Disclaimer: All J.K. Rowling's. As if you didn't know that already.
A/N: A ficlet written in moments of the deepest depression. Need I say more?
What Happens When the Music Stops?
She sat alone in the deserted common room, clutching the torn parchment in her shaking fist. Most of the text had become illegible as her tears covered it, but one cruel line stood out from the blur.
Your father was killed instantly and though your mother was taken to hospital, she never regained consciousness and died in the early hours of this morning.
Hermione shivered and stared blankly at the wall. She had never been close to her father, and at least he had died quickly and painlessly, but her mother was another story. They said she had never regained consciousness, but how did they know? Her mother could have been in terrible agony, but just unable to communicate it to anyone. Unable to scream.
It was ironic really. That was exactly how Hermione felt inside. She had cried at first of course, but with no one there to comfort her, what was the point? Physically she could scream all she wanted, but no one would answer her cries.
Finally, Hermione made her decision. She got to her feet and strode determinedly out of the portrait hole. Upstairs, her so-called friends slept on, blissfully unaware of her pain.
The dark echoing passages of the castle always seemed longer by night, but Hermione didn't notice, as her bare feet padded automatically along them. Somewhere inside her she felt a stabbing hurt that Harry and Ron hadn't noticed her leave. She told herself firmly not to be so stupid. How could they notice if they were asleep? Somehow, they always seemed to be asleep or busy when she needed them the most. Yet she was always there for them.
If she didn't know better, she would have thought that they deliberately ignored her whenever she was hurting. Some friends, she almost thought, but caught herself in time.
The cold night air stung her cheeks and made her shiver in her thin dressing gown. She stood on top of the Astonomy Tower, staring into the night sky with wide, pain filled eyes.
Walking to the edge, she stepped up onto the parapet. She took a deep breath and looked down. The ground seemed a long way away in the dark. She leaned forward, but stopped. A sound, a footstep, echoing on the cold stone behind her…
***
Draco Malfoy ran blindly through the empty corridors, choking back sobs that threatened to destroy him any second. Don't cry, never show real emotion, real men don't cry. Stupid boy.
His arm burned with the pain of a thousand black eternities. Forever, forever. He would live forever, and for all that time the mark would remain there, dark and unforgiving. You are a true servant of the master now boy.
The holiday had started as normally as it ever did at Malfoy Manor; the same old silent meals and strained conversation. Then his life was blighted.
His father often disappeared now, sometimes for days on end. Draco had never been invited, although he had a pretty good idea of what went on during those trips. This time was different - this time Lucius had taken him with.
YouKnow Who. Lord Voldemort. The Master. Whatever you called him, he was still the same inhuman being who had taken Draco's arm and burned the Dark Mark into it. Draco had had to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming in pain. The Dark Lord had behaved as though he was giving Draco a great honour, but Draco felt as though he was being placed in chains for the rest of his life.
As long as that lasted.
Voldemort's ultimate dream was to make himself, and all those faithful to him, immortal. Most of the Death Eaters were ecstatic about it, but Draco could think of nothing worse than an eternity under his father's evil wing. The master knows what is best for us. You will obey him faithfully, as I have for many years.
Draco slowed to a walk as he neared the Astronomy Tower. There was only one way to escape this awful destiny and he was willing to make that sacrifice. One less minion for Voldemort to command. He stepped out into the darkness and stopped dead. A silhouette, outlined against the moon, already stood there, watching him.
No words were exchanged. Without prompt, each took hold of the other's hand. Together they stepped up the edge, and jumped.
***
On this day two lonely people met at the edge of their lives. Their bodies were found the following morning, their arms wrapped around each other. In death they had what neither had been able to find in life: A soul mate.