A/N: This was part of a competition I entered on another writing website.
Round2 – Specialist: 15 June to 24 June
Prompt: We want you to write us a pure flash Fanfiction story. Take any beloved character from the fandom of your choice and place him/her in a high-intensity –life or death—situation and end with a cliff-hanger. Here's another catch; we only want your narration, no dialogue!
The rain dropped off Draco's face as peered over the edge. Terror gripped his eyes as he saw the distance between himself and the nearest surface. The thunder had been gradually rolling closer this afternoon and it appeared the centre of the storm was looming nearby. The wind pulled and tugged at Draco's swirling black robes; his snow-white hair flicking his face as the lightening hit the ground. Mixed emotions swirled over Draco's face alike to the water below. The choppy seawater reminiscent of what was inside his stomach. Numerous decisions and choices seemed to be churning around his head as his hands clutched his hair, almost pulling it out of his scalp. Draco edged closer to the drop and then took a large step back, almost slipping in the wet grass. The wind was proving stronger as his falter almost proved fatal. Draco scrambled to upright himself with his heart thudding in his chest. Moving closer to the edge almost seemed more desirable now. The near miss had made him feel slightly more invincible.
Maybe he could jump and survive? Then he would be more famous than stupid Harry Potter. Harry bloody Potter with his stupid scar and famous story being everybody's 'Golden Boy'. Why did it have to be him? Who cares about Harry Potter? He isn't even a pureblood! He is friends with blood traitors and other mudbloods! Draco Malfoy was a chosen one! He was Voldemort's Chosen One! Draco Malfoy would be the first in the new generation of Death Eaters. He would be Voldemort's next in-line when the Death Eaters were ready to hand the baton on. Had his father not gone to Azkaban prison Draco would have waited longer.
But no, the baton has been passed and now there is a darkness swirling on his arm. A dark black matter that makes him feel sick when he looks at it. A dark black mess that is making him almost literally tear his hair out. He has already tried to cut the Dark Mark off his body. It didn't work. Now it is a mass of white scars and a black snake and skull. Draco was now perched on the edge. If a strong gust of wind came through he was sure he would fall.
Why should he care? Why hasn't he jumped already? Who would care if he, Draco Malfoy slipped over the edge? Was his Aunt Bellatrix going to cry at the funeral? Would Snape talk about his constant fight for academic success against that mudblood Granger? Perhaps Aunty Bella would cry over her new-found prodigal nephew whom had discovered the right path for purebloods. Perhaps Snape would uphold his grades describing Dumbledore as the blithering old fool he was, giving Granger the highest grades to satisfy other filthy mudbloods and bloodtraitors there was no prejudice at the school.
Draco moved to the edge, his toes peeking over. Forwards or backwards- to death or to life. Draco held out his arms and fell.