Rush

Rush

Harry often wonders what it would be like to fall - to jump from the top of the highest tower and just drop all the way down to the ground below.

He imagines it would be something like flying: the air rushing around you, the sense of freedom amidst howling winds.

The one thing that would be different, though, is that if Harry were to fall, he wouldn't have control. He knows this, and it's what makes the idea so tempting.

He flies up to the tower roof and closes his eyes and imagines that he's walking to the edge of the turret and then beyond, the solid world being snatched away as he throws himself into nothing.

He imagines the feeling of plummeting through icy winds - in his fantasies, it's always winter - and feeling them toss his slim body wherever they pleased, as if he were nothing more than a single feather.

He imagines slowing down as he nears the ground, the adrenaline fading somewhat as the dirty green grass draws closer and closer, ready to take away his wings.

He imagines the feeling of hitting the ground, the jolt and then unimaginable pain. He never dies instantly, never, he always has a moment to remember where he had been, what he had done. The pain laps away at the edges of his consciousness, but even though his body is in agony, his mind is disconnected and his heart and soul are still somewhere in the sky.

He is everything from afraid to relieved, but he never, ever feels regret.

And every time he opens his eyes, believing himself to be dead, he is back on the roof, but he seems to have moved one step nearer to the edge.

When he eventually finds himself with no roof left, he looks down at the tiny trees below him and is mildly curious as to how long it would actually take to reach the bottom. He always imagines it as being forever, yet not quite long enough.

He knows that next time, maybe he'll step over, so he decides to fly up tomorrow.

It is summer, and when he throws himself off the tower with anticipation, he is sorely disappointed. Instead of cold, harsh slaps, a warm and less forgiving wind claims him, stabbing needles into his face and ripping his flesh apart as he gains speed.

He wishes the torture would end, but it really does take forever, and still the warm west wind claws at him, trying to break him apart. He screws his eyes tightly shut to stop the tears from leaking out and down and cold on his cheeks, but he can't move any other part of his body.

He never wanted it to end like this, never. This wasn't what falling was meant to be, this wasn't like flying at all. He can only tell he's near the ground when the wind's howls subside and his ears finish popping, and he waits for the crash to see how long he will lie there before he is allowed to escape the memory.

He doesn't notice the cushioning charm until he opens his eyes and realises he's not broken at all, and he slowly rolls over to see what went wrong and meets the gaze of Draco Malfoy.

'Oh, finally, you're awake! What the hell were you doing?!'

Harry looks into the blurred yet unmistakable silver eyes of his saviour and croaks out, 'Sorry. I fell.'

~fin~