The Edge

They lay next to each other on his bed, in their school uniformes. From time to time, she asked a question, which he answered thoroughly. It was a game they liked to play when they were children, and it was comforting to know that some things never changed.

"So, are those stories true? Do you really love Quidditch enough to give up Paris in order to watch a game?"

"I've never been much of a broom person as a child, you know. Mother took me riding when I was one year old and I kept asking her to do it later. She took me riding a lot until I was nine years old. I was too big to ride on the same horse and she couldn't keep two horses for riding at the manor."

"Why not?"

"Father said the stables were for carriage horses, and those are no good if you want to ride. And, of course, there were the other stables."

She asked the question, even though she knew she would regret it later. "What was in those stables?"

"Thestrals. Remember, back in our second year, when the manor was raided?" She nodded. "It ws because of those thestrals. One of our stable boys spoke to the Ministry about them, and it's illegal to keep thestrals without the explicit approval of the Minister. We had no such thing. Luckily, they only found the thestrals and took them away. They didn't even bother to thoroughly search the building. They knew all the interesting things were stashed away."

"What happened after your mother stopped taking you riding?"

"Father hired a flying teacher. I was taught how to fly, and it was a lot of fun, although not nearly as much as riding. Brooms are cold, unfeeling, you know? They don't have a mind of their own, like horses do. That's what I love about them. They try to fight every movement you make, and yet a good rider becomes one with the horse." His voice had a wistful sound to it.

"Have you ridden again? After your father was taken away, I mean... have you tried it again?"

"Don't you know? Some things are better left undisturbed. Some memories are better left alone. Those days with Mother have a soothing quality to them. They're my Patronus memories. What if riding alone, with my cynicism and my bitterness and my ill conscience, turns out to be horrible? It will destroy that little corner of my mind that darkness hasn't permeated. It will plunge me faster into whatever abyss I'm falling in and I can't awford that. Not now. Not ever."

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the echo of his words from bouncing around in her head and ebb away at her reason.

"When I was fifteen," she finally said, eyes shut tightly, "I went to the broom shack one night after prefect duties and took a Cleansweep. It's the only broom I can fly, the only one I can bend to my will. It was stormy that night. I just wanted a break from everything, some time alone, and especially away from Umbridge." Her voice was bitter and sharp. "Serving her like that was the most humiliating thing I ever did.

"I flew over the Frobidden Forest with a Glamour on. I flew around for hours... and I saw horrible things down there... things that have haunted my nightmares ever since. It gave me a whole new perspective on things. I t made me realise that there are worse things than being Umbridge's lapdog. It broke the last shards of resistance I had and made me act so stupid in the long term. When we barged in on the DA... I didn't realised it then, but I know it now. We made mortal enemies that night, Draco."

He let out a long breath. "I know. However annoying Potter and the Gryffindors had been until then, what we did that night... the scratches and the spells and the sheer humiliation of it," a little smirk fought its way to his face, but he promptly squished it --the void the darkness don't let it take you the abyss so close so close so close-- "it turned them into true enemies. It gave them license to do anything against us."

"I remember scratching the Weasley girl... she said things about you and my family and everyone I care about, and I couldn't think of a spell that would inflict enough pain. So I dug my nails into her face, and she was bound to the wall with Milly holding her in place so she couldn't fight back, but she writhed and squirmed against my nails and blood started spilling from the cuts and Milly had to pull me off..."

"That's how I found you two when I came in. I would've remarqued upon it had I not been disarmed in the next moment by Weasley. I never had the opportunity to find out exactly what happened between you and Weasley, what had caused you to lose control so completely."

She placed her small hand on his wrist and held it there, butterfly-light, not grabbing or pulling, just connecting them. "It was you. She said things about you, and it was too much. I could serve Umbridge, do whatever my family and my House asked me to do, but when she brought you up, it was too much to bare."

"You always were the strong one," he whispered, then pushed her hand down on his own. Their skin was hot and dry, like parchment ready to catch fire in a fireplace. He felt just as obsolete and used and powerless as a piece of parchment most of the time, but when he saw her like that, it made him see the abyss even clearer. Every muted sigh, every silent sob of hers pulled him closer to the edge, to the point of no return. He was supposed to be there for a long time, but he fought. Finality was a frightening thought to him.

She muttered something under her breath. "What was that?"

"I love you," she whispered and pulled her hand free from his grasp.

And then she covered her face with her delicate hands and sobbed, long, heart-breaking sobs, until he thought he could no longer hang on to the edge.

Suddenly, realisation dawned upon him. She was already in the abyss. The void had claimed her on that night, not long ago, when she had clawed someone's face for him. Or maybe even before that, when she had flown over the Forbidden Forest and decided to let go of her dignity in the process.

He hadn't told her, but that night, he had watched her take off from the window of a hallway, and it had struck him as odd that she hadn't said anything the next day, when Umbridge asked for their raport. She had always remarqued upon the futility of their petty spying, but never again after that night.

Tonight, she had put what remained of her soul into his hands. She had told him she loved him, and with that, he knew she had given up any chance to get out of the darkness she was in. He felt her give up, and it was his duty to give her the strength to plunge. Maybe he would plunge with her.

It all stood on his shoulders. Their perdition or salvation lay on whether he loved her in return or not.

Could he forget all about light? Could he give up any hope to back away from the all-consuming void? He watched her lythe body spasm with sobs.

Yes. He would go anywhere, provided that they were together. He would give himself up, if that meant having her.

She always was the strong one. If she had given up, then so would he. He gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair until her breathing returned to normal. Then he cupped her chin in his hand, and kissed her.

He kissed her thoroughly, savoring her minty taste and heady scent. He was drowning into her sweetness and warmness, and if this was what waited for him in the abyss, he wanted it.

She broke the kiss and looked at him expectantly with red-rimmed eyes. --so close so close so close so close so close--

"I love you too, Pansy," he whispered, then plunged head-first into darkness with another kiss.