When the world comes crashing down around you,
And you feel like there’s nowhere to go,
There’s only one thing to do:
Drown your sorrows.

If you find yourself crying for release
Trapped in the prison of guilt and pain
The cure is simple:
Drown your sorrows.

When you reach the end of the road
There’s nowhere to go
You’re out of rope,
You know what to do.

Drown in your sorrows.

It had been three months since the end of it all. Time had melted together and Harry Potter had lost track of the days. He slept away the sunlit hours and stayed awake at night, the moonlight glistening off of his tears. How he had crumpled to this lifestyle, he didn’t know. The only thing that he was aware of was that he was a murderer. Not only did he kill Voldemort, despite the necessity, but he also caused the deaths of many others in the war. His guilty conscience was eating away at his brain, destroying his psyche.
People came and went, trying to bring some happiness back into his life. He rejected it all. He couldn’t comprehend that people thought he was a hero, someone to be admired; he felt disgusting and vile.
“How could someone so tainted with another’s blood dare be happy again?” he had asked Hermione once. “How do you expect me to stand up, proud of being who I have become, a monster?”
Nobody gave him a good enough answer though. They were all convinced that he did the right thing. Voldemort deserved to die, they said. Harry agreed with them of course, but to be the one to take his life was much different than simply wishing he was dead. Despite his attempts, nobody understood. Harry was left abandoned and alone in his suffering.
Although he was never quite happy, he found that numb was close enough to satisfy his desperate cries. If he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t hurt. Every night, he would drink away his pain. His chest could relax and Harry could be able to breathe. He could forget who he was and, for once, not worry about anything.
The hangovers were worse than the sober pain, though. Harry struggled through them though, because he deserved it. It was his punishment. He deserved this never-ending pain. After all, he was a murderer. A sick beast.
When the pain was too much to bear though, he would drink some more. The flow never stopped, just like his tears. Soon enough, the alcohol wasn’t enough. He needed something else to distract him from what he had done.
He had spilled innocent blood in attempt to kill another man. Blood and death: his life seemed to have revolved around those two concepts. Everyone who got too close to him was in danger. Several of them were killed because of it. How could he have let that happen to those he loved most? Doesn’t a hero protect his loved ones? Harry wasn’t a hero. He didn’t deserve to even be called human anymore. Self-hatred boiled angrily in Harry’s chest. He needed to be punished for his sins, he needed to make a sacrifice, he needed to atone for his crimes. He needed blood.
Harry’s bloodshot eyes flickered open and quickly found the knife lying on the kitchen counter. He stumbled over to the shining metal sharp and delicately picked it up. This would be his escape…The blood rose from his pale flesh quickly, overflowing his skin and dripping down to the floor. The dark red blood on the knife dully glistened in the light with a demented beauty. Harry closed his eyes and felt a shadow of a smile on his lips. Yes…this is it, this was what he needed.
With his arm still covered with blood, he reached over for his glass. He filled it once more and drank heavily. He fell into a chair in the kitchen and stared at the table. More and more blood, more and more alcohol. He felt relief, but it was only temporary. The emptiness inside his would not heal.
When Harry had finally run out of drinks, he climbed onto his bed again. He pressed his forehead against his knees and breathed shallowly. He could feel the tears coming once more. Soon enough, his eyes brimmed with tears and they fell down his cheeks, splashing onto his sheets. He let out a painful scream and gripped at his hair. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know where to go. He had nobody to turn to. He was alone. He needed an escape, he wanted to die. His eyes half-opened at this thought. It was slightly startling, but true. He wanted to die.
Harry slowly stood up and shuffled to the bathroom. He kept the lights turned off as he filled the bath with freezing water. He stepped in and let himself drown in his sorrows.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.11.2009

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