How to Save a Life

Harry didn’t leave Gryffindor tower that weekend, in fact, he barely left his room. Kreacher had once again been pressed into service, bringing meals to the reclusive boy. Only this time it was at Neville’s request rather than Harry’s.

Neville was concerned about his friend. He could see the troubled look in Harry’s eyes, but as much as he coaxed, Harry wouldn’t budge. He lay in his bed with the sheets pulled up to his chin, dismissing Neville’s concerns - claiming only to be tired.

Harry didn’t want to get up and face people. He felt like they would take one look at him and just know. That they would finally see what his ‘family’ had told him all along, that he was a freak.

Plus the idea of being around Seamus just terrified him. It was hard enough that they shared a room and even then Harry couldn’t bring himself to look the other boy in the eye. And even if Harry had wanted to get up, the fact remained that his skin was still so raw in places, that wearing actual clothes was very unpleasant.

Of course, he knew that come Monday he would be forced to leave his self imposed exile. But until then he remained, unmoveable, in his hermit like state.

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Grey eyes stared fixedly at the door to the Great Hall. They widened slightly in anticipation every time the door opened, but dropped again when no messy head of black hair appeared.

Draco Malfoy was worried, worried about someone other than himself and it felt strange. The slightly twisted sensation in his tummy had been gradually increasing over the weekend and by breakfast time on Monday he could barely force down his food.

“Draco, stop watching that door for Merlin’s sake and eat your breakfast before Blaise steals it all.”

The blonde snapped out of his reverie long enough to look down at the table, just in time to see sausages leaving his plate by way of his friends fingers. A quick patented Malfoy glare and the food was swiftly returned along with a sheepish grin from the Italian boy.

“Sorry Draco, I didn’t think you’d mind, you weren’t eating it after all.”

“Blaise, there are plenty more in that dish over there. Why must you persist with eating off my plate? I don’t care how endearing you thing it is, it’s simply annoying.” Draco finished with a distinctly snappish tone to his voice.

He let out a sigh and the scowl left his face instantly.

“Where is he Pansy,” he whined. “Something’s wrong, I just know it.”

“You heard what Neville said sweetie. He’s just been feeling run down and was taking it easy this weekend.”

Draco sniffed at this, “Longbottom doesn’t believe that any more than I do.”

He turned back to his food and speared a sausage with his fork; it made it halfway to his mouth before it came to an abrupt halt. Draco turned horrified eyes to the dark haired girl at his side.

“What if he’s changed his mind Pansy? What if he’s decided he does still hate me after all? What if he’s just been avoiding me?”

Pansy could have sworn she saw the slightest quiver of the blonde boys bottom lip as he finished speaking. But before she could soothe him, a snort came from Blaise’s direction.

“Overreacting much Draco?”

“It could be true,” Draco replied defensively, “You don’t know.”

Blaise rolled his chocolate brown eyes at his friend’s melodramatics.

“Oh please Draco; this is Harry Potter we are talking about. The boy is so noble it’s just unnatural. I think you’re stuck with him now.”

Blaise’s words were somewhat muffled by the mouthful of bacon he was consuming at the same time. Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust at his friend’s lack of table manners.

“Blaise must we be forced to witness the digestion of your breakfast every morning? You have the eating habits of a troll.”

However, Draco couldn’t suppress a little smile at his friend’s words. Deep down he knew that Blaise was right. Even during their years of conflict, Draco had seen the basic decency that lay within Harry.

“Draco, either put that sausage in your mouth or put it back on your plate.”

The boy hadn’t even realised he was still holding his fork midway between his mouth and plate. He opened his mouth and took a large bite, before shooting a look at Pansy that said ‘happy now?’

“That’s my Draco,” Blaise purred, “Never happier than when he has a big sausage in his mouth.”

Draco flushed at the double meaning in his friend’s words.
“Really Blaise, must you be so vulgar,” he huffed.

Pansy laughed at her two friends and then stood up from the table. The other two turned questioning gazes to her.

“Come on you two! When you’re quite finished, we have double potions to get to.”

Draco pouted at this, “But Pansy...”

“But nothing Draco. Harry might have missed breakfast but you know he won’t miss lessons. The sooner you get off your arse, the sooner you will see him again.”

The truth in this statement had him scrambling off the bench, pausing only to grab some fruit.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at this, “Eating healthy today Draco?”

“It’s not for me you fool. Harry’s missed breakfast, he needs to eat something.”

Draco explained this slowly to his friend as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be worrying about Harry Potter’s appetite. Then he quickly turned away before his friends could see the pink flush that stained his pale cheeks.

A sharp nudge from Pansy caused Blaise to bite back the taunt that had been on the tip of his tongue. Instead, they simply followed the blonde as he stalked out of the Great Hall.

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When Harry had finally managed to drag his unwilling body out of bed, he had made straight for the dungeons. He was still not entirely convinced that people wouldn’t know that he was a deviant just by looking at him.

He slumped in his chair at the table he shared with Pansy. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the desk top, willing himself not to look up at the sound of approaching. As a result, he was extremely surprised to see an apple and a banana appear on the table in front of him. He looked up, surprised, and met the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“What’s that?” he asked, confused.

“I believe that is what most people call food, Harry. They eat it to stay alive. I suggest you do the same, you’re no good to me dead!”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t see that I’m much good to you alive.”

Draco rolled his eyes at him, “Of course you can’t Potter, you always were oblivious.”

Confused, Harry took up the Banana and slowly peeled it. As he slid the soft flesh between his lips, Blaise’s eyes widened at the unintentional innuendo in his actions.

“Very seductive Harry,” he purred.

Harry looked confused for a moment but then had a brief flashback to Seamus’s hollowed cheeks and a flush spread over his face. Draco glared daggers at Blaise and Pansy smirked. Before any of the friends could speak, Professor Slughorn had entered the room and they all turned to pay attention.

With Draco’s help, and without Snapes hindrance, Harry found that he was really beginning to enjoy potions. He had learned that the Slytherin’s took their work very seriously, so there was no real opportunity to be distracted.

Harry couldn’t help but notice how differently he perceived things from the Slytherin side of the classroom. As Slughorn began firing questions at the class about the theory behind the calming draughts, he felt, for the first time, an irritation at the way Hermione’s hand always shot into the air before the question was even finished. Harry wondered why Draco never volunteered an answer anymore, when he was obviously as knowledgeable, if not more so than the keen Gryffindor girl when it came to Potions.

It seemed that Harry was not the only one irked by Hermione’s eagerness to over achieve.

“Ok, so who can explain the benefits of using Schizandra root in a calming draught?”

As Harry expected, Hermione’s hand was high in the air and was waving around in a desperate attempt to draw the Professor’s attention her way. He was pleased when he heard SLughorns next words.

“Ah yes Miss Granger, I expect you do know the answer. I think, however, that we will let one of your other classmates have a chance to shine.”

Harry didn’t have to look to know that the girl was blushing fiercely.

“How about... Mr Malfoy, could you explain the benefits of Schizandra root?”

Harry noticed Draco stiffen as the attention of the whole class was drawn to him, and he realised then why the boy never raised his hand. However, Draco was a Malfoy and he wasn’t about to show fear in front of the other students. He looked steadily at his teacher, his chin thrust forward slightly.

“It improves the body’s response to stress, enabling it to cope at an increased level.”

Harry noticed that as he paused he took a deep breath and some of the tension left his body as he continued to speak.

“It is thought to calm the heart and quieten the spirit Sir, and because of this it is excellent for the treatment of Irritability, palpitations, dream disturbed sleep and insomnia.”

Professor Slughorn beamed at his student and Harry was surprised to see a teacher display such approval for a Slytherin. Not that he thought they shouldn’t, just that they didn’t and with the exception of Snape, Harry couldn’t remember when they ever had. Then he remembered that Slughorn was head of Slytherin. He would, of course, be looking to the best interests of his students and this explained why he had taken the trouble with Draco when most other teachers just left him to his silent study.

“Well done Mr Malfoy, a most illustrative answer. That will be 10 points to Slytherin I think.”

A long hiss sounded at this from the other side of the room, and Harry knew with certainty where it had come from. Not for the first time, he wanted to go over and shake some sense into Ron, and when he noticed the slump of Draco’s shoulders, he thought he might like to hit the redhead also.

“Ah, it would appear that we have a snake in the room. Perhaps, Mr Potter, you would be so good as to translate for our serpent friend?”

Harry gave his teacher a genuine smile and a gentle ripple of laughter echoed in the class. Professor Slughorn allowed them a moment, watching with a genial smile on his face. Once silence was restored, the smile was replaced by a far more serious expression.

“That will be 20 points from Gryffindor Mr Weasley. I do not tolerate such infantile behaviour from the 1st years, let alone the Head Boy.”

Harry looked over in time to see Ron flush and Hermione nudge him sharply as a reminder to stay silent.

Seeing that he had made his point, Slughorn flicked his wand in the direction of the board.

“You will work in pairs for this assignment, these are the instructions for this potion, please follow them carefully. “

Harry went to fetch the ingredients for the potion whilst Pansy set up their cauldron.
Half an hour later and their potion was well under way. If Harry missed the ‘Half Blood Prince’s tips occasionally, murmured suggestions from the blonde boy in front, more than made up for it.

As Harry was busy chopping up the Senega root and Pansy was carefully adding the required amount of rain water (collected during a full moon, of course, Professor Slughorn ambled over to their desk to inspect their progress. As he stood at the side of Pansy, Harry could see the girl tense. Before he had time to process this, or to even decide what to do about it, there was a loud sound of shattering glass.

Pansy just stood there, her face ghostly white, blood dripping from her hand that still held the remains of the shattered glass beaker. Instinctively, Harry reached out to take hold of her hand and inspect the damage. There was a deep jagged cut running across her palm, it looked painful but Pansy was showing no real sign of discomfort. Harry found it rather unnerving the way she just watched the blood as it poured from the open wound.

Draco and Blaise were both on their feet a second later, closing round Pansy, shielding her from the curiosity of their classmates. Draco’s hand rubbed soothing circles on her back as he whispered words that Harry couldn’t quite make out.

“Professor, I think Pansy needs to go to the Hospital wing, it’s quite a deep cut Sir.”

Harry’s voice brought Slughorn back to his responsibilities.

“Yes, yes, Mr Potter. You are quite right. Perhaps you would escort her there.”

Harry nodded, of course he would. Something about the look in Pansy’s eyes made him nervous and curious all at the same time. After he had pressed a cloth to the wound, stemming the flow of blood, he led the ashen girl from the dungeons and trod a path he knew only too well.

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Madam Pomfreys eyes narrowed the second she saw Harry enter the Hospital wing. Then she noticed the bloodied cloth wrapped around Pansy’s hand and she bustled over to them.
She peeled back the cloth and took a good look at the cut.

“It’s not too serious, I’ll just get it cleaned and then I’ll have you healed up, good as new.”

She led Pansy over towards a bed and gestured to her to sit on it. Harry watched as Madam Pomfrey got to work, cleaning the wound of glass fragments before casting a healing spell, knitting the skin back together.

“There you are dear, all done. You’d never even know it had been there.” The kindly matron smiled at the younger girl, who had a look of almost sadness on her face as she inspected her unblemished palm.

Harry perched on the bed at the side of his friend.

“Are you ok Pansy?” he asked, concerned.

She turned her head slowly to look at him and nodded.

“I’m fine; I just don’t like the sight of blood much.”

Harry could tell that it was a lie but as he had no idea what the truth was, he had to let it go. He had enough secrets of his own and knew how it felt when well meaning people poked their noses in. He had no intention of turning into either Hermione or Mrs Weasley anytime soon.

Madam Pomfrey handed them both a large chunk of chocolate, for the shock she explained, and then sent them on their way. A quick look at his watch told Harry the Potions would be over by now, so the two friends made their way to Transfiguration.

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Over the next few days, Neville Longbottom watched Harry closely. Or rather, he watched Draco Malfoy as he watched Harry closely. The first time he had noticed, Neville had been rather shocked to see the concern on the blonde Slytherin’s face, but after a few days of observation, it all made sense.
Draco cared about Harry, in fact Neville would have bet his collection of chocolate frog cards that Malfoy was in love with Harry.

Neville couldn’t help thinking that it was only fitting after 7 years of bitter rivalry that these two boys should end up together. There was a very fine line between love and hate and it seemed to Neville that Draco had already crossed it. All that was left to find out now was where Harry stood.

Neville had his suspicions but didn’t know for sure that Harry was gay. He rather thought that he was but that he was either in denial or oblivious to his preferences. Harry had never really had the chance to grow and develop like most teenagers. The war had forced him to grow old before his time in some ways, and yet in others it had kept him surprisingly immature.

Neville thought that Harry deserved to be happy more than anyone else he knew and for some reason he had a feeling that Draco could be just the person to do it for him. If you had asked him to explain that, Neville would have struggled; it was more of a gut instinct than based on facts.

And of course, Neville thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt if Harry got closer to Draco, not if it meant that he got to spend more time with Blaise.

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Thursday was Hermione’s birthday, and despite the tension that had replaced their friendship, Harry could not bring himself to ignore the day. He had bought her present some months ago, as soon as he had seen it, it had just screamed Hermione. It was a leather bounded, limited edition, copy of ‘Hogwarts – A History’.

He got up early on Thursday morning and quietly made his way down to where Hermione and Ron’s private rooms were. He placed the present on the floor just outside the door and turned around to leave. He had got only a couple of steps when he heard the door open.

“Harry,” she called to him softly.

He turned round to find her hugging the present to her chest, he walked slowly back to her and gave a weak smile.

“Happy Birthday Hermione.”

The girl flushed and Harry suspected she was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. He watched as she slowly removed the wrapping paper and felt rewarded when he saw the look of joy in her eyes.
“Oh Harry,” she whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

Before he realised it, Harry found himself enveloped in a tight hug, bushy hair tickling his nose. Just for a moment he could forget everything that had happened in the last three weeks and just enjoy the closeness. He realised it wasn’t real though, and when he pulled back from the embrace and saw her eyes flit nervously to Ron’s door, Harry knew it was time to go.

He walked away from her, determined not to look back, and felt a tiny piece of his heart break at the same time.


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He made his way down to the Great Hall and slumped dejectedly into his seat. So wrapped up was he in his own misery that he hadn’t noticed he had sat opposite Seamus.
It wasn’t until he felt the Irish boy’s gaze on him that he realised his mistake. Seamus was looking at him expectantly,

“So what do you think Harry, it’ll be good fun I reckon. They usually are.”

Confused, Harry asked, “Sorry, I wasn’t really listening, what are you on about?”

Seamus looked at Neville and rolled his eyes, “You tell him Nev.”

Harry turned to Neville expectantly, glad for the chance to look away from Seamus.

“I ran into Pansy on the way in here this morning. She invited us to a party in the Slytherin common room on Saturday night. Seamus has been to a few before and apparently they are quite good. I thought it might be fun to go.”

Harry was torn; on the one hand he really wanted to go to the party. He was aware he had led a sheltered life for an 18 year old and was eager to have a little more fun. But on the other hand he couldn’t help but remember Pansy’s comment about things that went on in the Slytherin common room and that made him nervous.

Harry watched as Neville’s eyes strayed over to the Slytherin table and he saw Blaise look up and smile back at him. He knew at that moment that he would say yes, Neville wouldn’t go if Harry didn’t, and Harry would feel far too guilty if Neville had to miss his chance with Blaise because of his hang ups.

“Yeah, it sounds great,” he replied, trying desperately to sound like he meant it.

Only Neville noticed that Harry’s tone did not match his words, but even he was so caught up in the prospect of a night with a certain Italian boy that he suppressed his concerns.

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Later that evening, when all the other Gryffindor’s were in the common room celebrating Hermione’s birthday, Harry snuck up to his room.

Deciding to get some homework done, he dug into his schoolbag, searching for an elusive quill. As he rummaged deeper, he felt a sharp jolt of pain in his thumb. Pulling his hand out of the bag, he noticed that there was a small cut that was beginning to bleed. He put his injured thumb into his mouth and sucked whilst he used his other hand to upend the contents of his bag onto his bed and sift through them in search of whatever had caused the damage.

He found it after a few moments; it was a fairly large shard of glass. He realised it must have fallen in there when Pansy had broken the beaker in potions.

He got up to throw it in the bin, but something stopped him. He sat back down on his bed and all he could think about was the look on Pansy’s face as she had watched the blood pour out of her wound.

Then he thought back to Friday night and how he had felt after scrubbing his skin raw. And before he could process fully what he was doing, Harry had rolled back the sleeve of his shirt and was slowly pressing the sharp edge against his skin.

As he saw the first droplets of blood ooze out from the cut, Harry watched with grim satisfaction. He pressed harder, knowing that he deserved the sharp pain that was coursing up his arm. Blood was running down his arm now and Harry felt a strange sense of calm descend over him. It felt like everything he had bottled up inside was being released through this one wound. It finally made his pain seem real, because now he could actually see that he was hurting.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pressed the glass to his arm once more.

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