Harry Potter Oneshots

1. What's Left? (Drarry, Angst with Happy Ending)

Harry lost Sirius and all his friends abandoned him. Hitting the brink he's ready to end it all. It ends well, don't worry.

Trigger Warning: Story contains Suicide and Self harm

Harry sat on the stone edge looking up at the starry sky. It was pitch black with shimmering stars, glistening beautifully in the night. His legs dangled from the ledge as the wind ruffled his messy raven hair. Gazing at the array of stars, he located the Sirius constellation. Harry glimpsed down at his hand-me-down clothing, then back at the scenery. The only sound was trees rustling? quietly in the wind, not a living soul nearby. He raised his hand as if to reach for the constellation as he felt his eyes prickle. Sirius... It was all his fault. He clenched his fist and held it close to his chest tightly, the tears falling. He had no one left. They all abandoned him, and for what? Dumbledore's orders? Did he mean so little? Harry pondered over this for several minutes, those minutes soon becoming hours. Questions, suspicions, unwanted conclusions echoed through his mind. Why was he still here? No family, no friends, and everybody hated him. And his love... Draco, oh Draco. How he yearned to be in the boy's grasp, his perfect silvery eyes gazing into his own. Those careful hands he always saw preparing ingredients holding his, his tall and lean form comforting him as they embraced. Snapping out of it, he took a shuddered breath as he shook his head. He knew it would never happen; there was no chance. Staring back up at Sirius, he decided. He didn't want to live anymore. After all, what was there left to live for? He was better off dead. Slowly, he stood up and walked back into the tower. He removed his sweater, revealing a worn oversized shirt. He rolled up his sleeves displaying all the jagged scars on his arms. He held his mutilated left wrist and stared, tracing the pale lines that each held its own story. He was so disgusting. He pulled out a small blade from his pocket; his best friend from the long, lonely months he spent being belittled and ignored. He couldn't resist, it would truly be the last time, unlike all the times he promised to quit. He shakily grabbed the silvery worn blade and held his shredded canvas up. He abruptly slashed deeply into his arm, applying all the pressure his frail body could. With a swipe, he watched the gushing blood drip down his arm. Drip by Drip. And he did it again. And again. And again. The red liquid trickled off his fingertips, the moonlight reflecting off it. Its glossy droplets splattering across the stone floor, painting a gruesome picture for the next visitor. That's fine, no one would care anyways. He felt his vision going hazy, his ears ringing slightly. Satisfied and calm, he folded his clothing and put his shoes and glasses on top. He pulled out an envelope he wasn't sure anyone would ever see. He only wrote one letter, not that anyone would understand or care anyways. The letter was for Draco Malfoy and him alone. Step by step, he made his way back on the edge. His footsteps echoed the silent tower, only his twisted thoughts surrounding him like vicious beasts. He vaguely noticed the sun was rising; he had been there all night. Not that it mattered in the end. He hoisted himself back on the balcony railing, balancing on the thin strip of stone. Soft bird trilling filled his ears as he watched the sun peak from the horizon, his problems insignificant and forgotten in the vast world. It only stood as another reminder that nothing would miss him. He took a deep breath before looking down and closed his eyes for a moment. Was he really going to do this? Would someone perhaps miss him? Would someone want to stop him? But the answer was simple, really. No. No one would care anyways, who would care about a waste of space like him? Those thoughts ran through him like a mantra. Disgusting. Waste of space. Freak. Worthless. Garbage. Disgrace. Unwanted. Keeping his eyes closed, he let go of the railing, and fell. The wind crackled and whipped in his ear; his sense overwhelmed by the high winds. He kept his eyes closed as tears leaked out, ready to accept his fate as he came hurdling towards the ground. Draco. Draco. Draco. The name he so loved echoed in his mind. And with that, his world went blank.

Severus Snape was out on patrol that morning. Oh, how he hated patrolling, but he was a professor after all. He hated every one of those brats, especially that stupid, arrogant, Po-. His thoughts were paused as he saw a body outside laying unmoving outside the castle windows. It was hard to make out, but he could've sworn something red surrounded it. Feeling something wasn't right, Snape rushed outside, unsure what to think. As he got closer, he could see it was blood. A lot of blood. A red puddle surrounded the body, the sun reflecting off it indicating it was fresh. As he came closer, he started making out black hair and a petite form. His concern raised exponentially by the minute. Dread filled him as he went a bit faster. Getting a close look, Snape froze. Oh Merlin. Snape couldn't help it; he felt his legs give out as he fell to his knees in front of the form. He stared at the sight with widened eyes. It was Potter. It was Harry Potter. It was Lily's boy. Lily's baby, her pride and joy laying there on the ground surrounded by blood, body disfigured no doubt from broken bones. He was so pale, the once bright boy, possibly lifeless.