The End of Harry James Potter

The Plan

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, stood on the floor of his bedroom blankly staring at a wall. The sounds of cars passing once every few minutes and the loud noises coming from the TV downstairs could be barely heard under the sound of loud buzzing and quiet whispers ringing in his ears. Hedwig threw a tiny pebble at Harry, snapping him back to reality. He still stood still, but he was now aware of the noises and objects around him. He caught a glimpse of a crimson red liquid splattered onto the cement floor. Some was dry, and some was still shining under the sunlight.

Harry was in excruciating pain. He tried to pinpoint the exact location of the pain, yet he couldn't. His whole body hurt. It felt as if somebody used an extra sharp fork to turn all his muscles and organs into what best could be described as pulled pork. The sharp pain in his back throbbed rhythmically, harmonizing with the dull pain of his headache.

Memories of last night filled his head, Harry's face expressing an emotion he liked to call "ah-shit-here-I-go-again".

                                  The previous night

                Harry was cooking dinner for the fat pigs he called family. When preparing the table, he accidentally dropped a glass of water onto the floor, making it shatter on impact. Vernon was livid. His head was purple, veins popping out of his forehead and neck. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows were furrowed. His teeth were clenched so hard you could crush a diamond between them. Horrified, Harry rushed to bick up the glass shards but he accidentally cut his finger, making a singular drop of blood fall onto the floor. When he saw that, Vernon snapped. He kicked the boy so hard he flew into the wall. Then, Vernon took a handful of shards and threw them at Harry. One landed in his eye. His eyes started watering and a mix of blood and tears streabed down his face. That made the fat man even angrier, so he took Harry upstairs and threw him in his bedroom. He started beating him up, kicking his vital organs and stomping on his frail legs and arms. Vernon stomped off downstairs, quickly returning with a salt shaker in one hand and, as the saying goes, rubbing salt in his wounds. Literally.
He ended the night by carving "Freak" on his back using a box cutter.

                                    -end of flashback-

Harry stood still for a few more minutes.
"What a jolly night i had, huh?" , he thought, a humourless chuckle making its way out of his mouth.
He was glad that in about a week he'd go to Hogwarts again. He dreaded the day something would go wrong this year, but he tried not to think about what could happen.

Suddenly, the quiet stream of whispers in the back of his mind got louder, and louder, and louder, until the voices were screaming at him. In the waterfall of painful comments, he could make out a few repeating phrases, such as "YOUR FAULT", "THEY'RE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU", "YOU DESERVE IT", "FREAK", "WHORE" and many other things.

Amongst the lifeless storm of insults, a voice stood out.

Why don't you do everyone a favour and kill yerself? It'd be better for them.

His blood ran cold, the words etching themselves into his brain. His head felt like it was full of cotton. Heavy, sharp, cold cotton.
Harry tried not to listen, but he knew what the voice said was true. Every person he has ever held dear has died. He doesn't wish that fate for the Weasley's (which are like a family to him) , he doesn't wish to kill Hermione either. And he doesn't want to hurt Sirius under any circumstances. But he'll be hurt when he dies.... Even though, he's pretty sure that dying is better than getting Sirius killed, so it doesnt matter how he grieves. But what about Ron and Hermione?..
He realises that he can just ignore and avoid them them. He'll distance himself from everyone he holds dear. Then, when everybody forgets him, he'll be able to kill himself. Yes. That's a great idea.