Vonne: Let's get right down to it, then!

Allison: Thank you for all your reviews! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading this whole thing all the way through-- that's really a lot to read. HA! So, really I took all your efforts as a compliment, trust me. Anyways, your reviews reminded me of how fast I used to update this. So, I thought-- why not? Hopefully you enjoy this chapter just as much as the previous ones!

Voldyismyfather: Thanks! I hope you like this one too. I tried to make it on the longer and eventful side! :)

Shinning Bright Eyes: I am really glad you liked the part with Lucius. I'd spent a while on it, trying to get it to be as realistic as possible. The thing is, I didn't want to make Lucius seem more angry than hurt, because he was both, but in the sense of a father. You know? :)

Doni: Exactly! That's exactly what I wanted to try and pull off-- Draco hitting true rock bottom. Maybe it'll explain as to why the first chapter was so dramatic in its contents after all.

Anavell: Thank you! :) I hope you like this chapter, too!

Jade2099: HA! Yes, the wrath of Lucius is one, as we all know, that is not to be messed with! AHA! Your Draco being a puppy bit made me laugh. Clever! :)

Now, finally, chapter twenty two!

Chapter Twenty Two:
The Voice on the Other End

"Testing, testing, one two three."

In the darkness came a voice that was so loud over the whooshing wind, that it would have been unmistakable if there had been anyone around to hear it. It was a voice that had been, at one point in its life, proud and arrogant and unbreakable, however, the crackling raspy undertone signified that something had gone horribly array. When he tested the Muggle device in the palm of his perspiring hand, his voice broke carelessly and he ran his free hand through his mess of hair, trying again. "If you are listening to this, then you're too late. By the time you can act, I'll already be dead." Overall, considering the surroundings, the man did not seem to fully blend in. While the sky was dark and churning and angry, the tall man was lean and still and obliging; he let the wind move his bow tie, which rest completely undone around his neck. He looked oddly pure in his white button-up shirt, which was rolled up to way past his elbows, and his mop of white blond hair; however, he was everything but. Despite his innocent presence, something desperate and knowing flickered in his eyes and, shakily, he wiped away sweating visage. On the forearm of his free wrist, a certain skeletal mark stood out unquestionably on his pale skin.

It hadn't been a long walk from the alley way behind the pub to the bridge that he was standing over. Peering down towards the bottom of it, he was sure that it wasn't too, too much of a drop, but of course the impact would surely kill him. Either way, he was beyond intoxicated, swaggering heavily, and more than ready to leap from the bridge's edge. Because, in all consideration, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly sure how he could hit rock bottom any further, he'd thought, why not test out his theory. There surely were a plethora of rocks below him now and, smiling sickly to himself, he considered how far towards rock bottom he could actually get. At the ready, his foot trailed forwards, his hands loosening on the bridge's thin pillars. He informed the presence in the radio, "as I'm sure you know, it has been five years since the battle and no, I am not all right. But you already know that."

She didn't answer back, but he knew she was there; he could tell by her rhythmic breathing that filled the speakers around him. She breathed as if she were running, or tired. He added, "and since you already know this, I will be merciful and considerably spare you the details," making sure to emphasize the word 'since', because it was only due to these specific circumstances. Nonetheless, he listened to her breath, lingered forward with a stroke of eagerness, and then thrust himself backwards, only pretending that he wasn't quite sure. He was undoubtedly drunk and had, of course, carried himself a bit farther than he'd intended when he'd took the wrong path at the fork in the road earlier that night. He considered the situation timidly; if he'd woken up this very morning thinking that his day was going to pan out like this, then maybe he wouldn't have brought himself up out of bed at all. He'd fought with the woman on the radio, Goyle, and broken off an engagement. On top of that, he'd never seen his father so furious with him.

Around him, the air only slightly whirled around playfully. The scenery was beautiful in a dooming sort of way- exempt for such a determining night in the life of one Draco Malfoy. He gazed up at the brewing storm ahead, the sky churning like a cranky child that didn't get its way. It was perfect, almost impossibly fitting for such an evening. There, as he stepped out forwards once again, Draco laughed harshly at the cliche. In order to give himself something to do, he busied himself with the task of sweeping his hair back behind his ears. He was, as it so seemed, a man of stone, but if that had been true, why did he feel himself crumbling?

Then the laughter started. First it was oncoming, as the storm, and then he found that he couldn't help himself. As his eyes slightly watered, he coughed out tiny specks of laughter with each passing moment. The sound of his giggles and the beat of the woman on the other end of the radio got to him, however, and he stopped quite quickly. His moment of play was over. This time he was more than exceedingly serious. Straightening his posture, Draco told the Muggle toy's listener, "I want you to know that I am sorry, and that it doesn't mean much but I am sorry. It's true that I was absolutely dealt the cards I grew up with. But that doesn't mean I had to play."

At the absence of any answer, Draco tried, "testing, testing, one, two, three," but came up rather unsuccessful.

He mulled the very moment over again in his head. Even standing there, ready to jump, he couldn't quite believe it. Years ago, Draco would have not even believed himself if he'd known that suicide was in his future somewhere-- he'd never been the type. Moping and depressed and anxious, all this was new and a bit horrifying to him. And even over the past several years he hadn't quite gotten used to it. The lack of ego and pride was one thing, but self loathing had never truly hit him home until the night on the roof, when he was content with falling. Now starting down at the bottom of the bridge he was reminded of that very moment at well, considered the drop to be only several feet deeper. Oh well, it wouldn't matter in a moment.

Drunk with the rush of suicide as well as the heavy amount of alcohol in his bloodstream, Draco continued in an uneasy ramble, "what I want you to know- what I want the world to know- is that I remember every little thing about the battle at the school. I told the media that all I can remember is how tight his shoes were, because I everything else makes me numb. But you know as well as I that that was a lie." Then, spitefully, he spat, "when I got home, the first thing I could think of doing was to burn those shoes." He shook his head, slightly embarrassed at his rambling, but only slightly. He was about to die anyway; in several moments he, Draco Malfoy, was about to not exist. So, what did it matter if this humiliation was going to get to him? What did it matter when he was buried six feet under? I don't know why I tell you the things that I do. I've tried to convince myself that it is a merely convenience. Maybe that is true, but I doubt it." He laughed, meekly, "I thought for a while it was because you were a good listener. All you ever do is listen."

He then looked at his arm; his long slender forearm that was so pale that it looked almost angelic against the night sky. Across the skin that was stretched out against his bone was the Dark Mark, his permanent scar, the forever reminder. Even now, he wanted to physically tear it off of his bone. "As for this dammed mark, it's unfortunately permanent. However," he once again peeked over the edge, "once I jump, I doubt it will concern me anymore." And then he grew comfortable. He crossed his legs at the ankle and slightly leaned backwards. "I don't know if I believe in Heaven or Hell, but I sure hope I don't go to Hell, though I reckon I don't truly have a choice in the matter." He said with a casual shrug, "believe it or not, I've always been pretty spiritual, but I do believe I am rambling."

The sky was beginning to serve as more than an obvious warning- it was probably not best to be outside with the storm so close to arriving now. Malfoy looked up, scanning the angry skies and wondered if he'd live to see the first raindrop. A slight chill ran down his spine; what a strange thing it was to stand and know that any moment there would be nothing left of you-- soul-wise, at least. Sure, Draco Malfoy would be only just a fallen corpse, but that was it. If he wasn't found any time soon, he may even sink into the earth. Swooning, Malfoy bitterly wished he hadn't drunk so much. Perhaps then he'd have much more sense, perhaps then he'd been laying in his bed, underneath the covers, away from the storm and the bridge and the rocks below it.

But the notion that it wasn't the liquor was what horrified him, truly. Because, at least with it he'd had an excuse. He paused, anxious, and chewed curiously on his bottom lip. After a long while he said into the device, "I know you're there."

He stopped for another moment and then leaned forward emitting a curious whisper, saying anxiously, "who are you?

He said desperately, "answer me!"

And then the breathing stopped. Nothing more was left on the other end of the radio but complete silence and the notion of being completely and utterly alone made Draco more terrified than ever. However, it was something new that greeted him altogether; a general shoving sound pushed its way through the bushes. Something light crunched down on a discarded twig. It wasn't the crackle of thunder, and it wasn't the drop of the first bout of rain. Standing steady in the distance, Draco could just barely make out a shadow, a figure that was slim and panting and still. Wrapped in its tiny fingers was the small square outline of a handheld radio.

"Don't!" cried the voice in an overly desperate tone, "Malfoy, don't! Don't jump!"

A mixture of things flooded through Malfoy at once, so much so that he'd almost accidentally lost his balance. There she was, standing before him in person, though hidden beyond the darkness of the night. She held her hands out, as if trying to signal for him to remain completely still, but either way her voice rung out, making him slightly woozy even if she hadn't meant for it to do so. And the sound of it-- that voice in general. Surely, he'd heard it someplace before. Where had he known that voice?

"Please!" the sound of her calling out to him rung through his aching ears again. "Please, Malfoy! Don't jump!"

She stepped forwards once again, one leg over another, slowly but surely pulling herself into the light. Her long hair was whipping around her face everywhere. In the darkness she appeared pale and oddly holy, his technologically linked savior in a dull blue cardigan.

How'd she know his name? Standing there feeling a bit stupid, Draco couldn't quite understand it. How'd she figure out who he was when he'd been so clueless about her person the entire time? And even now, watching her stand there in the shadows before him, even when he knew he'd heard that kind voice before, he still couldn't pin point it. Maybe if he'd been sober or sane. Maybe if he hadn't been standing on the edge of a tall and dangerous bridge.

Then, out of the blue, she stepped forward fully, her long hair now obviously brunette, her eyes now surely a deep shade of intense brown. There she was, Hermione Jean Granger, looking beautiful and desperate all at the same time. Her hands were out in front of her chest, which heaved up and down for she'd been running as long as she could remember. Her eyes were wide with fear, her face flushed with red. There was no confusion on her face; she looked as if she'd known it was him the entire time. "Draco, listen to me..."

But how could he listen to her when he couldn't hear a single thing anymore? The world's strangeness had completely doubled. He'd been spilling his secrets to Hermione? Hermione Granger was the one who he'd been talking to the entire time? Hermione Granger who he'd presumably had a everlasting grudge against? He couldn't hear her call out, surely. As a matter of fact, he could barely contain himself. His posture weakened and his fingers loosened unwillingly on the bars around the edge of the bridge. He could feel himself going under the bit of unconsciousness caused by the shock and the confusion and the excessive amount of liquor.

And before he knew it he was out, having passed out completely only moments before his body slumped forward and freed itself from the bridge's edge for good.

Lying in a haziness of black, Draco Malfoy was sure of it: he was dead. And perhaps this was what being dead felt like- miserable, with an overlying headache. His body was still sore and he thought bitterly that death was not, as he'd hoped, peaceful at all. He braced himself to open his eyes, to see himself in Hell, unprepared and lined up to await a million deaths over and over again. But not such torment came to him. Quite the opposite, rather; he'd came to on his back, resting on something that felt only like gravel, wincing up at the voice that was shrill and anxious and belonging to Hermione Granger.

"Oh, thank God!" she cried once she noticed Draco's face flicker. He could feel her lean backwards, for she was that close to him, and heard her clasp her hands over her head and breathe out relentlessly. Malfoy pried his eyes open, still adjusting to the haziness that dominated his entire vision. Next to him, Hermione sank lower to the floor, her face flushed and red. Then, after a long while, she released her fingers around her wand, let the thing drop to the gravel below her, and sighed out loud, "shit. Oh, shit."

"You?" Malfoy hiccuped, because he'd already made much of a fool of himself already. "Y-You were on the other end of the radio?" His voice was croaky and a bit too high-pitched. When he spoke the scraping feeling of soreness ached in the back of his throat. He asked the sky like a whiney child, "... h-how is that even possible?"

But Hermione was hysterical. She'd grabbed her head and had utterly refused to let it go. Around her face, she wiped away the sweat that pooled down shimmering from her forehead. "You're a right bastard," she told him, pointing a finger at him on the ground. She shook with every sentence she spat out at him, her eyes quivering in the darkness of the night. "What the hell is the matter with you? I mean... suicide? Suicide?"

But Malfoy was hardly paying attention to Hermione's scolding. He stared up at her, more than terminally shocked, and found that he was almost too uneasy to move. His blond hair was sprawled out behind him, for it was not too long, though it just hung about a half an inch below his earlobes. His eyes were watering, though he was sure that it was only from the shock mixed in with the liquor, and there was a whirlwind of rush that waved through his buzzing head. Queasy and uneasy, he remained pitched on his back, staring up at her, completely dumbstruck. "You were on the other end of the radio?"

Hermione's face twisted. She looked up from the palms of her hands, glared down at him mercilessly, "would you forget about the damn radio for two minutes? I just had to levitate your body to the ground after you jumped off of the fucking--- never mind. Just... just give me a second, alright?" For the third time Hermione let her breath out slow and uneasy. She clamped her hands around her temples yet again and left Malfoy to his own wonder. Slowly, she removed her legs out from underneath her and let herself sit up slightly like a rag doll, loose and almost floppy.

Only a short while of silence morphed into a long drawn out moment of it. It could have lasted for an hour, nothing but the twisting sound of the illusive sky. Hermione was surely not going to be the first to say anything. In fact, she seemed quite content in her own personal solitude, gripping her throbbing head and sitting as if she could possibly pass out at a moment's notice. Limply she flopped forward, released her hands down from her head and it was more than obvious that she was shaking dramatically. Her brunette hair was wild around her pale face. Her flushed visage was overly anxious.

Malfoy didn't bother to lift himself up from the ground. Instead, the expression on his face was a mark of his confusion enough. He slurred with intoxicated ramblings, "you knew this whole time?"

"No, I didn't know this whole time," Hermione hissed, still perched between her own palms. She tossed her head back, groaning a little, and then positioned herself to a sitting point that seemed more comfortable. Somehow, however, she managed to calm herself. Speaking a bit more easily, Hermione seemed to be slightly more controlled in her sensible self. "I just only figured it out... only after your last bit of information you'd given me. Though I don't see why it took me so long to do so. It was obvious." The amount of hatred in her voice was notable to say the least. She glared at him through the opening of her fingers.

Malfoy made an unsatisfied glare. "Wasn't obvious to me," he whispered to himself, still staring back up at the sky ahead of him. "You could have... you could have said something."

"Turns out you were a bit unavailable, considering you were standing on the edge of a damn bridge." With that, Hermione kicked the dirt on the ground on front of her. Her eyes blazed when she turned back to him, further adding, "you know? Considering the circumstances. I didn't think then was exactly the most ideal time."

Malfoy's chest heaved up. He was, in all physical aspects, chilly in his absolute pallor. The deep dark bags underneath his gray eyes were growing far worse with every passing moment and his paleness seemed to take on a whole new meaning to the shade of green. So he bitterly appeared as he felt-- an intoxicated mess, a bit nauseated on the floor of the harsh gravel. Still, with Hermione groaning miserably to herself above him, he tried to keep the need to hurl to a minimum. Though he wasn't doing such an admirable job of keeping such feelings on the down low, however. He lifted his own hands once he managed to pull himself only slightly out of his state of shock, pressed his eyes tight together, and once again opened them to the blurred vision of a more than begrudged Hermione.

"And, you know," she was saying, "what... what gives you the right to know who I am, anyways? Why should I have had to tell you in the first place?"

She was right, he knew. But still he couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety that caused the world to spin restlessly around him.

"Because that just makes you every bit more selfish and mental and--- D-Draco? Hey!" At once she'd stopped her ramblings. She lowered her hands down from her temples and put on an entirely new look of concern. Pitching herself forward she almost seemed to fall over Draco's body, her arms long just above his face, her palms right next to each one of his ears. She was breathing hard in his face, her own front twisted with uneasiness. "Draco? C-Can you hear me?"

On the ground, Draco's face contorted up into what looked like a smile. Giggling irrationally, he looked around. How much had he has that night? Perhaps a bit more than he'd original anticipated. "I can't hear much of a thing, Granger." Lolling from one side to another, Malfoy's head flopped loosely. He then offered a hand up and pressed his upper torso up from the ground, causing Hermione to rise along with him. She was bent forward towards him, as if the two were about to embrace. Hermione blinked, unsure of where the boy below her was going with this, however, she was instantly shown exactly as to what she was inquiring. He swallowed down an excess of bile, watched the scenery around him morph relentlessly, and then leaned forward to breath in her face, "you know, everyone knew you were smart. And that's one thing. But you don't have to be such an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione reeved backwards. She snuffed slightly, scrunching her nose up at the instant revelation of his ransom breath. Her eyes were locked closely into his. So pitched together were they that, if she'd been looking, she'd have noticed that his eyes were glazed and beginning to roll back slightly to his head. "Ugh!" she groaned, disgusted, "are you drunk?"

"I am not!" Draco retaliated looking more than greatly sincerely hurt and down hearted. "... t-that's not even slightly true!"

Then, with the only amount of sanity that he felt was actually still left in him, Draco Malfoy felt his body flop down forwards, colliding with Hermione's low set shoulder before passing out completely.

Vonne: REVIEW! :)