The Return Gift

~~~~The Return Gift~~~

Draco POV

I really don't know why I sent him Skye.

Yes I do. I owed him, and I didn't want my owl to be lonely, either. It's the letter that I can't explain. It's too late now, though. Life goes on, for some people at least.

I love the image of the sky from this tower as the sun sets. That's why I named my owl Skye, he was as beautiful as this. It has so many colors; purple, red, even the pink is lovely, and contrasts sharply with the blue and green of the landscape. It's picture-perfect, as the muggles would say.

I'm so tired of all the sympathy and pity. Poor Malfoy, his father's in Azkaban; poor Mlafoy, his mother's dead; poor Malfoy, poor Malfoy, poor Malfoy. Why can't they understand that all I want is for them to shut up? All I want is some peace and quiet, some silence, for once.

I will have that for eternity after tonight.

I wonder if I'll miss the inane chatter.

I can see Skye as he flies to Potter, see the boy give my owl a treat as he reads the letter. Potter's seemed so distant lately, never giving me a good fight. He seems almost depressed.

What right does he have to be depressed? The dark lord has been defeated. He has people who love him, who care for him. Perfect Potter, the only enemy I couldn't defeat, didn't want to, honestly. Because if he was dead, then that would mean that there was nothing left for me to live for, no reason for me to continue on.

Like now.

Every day is the same. The sheer boredom of each day is enough to send me under. Potter wouldn't be my friend, and now he won't be my enemy, either. I can understand that, though. I was horrid to him, beyond what was reasonable, and I deserve what I got.

"Malfoy."

I smirk to myself. I can hear his voice still, even as I stare out into the vastness of Great Britain. Condescending, or maybe reprimanding. I don't know, but I deserve both.

But then a hand encloses my wrist, warm, and I am certain that it is very real. I turn my head to face this intruder on my solitude, not certain who I will find. I find myself being careful of the edge, and I'm not sure why, only realizing that I will miss the end of my last sunset here.

"Malfoy, step away." It is Potter. Harry Potter.

I'm so ashamed I can't even look him in the eye, so I resort to anger, as I have so many times in the past. "Shove off, Potter," I sneer, and pull away. He doesn't let go, pulling me away from the edge - used by so many for stargazing, now for something not quite so innocent. I collapse at his feet, and he, unwilling to let me go, falls to his knees with me. "God dammit, Potter, couldn't you just let go?"

"A lot of people have already died either for me or because of me, Malfoy. I don't want that to happen anymore."

I feel myself wince, too weak to hide it anymore. Of course I would add to the burden of the life of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Let's eat, and maybe talk later?" he asks, and I find myself agreeing. After all, I muse, food cures man of all pain. Usually.