Still alive

Chapter 1 : proologe

To be surrounded but to be alone.

For years Harry has known what it is, but the more time goes by, the more it feels. He's fifteen, he's back at Hogwarts, the wizarding academy. Lying between the red and gold sheets of the Gryffindor Tower, he stares at his canopy. Well, he would look at him if he had his glasses on. There, he just guesses the shapes, which don't matter anyway. He's not crying, he hasn't had any tears since the past summer. He crosses his fingers over his stomach, he knows he should be sleeping but he can't. Like his Muggle family, the non-magical Dursleys, he is unable to sink unless he is exhausted. He does not feel safe anywhere, he is afraid of everything. From himself too. Eventually he gets up and sits down by the window, gazing outside in almost religious silence. He doesn't want to talk anymore, no. For good reason.

The return of the greatest dark mage of the century already, Lord Voldemort, a man who has been trying to kill him since he was a child. The man had brought him into a well-run trap and he had taken some of his blood to find a body. They had fought, Harry had run away. And his government did not believe him. The wizarding world of the UK refuses to believe they saw this wizard return to create his reign. And if only they were the only ... But even his friends. He heard them. He believes the superb Albus Dumbledore, if the Headmaster of Hogwarts says so, then it has to be true. If Dumbledore tells them to give it up, so do they. He hears the one who calls himself his best friend, Ronald Weasley, snoring. This boy is not her friend. Have they ever been? Ron had already betrayed him. Harry couldn't take any more of this. Not at all.

Then the trial. For something he didn't do, he found himself in front of the entire Wizengamot. All the most important people in his government have stood up to him for a parody. Harry knew there had been Dementors on his street, that he had almost lost his soul. And that's why he defended himself with his magic, to protect himself, to protect his cousin. Again, we believed Albus Dumbledore, not him. His word has no value, his word is useless. He has had proof of that for a long time, but it never felt so strong, breathtaking and wanting to live. Harry no longer has faith in anything. No friends. No sponsors. Sirius Black like Remus Lupine, his father's best friends, have abandoned him too, more than once. They don't even see him when they look at him. Harry feels like a ghost.

So Harry didn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to see his fellow Hufflepuff, another Hogwarts house, Cedric Diggory die before his eyes yet again. He doesn't want to feel himself dying, to see the spells fall on him. The torture. The fear. Terror itself. The pain of seeing his parents. The shadow of his parents, because he knows it couldn't be real. He wants it to stop. He doesn't want to be in pain anymore but nobody cares. His own housemates don't care. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan just proved it. In fact, Harry made a decision: he is no longer their chosen one. He won't do anything. And if Voldemort comes to try to kill him again, he won't stop it. He's too tired. He no longer wants to live. He will let himself die. Everyone will be happy about it.

Starting with him.