A/N:
Disclaimer: As far as I know, my name is not J.K. Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter: books, movies, or otherwise. But if I did... Oh, the possibilities!
Pairings: There's not really a pairing. If I make this into an actual fic., it will be Harry/Draco. You can kind of see it if you squint really, REALLY, hard. 3
Author Warning: This is the second Harry Potter fic. that I have actually written and POSTED. I'm fairly new at this, though I do read a lot of it. Probably too much. I might decide to end it where it ends or I might decide to continue on. I have some ideas, but I have other fics. that need finishing and too little time. I'll try, especially if this gets good reviews. hinthint
Story Warning: It's pretty much nothing more than a drabble, talk of suicide. And... depending on how you look at it, attempted (but is it really?) suicide. Takes place in 6th year, AU to HBP.
Summary: You may have seen me, talked to me, even – but you don't know who I am.
"What would you do if I jumped?" I asked quietly, breath ghosting between us in a white plume.
"Don't be daft, Potter."
I stared at him, face completely serious. He stared back. I was not surprise that he had come, framed elegantly in the stone entrance. He did not seem surprised upon discovering me, either. We did nothing until I turned to the tower ledge, placing my hands on the cool stone. I pulled myself up to the lip, steadily planting me feet before I doubled over – eye level.
"Believe me now?" I mumbled, straightening.
"Not particularly."
"Really? You don't think I'd do it?"
"Potter, you're not suicidal."
"Oh, I don't know about that," I dismissed, "I'm plenty suicidal."
"I doubt that."
"You would," I sighed.
"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"
"You can hardly confess to knowing me, can you?" I lithely sat, legs dangling precariously over each side.
"Are you ill? I've known you since first year."
"Mm. You may have seen me, talked to me, even – but you don't know who I am."
Silence descended; a welcomed liaison between enemies. I looked to the night's sky, entranced by the beauty of the harvest moon; the timeless stars callously called to darkness.
"Would you make a wish?" My whisper had him jumping.
"What nonsense are you spouting about, now, Potter?" He sneered, defensive.
"When I jump," I repeated, nonchalant.
He stared at me again, eyes calculating, "You're serious."
"But, of course," I shrug, flexing the chill from my stiff fingers.
"How the mighty hath fallen."
"Ah… So it seems that you do not believe me after all."
"Maybe. Maybe not"
"You would not say such a thing if you truly thought me suicidal."
"Don't be a hypocrite. You can't know me any better than you accuse me of knowing you."
"That is where you are wrong. I know you very well, Draco Malfoy."
"Right," He scoffed.
"I know that you have quite the sweet tooth; that you enjoy the smell of roses as they begin to wither. I know that you're partial to muggle artwork because the pictures don't move. You hate how everything you have ever appreciated in life keeps disappearing and you don't value the extra reminder. I know that you love Parkinson, but have no desire to marry her. You'd much rather settle down with a nice bloke, probably Zabini since you sporadically blush more with him than you do when you're talking with anybody else.
"I've watched you, Draco Malfoy, and I have seen how you live; what you think. Contrary to popular belief, you do not want to be your father, you only-"
"Shut up! Just... shut up," Our faces cast in shadow, I nearly regretted what I had said - nearly, "I get it… Are you my stalker now or something?"
"Nah… I've just had this life-shattering revelation that I can only depend on myself," After a moment's thought, a sly grin twisted my lips, "Well, for most things."
"And that's why you've suddenly decided to jump off the highest tower?" He asked, probably covertly incredulous.
"Not….really, no. I suppose I've always been a little suicidal. What we me doing this or that, taunting your father or your aunt, the whole blasted thing with Voldemort…Turns out that everybody else happens to die in stead of me," I clarified, grimacing.
"You… what?" He spluttered eloquently.
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me your father didn't tell you about everything?"
"No. He hasn't told me anything. And if he wanted to now, he very well couldn't, could he?" He hissed angrily.
"Your father got less than what he deserved," I snapped, hair and robes billowing momentarily with magical discharge.
"My father- "
"Is nothing more than a right bastard."
"You have no right-"
"No right? No right!" I exclaimed hysterically, "Why, I have every right in the world! Your father made sure to give it to me in second year when he slipped Tom Riddle's diary in with Ginny's schoolbooks. He made sure to give it to me the moment he apparated to that graveyard after Voldemort's resurrection. He made sure to give it to me as he lured me to the Department of Mysteries.
"If anybody does not have the right, it would be you. You have no right to tell that your father does not deserve to rot in Azkaban. Him and your aunt."
He said nothing. I sighed, standing up once more. Exhaustion swept over my abused body; unwanted and unneeded. At this point in time, I could really care less as I swayed perilously.
He was just a second too late in stopping me – from holding me back as I gracefully fell away from the tower. The wind whistled loudly in my ears, overruled by the sound of my name desperately – despairingly – called from his lips.
His devastated face, his outstretched hand, grew father and father away. I knew I was close, so close.
And then I stopped…. I knew I would, knew it the very moment that Draco Malfoy had interrupted my silent late night musings not ten minutes ago.
He would not let me die.