved to die. He had made Harry’s life like hell, and Harry couldn’t wait to send him to the real place. Voldemort would pay for all he had taken from Harry. Even though he had vowed never to use the ‘sectumsempra’ curse again, he thought he could make an exception for Voldemort. He deserved all the torture he could get. Harry wished there was a spell to make him feel that pain that he inflicted upon everyone he had hurt. Harry smiled an evil grin, thinking that maybe he could get Hermione, his own personal genius and friend, to come up with a spell to use on Voldemort that might do just that.
He falls down,
Wishes he could get the nerve to end it all now,
He picks up the phone,
And he slams it down,
And swallows another,
Now he’ll never come ‘round,
It’s all or none,
It’s one for one,
You can make it,
But you gotta do it all for yourself!
Get into the pictures he drew,
But if only they told him,
You’re never gonna be like anyone,
And that’s okay, with me, with me,
Give into your feelings,
Don’t give into the ones that own ya, own ya,
Sometimes they just don’t go away,
Sometimes they just don’t go away.