To disturb the headmaster early on a Saturday morning was terrifying in itself, but the fifteen-year-old Hogwarts prefect had no choice. He panted heavily as he stopped in front of the Gargoyle statue that led up to the headmaster’s office and private apartment. The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, before he spoke the password of alert he had been given by his head of house. The young prefect waited in apprehension and sought the words to express the appalling news he had been sent to convey. He was trembling and found it difficult to gather his thoughts. Like everybody else, he was in dread of the headmaster, but in the middle of his turmoil, he realised that in comparison to the horrible scene he had just witnessed, it was irrational to fear facing the ill-tempered school-leader.

It did not take long before the stone wall magically made way and opened to reveal the impressive black figure of Severus Snape with a disgruntled face. The prefect took a step back and opened his mouth, but closed it again and stretched out his hand instead, to offer a small empty bottle. Snape accepted it automatically, glanced at it and, to the fifteen-year-old’s surprise, closed his eyes.

“Where did you find him?” The headmaster spoke quietly and stood perfectly still. The prefect thought that he discerned some kind of emotion in the voice, but it was hard to say which. Snape’s reaction confused him. Did the headmaster already know who emptied that bottle?

“In his bed. Bottle by his side, along with a letter left to his parents,” the boy answered shyly.

“His parents...?” The dark eyes suddenly snapped open and sought the young prefect out, swept over his features, his robes and his prefect’s badge. “Which house? Yours?” barked the headmaster. The prefect nodded mutely. The headmaster was back to his usual self. “Show the way,” ordered Snape.

***

Harry woke early, as usual. They had no lessons and the day off was welcome. Gryffindor would play Ravenclaw in the afternoon and he would be there to support Ginny. The previous day, he had at last plucked up the courage to hand in the Acromantula paper to Snape. He vacillated between pride over his achievement and dejection over what faults Snape might still find with it.

Ron and the others were still sleeping. He would be able to get a moment for himself of quiet reading. Harry stole away to his favourite window bay in the western tower. He half expected to see David, since he knew that his new friend, too, was an early riser. David did not show up, however, and Harry went down to have breakfast in the Great Hall. He sat down with Neville, Dean and Seamus, who had large plates, filled with mountains of egg and bacon, in front of them. Neither Ron, nor Hermione or Ginny were there.

“Ron slept when we left,” said Seamus. They discussed the quidditch match of the day with enthusiasm, when a tumult from the Entrance Hall caught their attention. Harry looked intrigued at the others, drew his wand, rose from the breakfast table and set off to check out the commotion. Simmings was posted by the stairs in the hall. Since the suffocating attack on Malfoy, Simmings had been transferred to ordinary guard duty and another Auror was stalking Malfoy. Harry walked up to his Auror friend.

“What’s happening?” asked Harry. Simmings hesitated.

“They’ve found someone dead,” answered Simmings in a low voice.

“Another attack? Not Malfoy, surely?” A cold shiver ran down Harry’s back.

“No, in another dorm. They found him in his bed and a bottle at his side. Draught of Permanent Peace, if you ask me. That’s the most effective potion if you want to... you know... Almost all who really want to end their lives take it. Those who hesitate choose something more complicated, with a chance of getting rescued. The Draught of Permanent Peace is irrevocable. It’s so fast you’ll not even know you have swallowed,” continued Simmings, but Harry was not listening. He tried feeverishly to remember.

Yesterday in Potions: for the first time in several weeks he had looked Snape in the eyes and handed over his Acromantula scroll personally. Ron had lingered by the cupboard of ingredients at that time. What if there had been a bottle of the Draught of Permanent Peace left in there? Or if Ron had nicked some ingredients? Harry had not seen him later that evening. He had thought that Ron had gone to bed early, but what if he had gone back to prepare the draught? He felt panic rise inside him, gave Simmings a wild look and ran up the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time.

“Harry?” he heard Simmings call after him.

Harry was completely out of breath when he reached the Fat Lady. His vocals seemed to have stopped working. At last, he managed to croak the password and was let in without protests. The Fat Lady appeared solemn, but betrayed nothing. Harry looked around and saw Ginny and Hermione talking to each other by the fire. Just a handful of students were in the room. They turned to look at him when they heard his forced breathing. To Harry, they all seemed to move in slow-motion and he was unable to hear any sounds, as if he had been Muffliated, or as if he was locked inside a dream.

“Ron, I must check on Ron,” Harry called out at them in his strange, croaked voice and made for the entrance to the dormitory. Anxiety had such a tight grip on him that he could not think rationally, but somewhere, in the back of his head, something told him that it did not add up. If they had discovered a dead body in one of the dormitories in the Gryffindor house, the atmosphere in the common room would not be this quiet. Ginny and Hermione would not just stand there and stare at him like that, with noncommittal and slightly wondering faces.

“I’m up, Harry. Over here.” Someone spoke from the farthest window and Harry turned around in the doorpost. The sight of his friend hit him like a stunning spell. Ron, tall and lanky, with a puzzled expression on his face, approached.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Harry stared numbly at him. At the same moment Dean, Seamus and Neville entered the room.

“Someone has killed himself,” said Neville. Everybody turned their heads to look at him.

“A suicide,” echoed Dean.

“Where?” croaked Harry.

“It’s in the Hufflepuff house,” said Seamus. Hufflepuff! Harry’s eyes widened.

“David!” he blurted out and rushed through the hole behind the portrait again. He dashed back down the stairs. How stupid he had been! It was natural that he would worry about his best friend first, but he scolded himself for not thinking about David. He had seen it from the very first day in the pub. He had recognised the insincere smiles and the unfocused, extinct expression in David’s eyes. David was much more likely to do something like this - David who could not even speak about whatever trauma he had experienced.

Why didn’t I go and look for him when he didn’t turn up this morning? Harry thought with rising panic. I expected him to come, and yet I didn’t search for him. What if I could have stopped him?

Harry had never been to the Hufflepuff house before, but knew that it was located in a corridor close to the kitchens. He ran across the Entrance Hall and into a corridor.

It might not be him, it might not be him. Please, please let him be okay. Harry repeated the mantra over and over again. It dawned on him as he said the words in his head that someone would be dead in that house, notwithstanding. Someone had deliberately ended his life. He still did not want it to be David.

Harry spotted a crowd in a corner under a stone vault, flanked by two marble statues of knights with crossed lances. Harry launched into the crowd and elbowed his way along as he cast wild looks right and left.

“Have you seen David?” he asked some of the pupils he pushed past. He fought to keep his wavering voice level.

“Do you mean David Burbage? No, I haven’t seen him,” someone responded. Harry attempted to make his way to the other side of the crowd.

“David?” he said in a half-loud voice, despair mounting.

“I’m here!” he heard behind him and swung round to find himself face-to-face with the brown-haired sixth year.

“You’re okay!” Harry stared at David while the relief somehow jolted the anxiety to an even higher level within him yet again. He gasped and felt his eyes fill with tears. He held up a trembling hand to shield his face. He felt himself sway and swallowed several times. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you... I was afraid that you...” He could not go on. David stared back at him.

At that moment, one of the gigantic barrels that were stacked in the corner opened and people were coming out of the room hidden behind it. Mrs Steadfast, Mme Sprout and Professor McGonagall preceded a stretcher where the contour of a corpse was discernible under a white sheet. People stared as if hypnotised by the morbid sight. Professor Snape appeared behind it, directing the stretcher with his wand. He was followed by Professor Sawman and Mme Pomfrey who had her arm around a trembling boy. Two other sixth year boys followed her, white in their faces. The silence that had fallen when the door opened was punctuated by gasps and sobs. Harry watched a girl sink down on her knees and cover her face in her hands. Two friends at either side tried to support her. Mme Sprout kneeled to speak to them. Harry shrunk back. He did not want to be noticed by the teachers, who would wonder why he was prying outside the Hufflepuff entrance. Harry watched the small procession disappear down the corridor. They were heading, at an unhurried, dignified pace, towards the Hospital wing. Harry glanced at David.

“Do you know who it was?” he asked.

“Jacob Duffle,” said David. “He’s been… I didn’t know him that well. It’s horrible.” Harry nodded. Suddenly he felt empty and slightly embarrassed.

“I’ll see you around, David. Take care... Not the right moment to talk right now... But come and see me soon... okay?” he said.

David nodded.

Harry walked towards the Entrance Hall again and started, for the second time that morning, to mount the Gryffindor Tower, but although he climbed slowly, one step at a time, he was completely exhausted. There was more than half a staircase left and it felt almost impossible to move. His legs were heavy as lead, and his heart raced even faster than when he had run. He felt dizzy. He grasped the banister with both hands, dragged himself up by his arms and murmured the password in such a low, breathless voice that the Fat Lady seemed to bow out of the painting to catch it, but she let him in, once again, without complaint.

Harry noticed indistinctly, because small, black spots had started to roam his shrinking field of vision, that Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat in one corner of the common room. He staggered over to them. Sounds were buzzing unpleasantly in his ears. He could not meet his friends’ gazes and, instead of sitting down in one of the free armchairs, he let himself slip down on the floor, with his back against the back of the chair so that he was hidden from the rest of the room.

He had used up his last strengths and he let go of the control he had imposed upon himself. His elbows rested on his knees and his trembling arms hid his face.

Closing his eyes did not help shutting out the images that imposed themselves. Behind his eyelids he saw his own hand fill up a glass bottle with a colourless liquid... He saw himself sink down on his knees in front of Snape who was pointing accusingly at him... He saw a stretcher with a covered body... He was painfully aware of the inner pocket of his shirt that had once harboured such a bottle for many weeks... He saw himself hand the phial over to Snape... It had been so close… It could have been him… It could have been Ron... or David...

He became aware of the fact that his friends were trying to talk to him. They held his cold hands and stroked his back, but he was stiff as a poker. He tried to relax.

“He’s in shock, go easy on him,” he heard Hermione say to Ginny, who had started to shake him by the shoulder. He raised his face and forced himself to look at them, but it only seemed to frighten them even more.

“I’m sorry, mate,” said Ron in a stifled voice. “Was it him? Was it that Hufflepuff guy you’ve been seeing?”

“Harry has not been seeing any guy,” said Ginny, annoyed.

“You know what I mean. The guy he has been trying to cheer up... besides me...” added Ron. Harry managed a little smile that looked more like a grimace.

“It wasn’t David. Gave me a fright though... I thought it was you, Ron... at first...” Harry whispered and looked in earnest at his friend.

“I wouldn’t… I would never... You know, I couldn’t do that to Mum and Dad... or to any of you, for that matter...” said Ron and looked at them, a bit dazed.

“You’ve been terribly down, lately,” said Harry, clearing his voice. “And I believe anyone can get there... if you let yourself slide down that slope and don’t do anything about it... In the end you’re so deep down that you cannot get up on your own. You’re led by your despair to believe that death is the only solution.” There was a frown, followed by a flicker of shock in Ginny’s eyes. She shook her head quickly, as if to get rid of a frightening or preposterous idea.

“It’s not that... bad,” answered Ron, embarrassed.

“Would you go and see Healer Shufflert, then? For my sake?” Harry looked him straight in the eyes and withheld his gaze until Ron muttered:

“Okay then, I will, if you insist.” Hermione put her arms around his neck and burst into tears. Ron hugged her back, surprised. “Don’t know if it’ll help, but if you’re all worried, I’ll give it a try,” he said.

“I don’t know, either, what she’s worth, but it would feel better to know someone professional’s got their eyes on you, as well,” muttered Harry. He felt calmer now. It felt good just to sit with his friends really close. He wanted to sit like this for the rest of the day.

Which is more or less what they did. Professor McGonagall came by to inform them of what they already knew. Rumours started to spread, according to which Jacob Duffle - albeit his attack on Snape at the start of term about the use of the Cruciatus curse at Hogwarts last year - had been one of the students who were forced by Albert Carrow - the Death Eater who taught DADA under Voldemort - to perform the very same unforgivable curse on his fellow pupils. According to the rumours, he had performed them a little too often and a little too willingly. Furthermore, they heard that there had been an incident the past summer, in the home town of Jacob Duffle, where he had been incriminated with harassment of a Muggle girl. There should have been a trial in a few weeks time. Apparently, Jacob Duffle’s parents had tried to hush the incident down and no one at Hogwarts had been informed.

Professor McGonagall also declared that the quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in the afternoon was inhibited. Ginny was angry about the annulations, although everybody else felt that it was the natural thing to do.

“Neither of our houses is directly involved in the suicide,” she protested irritably. “It would do us all good to move outside and be forced to think about something else, instead of brooding and rummaging it all over and over again.” She became more and more restless as the day went by and when it was time to go down for dinner, Ginny was in a downright foul mood.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was heavy. The Hufflepuff table, in particular, hosted many pupils with red-cornered eyes and hunched backs. At the Gryffindor table as well, pupils wiped their faces and put arms around each other for comfort.

“They didn’t even know him,” sneered Ginny.

The food had just appeared at the tables, when Hagrid came hurrying up to the teacher’s table to fetch Snape, who rose promptly. Everybody arrested their forks and knives in the air and followed Snape and Hagrid out of the hall with apprehension written on their faces. Snape was going to see the parents of the dead boy, Harry concluded. Snape looked pale, but composed. He would have experience of this, Harry thought. As a healer, you would have to deal with death and its repercussions in the family of the deceased. A lump in his throat nearly strangled Harry and made it impossible for him to eat. He was convinced that at this precise moment no one in the hall envied Snape his job.

Ginny looked at Harry sulkily and put a large forkful of shepherd’s pie in her mouth, demonstratively. She chewed and said defiantly:

“Life needs to go on, no? There’s nothing we can do, now, for Jacob Duffle.” Harry understood her resistance, in a way. A whole day of nerve-stringing suspense was beginning to break up Harry’s defences. The noises in the hall, that resumed when Snape disappeared, sounded far away in his ears and he had a sense of unreal. He wanted to forget about everything that had happened during the day. He heard Hermione object to Ginny:

“It’s not that they all miss him, of course, or grieve over him. They’re reminded of death in general and it’s agonising - especially since we all have the battle against Voldemort so fresh in our minds. They all realise they are going to die one day. You must allow people to react, even if it’s in a selfish manner,” said Hermione.

“Selfish AND stupid!” Ginny burst out. “We are all going to die! It’s a fact three hundred and sixty-five days a year. You don’t need to let it to your skin. You keep that knowledge at a distance and you do the best out of life, while you can,” she continued.

“Well, that’s admirable, but not everyone can do that - particularly not on a day like this. They just don’t have your strength, Ginny,” retorted Hermione. Ginny muttered curses in a low voice. Tables were changed for desert, but Ginny stood up.

“I’m leaving,” she said shortly and walked away. Harry rose and ran after her. He did not catch up with her until in the Entrance Hall. Simmings had temporarily left his post.

“Ginny!” Harry took her hand.

“It’s unbearable! The whole castle is full of sobs and moans. Crybabies! Hypocrites!” Ginny was fuming with rage.

“Forget about it,” said Harry. “It’ll get better in a few days, or at least in a couple of weeks. Come!” He tucked gently at her hand when she was heading up the stairs.

“WHAT?!” She turned aggressively towards him.

”I know a way to forget.”

Harry pushed away the sense of impropriety and ignored the feelings of guilt, as he pulled at her hand again and made her climb down the few steps she had taken. Ginny drew her breath when she understood where he was heading. An approving sparkle lit in her eyes and Ginny followed Harry down to the dungeons.