A Tale of Angst, Misery, and Despair

He'd thought about it for a long time. Why shouldn't he have, with the life he had lived?

The Dark Lord had destroyed his parents early in his life. He lived with his relatives, who watched his every move, making sure he didn't do something wrong.

He hated his life. Why should it go on?

And yet...he had friends, and people who loved him. He owed them something at least.

No, he owed them nothing. Sure, they had stood up for him at times, and had helped him in his classes, but they wouldn't want him to go on like this, each day waking up and knowing he had another day of torment and despair to live through.

Vacation gave him no relief- he had no comforting mother to go home to, or a quidditch-loving father.

No one would care if he departed from the world.

Voldemort and his death eaters were more likely to send Hermione a valentine than shed a tear for him, and he was quite sure that the Slytherins would come to his funeral dressed in tie-dye shirts, and would hold a rave after the ceremony.

What reason did he have to live?

Academics?

Of course not. He was certainly not a genius, and academics were the kind of thing he was trying to get away from. Especially potions, with that oily, slimy, greasy, filthy, snotting prat Snape. Snape who found it amusing to kill toads, who found it offensive if you memorized your copy of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, and who automatically hated you if you were a Gryffindor.

The day he died, Snape would dance ballet in a banana suit on the Hufflepuff table at breakfast.

That settled it. He would do it. He sighed, and hesitatingly got up from his seat in the Astronomy Tower, that looked out into the deep blue sky, dotted everywhere with stars. Slowly, he walked to a window, and stared out at the Hogwarts landscape for a long time.

"The last time I will ever see this again," he mumbled quietly to himself. Then, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, he spoke in a strong voice, "Oh, great world that has done unto me such great wrongs, that has tormented me with death and despair, oh life, which has given me nothing but sorrows and haunting. You have defeated me. Farewell."

With that, he flung himself elegantly off the tower. He fell quickly towards the ground.

'Well, this is it.' He thought. In less than a second I will hit the hard earth, and I shall breathe my -'

BOOM.

Suddenly his thoughts broke off, as he hit the....ground? No, he didn't think that the ground wore clothing... much less a dressing gown. And if he had hit the ground, wouldn't his spirit have left the mortal realm? Suddenly he felt the thing beneath him move, and he was suddenly sitting in the grass while the person stood up, and wiped the snow off it's tall, bony body.

"Neville Longbottom," Professor McGonagall screeched as she turned to look at him. "That's the third time this week! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Neville's face reddened as she pulled him roughly to his feet.

"The next time you decide to toss yourself off the Astronomy Tower, it will be 50!" She yelled, and gave him an angry glare, before turning away and stalking haughtily away off into the night.

"Ah well," said Neville as he stumbled into the light of Gryffindor Tower. "There's always tomorrow night."