While he was sleeping, Harry Potter decided to die. It wasn't a conscious decision so much as the little boy who lived deep inside his inner most self, who had curled up there with a rather bedraggled blankie and an old teddy bear long ago, closing his tired green eyes and letting go. He'd been living there, deep inside Harry's soul, since the first day his uncle had closed the door of the cupboard on Little Harry's bright little boy face, casting his brilliant green eyes in shadow. Not an imaginary friend, or even an imaginary part of himself, but all those secret dreams and wishes of childhood that Harry hadn't ever admitted out loud (Christmases and candy floss and puppies and ponies and bikes with training wheels). They had to go somewhere, after all, and they had; deep inside where they burned with the faith and hope of a child with an unbreakable spirit.

And then, sometime during Harry's fifth year, the bubble broke, his heart broke, his spirit faltered, and he decided to die.

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Draco Malfoy had never met a knight in shining armor and, he always liked to think, if he ever did, he wouldn't be that impressed. Really, what's a stupid sod in a metal suit good for, in the grand scheme of things? He thought girls who dreamed of such things were sentimental and dull; surely their imaginations could come up with a more fitting hero. Which was why, when he found himself somehow cast into the role of Harry Potter's Personal Knight In Shining Armor, he was Not Impressed. In the least.

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Being by himself was the only time when Harry felt he was being honest with the people around him, and then it was only because, of course, there weren’t any. He didn’t know if he could particularly handle being the hero everyone assumed him to be. Honestly, he wasn’t all that brave; he was scared out of his mind. What sort of hero was terrified of waking up in the morning? What sort of hero secretly wished never to wake up because at least sleeping was real? At least if he was killed in his sleep, he could die knowing that it really wasn’t his fault. He’d been asleep, how was he supposed to protect himself? Even heroes have to sleep. Even heroes have to die. Most likely sooner and more violently than other people.

And it scared him. A lot of things scared him. Being alone scared him. That’s why Harry liked it; he liked a certain degree of controllable fear. Being alone by choice meant that if he changed his mind, he could have companionship. Being alone against his will was out of his control, and he flaunted having control over it, just a little bit.

Now go read it! :)