Broken

Disclaimer: JK Rowling is the owner of the Harry Potter universe. No money is being made from this endeavor.


‘Broken’
by: Christine

***

Harry stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, trying to force a decision. He wanted to jump. He needed to jump. His stomach clenched, painfully tight with the visceral image of falling past the white stone, grayed with age, slamming into the ground after that long fall, the crack of every bone breaking, the fracture of his skull—the bleak emptiness as his brain splattered like the aftermath of a bomb's explosion.

He lifted his face to the fading sun, the sky purple as the wind whipped up with the dusk. He reached up, threading fingers through tangled hair, groaning. He wanted this. Needed this.

He clutched at the stone wall behind him, leaning forward slightly to stare in abject horror at the ground. But he was determined to go through with this…he had nothing left to live for. Tears came to his eyes as he thought about his friends, mourning him when they found his lifeless body lying at the foot of the tower—Harry Potter sprawled, discarded like rubbish, blood pooling beneath him—nothing more than a hunk of meat once they discovered his battered and broken body in a haphazard pile.

Harry found himself thinking of another time he was soaring high in the sky, eyes looking down at the lush green of the pitch, tiny in his vision. He was flying and zooming through the stands, zigging and zagging as he searched for the Snitch. He held his arm out as soon as the Snitch was in sight, desperate to catch it before the other team. He’d felt pride in his accomplishment at beating the other team’s Seeker, the tiny golden ball vibrating in defeat, knowing it had been caught.

He wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, running an arm across his face. It was all because of the Slytherins. He’d never done anything to them. Sure, there’d been the usual animosity and House competition that all the Houses. But he didn’t deserve what they’d done to him!

He was the Chosen One, the one with the power to defeat Voldemort. He snorted and coughed a little as a small ball of phlegm caught in his throat. Let Voldemort kill them all, or enslave them. What did he care? They never should have done what they did. Never should have taken pictures and shown them to everyone in the school, for what…laughs?

Memories of that day began to replay themselves in his head. He wanted to forget all the snips he could remember—barely remember.

***

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, looking at Draco across from him, seated at the Slytherin table. He watched as silver-blond hair caught the light of the hall just right, radiating in such a way that it made the Slytherin look as if he wore a halo about his head. Draco’s profile was striking, even the pointiness of his face was fetching. Malfoy was bloody attractive--just another advantage the Slytherin had to lord over Harry.

Ever since their sixth year, Harry had had a crush on Draco, trying as hard as he could to keep his feelings to himself, but he was pretty sure Hermione suspected that his feelings for the other boy weren’t what they used to be. He wasn’t completely sure, but he could tell she knew something by the way she looked at him, almost calculating in her scrutiny.

He was jolted out of his fog by an elbow to the ribs, making him wince at the slight pain. “Ron, do you mind not poking me in the ribs?” He said, rubbing the sore spot. “I think you might’ve bruised me.”

Ron rolled his eyes, as if to say ‘you’re being melodramatic, mate.’ Harry frowned at his friend and kicked him in the shin, protecting his ribs from any further jabs.

“Harry, Seamus wanted to know if you’re on for a bit of practice on the pitch after dinner?” Harry turned his attention back to Ron and saw the hopeful look on his face. Harry grinned at his friend, knowing that Ron probably only wanted to practice to impress Hermione. Of course, Harry also knew Hermione and sport of any kind wasn’t exactly her thing.

“Sure, we could run a few drills. Can we wait until after I’m finished eating? I’m kinda hungry right now,” Harry replied. Truth of the matter was, he wanted to continue watching Draco until Harry had no choice but to get up and head out.

He felt a little guilty at seeing Ron’s disappointed look, but it didn’t last long. “Well, how ‘bout if I go and I’ll meet up with you there? I reckon we can wait to have our star Seeker with us, can’t we?”

Harry laughed and nodded. “Yeah, sure Ron, just try not to let the Snitch loose until I get there. Last time, it took me all night to find it.” Harry had had to search all over the pitch for the small golden ball once the sun had set. His night vision wasn’t perfect and the Snitch seemed to become invisible in the darkness.

“No problem, Harry. I’ll see you there.” Ron waved to Hermione, who smiled shyly in return.

Harry wished he had his own partner to wave and smile at. Sure, Ginny would give him these looks as if he were a particularly tasty pumpkin pasty, but she just didn’t have what Harry was looking for.

He’d only just discovered he was gay last year. When his date with Cho back in fifth year didn’t go as he had planned, he’d thought it was because she had cried the entire time. But then he found himself in the locker room one day after Quidditch practice, when the room was steamy from the showers and the bodies were damp, he’d caught himself staring at a few of his teammates.

Harry had even found himself staring at Ron, who had given him a curious look. Harry had blushed, coughed, and told his friend he’d been thinking of their upcoming match against Ravenclaw. “You know,” Harry had said, “just staring off into space.”

Ron seemed to take this excuse with a grain of salt and finished washing before he left to get dressed. Harry passed it off as a weird reaction to his bad date and decided not to dwell on ogling his Quidditch mates.

He’d never told anyone, too afraid of what people would say. He knew what his Uncle Vernon would probably say; call him a pouf or a shirtlifter, corrupted by the evils of magic or something else equally stupid. Harry sometimes wondered how he survived so long with crap relatives such as his.

Harry allowed himself to wonder, if he and Draco were different people, if something could have happened back in first year when the blond offered his hand in friendship. Harry could admit to an unusual curiosity centering around the tightness of the Slytherin's trousers, they way they displayed the curvature of his arse unlike any boy's school uniform had a right to. He shook his head and scoffed at himself for having a crush on Draco. He knew the other boy hated his guts and Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if Draco used any knowledge of Harry’s attraction for him to get himself on Voldemort’s good side.

His attention was drawn away from the object of his desire when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He looked over to see Hermione get up from the table. Harry gave her a curious look; she smiled and shook her head. “I’ve got to go to the library and get some studying done,” she said, collecting her books from the table. “Snape’s essay is due by the end of this week, and I still have a few feet of parchment to write.” She gave him a soft smile.

“You know, Harry, you should probably just tell him you’re interested in him.”

“What?” Harry whispered fiercely, blushing hard at the fact that she knew exactly who he’d been looking at. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hermione, really. I’m just sitting here, eating dinner.”

Hermione shook her head. “All right, Harry. But try not to be too long. You know how Ron is if you keep him waiting.”

Harry nodded. He was late one day for them to hang out for a bit in Hogsmeade, just the blokes, and Ron shot off a dozen questions. ‘Are you okay? Is it your scar? Is You-Know-Who bothering you again?’ He loved his friends, but sometimes they reminded him of a pair of parents wanting to protect their hapless child from harm.

“I will, Hermione,” he said, smiling.

She nodded and left the Great Hall, stopping to have a quick chat with Ginny, who got up and followed her out. Harry wasn’t sure, but he guessed to study together. They did have a tendency to go together to the bathroom, but it could just be a girl thing. He absently wondered if they gossiped in there or if they did it to keep boys from entering behind them. He wouldn’t know since his fellow male students usually went in, did their thing, refraining from ever looking at one another’s bits as they took a slash and left. Some would even leave without washing their hands and that made Harry very leery of touching his fellow classmates.

He stirred his spoon in his soup, lifting his head to once again stare at Draco. No one seemed to notice what he’d been doing, thank Merlin. He let his eyes travel briefly down the table and caught one of the Slytherins frown at him. He could have sworn the dark gaze said, ‘what are you looking at?’

Harry quickly lowered his head, pretending to study his soup. He caught movement in his peripheral vision and he looked up to see Zacharias Smith making his usual rounds, meeting and greeting everyone. Harry didn’t know why Zacharias did this at every meal but he supposed it was just something the chap liked to do.

He took a sip of his soup, making a disgusted face—it’d gone cold. He really should finish his dinner and stop day dreaming about sodding Draco Malfoy. He knew it was never going to happen, and having sexual fantasies in the Great Hall was never a good idea. Harry felt himself getting harder and harder as his thoughts took him to his fantasies.

Harry jumped, startled as Zacharias got closer to his side of the table, and accidentally dropped his spoon. He sighed and stuck his head under the table to retrieve his utensil. He made a little ‘ahha’ when he found it. Upon closer inspection, though, he decided the five-second rule didn’t apply this time. He had no idea what kind of muck was lurking under there, even with the house-elves being diligent and cleaning up after the students.

Harry placed the now unusable utensil on the table, away from him so he wouldn’t accidentally pick it up to use again. He budged over a bit to grab Ron’s spoon; it hadn’t been used yet, and even if it had, it’s Ron’s germs, and Harry really didn’t care much about the germs of his best mate.

His throat suddenly felt dry as if he hadn’t drunk in ages. He grabbed his cup filled with pumpkin juice and took a good long drink. Harry set the cup down, returning to his soup, forgetting it was cold. Maybe the house-elves replaced it? Before he could taste it to find out, he began to feel a bit…odd. And not in a good way.

He loosened his shirt collar, peeling his jumper away from his torso, feeling himself begin to sweat as though he’d been running through the corridors for hours. Maybe he had suddenly come down with something?

He tried to ignore the beads of sweat pooling in his armpits, trickling down his torso in great waves and sticking his shirt to his body. He drank from his cup again but it only made him feel even more lightheaded than before. It felt like he had just woken up from a dream and was still half-asleep. He rose from the table, wobbling a little bit as he did so, but no one paid him any mind.

He staggered down the aisle, occasionally bumping into the wall next to him. He felt dizzy and tried to hurry out of the Great Hall as the smells of the various foods were beginning to make him nauseous. Harry found this odd since the food hadn’t bothered him earlier. He made his way into the Entrance Hall, bracing himself on a door jam. Harry started to stumble down the corridor on his way to Gryffindor Tower…or should he have been on his way to the hospital wing? Maybe something he’d eaten wasn’t agreeing with him?

Harry wasn’t sure.

He suddenly felt many hands on him, holding him steady and guiding him down the corridor. Harry had no idea who they were—maybe Dean? Or Ginny? No, he thought, Ginny’s with Hermione, isn’t she? He let himself be guided along, unsure who was doing the leading, but at the moment—as the first effects of whatever it was he had ingested began to wear off—a new feeling of something, and he wasn’t sure what, began to take over. Harry found himself led down a flight of stairs. Down?

Harry followed, frog marched to some final destination. He had no idea where he was being taken. He heard someone, as if from far away, suddenly speak. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from inside as he attempted to make out what the voice was saying. A password, maybe? Or a spell?

He braced himself in case it was a spell, but when he didn’t feel any different he relaxed. Harry was only vaguely aware of being in a slightly dark and dreary room, all gloomy shades and a big roaring fire somewhere nearby, but he had no idea where he was.

Harry felt himself being led up a few steps; not too far up, from what he could tell, maybe only five? He could barely think, let alone count. There was the sound of a door opening and then he saw it; a bed, or beds, he couldn’t be sure, he just knew that he was being dragged to one of them. He was glad someone was moving him. He could never have made it on his own, muscles weak and head spinning.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” Harry heard someone say behind him. He turned to see who it was, but he could only catch a flash of green, reminding him of….

“Draco?”

“Oi!” The voice said; louder, as though speaking to someone across the room. “He’s asking for Malfoy. I told you lot we should’ve invited him to this. I’m sure he would’ve loved to have a piece of Potter’s arse.”

What?

Harry gasped at the punch to his gut, sending him to his knees. The fist went in for another blow, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Oi, Knott!” Baddock yelled, pushing Theo away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Theo ignored Baddock, bending over to paw at Harry’s trousers. Seams ripped; a belt loop tore, his zip undone a second later. “Just hold him down.”

Harry coughed, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know why he’d been hit. His fist clenched, longing to fight back. But his hands were heavy, great cinder blocks at the ends of his arms.

“So, who wants to go first?” Harry heard from behind him. Who was that? That voice teased the back of Harry’s mind. He was unable to place any of the voices surrounding him.

“Oh, I’m definitely going first,” Theo snarled, stepping behind Harry as he unzipped his trousers.

Harry felt himself pinned down over the edge of the bed—unable to move, the chill of the cold room on his bare arse making him shiver. He whimpered in fear as hands roughly felt him up, making him squirm. Why would Ron touch him like this? The only answer was that this couldn’t be Ron. He was overwhelmed with panic as he fought for breath.

“Look at that, mates, ripe for the taking,” Theo said, spitting into his palm and rubbing it over himself before he spread Harry wide open and shoved in.

Harry cried out in agony, trying to get away from the assault. He couldn’t move.

“You reckon he’s a virgin?” Harry heard one of them say.

Harry’s thoughts suddenly turned to Draco. Blond hair glinting in the sun as he rode his broom along the pitch. The way his lip curled when he sneered at Harry. Draco fought with him, but never like this. Harry sobbed in fear. “Draco,” he said, pleadingly.

“Ha! Tough, Potter. Malfoy’s not here,” Theo said angrily, picking up his pace with his thrusting.

“Fuck he’s tight,” Theo moaned, hands gripping Harry’s hips with a fervor.

Harry sobbed as he was ridden inexpertly, yelping pitifully as his hair was savagely grabbed, his head yanked back. He felt himself drooling, forgetting to swallow.

“That’s enough!” Harper shouted, pulling at Theo’s shoulder. “I don’t fancy fucking a bloody mess. Look, he’s already bleedin’ on you.”

Rather than slowing, Theo’s thrusting became faster, harder as he pounded away. His breathing sped up as he neared his completion. Harry gasped in pain, sobbing into the mattress, feeling his insides filled.

Harry screamed as Theo roughly pulled out, only to be entered by someone else. This person wasn’t any gentler than the last.

“Yeah, fuck him, Harper. Make him feel it!” Harry heard, feeling bruises forming on his skin from the many pairs of hands holding him down.

Harry jerked his head back, blinking away spots as someone took his picture. He just wanted to be in his bed, dreaming of being with Draco. Or even of playing Quidditch. Not this…whatever it was…he couldn’t get out of.

It felt like an eternity had passed as Harry was violated over and over, assaulted, his first no longer his own to give to the one person he wanted. He was still under the effects of whatever it was he’d been drugged with. Harry wanted it all to stop.

Finally, finally, it ended. Words were spoken over him, spells to mend his clothes, making his appearance perhaps a tad tidier than usual. He was carried out of the dreary room with its merrily burning fire, dumped at the foot of the stairs leading towards the other houses.

Lying there on the cold stone floor; his arse hurt, but he couldn’t remember what happened. Harry slipped in and out of consciousness. The sound of footsteps approaching and then a shadow over him. He flinched irrationally as he heard the familiar voice of Ron coming closer.

“Harry! Thank Merlin you’re okay. We were worried when you didn’t show up at practice.”

He looked up at Ron—who stepped back a moment, a worried expression blossoming on his face. Harry knew Hermione was probably there, wringing her hands and fretting.

“Harry, you alright? I think we should take you to see Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” Harry said, sitting up and wincing. Why did his arse and lower back hurt so much? What happened? “I’m okay, I…must’ve fallen and bumped my head.” Hermione frowned at him. “I’m okay, really.”

He didn’t want to tell either of them that he wasn’t really all right, but he didn’t want to know what exactly had happened to him, or what caused the God-awful pains in the lower half of his body. He could have fallen down the steps and bruised his arse—it wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Are you sure, mate?” Ron asked, helping Harry to his feet.

Harry accepted Ron’s hand, using both his mate and the banister to steady himself on his feet. “Yeah, I’m sure. I missed practice, eh? Must have hit my head harder than I thought.” He looked to Hermione. “Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a brief smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Hermione pursed her lips and pulled out her wand, waving it over his head with a silent spell. She seemed satisfied with the results if her little nod was anything to go by. “Alright,” Hermione said. “Well, we should get back to the dormitory. It’s getting late and you know how McGonagall gets if she finds us out after curfew.”

Harry smiled to himself. “If? More like when. Come on, let’s go,” Harry said, following his friends slowly up the stairs. He gripped the banister as he walked, each step causing his back to spasm with the movement.

As soon as he entered Gryffindor common room, he headed straight to bed to have a lie down. He left his clothes on, uncaring of if he were comfortable or not. He just wanted to sleep.

***

Harry woke up the next day still sore but feeling slightly better. His mind wasn’t as foggy as the evening before. Harry walked slowly through the dorm room to grab a quick shower.

He ran the water, making sure it was the right temperature so he wouldn’t freeze when he stepped under the spray.

He sighed languidly as the water flowed over his sore muscles. Harry leaned against the tiles, letting the water just rain down against his back and bum for a while. He didn’t want to stay in the shower too long, though, since Ron had a bad habit of flinging the curtain aside to chat. For someone who liked to act like he was tough, Ron sure loved to see Harry without anything on.

Harry laughed at his own little joke, wondering what Hermione would say or possibly do if she knew Harry liked to tease her about how aggressive she could be sometimes. She’d probably grab her wand and hex him.

He shook his head in amusement as he finished his shower, turning around to turn the water off. He made sure to turn the shower part off first and not just the hot water. The last time he had turned the hot water off before everything else, he’d squealed and jumped out, tripping over the lip of the tub.

It hadn’t been one of his best moments.

Harry’d been left with a large, ugly bruise from his left shoulder all the way down his arm for almost two weeks. Hermione had thought he’d been in a fight until Harry told her he’d fallen. Ron had snorted at him, Hermione frowning at the both of them.

He dried himself off, making sure to get the last of the water droplets from his hair. He brushed his hair, but it never really did him much good since it stubbornly refused to lie straight.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walked out of the bathroom and stopped in front of his trunk. He lifted his head, frowning as he caught sight of his four-poster. He began to sweat, feeling his heart beat faster and faster as his adrenaline worked itself into a panic. Shaking his head, he frowned, wondering why he was in such a state over nothing. It’s only a bed, Harry, he chastised himself.

He gasped as blurry flashes of memory raced through his mind. He tried to hang on to one, hoping it might give him some clue as to why he was about to have a panic attack for no reason—but just as suddenly, the images stopped. I must be tired.

He quickly grabbed his school bag and left the dorm. Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the deserted common room but thought nothing of it. He figured the rest of the Gryffindors were down at breakfast, enjoying themselves.

Harry pushed opened the portrait, waving at the Fat Lady as he moved passed her. She returned the wave and he smiled, continuing down the stairs. He was glad he missed all the moving staircases as he walked down; he really wasn’t in the mood to wait on them to come back around so he could keep walking.

He walked across the Entrance Hall, making his way to breakfast. Harry paused mid-step as he heard loud noises coming from within—and shouting…angry shouting. A feeling of dread washed over him, but he chose to ignore it and pushed forward into the Great Hall.

The room went deathly still as all eyes focused on him. Students began to whisper amongst each other, and his instincts were quite forcefully telling him to leave while he had the chance.

Harry ignored his inner voice and headed straight to the Gryffindor table. He sat down across from Hermione and Ron, frowning as he set his bag on the bench beside him. He wiped his nose, relieved there wasn’t anything hanging out of it—but he still couldn’t decipher why everyone was staring at him. Did the Prophet print libel again? Harry Potter Watches Bird Fly…Full Spread on Page Five!

Harry leaned forward. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “I feel like I did something I shouldn’t have, but I don’t know what it was.”

Hermione had tears in her eyes, and Harry had to wonder what could have caused it. A bad grade, perhaps? He looked to Ron, whose entire face had gone bright red, clashing horribly with his hair. His best mate looked like he wanted to punch his fist into someone’s face. Harry briefly hoped that look wasn’t for him. He thought hard but couldn’t remember if he had accidentally offended either of them. “Ron? Hermione? What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, sobbing. She dropped her head onto her arms, great wracking sobs shaking her body.

Harry blinked, wondering what was going on. “Ron?” Ron didn’t say anything, his face turning even redder if that were possible.

Harry turned at the ruckus coming from the Slytherin table. He saw Draco staring at him, his normally pale face bright red, and if it had been physically possible without the aid of magic, steam would have come out of his ears, fire from his eyes.

“Oi, Potter!” Malcolm Baddock yelled across the hall, smirking in a way that left Harry feeling insulted and offended. Even Draco’s most devious smiles had never left him in fear. “I hear you take it up the arse.” Some of the Slytherins sitting beside him erupted in boisterous laughs at this. Baddock continued, laughing along with his House mates. “Think I can get in on the action?”

A look of horror came to Harry’s face, rooting him to his seat at the outburst. He was petrified, unable to move. All he could do was glance in Draco’s direction for a reaction. He’d trained himself to watch Malfoy all these years and the act came to him easier than breathing. He wished he could get a breath in as he caught sight of the Slytherin from across the room. He was surprised to see Draco’s fists clenched, but he wasn’t looking at Harry any longer. Harry watched in fascinated horror as Draco drew his wand from his robes and pointed it in Baddock’s face. Baddock looked stunned at the threat.

Harry turned back to his two best friends and saw Hermione was still crying. She was looking at him, eyes full of sympathy. He glanced at Ron, whose hands were so tightly bunched into fists, his knuckles had gone white. The other Gryffindors were just as angry as Ron.

He couldn’t stand to see their varying expressions of pity and remorse, and turned back to watch Draco nearly break his wand in two. What the hell was going on? Draco should have been laughing and making rude comments with his friends, not on the verge of exploding.

“Give me that fucking picture right now, Baddock, or you will regret it for the rest of your life,” Draco growled. Picture? Harry tried to think of the last opportunity a conniving Slytherin might’ve had to snap a picture of his bits. The Quidditch showers last week, maybe?

“Aw. Poor, Draco. Mad because we didn’t invite you along?” Harry heard Baddock say. “You know…he said your name.”

As Harry sat there, putting the pieces together, Ron reacted—vaulting over the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables to throw himself at the jeering Slytherins. Students in the vicinity scattered as plates of food and jugs of pumpkin juice crashed loudly to the floor, making a mess everywhere. Harry was taken aback; Ron had never, in all the years Harry knew him, been this angry.

To Harry’s immense surprise, Ron wasn’t charging after Draco but Baddock, who was thrown to the ground with the force of the curse Ron blasted at the boy’s chest. Harry continued to watch in horrified disbelief as Draco Malfoy stunned his fellow Slytherins, who’d come to Baddock’s aid.

“What the hell is going on?” Harry demanded, turning to Hermione.

He thought Hermione of all people would have stopped the fighting by now, or gone to summon a teacher. Where were their teachers, anyway? Harry knew they liked to get to breakfast later than any other meal time but this was ridiculous! There should be a staff-member to break up impromptu inter-house brawling.

Ron and Draco worked together to hex Knott, Harper, Baddock, and a few of the other Slytherins who tried in vain to get out of the duel’s way. “Hermione, why is Ron, of all people, helping Malfoy curse the Slytherins?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but her tears kept her from speaking with any coherency.

Harry turned back around and saw Ron gripping something tightly in his hand. Was that the picture everyone was talking about? He looked around the hall, trying to find Draco, but all Harry saw was his retreating back, wand still gripped tightly in his hand.

Harry saw Ron walking back with the photo in one hand and his wand in the other. He leaned over for a peek but Ron snatched it away before he could have a look. Too curious for manners, Harry wrestled the picture out of his friend’s hand and turned away from him slightly to look at it. Harry flipped it over to see what was on it.

It was a magical photograph. He stared down at it, waiting for it to replay the event it captured. When the picture started its motions over again, Harry’s eyes widened comically in their sockets. He gasped at what he saw. The picture was of him, trousers round his ankles, bent over the side of a bed while someone’s hips were thrusting wildly into his arse.

Harry was unable to speak, the silence deafening to his friends. He absently heard someone clearing their throat from somewhere far away, like in a dream. He stared, watching the scene in the picture playing over and over again. “When...” Harry began, pausing as his throat had gone dry. “When was this taken?”

“We don’t know,” Neville said quietly.

Harry lifted his head and stared hard at Hermione. She nodded in understanding and pulled her wand from within her robes, muttering quietly to the tip of her wand before tapping it lightly against the picture.

The date and time were shown briefly across the moving images. It was the day before, right after dinner. Harry’s hand crumpled the picture in a crushing grip, the picture now no more than a ruined ball of paper. He raised his head, no one was saying a word as they looked at him, probably waiting to see what he would do. He turned a blank expression to the Slytherin table—and to the stunned or worse boys who’d been involved. He got up silently from the table, all thoughts of eating or socializing long forgotten. Hermione called out to him fearfully but his mind and his heart had gone black. He didn’t hear her as he walked out of the Great Hall. He felt eyes on him, following him as he moved. Slowly he made his way towards the stairs, never once looking back.

“All this time,” he said to himself as he walked up the stairs. “They’ve been planning this.” Harry felt tears forming in his eyes. “All this time they wanted to do this to me, but why?” He was half way up the steps when he turned around and went back the way he’d come. “No, this isn’t right. I don’t know what I did to make them think this was okay.” He continued across the grounds, making his way towards the Astronomy Tower. “But if they want Voldemort to rule so bloody badly, then they can have him.”

He had come to a decision.

There was nothing else for him.

***

“Harry!” Hermione yelled, scaring the life out of Harry. His nerves were so on edge that he had to brace himself to keep from toppling over the side of the Astronomy Tower. He turned his head and saw Hermione and Ron—peeking out from the window—looking frightened for him. “W-what are you doing out here?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“What’s it look like, Hermione?” Harry replied in exasperation, his gaze returning to the ground.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t?” he answered, angrily. “I never asked to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. I’ve had enough, everyone can fuck off.” Now the Slytherins would get their wish to have Harry dead—he just needed to step off the ledge.

“Hermione, what are we going to do?” Ron whispered. Harry felt as if they were afraid to go near him, probably thinking it might push him to taking the final step.

Hermione took a moment to think. She removed her wand from her robes and pointed it at Harry. Harry shook his head and sighed. “It’s no use, Hermione, I put up a shield. It won’t keep me from jumping, but it’ll keep spells from touching me.”

Hermione looked impressed for a moment. She more than likely thought he didn’t know these types of spells. The books he’d occasionally read were a big help. She shook her head. “I-I think I have an idea,” she whispered to Ron.

Harry didn’t know what she was planning but he watched her hurry off, a determined look on her face.

Harry looked over to see Ron standing were he was, looking helpless. “Just go, Ron. I’m not moving from this spot unless it’s to jump.”

“What about Ginny?”

Harry laughed hollowly. “Ron, I love you—you’re my best mate—but haven’t you figured out by now I’m not into girls? I barely talk to Ginny unless it’s just to say hi. She’s great…for a girl. But she’s got the wrong equipment for anything more than friends if you what I mean.”

Ron pursed his lips and frowned. Harry watched him try to work out what he meant by ‘wrong equipment.’ His face went from speculative to surprised to indifferent. “Harry, I really don’t care if you like girls, boys or both. Long as it’s not Hagrid.”

Harry laughed, feeling a little better. “Hagrid?” Harry gave a derisive snort. “Ron, sometimes I wonder about you. Don’t worry, though, I don’t fancy him. He’d probably break me in two or poison me with his cooking.”

They both laughed nervously. With the current situation, it felt wrong to actually let loose. Harry knew they probably shouldn’t be laughing, especially when one of them was about to kill himself, but he knew Ron needed closure before his best mate jumped to his death.

Harry sobered, voice serious once more. “Ron, you really should go; I don’t want you to see me do this.”

Ron shook his head, looking determined. “I’m not going anywhere, mate. I might not be able to stop you, but I’m not leaving you alone, either.”

“Alright.” Harry shrugged and peeked over the ledge. He was trying to work up his courage to actually go through with it; to jump. He may have been a Gryffindor but Harry didn’t think Godric had suicide in mind when he was coming up with house traits. His instincts were screaming at him to step back, to go inside the castle, and forget he ever thought about doing this. He tried to fight it, feeling his resolve slipping.

“Well, if it isn’t Perfect Potter.” Harry heard, turning his head to scowl at the voice. He gave himself a crick in his neck with the speed with which he turned his head.

Harry growled, rubbing his neck. “Malfoy, why are you here? This is supposed to be private.”

Malfoy leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and stared out the window. He looked as sexy as he usually did without his robes on. “I was walking through the corridors when Granger, here, threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t come see you…she’s a right persistent one.”

“That she is,” Harry agreed, smiling in spite of himself. “Hermione.”

“Harry,” she replied, walking into view. “Come on, Ron. These two need to talk.”

Ron spluttered and stood his ground. “Hermione, are you mental? I’m not leaving Harry out here with Malfoy. It’s the bloody Slytherins that started this whole mess.”

Hermione tugged persistently on Ron’s arm. “Ron, we need to go. Malfoy has it in control, trust me,” she whispered, glancing at Harry and Malfoy.

Ron looked from his best mate to his girlfriend. He frowned and nodded, letting Hermione drag him away. “I swear, Malfoy, if you harm Harry in any way….”

“Threats, Weasley? I didn’t know you cared.” Ron gave Malfoy a murderous look. “I promise not to damage your friend.” Malfoy waved his hand, dismissing Ron and Hermione like a pair of insubordinate house-elves. “Now go away.”

Harry gave Malfoy a side-long look. “You can go away now, Malfoy. They’ve left—I think. Knowing Hermione she’s just around the corner.”

“I’d love to just walk away from this whole mess, but Granger seems to think I can help you.” He stared piercingly at Harry. “Really, Potter, isn’t this whole thing a little over the top? You’re a wizard, you could have just cursed yourself.”

“I don’t want to have an argument with you, Malfoy. How I choose to kill myself is my own personal business. I don’t need suicide tips from you.”

“Alright then, go ahead and jump.”

“What?” Harry couldn’t believe Malfoy.

“I’m just your enemy, the man who calls you names on a daily basis. Why should I care if you want to end it all? It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“You’re serious?”

“Quite. I’ve never seen the aftermath from a long fall—it could turn out very interesting.”

“You’re sick!”

“So they tell me.”

“Just…just shove off, Malfoy. You don’t know what I’ve been through.” Harry tried to ignore Malfoy’s presence, but it was difficult when the object of his desire was standing so close.

Malfoy surprised Harry by stepping out on the ledge, coming to stand next to him. He was close, but not close enough to interfere with Harry. “Well I can see why you chose this tower and not the Gryffindor one—the view is quite fetching.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, flabbergasted. He didn’t have a reply to that.

“You know, Potter, doing this won’t bring any justice to my fellow Slytherins.”

“What?”

“If you jump, you’ll be dead. The Dark Lord will take over and the only ones who win will be those who assaulted you.”

“How do you know what happened?” Harry asked, giving Malfoy an accusatory stare. “Where you there too? Did you have fun defiling me?”

“Spare me, Potter. If I wanted your arse, I would have come up next to you…” Malfoy edged along slowly until he was only a few inches away. “I would have looked into your green eyes.” He leaned forward. “And I would have kissed you, taking your breath away.” He leaned closer still. Harry closed his eyes and held his breath as he waited. “But since you’re determined to end your life, I suppose you’ll never know how it’d feel. Pity.” Malfoy moved back towards the window, sticking his head through.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Malfoy. He couldn’t believe it. Did Malfoy feel the same way? Could Harry salvage something from this entire mess? He wasn’t sure but if he didn’t move, Malfoy was going to walk away and he’d be left never knowing. “Malfoy, wait.”

Malfoy pulled his head back and gave Harry an expectant look. “Yes? You know I’m quite busy. Snape insists on having us turn in three feet of parchment and I’ve only written one.”

Harry frowned but pressed on. “Were you serious?”

“About the essay? Quite, Snape is notorious for his homework assignments.”

“No, no, you daft git. I meant about, you know, leaning in and, erm, kissing me.”

“I don’t know, Potter,” Malfoy replied with a shrug. “Are you serious about taking a nose-dive off the tower? I’ll have you know, I’m not into necrophilia.”

“I dunno. Maybe if I had something to live for?”

“Aren’t your friends enough?”

“I love them,” Harry replied, looking down as he absently picked at a loose thread in his robes. “But they’re a couple and most times I feel like a third wheel.”

Harry watched as Malfoy seemed to think something through. “Potter, come inside. We can talk things over.”

Harry thought long and hard over this. Should he trust Malfoy and come inside, or should he just jump and be done with it? “I don’t know, I’m not in a very trusting mood right now.”

“Understandable,” Malfoy agreed, nodding. “But life isn’t worth living if you don’t take risks, yeah?”

Harry bit his bottom lip, staring down at the hand Malfoy suddenly offered him.

“Together?”

“Together,” Malfoy echoed, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him inside.

End