Lose Yourself

Not based on the (ingenious) Eminem song of the same title. I sort of wish it was, but no, this isn't a songfic of any description.

Also, there isn't really a story to this. It's simply some writing I started and I have left it unedited. It could be classed as a lot of pointless drivel I suppose.

The air was calm. For some reason this didn't help. Most people would hope for the atmosphere at the time of their death to be calm, but for Draco it felt like nature was mocking him. There was a light breeze sifting through the trees of the Forbidden Forest and the dawn was breaking through the cracks in the golden horizon, illuminating the indigo sky with a glow that preceded a new start.

But only for some.

Draco kept his hand pressed against the pocket of his robes where his wand was placed. He felt a sudden urge to extract it and perform one last piece of magic – perhaps a few silver sparks, maybe conjure the image of a symbolic serpent in cruel irony that would mark his death. But no, not today. It seemed fitting that his wand would be left alone. He would die without ceremony, he would die without pride, he would die without dignity. Nothing sounded more appealing to the young blonde in that moment.

His feet finally found the edge of the roof and he tore his gaze away from the Eastern skies long enough to glance down at the hundred and fifty or so feet below him. Would it kill him? Or would it just make a mess on the floor that he would get blamed for once he was conscious again?

Draco had often pondered about death, more times that he cared to admit over the last two years in particular. The philosophical debates that took place in his head replayed most often every time he witnessed another life being drawn from a body, watched the light leave another pair of eyes, heard another last breath. A part of him knew inherently that there was nothing, that there could be nothing. Still, it didn't stop him dreaming…

Rocking back on his heels, Draco relished the cool air that stroked his face. He closed his eyes to enjoy the gentle caress of a breeze brushing his cheeks, his neck, his lips. He wondered what it would feel like; if he would feel anything. Or would everything simply vanish, leaving nothing to feel or see or hear or sense…no Draco but for the body tumbling to the ground with graceless ease.

If there was one thing he could be proud of, it was the fact that he had managed to survive the war without killing anyone. Still, he'd hurt a lot of people. Which was worse, hurting them or killing them? Draco couldn't be sure, taking it all away, or taking everything but the pain away…he was inclined to unwillingly believe he would have been better off killing those he had been forced to victimise by his Master.

As an owl hooted from not too far away, Draco opened his eyes and leaned further over the precipice, contemplating once more how it would feel. In all honesty, he didn't really know why he was here. Something had broken at some point; he felt lost. Maybe it was as he was pulled from the flames of Fiendfyre by Harry bloody Potter; or maybe it was watching the very same Harry Potter being laid down at the feet of his Master for all to see; or perhaps it was watching that first shamed tear fall down his father's face. Whatever it was, it had changed him in an instant. Not for the better, not for the worse, he simply felt something.

He wondered if it was shame. He'd never before been ashamed of his actions – he was a Malfoy, a Pureblood, a Slytherin, why should he be ashamed? Another guess was that it could be remorse. Was that that same thing as shame? He thought not, but he knew they were similar. He didn't understand, all he knew was that he couldn't stand another person looking at him the way every pair of eyes that found him stared. Cold, disgusted, horrified…regret, yes, regret, that was what he was feeling.

And yet a part of him knew that, given the chance, he'd do it all again. He wouldn't change anything. Because in the end he'd survived, and so had his parents. So what was he doing out here on the roof of Hogwarts? He didn't know. It just felt necessary. It felt too much like life had finished with him – as if he'd failed the test he needed to pass in order to move on.

No, he decided on the spot, it wasn't just the way people looked at him. He was a Malfoy, he didn't care about such trivial things. It was the promise of a better future for everyone. It was like he was intruding on a private moment. But private for who? This was everyone's victory surely…and still it was clear that it was not his place to be happy, to be free. He knew he wasn't going to be sent to Azkaban. Even as he stared at the ugly tattoo that he had once been proud of, he knew he wouldn't be sent there.

He didn't know if that made him feel better or not. Was it right to be proud of that?

So many thoughts…so many things left unsaid…everything a mess. What was he doing?

Draco's breath caught in his throat and his chest shuddered painfully. The figure on the grounds was stood still, their face pointed upwards, directly towards him. What should he do? He kept completely immobile, his eyes the only form of movement as they searched the pale, thin face until they met emerald green eyes.

He knew of all the people who had a right to gladly watch him die, Harry Potter was at the top of the list. He felt as if now should be the moment in which he jumped – giving Potter the last laugh, so to speak. But his feet remained firmly on the edge of the roof as still he stared into the face, the expression of which was filled with…concern?

Potter made no move to stop Draco, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the frown on the boy's face, or the way he too continued to stare up at Draco, or the way he remained totally still, silent and respectful.

Harry stared up at the blonde figure. He wondered what Malfoy was thinking in that moment, if he was really going to jump. For some reason, he found himself genuinely wishing he wouldn't.

He stayed still, watching the young man hover on the edge of his potential death. Was this the end? Would the Malfoy bloodline end here all because of a loss to his pride? Harry wished he could say something of worth, but he knew nothing he said would change the stubborn mind of a Slytherin, so he kept his lips firmly shut.

The emerald eyes held the silver pair for longer than either boy anticipated, and when the contact broke, something seemed to die between them. For one moment, there was unadulterated understanding. And then it was gone.

The blonde turned away and made his way back towards the window through which he had first climbed. The raven haired boy carried his walk through the grounds, alone and unseen. The moment was gone, and it wasn't to be repeated.

You only lose yourself once, and once you find yourself again, you're free.

The final quote I give all credit to a dear friend of mine and her philosophical mind. If only I was half as clever.

I considered writing this with Lucius in Draco's place, but I felt Draco seemed more fitting, as his innocence is slightly more preserved.

I hope you enjoyed my pointless fic. x