Fornever

I can't believe I've finally come to this. Standing on the edge of the top of the South tower, willing myself to jump.

It's a long story, really. But you asked for it.

You see, it all started in September. Actually, that's not true. For me, it started much, much earlier. Before first year. For me, this has been going on for seven years. And I can't take it anymore; I just can't let it go on any longer.

Okay, enough with the riddles, you say. Get on with it. What's up?

Harry Potter, that's what's up.

So...what? you say. What could the Boy Who Lived (To Torment Me) have to do with your suicide attempt?

Everything.

Well, here goes nothing. See, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is so much more than just that title, and all the Wizarding world makes him out to be. He's kind, brave, honest, sweet, loving, caring, cute...and wickedly hot. Yes, you guessed it. I am in love with Harry Potter.

This wouldn't be such a big deal if it wasn't for my name. Or my position in life. I am Draco Malfoy, son and sole heir to Lucius Malfoy, the former right-hand man of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Don't tell anyone I told you that. He somehow squirmed his way out of punishment this time around, when Voldemort fell. Oh, the power of money and threats.

That's beside the point. The point is, that life would be very complicated indeed, for both Harry and me, if we actually got together. Which we, of course, never would, because Harry would never, ever think of me as a remote possibility of a partner. And there's the fact that I don't know for sure if he's gay.

But I've seen those looks he gives me.

He thinks no one sees, but I do. Oh boy, do I. I wish fervently I could return them Oh boy, do I. Those looks are enough to make me explode....Mmmmmm...Oh, sorry. Ahem. Just thinking about something else. Yes.

Harry can't know how I feel about him. I've been avoiding him the whole year. I tell myself it's just because I'm growing up, maturing, and it's a school-boy feud we've had the past six years. I tell myself that. You're probably thinking, Keep telling yourself that, Draco, 'cause it's not working. Yes, I realize that. Who's the one jumping off the tower, now?

Do you think there's any other way for this to end? It's either me, or him. Or both of us. The scenario would go something like this:

"Father, I'd like you to meet my new partner." Harry steps up next to me, slipping his hand into mine...*cough*.

Father looks outraged. "Draco, what are you thinking? Avada Kedavra!" Harry keels over, stark dead. I fall to his side, weeping hysterically.

"Fool boy! Where are your brains? You are no son of mine! You're officially disowned! No, that's too good for you, I'm sure you'd find someone to beg from. Avada Kedavra!"

And we'd both be taken care of. Well, at least we would have been together...but no. I can't put Harry through that. He would never deserve it. No Harry, trust me, its better off this way. We could have been together forever, in just slightly different circumstances. Now we'll be...fornever. I laugh bitterly. What an irony.

I turn to face the edge, and take a deep breath. What will they all think of me? What will Professor Snape think of me? What will my father think of me? What about Dumbledore? What will Harry think?

Hopefully they'll never know the truth. I mean, what would they think of me then? It seems like I'm running away from my petty problems. I think I remember my father once telling me--of course we were talking about ancestry, and how one of the disowned heirs committed suicide--that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I don't give a damn right now, though, because this is far from a temporary problem. My father'd probably dispatch me anyway when he found I was gay. He wants grandchildren, even if I have to go out and hire a whore for them. Not that I'd have to--half the girls in England would give both their arms to marry me. That is said in the most humble of tones. I am stating fact. There have been polls about this type of thing, trust me.

Just do it, Malfoy, I tell myself. Suddenly, as I take one more step closer, over the stone, cold floor, I seem to float out of my body. I'm looking down, seeing myself walking slowly towards the edge, white but very calm. Yeah, there's the old Malfoy mask for you. Still in place, even when executing his own suicide. Wow, that was a bad pun. Wit is my way of dealing with emotions. I guess it doesn't work well when I'm fighting myself.

Three steps away...two...one...my feet meet the edge of the stone, balancing precariously on the brink between life and death. Oh, what the hell, Malfoy, just JUMP already! One last, deep breath. The last I'll ever breathe.

Last step I'll ever take, off the edge of a tower. The air rushes to meet me, and for a few seconds I have the joy of flight without aid--no broomstick, or spell, just me.

I hear someone shouting my name. Is it a hallucination? Probably, knowing me. My eyes are closed, the air rushes past me...it's slowing down...I'm floating away...what's going on? It's been far too long; there hasn't been any impact...

I open my eyes to see a blurry face hovering over me. The concerned look in emerald eyes is the last thing I see before I slip into darkness.