Chapter 1: Pain isn't a temporary issue. Or at least that's what life has taught Harry. Pain isn't something you brush off or ignore. Its a constant ringing in the back of your head, driving you insane. But when in so much pain, you pretty much are. After the d34th of his godfather, Sirius, Harry thought he would never be happy again. After the d34th of Dumbledore, he found himself constantly wondering what a world without himself would look like. After the d34th of Dobby, Harry didn't want to l!ve. He had nothing to l!ve for. Everyone Harry loved either d13d, or left him. *Almost* everyone. He still had Ron and Hermione. But even they seemed mad at him these days. Ron contradicted every plan Harry had, and Hermione avoided him in general. The three of them had been on the run since a week or two after Harry's 17th birthday, and tensions have been high ever since. What didn't help was Salazar Slytherin's locket, which they took turns wearing. The locket produced negative energy, and projected it onto the wearer. This caused even more tension that they really didn't need. That's why, when Ron left, Harry didn't beg him to stay. He didn't ask him why. He even helped him pack his things. Harry didn't care. He didn't care that his best friend mocked his parents' d34th. Nor did he care when Ron had yelled in anger, "I wish You-Know-Who's cvrse had worked. Maybe then we wouldn't have to deal with this bvll" Harry knew he hadn't meant it. He knew it was the Horcrux making him act like a jerk. He didn't care. The old saying "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Doesn't account for the fact that words, while not physically harmful, stayed with someone for quite a while. Harry wasn't mad at Ron for his angry statement. He wasn't frustrated and staying up late wondering why he had said those things. He just agreed. Because, in all honestly, he wished the spell had worked too. Harry wished he was with his parents, crying in his mother's arms, playing quidditch with his father. He wanted to be seen. To be loved. He often dreamt about dy!ng. He was his parents greeting him at the entrance to Elysium. Those dreams were often concluded by the gods ripping Harry from his mother's arms and dragging him to the depths of Tartarus. Harry knew if he ever told Hermione about these dreams, she would say the same thing everyone else said when they learned his religion. "Harry," she would say, putting on a fake sympathetic expression, "Those gods aren't real. They can't take you from your mother. You're safe." Safe. Safe. What did that word even mean? How long had it been since the feeling of safety had blessed them? Harry's entire life has been a series of twists and turns, mistakes and sacrifices. For the greater good. The greater good. Benefiting all wizards and muggles alike, while making small sacrifices. That was Dumbledore's definition. He always said that everything would be worth it in the end. For the greater good. For the greater good. Sacrifices make for the greater good. Harry thought back to the prophecy made by Trelawney before his birth. No one can live while the other survives. Harry had to d13. He had to d13 to ensure the safety of his family. The wasleys, Remus, even Tonks. In order to save everyone he loves, he had to d13. It was that simple. So, when random patronus appeared in the middle of the woods, he didn't hesitate. He followed it. It took him to a small frozen pond in the middle of a clearing. 'This is it?' he thought, 'i thought it was a trap.' He sighed and, taking a step closer, he noticed a glint underneath the ice. The sigh hitched in his chest. No. No way. It was Gryffindor's sword. Cursing, he knew what he had to do. He started taking off his sweaters, dragging on after another and slowly starting to shiver. After he was left in his final layer, he aimed his wand at the ice. "Reducto!" The ice shattered. Harry sat by the edge of the pond and looked below. He took a deep breath, and- plunge. The freezing water hit him like a truck. Shivering even more than he already was, he dived down. The pool was decently shallow, only six feet, maybe seven. As Harry's hand brushed the hilt of the sword, something tightened around his throat. Harry gasped, inhaling water. The locked chain was tightening itself around his neck. His lungs hurt, his neck was stinging, his vision blurring. 'This is it,' he thought, 'this is how I'm going to d13.' Everything was going black, and the last thing Harry heard, and would ever hear, was a splash. And barely, as if it was in his imagination, felt hands grabbing him.
