A/N: I find that when I'm feeling particularly down myself it helps to project things onto paper, lifts some of the sadness. So here's a very sad, short one shot set in the bathroom scene of the sixth book where Harry and Draco duel only with a very different, tragic ending. Just needed to get it out my system and figured I'd post it, if it offends or upsets anyone too much let me know and I'd be more than happy to remove it, its written more for myself than others anyway.
WARNING: Graphic character suicide.
The End.
I squeeze the edge of the sink with my hands, my knuckles turning white as my tears splash onto the back of my palms. I'm failing, and there's nothing I can do about it. I look at my reflection through hazy, tear stained eyes. My hair's unkempt, my skin is red and blotchy from crying, there are large bags under my eyes from all the sleepless nights and I can see my bone structure more clearly as my appetite has been somewhat lacking as the weight of my task has pressed down on me. Myrtle's behind me, her face concerned and worried; she's been my only friend through all of this, I owe her a lot, I'd have broken a long time ago if it wasn't for her kind words, which is why I can't let her see me like this, not so close to the end.
"Myrtle," My voice is strangled and hoarse from crying, "I need some time alone." She nods, she understands. She floats towards me and places an opaque hand on my shoulder, and although I don't feel it, it gives me strength, then she disappears through the wall beside me, and I'm alone.
I hang my head, I can't look at myself anymore, it's too much. I know what I have to do, I've known for a long while, but it doesn't make it any easier. Its going to hurt, I know that, but I won't give him the satisfaction of doing it to me. I know what I'm doing is neither brave nor cleaver, I still have time to try, but I can't go on like this much longer, its all just too much.
I take a deep, steadying breath and raise my right hand, clenching it into a fist, before thrusting it forwards with all the strength I can muster and shattering my reflection. Glass rains down into the sink, small shards of it pierce my skin but I don't feel it, I know what I have to do. I stretch out my bloodied hand and pick up one of the larger slivers of glass, holding it firmly so that it digs into my palm and brings forth more blood; but I'm not bleeding enough, not yet.
Taking one last look at my face in the fragments in the sink I'm shocked at how calm I look, the tears have dried up and my features have arranged themselves into an almost defiant indifference. I bring the shard to my wrist and watch the purple veins pulse darkly under the skin; they know what's coming, they ache for the release. I touch the sharp edge to my skin and watch it bow before breaking, a torrent of blood seeping from the wound. Still I press deeper and drag the glass across my skin, down my arm, blood pouring from me in rivers and falling into the sink, spattering my reflection in red. I smile; it doesn't hurt.
My world begins to darken, a strange empty feeling filling me, I can feel my life draining down the plug hole. I slump to the floor, the tiles cold against my paling skin. Blood begins to pool around me as I no longer hang over the sink. I lean against the wall before sliding onto the floor face first; I no longer have the strength to keep myself upright. I can feel my blood creeping up my face as it continues to drain from me; it's cold already. My eyes are open but the world is darkening, the black of my eyes greying to the same colour as my iris. I'm calm.
The sound of the bathroom door opening causes me to shift slightly and look at the boy who had entered the room. Its too dark to make them out, they just stand, staring at me.
"Malfoy?" The voice is all too familiar but filled with a range of emotions I've never heard before when he's used my name; sadness, confusion, panic. He runs to my side and collapses to his knees beside me, lifting me from the floor and onto his lap. He's shaking and I relax into him; strange how comforting it is to be held by these arms.
Harry Potter. I mouth the words, but no sound escapes my lips, its just too much effort. And then everything is shrouded in black, I can't see, I can't hear, I can't feel, and I realise then that I'm dead, and I relinquish myself to the darkness.