Disclaimer: HP is not mine, it belongs to the Rowls. jk. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just realized that play on her name. Jk. Joking. Ha. Ha ha. Fenris is sooo funny. And hopeless. Can't forget hopeless. Some words are directly from the song Jumper by Third Eye Blind. They are not mine either. Well, the context in which they are spoken is, but not the actual words, and...yeah. You know what I mean.

WARNING: It is not my fault if this makes you gag at the very end with the unrealistic-ness of the situation. I know that would never happen, but this is a oneshot in which I didn't want to elaborate. You have been warned. I hate too-fast relationships as much as the next person. But, well...it just turned out this way. So sorry.

The Ice Prince of Slytherin looked down at the dark ground from the perilous heights of the Astronomy Tower. Cold wind blew around him as he leaned forward, seeming to egg him on, push him just those last few inches to plummet to the death that awaited him below...

Draco shook his head to clear it, and stumbled back from the ledge. He brought his hands up to the sides of his heads as he sank back against the cold stone away from the edge, and slid to the floor, his legs drawing themselves up automatically as he drew in a shaky breath.

What was he thinking?

Was suicide really the answer? Draco didn't know anymore. Lies were all he knew.

He knew suicide was weak–and Malfoy's were anything but weak. It had been drilled into him since birth. Malfoy's don't cry. Malfoy's are strong. Malfoy's are sly. Malfoy's are Purebloods–Purebloods are above all. Malfoy's are thereby above all. Malfoy's support the Dark Lord–his reasons adhere to the Malfoy's rules.

And Malfoy's most certainly do not commit suicide.

So why did it seem like his only option?

Fighting to control his breathing, Draco leaned his head against the wall his arms around his knees, his eyes closing.

Biting remarks in the halls. Sneers across the Great Hall. Jibes and jeers in classes shared. Ice over a secret pain. Draco's relationship with the person he loved was as messed up as his life. He just doesn't belong anywhere.

A cold childhood interlaced with dark meanings and meetings his young mind had been unable to comprehend. A preset fate he didn't want anything to do with. Death Eater? Was that really what he was meant to be? Another puppet of the Dark Lord that might as well be mindless? His parents really wanted that for him?

And his 'friends'. What of them? His friends were more like spies and enforcers. Watching his movements, judging his actions. Wardens. Keepers. Not friends. Friendship ended during fifth year. The lies began in fifth year. They were happy to serve their Lord in any way. In fact, all of the Death Eater children were alike in that respect. They were too excited to please their parents and help the cause to realize what it was about.

Murder. Torture. Enforcing ideals upon people who don't want them. Which means he would be the first of them to fight.

Draco lifted himself out of his stiff position carefully, bracing a hand against the wall for support, still a little shaky.

Would they care? If he jumped? They being the person he loved, that is. Would it really matter if he was gone from their life? One step...and he wasn't a bother to anyone again. They would probably welcome it with open arms. No more Draco to disturb them at the exact wrong time, when they needed it the least. No more lies to shred apart any good feelings they might feel toward him.

Life was getting to painful to live–what with unrequited love and destinies that couldn't be escaped. The web of lies he had spun to protect himself. Yes Father, I'm doing fine. Grades are good, I love the Dark Lord, can't wait to become a Death Eater. Yes Mother, I am happy. Don't worry about me, not that you ever did. No, Professor Snape, I don't need any help. My grades are slipping because I can't seem to get enough sleep. I'm too worried about becoming a fucking Death Eater.

Draco shook his head again and stared emotionlessly at the ledge. It would be fast. It would be sudden. There would be a short time to think about it before the decision became final. It would just take one step.

A step he knew was becoming easier and easier to take every day.

But not today. No, today he still had the strength left to continue. To keep lying his way out. These were his last hours in the cave before the torch extinguished, and the air ran out. The final moments in which he would desperately hope that someone would tunnel him out, and know that no one was coming.

With a sigh, he left the tower and went back to his room in the dungeons where he crawled into bed and fell asleep.

*oOo*

Draco was back at the tower. Not for class, or an errand, or anything else really. Not even to consider jumping. Just to think. Think about what was happening as of late.

He was slipping. Slipping away. His grades were dropping. His 'friends' were drifting away from him, abandoning him to drown–they didn't need to help smother him anymore, he was doing it himself. The people who may have been able to help were becoming harder and harder to talk to. Easier and easier to lie to.

The dark blotch on his cheek right under his eye throbbed steadily, matching pace with his heartbeat. Blood trickled from the split in his lip and the cut on his shoulder that had narrowly missed his neck. Bruises all over his body pounded, reminding him of why fighting wasn't fun.

He was heading toward the Common Room from dinner when he was cornered by Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. Death Eater children. 'Friends'.

They told him he wasn't acting right. Needed to shape up, especially if he wanted the Dark Lord's approval. Then he did something stupid. Told them he didn't want anything to do with the Dark Lord. That was the wrong thing to say. He was fighting too loudly.

So now he was up here, at the Astronomy Tower, thinking. If he was going to fight, he had to do it much quietly. Take more interest in studies and less in social activities–gradually of course. Couldn't make a sudden change. That was fighting loudly, like a Gryffindor. He should fight quietly, like a Slytherin.

And then he was at the edge again. Even though he was deciding on a goal to keep him from thinking about the inevitable, the inevitable came rushing back when he saw the ground below, this time illuminated by the sun, the small forms of students crawling around below like ants.

His thoughts turned back to the simplicity of the matter. A step. That was it. The slightest movement, and he would be falling...falling...

Why weren't there charms?

Honestly. Why weren't there any charms to protect against suicide at the Astronomy Tower?

Were they really that naive to think that at a school with teenagers, not a single one of them would have thoughts of suicide? There should be cushioning charms and wards to keep people from lunging off the edge. Seriously, teenagers have so much drama in their lives that they would go into such a state of depression that suicide was an actual consideration.

Shaking his head against stupidity of overconfident wizards, Draco stepped away from the ledge once again. He didn't know if he would jump. Maybe not today.

But when?

If not today, then the next? Or the next?

Would he hold out long enough to make it through the school year, when the chance would be gone? Could he let it be taken away from him? The freedom to choose whether to suffer another day or end it all when it got too much?

That ledge was looking very tempting. He hesitated a moment, then stepped back up to it. It could be over. No more days to suffer through. No more expectations he could never live up to. It just took a little...push...

"Malfoy?"

The voice startled him away from the air he was leaning into. It was one he knew rather well, saying as how it belonged to his love. He lifted his head, surprised to see him here.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?"

There was a note of hysteria in his voice, making Draco wonder.

His black hair was messy, as usual, making him want to take a brush to it, or run his fingers through it, or both, as usual. It hung in his green eyes and over his crooked glasses, and partially covered his scar. The scar itself was partially distorted by the wrinkled forehead and concerned expression.

"What do you want Potter?"

To Draco's great surprise his voice wasn't venomous like it always seemed to come out in Harry's presence. It just sounded tired.

As he crouched down into his usual position in front of the wall next to the drop, he vaguely wondered if what he was here to say to him would be enough to push him over. They had, regrettably, never been on good terms. Maybe the cruel remarks from his beloved would send him off the edge. It was an almost welcoming thought. What Harry said instead was welcoming.

"I want to know how you're doing. I know something's wrong."

Draco felt warm and cold at the same time. How? How did he know? It made a bit of sense, saying as how his slip was probably hard to miss, but why would he be paying him any attention?

"Nothing is wrong, Potter." Lie.

"I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend."

Draco blinked. Friend?

"You could cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in...and, well, if you don't want to see me again, I would understand. It's just...Malf...Draco, it's hard to see you struggle like this."

Draco felt unshed tears sparkle behind his eyes. No! Malfoy's don't cry. Especially not in front of him. But...he called him by his first name. He's never done that before.

"Why?"

Harry looked startled.

"Well, it's complicated. I don't know when it started, but the thing is I think I lo–"

"No, why are you acting like you actually care?"

He still looked confused, and maybe a little crestfallen, though Draco hadn't the faintest idea why.

"Acting? Draco, I actually do care." His tone was incredulous.

Harry knelt down in front of Draco's bent form. Draco had missed all of the attention Harry had been giving him. Unbeknownst to him, since he was busy trying to keep from committing suicide, Harry had been watching him, more so since he began slipping. Tried to help in the only way he really could–which wasn't much. When he kept seeing Draco climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower through the Marauder's Map, he began to worry. He followed after seeing Draco surrounded by Death Eater children, and the ascent to the Tower. He ran as fast as he could.

"Your friends...they've left you haven't they?"

"Friends! That's a good one, Potter. I haven't had friends for a long time."

Harry was shocked. He hadn't known it had come to that. Draco had always been surrounded by a group of snickering Slytherins. Flanked by the two walking tanks.

"If it's not your friends, then what is it? I want to help."

"I don't think you can." A whisper. But not a lie, not this time.

"Tell me." Another whisper. Hands on Draco's shoulders. Breath on his face. Walls built to defend the truth crumbling.

"I'm going to become a Death Eater. Over the summer, in fact. I don't want to." The last part was small. Quiet. Timid. Weak.

Malfoy's are never weak. Malfoy's are strong. Malfoy's don't reject the Dark Lord. He continued in a voice he forced to be stronger.

"But I don't know what to do. I don't know who to trust or who to go to or who will care. Everything is blending together. Life is getting harder and harder to live. I can barely open my eyes in the morning. I don't hear the lectures, or the homework assignments, or the people around me. It's all white noise. Except for when they talk to me. It's kind of hard to miss them." He said the last part with a bitter smirk that turned into a wince at the increase in pain from the bruise under his eye.

Warmth spread onto his cheek from the hand that lay there.

"Everyone has to face down their demons eventually. I'll be there for you when you do. Maybe today, you could put the past away. Just...stay away from that ledge Draco. I can't stand to see you there, as if its final."

And the floodgates broke. Tears unshed for so long streamed down Draco's face. Sobs wracked his body, accompanied by violent shivers and shakes long held in check. This was eating him up. He brought his hands up to his face, over the one already there, and salty water rushed over them, and down his arm where ran down his elbow and soaked into his shirt, his robe long discarded.

Warm arms wrapped around him, the hand under his removed, and a chest pulled itself up against his back as Harry moved Draco onto his lap. A cheek rested against his hair. And somehow...Draco thought everything would be okay.

BAAAAWWW. So adorable, no? Yeah, I know. I'm a horribly cliche (yes, I know theres supposed to be a funky line above the 'e' like in Pokemon, but I. Don't. Care.) and cheesy person, and I wrote this a while ago when I was listening to the song Jumper by Third Eye Blind, and I immediately thought of, suprise surprise, Draco and Harry because I love that pairing. So much. And also, this is supposed to be angst with fluff. Because I like torture. And...well...fluff makes everything better. Even horribly cheesy fluff that gives you clogged arteries. Please Review!