Draco had awoken to the panting of an all too familiar person. A short girl with a black bob stood over a body that gushed with blood. Her eyes were maniacal, as she observed her work well done. Draco watched in shock as she crawled on top of the helpless boy, who's breathing now sounded like wheezes, and locked deeply into his eyes with a look of amusement. She had a devilish grin that sent chill down Draco's spine. The dagger that protruded from Harry's stomach looked so familiar that Draco fumbled to pick up his pillow, only to see that his dagger was missing. Harry was quickly losing energy, so much so that his breathing had nearly halted. Small spurts of desperate breaths was all that signaled that he wasn't quite dead. Pansy shushed the boy, caressing his cheek. "It's a shame. You're so handsome." She whispered into his ear and—as Draco watched in horror—she painstakingly grabbed the dagger and twisted the knife, so that Draco could see Harry's soul leaving his body. His struggle faded, and soon he laid lifeless on the small cot.

As soon as her work was finished, Pansy trotted out of the room as if she hadn't just murdered someone. When the coast was clear, Draco stumbled over to the body and collapsed to his knees. He applied pressure where the wound was and lay there silently. After the shock wore off, Draco screeched so loud that birds flew away from the treacherous scene outside the window. "Help." His dry throat burned from his scream, but in vain because at first no one arrived. Within a few moments, though, the shock had worn off and people began to pile in his room. A few stray "what the fuck"s were heard, until a teacher working the night shift of wat he'd the dorms stumbled in.

The teacher immediately called for an ambulance, but Draco knew that would be worthless. Harry's lips had turned a pale pink, and his eyes remained open. The teacher carelessly pushed Draco away from the body, and began to perform CPR, but to no avail. Each pump of the chest only caused more blood to leave the poor teenager, rather than help his heart continue to beat. He was dead. Draco crawled into a ball up against his bed, his hair slightly shielding his eyes from the horrific scene. The teacher muttered, "Dammit, James, wake up!" And Draco assumes it was a slip of the tongue, but thought further. This was all happening because of Harry's parents. Their defiance killed him.

The floor beneath him seemed to have vanished and he felt strangely lonely in this unknown place. "Harry." A calm voice whispered, then a hug enveloped him and he smelled honey mixed with sweat—Ralph. "You can stay with me forever." Ralph persuaded, pulling Harry closer to his hard chest. His short blonde hair brushed against Harry's face.

Harry lifted a hand and placed it on top of Ralph's head. He turned his head to lean into Ralph, and felt safe in the comfort of familiarity. "No more pain." Ralph promised, rubbing his large nose against Harry's shoulder. Harry looked towards a beam of light that warmed the entire area. "We can walk into it together. It doesn't hurt, I promise. But...there are people who care about you down there."

"I wanna be with you."

"No, I know that's not true." Ralph's voice was airy, as if he was distant yet he stood right alongside Harry. "I would take you if it were."

"Why'd you kill yourself?"

"It was my time but it isn't yours." Ralph vaguely answered, and Harry continued to look in awe at the bright light. "You have a bright future, my love."

"You did too." Harry argued.

"I had no future. It was my time, Harry." Ralph attempted to convince him, but Harry broke free of his grip and began to ran towards the light.

"I'm doing this for us!" Harry attempted to jump into the light, but Ralph grasped his flannel and pulled so hard that he fell beneath Ralph.

"And I'm doing this because I love you." Ralph spoke, then his face seemed to ripple as if he was a reflection in water and Harry felt like he was falling from the sky.

"He should wake up soon." A stern voice said, and Harry tried to open his eyes. He tried to scream, but he just lie limp. A plastic tube constricted his throat, and his eyes were too heavy to lift. Voice of women and men filled the room, but spoke so fast that Harry couldn't catch a word. He wished the whole world would just stop for a moment, so he could breathe. "So, what happened that he had a knife in his stomach?" A doctor asked.

"He stabbed himself." Another said with sadness in her voice. Can you blame her? To be so young and in so much pain. Harry wished to correct her and fight her on her reply. It wasn't true. What was true was that some stranger sliced him as if he was a pig she was going to eat for dinner. The look in her eyes was terrifyingly filled with joy. She had the grin of a devil. He remembered the searing pain, until the pain became too much and he began to feel numb. He remembered fighting to stay conscious. It was a worthy duel and he was a worthy opponent, but he'd lost.

Within the hour, Harry found the strength to be able to open his droopy eyes. The breathing tube was quickly removed after he'd awoken and the burning in his throat only became a tinge if dryness. Soon after that, visitors were allowed. Remus left Sirius at home but had rushed to the hospital as soon as he got the news. When he first saw Harry—his eyes pink and irritated from tears—began to well up once more. "Why, Harry?" He's asked repeatedly by Harry's bedside, but Harry didn't answer.

How could he explain that some random girl stabbed him? He'd sound like more of a lunatic than if he'd said he stabbed himself. All he could muster was, "I saw Ralph." And Remus went quiet.

"That's because you died. They lost you for a few moments. Was it really worth seeing Ralph?"

"Yes." Harry choked, a tear broke free and slid down his face. It slide side ways due to him sitting down and escaped into his messy hair. "I wish I saw my mom and dad, too."

***

The room was a baby blue shade and only contained two flimsy chairs, and a locked door. Harry chewed anxiously at the skin near his nail, ripping pieces off every now and then. Right outside was a small waiting room for the patients that were taken for mental evaluations. After a few moments, a perky looking doctor walked in. Immediately, Harry wished to hit her. She was alarmingly and falsely happy.

She had a clipboard and when she sat down Harry could see that her lanyard sported pins with motivational quotes on them. "So, Harry, I would like to hear from you what happened."

"I stabbed myself. It's pretty simple." Harry was snarky, but the woman stayed positive.

The woman nodded her large head and her brown curls bounced. "Right. But, why?"

"Because I wanted to die. Why else?"

"Why are you feeling this way? What pushed you over the edge?"

"My parents are dead. My ex-boyfriend and best friend is dead. My godfather is pretty much a vegetable nowadays, and my pretty-much-uncle is all over me." Now that Harry thought deeply about the situation, why didn't he kill himself? It would've been so simple and so much easier. He had no reason to keep going.

"So, you're feeling lonely and like life is unfair."

"...I guess."

"Can you give me any reasons on why you should live?"

Harry thought hard. Really hard. He tried to dig up something positive within his brain, but all that he could see were the faces of his dead parents. "No. I wish I died." Harry admitted.

"Well, your uncle seems to really love you." The woman tried to persuade, but Harry wasn't getting tricked.

"Yeah. Doesn't make me want to die less."

"I was told you have episodes of seeing things. What are those like?"

"I hear the voices of my dead parents. Sometimes I see them and it feels like they're really there, so I have to fight the urge to run towards nothing." He paused, considering what would be the best way to explain his feelings, then spoke: "It's like my brain knows they're gone, but my heart hasn't caught up and there's this disconnect between the two. I'll hear the voices and my heart screams that mom is here, but head has to try to convince myself that my mother is dead."

"When I'm not losing it, I sort of feel nothing. I felt nothing before my parents died, honestly. Ralph had been my best friend since grade school and then he just fucking killed himself. He left me."

"He wasn't thinking rationally. He loved you very much, but he was sick."

"He wasn't sick." Harry argued, "He was mental. Don't worry walk on eggshells with me."

"What do you consider yourself, then."

"Equally as mental. A crazy slag with a more annoying attitude than Ralph had. You know, he gets to die but I don't. How is that fair? Plus, he didn't even deserve it."

"You think you do?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of a dick. That's my schtick. He was so nice. Constantly. And he was always calm, like the world never bothered him. One day, he told me how much he loved me and how amazing I was. Next day, I get a call that he's dead." Harry remembered the call. It was Ralph's mom and she was hysterical. Figuring at this point it wasn't worth holding in anymore, he continued. "At the funeral, they had an open casket. His body wasn't mutilated or anything, so they could. I remember I looked down at this boy I loved for so long, and I hated him. I wished he would wake up so I could hit him. His nose used to twitch, but when he was laying there...there were no nose twitches. Nothing. I felt like the boy in the coffin was someone entirely different. I didn't even cry because that wasn't my Ralph."

"What do you mean by that?" She asked, quickly writing down notes and listening for indicators of how severe this was.

"Like, the Ralph I knew wouldn't do that. Ralph wouldn't kill himself."

"When people are hurting—"

"No." Harry interrupted. "I promise you. The Ralph I knew wouldn't have done that. He just left me. Didn't he think twice about just leaving?"

"Did you?"

"I've got nothing to live for!" Harry screamed.