He stands, sweating on the raised dueling platform, wand held tight, as the world narrows down to one thing.

Such burning jealousy rips through his core as he watches Snape put a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder as he leans in for a private word.  The jealousy aches so deeply that he almost misses the serpent being conjured in the space between them.

He tries to stop the snake, but receives only horror and shock for his efforts.  

He isn’t aware of leaving, walking aimlessly down into the depths of Hogwarts.  Walking until he can walk no farther, until his feet ache almost as much as his heart does, as his head, as his soul.

It is only then that he allows gravity to pull him down onto the stones of Hogwarts, down where no one goes, down where he can cry without being heard.

When the chill sets in, he doesn’t get up, doesn’t try to warm himself.  

It’s fitting, he thinks somewhat muzzily.   That my desperate hope can also be witness to my death.

He hopes that no one finds him.  

And for a while, no one does.

Unconsciousness drags him under into coldness, into hopelessness, into a yearning so deep that he can taste it.  Lips and fingers turn blue as his blood slows in his body.

It isn’t enough that he should have to fight for Snape’s attention.  But for that attention to be placed so easily on another’s shoulders--one who doesn’t even take the time to appreciate it--strikes him to the core.  

That Malfoy used a snake to attack him is less important.  

That the world has turned against him once more is just another nail in his coffin.

That Snape has helped the world turn against him is part of what makes his heart ache.  

That he is still a freak--an unwanted freak--makes his heart not want to beat anymore.

It is too much.