I stand on the edge.

I look down.

When I take my next step into the air, and let myself fall forward, I will be free.

I will be free from all the pressure.

I will be free from all the guilt.

There is no one who would mourn me.

No one cares about the brains of the golden trio, who becomes more and more confused at every turn, at every moment.

Harry. Gone. Ron. Gone too. Ginny. Even her, the only one who had seemed to understand me, gone.

They abandoned me for professional Quidditch careers in the States, leaving without notice.

I only found out their destination once they had arrived, and been mobbed by the wizarding media there.

They didn't even leave me a simple note.

I thought I was their friend.

They had up and left during the night.

They left me alone, among those I rarely spoke more than a line or two to, left to recover from the aftermath of the war.

But I couldn't heal.

I need someone to be there by my side when I wake up in the middle of the night, screaming at the mental replays of the time spent in Malfoy Manor.

No one was.

I make to take that next step, but someone pulls me away from my freedom.

I yank my arm away from them.

Not speaking, I step towards the edge.

I need to do this. This will end my suffering forever. And ever.

Again, they take hold of my arms, and drag me away from the edge.

I can tell that this person trying to stop me is a male.

I can tell from the hands. Through my robes, they feel calloused and rough, like a Quidditch player's hands would feel.

This is not what should be happening though. I should not be able to feel anything.

I wish that I could have had the fleeting moments of the sensation of falling, before nothing.

I should have passed from this world by now.

Angry, I turn to face the Quidditch-playing boy/man who dares to hold me back.

I expect it to be a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff.

But the eyes that meet mine in the silvery, moonlit darkness of the tower, are not the eyes I'd expected.

Far from it.

The eyes that stare into mine, and feel as if they are staring into my very soul, are almost the colour of the stone where the moonlight hits it.

They are a murky silvery-grey, the eyes of my tormentor.

The eyes of Draco Malfoy, Slytherin.

I didn't expect it, and I nearly go toppling over the in my shock.

But he pulls me closer towards me, and clasps his hands around my body, effectively pinning my arms by side, and forcing me to rest my head against his toned chest.

I think that's what I needed. No, craved.

Somehow that feeling of human contact, feeling his heart beating rapidly, is all I needed.

I come undone, and the unshed tears that I had been holding in since that dastardly day, came spilling out.

Came spilling out of my eyes like a flood that didn't seem like it would ever stop.

I don't care, or more like realise, that I'm soaking Draco's jumper as I cry.

Draco gently moves his arm below mine, unpinning them.

I bring them around his neck and leave them there, still crying into his chest.

Draco is yet to speak. And so I am.

Still hugging, if that's what you would call the semi-embrace we were locked in.

I think he's a little perplexed by my behaviour, but still we don't speak.

He lets go for a few moments, and out of the corner of my eye I see him getting something long and thin but blunt out of a pocket, and wave it, then speak.

His voice cracks as he speaks.

I think he is afraid.

And then it all sinks in.

It hits me like a ton of bricks in the chest.

I sink to the ground.

I welcome the darkness with open arms.