Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, obviously, because I am not filthy rich. Ahh, if I was though…

It was unbearably hot. Even on top of the covers he was sweating, the cooling liquid dripping down his bare back in tiny rivulets. He sat up, pushing a hand through his damp, white-blonde hair. It was too hot. He had to get out of here, he could barely breathe.

He slithered out of bed, careful not to shake the mattress hard. The black head that slept beside him shifted and moaned in sleep. Strands of feathery hair fluttered in her face, making her look almost innocent. The knowledge that she was unclothed beneath the covers took away that innocence. He placed his feet on the icy stone of the floor, eliciting shivers from his tired body. Loose sleeping pants slid up, as he grabbed a shirt and quietly left the girl's dormitory.

Unlike other houses, the Slytherin dormitories were not booby-trapped. Salazar Slytherin must have realized that what would happen would happen, whether the boys could get into the girls' rooms or not. The other founders evidently thought that a set of trick staircases could stop lust. Nobody ever said the founders were smart.

It was a long trek from the Slytherin dungeons to the tallest Hogwarts tower. Any other student would have balked at the prospect of wandering the halls after-hours. He wasn't just any student. He was Draco Malfoy. He didn't shirk from anything, least of all Mr. Filch's damn cat.

When he finally did reach the tower, he stood for a moment looking up. The roof was round and flat, with nothing save a small raised stone ledge to separate the student from a five-story drop. Tossing his shirt at the doorway, Draco walked to the edge of the tower and stepped up onto the rim, tottering there. Steely eyes took in the height, and the dark ground below.

Five stories ought to do the trick.

Five stories weren't that far. If the fall didn't kill him, he knew for a fact that the entire castle was asleep. Nobody would reach him in time to heal him.

"Malfoy?"

Crap. Did he say the entire castle?

He turned, to see a figure with tousled black hair peer at him in confusion. The lightning-shaped scar was all too familiar, telling Draco who disturbed his silence. "What do you want, Potter?"

"What are you doing?" the other's voice was laced with weariness as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, his nose conspicuously lacking a certain eye apparel.

"I'm testing my balance," Draco snapped, "Get out of here."

"Couldn't you do it on a safer tower?" Potter inquired. He walked over, not noticing Draco inch away. Brilliant green eyes calculated the height, and he cringed, stepping back. "You could fall the wrong way."

"Don't you think I know that?" Draco growled, "Why don't you go prance back to your common room?"

"You couldn't have possibly been thinking about jumping, could you?" the look on his face was smug, as if he enjoyed catching Draco so utterly unawares.

"What does it matter to you, you Gryffindor prat?" Draco hissed.

Potter shrugged, his thin frame pulling the fabric of his pajamas. The last few years had not been good to him. Granted, he'd always been scrawny, but he gave new meaning to the word cadaverous. "If it's all the same to you," he pummeled Draco with those eyes, "Go ahead."

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. Was the magnificent Harry Potter daring someone to take their own life!? Setting aside the fact that Potter hated his very existence, daring a Malfoy!? Draco looked at the ground five stories below. Just one step. That's all it would take. But… Potter would see his weakest moment. For seven years of school, he, Draco Malfoy, had held the upper hand. If he jumped now, with Potter watching, he would have lost. Scowling like Voldemort, he whirled on Potter, "Happy?"

The brunette said nothing. He merely stared at Draco.

"What?" the white-blonde spat, still keeping his precarious stance atop the rim.

"Why?" Potter demanded, "You have everything. Every girl in the school wants to be with you. Nearly every girl has been with you! Your family is rich. You have a family. You don't need to fear Voldemort because you're pure-blood. Your grades rival Hermione's. You've managed your yearly quota of our torment in a matter of two weeks. Why jump?"

"You bumbling idiot," Draco hissed, "Will you ever learn to shut up?" His eyes flashed dangerously in the darkness, "Why should I explain myself to you?"

Potter lifted his shoulders again, "Just curious."

"What are you doing up here anyway?" Draco shot.

"Couldn't sleep," came the curt reply. "Would you mind coming down if you're not going to say anything?"

Draco nearly laughed. He would have too, if he hadn't been so suddenly unsure of his balance. "What is it, Potter, scared I might fall? Scared they might accuse you of murder?" the sneer covered the wave of vertigo.

"No."

"Well, then, what is it? You couldn't possibly care for me. That's very charming but I'm not into guys and I'm sure Hermione would have a slight problem with us."

"Shut up Malfoy."

"What are you going to do, push me?" Draco cackled, "Go ahead. I won't mind."

"Why are you so intent to die!?" Potter yelled, his voice carrying over the fields below them and shocking Draco into silence.

"You wouldn't understand," the Slytherin grit his teeth hard.

"I don't care," Potter lowered his eyebrows, "Nobody should die. Not even scum like you."

"You warm my heart with your compliments," Draco grinned maliciously.

Potter stepped closer, within an arm's reach, "I mean it."

"Don't get too close," Draco breathed, lowering his voice, "I might fall." The Boy Who Lived didn't move. Instead, he glared. Glared with those haunting green eyes. Eyes that had seen death. Eyes that had seen wizards in the worst pain imaginable. Those eyes nearly made Draco lose his balance.

"You don't deserve to die."

"Spare the empathy," Draco murmured, "This Death Eater doesn't need it."

If it affected Potter any, the kid did a good job of hiding it. He barely flinched upon hearing the words, and did not step back. "What…?" as if he didn't believe it.

"You heard me," if there was one thing he hated, it was repeating himself. He looked out over the grounds again, turning his back to the Gryffindor.

"Since when?"

"Since my seventeenth birthday," Draco found himself releasing more information than he had intended. Petty school brawls looked so trivial when one was about to die. "The mark was put in a special place," he pointed to a patch of skin at his right hip where half a scull glared at them from pale skin, "Not as visible as my arm."

"You still don't deserve to die," Potter's voice shook with effort, as if he was trying to hold back something. Anger possibly. Maybe laughter. Draco turned his lips down and started shifting positions again, turning to face Potter. That was when he lost his footing.

A/N- If you don't like slash, it may be better if you don't read on.