Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up. It was over. He was done.

his skin stung, as the blood streamed from his skin.

But it was over.

He forced himself to sit up, and couldn't meet the eyes of his assailant. True, he could've ended this with magic, but he knew things would have gotten worse, somehow.

The footsteps receded, a door closed, and he was alone. He was the "Boy Who Lived." He knew he should be grateful, but part of him wanted to go to Voldemort.

'He'd take me out of my misery.' Harry thought savagely.

In moments, Harry decided what he'd do. He stood, swaying slightly, and dizzy. He knew he was destined to die anyway. Why not go sooner?

He winced at the pain of his first steps forward, as he limped, and the force of that reverberated through his body. It will be over soon. He'd be safe.

That was his mantra, as he held out his wand arm at the street, and the knight bus came streaking forward. He clambered aboard, paid his fare, and waited.

It was common knowledge that his school enemy Malfoy lived in Derbyshire. That's where he'd go. If anyone knew where Voldemort was, it was him. His father was a death eater, after all.

It was an hour or so later, when an exhausted Harry Potter approached the gate. He needed rest. He was so tired, and breathing was so hard. Hedwig landed softly on the gate.

"Hey Hedwig." He gasped out. Hedwig clicked her beak, and he knew she was worried.

"Lead Malfoy here, will ya? I need him." Harry whispered, and she took off.