The Reason

Prologue

A slight breeze was blowing, and the last of fall's leaves were dancing in the air. The bright green grass on the field had been cut recently, causing the smell of the damp blades to hang heavily in the air. The scent of the coming rain was perceptible. It was so quiet. So beautifully peaceful. The sky was dark-blue. Almost black. There was no moon. Stars were twinkling, illuminating the place all around. And the Quidditch Stadium... was all his.

He walked to the middle of the field, tightening his cloak closely around him. He sat down, his broomstick held tightly before him. He looked sadly around at the empty stands surrounding him. All the world was still asleep. But he was wide-awake. Thinking.

Since the beginning of his seventh year, Harry had been having problems falling asleep. There were no more nightmares. Not even any more of his intuitive dreams. Only thoughts that ran constantly through his head... never ceasing.

He curled into a tight ball, resting his head on his knees.

The day. Whenever the sun was out, everybody was very gentle with him. Everyone wanted to be his friend. Each person was there to help him, to try and understand him the best they could. Through the wind blowing in the branches of the trees, he could still hear Hermione's concerned voice.

"You know, Harry...you can't always avoid us! One day, you'll need to talk to us about your problems. You just can't keep hiding your little secret from us! Aren't we your best friends?"

He smiled. Yeah. She was trying to be his friend. Just like everybody else. But she didn't understand.

But now it was night. And now it was dark. So dark that you couldn't even see the tip of your nose. Nobody was there. He was completely alone. Even when Sirius had been alive... he had always been alone.

"It's time," he thought. Two tears fell from his emerald eyes. He was crying. He was crying out all of the emotions he had bottled inside himself all these years.

His mounting anger against the world. His fear of death. Above all was the pain of being alone. He simply could no longer bear the sorrow and the grief over never having somebody who had really loved him.

When the jolts stopped, he stood up, and looked around him. Nobody would be coming to rescue him this time. It was now. Or never.

He put his broom down and sat down on the grass. With a shaking hand, he reached into the depths of his cloak and pulled out a knife. Slowly, he pressed the blade to his wrist, tearing the delicate skin. At first, a small trickle of blood began to flow down his arm. He pressed the blade down harder. Immediately, blood started pouring out, drenching his cloak.

He felt weak. White squares were dancing in front of his eyes. He felt sick. The world around him was spinning very fast. He began to crawl feebly across the grass, half-conscious.

Before the darkness had totally surrounded him, Harry heard someone yelling. But it was too late.

"Damn, Potter...what have you done to yourself this time? Always wanting the spotlight on you, uh? Wake up now, the game's finish."

Draco Malfoy was standing next to the lifeless body of Harry Potter. He flinched when he saw the blood all over Harry's robe and the knife still in his hand. His normally tanned skin was pale and sallow. He wasn't breathing.

"Fuck, Potter... it's okay. Everything will be fine... don't worry, I'll take care of you," Draco whispered in Harry's ear, denial filling every part of Draco's heart and mind.

He took his wand out and performed a lightness charm on Harry before grasping his body tightly in his arms.

He began to run as fast as he possibly could towards the hospital wing.