Title: Countdown
Warnings: Major suicidal themes. This is MAJOR ANGST, kiddies, so look out. There's slash and het in here, too. (Lord, I've written het. What is the world coming to?) My beta said that I really shouldn't post this, but hey, when do I ever listen to him? :o) There will most likely be more in the next week, whether you want it or not. It's ¾ of the way written, so… yeah. There are three more POVs to write, and I've got all the time in the world. For now, all you get is this short little angst-fest.
Summary: Draco watches Harry. Harry dances with Hermione. Hermione gives advice. Ron… well. Ron is Ron.
Chapter One: Draco
I'm feeling better now, I guess. Not that you noticed anything was wrong with me in the first place. I'm sure you would have, you know, had you not been hanging onto her for the entire night. But anyway, my headache is gone for the moment. Now all I have to deal with is this aching sensation in my chest, the one that hurts so bad that I think it's making me want to cry, or at least throw myself of this balcony. Or, it could all just be your fault that I want to cry.
I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking. Well, you're probably not thinking about me anymore… like you were for a few days. It was nice of you to visit me in the hospital wing, by the way. You didn't have to. I'm sorry I cried then, too. I didn't mean to bother you by sending you that owl. Remember I told you that I had no memory of sending it to you, that I was too drugged up to remember anything from that day? Well, I lied, you know. We both know why, don't we?
I thought for a day or so that things were getting back to the way they were, and then you casually mentioned that you used your cloak every night to get into the girls dorms, and I knew that my illusions were over. You knew I was harboring them, didn't you? You must have, the way I was clinging to you when you visited. I needed you. I need you. Don't you understand?
Still, you asked me why I stopped talking after that. I guess you didn't understand after all. I told you that I read the obituaries, and I wished that my own face had been staring back at me. You didn't understand that, either. I guess you're too happy to get it. Sometimes, I'm happy that you're happy. Not that I could watch you dance with her with a smile on my face, acting like I didn't give a damn at all, but I'm glad in a sad little way. Actually, I just like to watch you smile, like you are now. Of course, you don't see me up here, watching you smile.
When did you learn to dance, Harry? I never got a chance to dance with you like that, with my head on your shoulder and your arms wrapped protectively around me. I wanted to, you know that? So many of my regrets are centered on you.
You went to get punch. How chivalrous of you, but now I can't see you. Maybe you knew I was watching. Did you? You've always kind of had a creepy sense about that. Now she's dancing with the Weasel, where I always thought she'd end up. I never pictured her in your arms. Then again, I never pictured anyone but myself in your arms. It's nice to know you felt so differently. Come back where I can see you, Harry. The only reason I came tonight was so that I could see you one last time.
We're leaving soon, you know. Halfway through this last year, and then it'll be over. I wonder how long I'll make it on my own, with no one to find me if I take a few too many pills. I lied to my counselor today. She asked if I had any more suicidal tendencies, and I said no, of course not. But really, even just looking down over this balcony makes me want to throw myself over the railing.
Did I tell you I signed a magically binding contract, saying that I wouldn't try to harm myself until the year was over? I've got four minutes until I really can throw myself off this damned balcony. Four minutes left to live. The stone floor looks like it'll make for a nice landing, doesn't it? Do you think I'm up high enough? I don't want anyone saving me again.
I've heard people say that once a person attempts suicide, they have an overwhelming urge to live. I remember crawling under my covers in those damned dungeons, shivering from the December cold, and relieved that it would be over soon. I remember lying there for what seemed like forever, waiting. My vision got blurry, and I tried to sit up to find more pills, but I couldn't do it. The whole time, all I thought about was finally dying.
Three minutes now, Harry. You're really the only one who can save me now, because you're the only one I want to be saved by. Does that make sense?
Two minutes. One hundred twenty seconds. Make that one hundred nineteen. You see me up here, don't you? Can you make it in time? You're a Great Hall and a winding staircase away, and you've got seconds, really, until I fall. Care to race me, Harry? Or do you think the stakes are too high?
Just one minute left. You know what I'm going to do, don't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be running like someone's life depended on it. Wait—someone's life does depend on it… my own.
Run for me, Harry. Run to catch up. Maybe I'll wait for you, just this once.