A/N: This is a bit odd. I don't even know where I came up with it. But I actually really like it?
*WARNING* slight suicide themes

...Moods...

"Do you ever wonder what death's like?"

"You would know," I shrug. He scares me when he gets in one of these moods. Not that I'd ever tell him. He knows.

"I never really died. And nobody who actually did die told me anything about it. They thought I was going to die too. Why bother?"

The last two words have more significance than they should.

Harry looks thoughtfully up to the sky. He's not depressed or haunted looking. He looks happy, playful. Taunting? But it's dangerous, this mood, as I know all too well.

"Draco, honestly. Do you think it's better than here? Different?"

I pause, thinking about it.

"I think it might be one of those things that you couldn't possibly understand until you've gone through it."

"Like love," he says, giving me a mock-sappy grin coupled with puppy dog eyes. I just nod, my eyes wary. You never know what he's going to do at times like these.

"Do you think death's like flying?"

We've come to a cliff. We're not up that high, but the rock face we're standing on resembles a diving board.

"I think it could be."

I have to be careful about what I say to him in times like these. Sometimes he does nothing, sometimes he does everything. I'm the only one who can bring him out of it, I know this, but I'm not foolproof. Sometimes he needs to get it out of his system, I suppose. I try not to think about it.

Hermione wants me to bring him to St. Mungo's to see a mind healer. I refused - he'd never go. And he'd leave, I know this too, if he knew that I was seriously thinking about it. He'd come back, but I'd rather have him for as long and as often as I can.

The moods aren't happening as often so Hermione let me deal with it on my own. Harry doesn't really like to see her anymore if he can politely go somewhere else. She gives him pitying looks and speaks to him gently, as though he's going to break. Ron just acts awkward. He has no tact - I try to keep him away.

The moods used to come about once a week. Then, after 'that night', as Harry calls it, they receded to about once every two weeks. The longer I stayed with him the longer the mood would stay away. It's been about four months since his last one. In a way it's almost a relief. I was worried I wouldn't be there for it.

They're not that serious, the moods. But they can be. Half the time Harry just ends up making a fool of himself. Occasionally he'll end up in St. Mungo's with some minor injury. It's not as though he's insane. Hermione tells me to keep telling myself that. But I know that although she's memorized about a million books, she really isn't as smart as she thinks she is. And I really can't care much about what she thinks.

"I miss flying," Harry purses his lips, as though he's imitating someone.

"You fly all the time," I say.

"Yeah," he sighs. "But not the way I used to. In Hogwarts there was always risk. Now, everybody treats me as though I'm glass. Which is ironic, really," he laughs and it sounds so normal. "Now that I've done the job I was practically made for," he rolls his eyes, "they suddenly decide that now I can't die."

I have nothing that I can say. I just nod wryly back. It's true.

He sighs and sidles closer to the edge. I don't worry. He's never tried to kill himself, and his moods are much milder lately.

"What if I jumped? Right now."

He turns back to me with a reassuring smile, just as I start to get nervous. I relax slightly although my nerves are fizzing. He's standing much too close to the edge. I finger my wand in my pocket.

"What if I fell...?"

He hold out his arms as though he's a scarecrow, black against the piercing blue sky. He's grinning. I falter for a second, a crucial second. Harry leans back the tiniest bit and then he's not stopping.

He's falling, ever so slowly at first but in the smallest amount of time his free fall picks up much too much speed. My wand is ripped from my pocket and I lunge to the edge just as I loose sight of Harry over the side of the cliff.

I can see his grin as he floats, so much faster than a feather, down to the very solid ground below him. I gabble out a cushioning charm a millisecond before he hits the ground. I can see his body, broken and splayed, in my minds eye, even as I see him stand up and brush himself off. He's still grinning. I'm still shaking.

I take a second to collect myself before I have to Apperate down to see if he's alright. It's not long enough. I look over every inch of him, my hands shaking violently, as he stands there looking faintly remorseful.

And then I punch him.

A/N: Tell me what you think?
((That was not meant to be sucide, Harry knew Draco would catch him. btw.))