How to Save a Life

From the moment that the Hogsmead weekend announcement was made, Harry found that he didn’t get a moments peace. Everytime they were together, Draco would find some way to slip it into the conversation.

Harry thought it was bad enough that his stomach clenched in anxiety every time he passed the posters in the common room, without Draco reminding him of it at every turn.

Every morning that week they had virtually the same conversation and by Friday, Harry was more than a little tired of it.

“Have you spoken to them yet?”

Harry sighed and turned to face his boyfriend. “No, not yet.”

“Why not?” Draco’s voice was a little whiny and Harry took a deep breath to calm himself before replying.

“I just haven’t gotten round to it yet, but I will.”

“When?”

Harry’s goblet slammed forcefully onto the table causing Blaise and Pansy to raise eyebrows in his direction.

“Soon. Now just let it go, yeah?”

“I don’t see why-”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco,” Harry snapped, finally at the end of his patience. “I gave you my word that I’ll talk to them, and I will. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

The instant that the words left his mouth, he found that he regretted them. Instead of the anger Harry expected to see on Draco’s face, there was an expression of hurt. A flash of vulnerability crossed the blond’s face briefly before his reserved mask slid into place quickly. But not so quickly that Harry didn’t see it.

Trying to keep in mind Pansy’s words about Draco’s insecurities, Harry squashed down his irritation and sought to placate his boyfriend. He scooted closer to the blond so that they were pressed together, hip to knee, and discreetly slid his hand onto Draco’s thigh. Harry felt him tense under his touch, but was relieved to find that he wasn’t rebuffed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his thumb pressing circles into Draco’s flesh. “I didn’t mean to…It’s just…”

Draco turned to meet his gaze, his face expressionless. “What?”

Looking at Draco in that moment, Harry knew that many would consider the Slytherin to be cold and unfeeling - but he knew different. He had been privileged enough to see beyond the cool exterior to the bundle of contradictions and insecurities that lay beneath. It was moments like this that made Harry wish the world knew about the two of them, because he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms round his boyfriend and make everything OK.

“I’ll do it this weekend.” Harry knew he was giving in, acquiescing to Draco’s demands, but he just didn’t want to fight. And it really wasn’t that big a price to pay, not when he considered the smile that lit up the blond’s face, or the way that he slid his own hand under the table and laced their fingers together.

All he had to do was speak to Ron and Hermione, to explain that he needed to talk to them about something important and ask if they would stay behind next weekend when all the other students were in Hogsmeade. Really, this was the easy part. If he couldn’t bring himself to do that, how on earth was he ever going to tell them about him and Draco?

That evening Harry stayed in Gryffindor tower. Draco had a Quidditch game the next day and had opted for an early night. Harry had smiled indulgently at the time, but later, brooding alone in his dorm, he wanted nothing more that to be wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms.

As he lay on his bed, dwelling on his problems, imagining all the horrible ways things could go wrong once his friends knew the truth, he heard a click and Neville entered the room. The fair-haired boy slumped onto his own bed and grinned across at Harry.

“You’re a Quidditch widow for the evening as well then?”

Harry pulled himself up into a seating position and nodded glumly.

“Are you OK, Harry? It’s just that Blaise said you and Draco nearly had a fight at breakfast.”

Biting back the impulse to tell his friend to mind his own business, Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his messy hair. “Yeah, we did. He just kept going on about me speaking to Ron and Hermione about next weekend and I just lost it a bit.”

“Hogsmeade, you mean?” Neville asked in confusion.

“I promised him that I would tell them about us next weekend. Ever since those damn posters went up he keeps nagging me to ask them about it.” Harry’s frustration coloured his tone but he made no effort to hide it. Neville and Blaise were still firmly in the Hogwarts closet themselves, so he figured he would get a little understanding.

“Oh.” Neville said nothing further but something in his tone put Harry on the defensive.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Neville replied warily.

“No, come on. You obviously have something to say, so lets hear it.” For the life of him, Harry couldn’t stop the words. All the irritation he had felt with Draco for the last week, everything he had bottled up, it was all coming to the fore, and Neville was bearing the brunt of it.

Harry glared at his roommate and watched as the other boy squirmed uncomfortably. Neville was mentally kicking himself. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? Although, in his defence, he had hardly expected the word ‘oh’ to garner such hostility. But Harry’s temper was legendary in Gryffindor, probably in the whole of Hogwarts, Neville thought on reflection. And short lived though it was, being in the eye of the storm itself was not a good place to be.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Harry. It’s just…well, it can’t be easy for Draco, having to hide how he feels. Especially when most of the school think that his boyfriend is dating his best friend.”

“It’s hardly a fucking party for me either, Neville. You think I like having to hide who I am, or lie to my friends?”

“You don’t have to, though,” Neville replied softly. “Draco hasn’t.”

“So you’re on his side then?” Harry snapped. He was irritated beyond belief that the one person he had come to rely on for support, was taking Draco’s part.

“I’m not taking sides, Harry. Neither of you is really in the wrong. But look at it from his point of view. All of his friends, his whole house and his family know about the two of you. Merlin, Harry, he went to Azkaban to tell his father. He faced Lucius Malfoy and told him he was in love with, not just another boy, but the boy who put him in prison in the first place. He did all that and you can’t even face Ron and Hermione. I know Ron’s got a temper, but really, who would you rather face?”

“It isn’t that I don’t want to tell them,” Harry said mulishly. “It’s just not that simple.”

Feeling brave, Neville crossed the room and perched on the edge of his friend’s bed. “It really is,” he ventured. “It may be awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s very simple.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he was suddenly unsure of what to say. Neville was right. Draco had put everything on the line for their relationship, and he couldn’t do this one thing.

Seizing his chance, Neville continued. “I know you don’t mean it this way, but Draco probably takes your reluctance to mean that you’re not serious, or worse, that you’re ashamed.”

“I’m not! It’s just…”

“I know, and I’m sure that he does too, deep down. But that doesn’t stop the niggling doubts.”

“How did you get to be so wise?” Harry was over his temper now and was just staring at his friend in amazement.

Neville shrugged. “I just know how it feels.”

Harry frowned briefly before his eyes widened in understanding. “Blaise?”

Nevilled nodded. “Once I told Gran at Christmas, I told him that I wanted us to stop hiding like we were doing something wrong. But he won’t.”

“Do his family know?”

“His dad’s dead, has been for years. He says his mum does know that he’s gay, but that she pretends not to. So he said it was a waste of time telling her.”

“All his friends know, though,” Harry comforted.

“I know. I don’t really think it’s because he’s ashamed of me, but like I said, sometimes you can’t help the niggling doubts.”

Harry nodded. “So why does he want to hide it then?”

“He thinks he’s protecting me. He thinks that everyone will give me a hard time for being with him. It’s ridiculous really. I mean, last year I fought against Death Eaters and faced Voldemort. Why in the world would I be scared of what a bunch of school kids could do to me?”

Harry leant back agasint his pillows, deep in thought. How could he have been so stupid as to think that Draco needed protecting from public opinion? In the last couple of years, Draco had lived through more stress and pressure than most people would endure in a lifetime - and he had survived. Harry realised that he couldn’t, or didn’t need, to protect Draco from other people and their prejudiced outlook. What he did need to do was be there for his boyfriend whenever he needed him, and that couldn’t be done while they were still hiding their relationship.

On Saturday morning, the sun was shining brightly. The air, however, was bitter, and Harry made sure to wrap up warm before heading out to meet up with Pansy; they had arranged to watch the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match together. He opened the dormitory door and almost walked straight into Ron, who was stood on the threshold, arm raised to knock.

“Hi,” Harry said, thinking how strange it was to have Ron knocking when they had shared the room together for six years. It was just another reminder of how things had changed between them.

“Alright, Mate. I just wondered if you fancied going down to watch the game? Check out the opposition, you know?”

“I would, Ron, but I’ve already promised to meet up with Pansy. Unless, of course, you want to sit with us in the Slytherin stand?” Harry couldn’t resist teasing.

A barely surpressed shudder ran through Ron’s body. He may have been learning to tolerate certain Slytherins at Hermione’s insistence, but years of dislike and mistrust didn’t disappear overnight. Harry doubted that his friend would ever truly believe that Slytherins weren’t inherently bad.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll give it a miss. Don’t want to cramp your style.”

Harry chuckled at this, and Ron stared in horror as his friend wound a green and silver scarf round his neck.

“It’s just a scarf, Ron.”

“It’s a Slytherin scarf, Harry. Why would you even own one, let alone wear it?”

Harry just shrugged. “It was a Christmas present. I’m just showing my support for the team. I can hardly go down there wearing Gryffindor colours - I’d get thrown out of the stands.”

The two friends began the descent into the common room, where Ron was promptly claimed by Hermione. He took one last look at his friend, shaking his head slowly. “I never thought I’d see you wearing their colours.”

“Me neither.” Harry grinned. “It’s not all bad though. I have it on very good authority that the green really brings out my eyes.”

Ron looked stumped at this and Harry quickly slipped through the protrait hole, giggling to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry shifted up on the bench to make room for Pansy to sit. The Slytherin girl settled herself down and then turned to look at him.

“Who died?”

Harry’s face was a picture of confusion. “What?”

“The expression on your face - you look like you’re going to a funeral. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.”

Pansy leaned in and gently bumped her shoulders against Harry’s. “C’mon, Potter, spill. I’m not letting it go, so you may as well tell. You know how persistent I can be.”

Harry gave a wry grin to indicate that, yes, he was only too aware of her bulldog-like persistence.

“Honestly, nothing’s wrong. I was just trying to work something out. You know me and thinking - it’s a painful process.”

“Is it something to do with the argument that you and Draco had yesterday at breakfast,” Pansy persisted.

“I wouldn’t call it an argument,” Harry replied defensively. Pansy just stared intently until he cracked. “OK, yes, we fell out because I haven’t spoken to Ron and Hermione about next weekend yet. I promised Draco I would do it by the end of tomorrow and I’m just working out what to say.”

“How about you just say that you need to talk to them and would they mind staying behind next weekend to do it? It’s not that difficult, Harry.”

“I was trying to find a way to say it that would stop Hermione from hounding me for the next seven days, trying to find out what it is. She can’t bear not to know something.”

Pansy snorted. “Should have been in Ravenclaw, that girl. Far too inquisitive by half.” The Slytherin girl then reached into her bag and produced two bottles of butterbeer. She flipped the tops off and passed one to Harry. Seeing his questioning look, she smirked. “You’re not the only one with house-elf connections, you know.”

Harry took the offered bottle and clinked it against Pansy’s in salutation. “Cheers.”

“Just ask them, Harry. And if Granger really does press the issue, well, you’ll just have to avoid her. How much time do you spend in Gryffindor nowadays anyway? It’s only for a week.”

“I guess,” Harry answered noncommittally.

“Don’t guess, do,” Pansy instructed. “Tell you what, do it after the game. I’ll even walk up to the tower with you. The sooner you do it the better. Plus, just think how happy Draco will be once you’ve done it. And we both know that a happy Draco puts out!”

“Pansy!” Harry exclaimed, mortified.

“Don’t be such a girl, Potter,” she replied briskly. “Now stop talking, the game is about to begin.”

“When did you become such a Quidditch fan?”

“What’s not to like? There’s boys, tight trousers, and lots of physical activitiy leading to hot, sweaty bodies. Plus there’s the added advantage that Crabbe and Goyle are no longer on the team.”

She leant closer to Harry at this point and whispered conspiratorially. “They did not look good in tight pants.”

Harry burst out laughing at this, causing a spray of butterbeer to spurt from his mouth and land on the back of some unsuspecting Slytherin. He cast a quick Cleaning Charm, grinned at Pansy and then turned his attention to the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“C’mon, move it.” Pansy prodded Harry fiercely in his side with her fingertip.

The game had ended with Slytherin victorious. However, Pansy had no intention of allowing either of them to partake in the victory celebrations.

“Where are we going? I want to congratulate Draco,” Harry whined.

Pansy just glared. “You know where we’re going. You’re going up to Gryffindor to have a little chat with the remainder of the Golden Trio, and I am walking you up there to make sure you don’t bottle it halfway.”

Harry glared at his friend in return, but knew arguing was pointless when Pansy was in this mood. He cast one longing glance down at the pitch, to where a beaming Draco was being congratulated by his teammates.

“If you would just get your arse into gear, and out of the closet, then you could be down there now,” Pansy said pointedly.

Harry nodded to acknowledge the truth in that statement and then turned to follow Pansy, a determined set to his jaw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Harry!”

There was a look of definite relief on Ron’s face when he saw his friend enter the common room. Harry took a quick look from him, to Hermione, to the pile of books surrounding them, and understood instantly.

“How was the game, mate? Will we have much to worry about from Ravenclaw?”

Harry considered for a moment before replying. “I don’t think so. Micheal Corner makes a surprisingly good Chaser, but Su Li didn’t stand at chance at the Snitch against Draco.”

Ron rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We’ll walk it then. You’re miles better than Malfoy is. It will be so good, winning the Quidditch Cup in our last year.”

“Steady on, Ron,” Harry warned. “We’ve only played one game so far.”

Ron made a dismissive motion with his hands. “Everyone knows that the only real game is us against Slytherin, and we’ve already won that one. The Cup is as good as ours.”

Hermione looked up from her work at this point. She smiled at Harry as if only just noticing him. “Hi, Harry. You look cold.”

“Yeah, it’s freezing out there,” he agreed ruefully.

“Nice scarf,” she teased, shooting a quick glance at Ron, who clenched his jaw and looked away.

Harry unwound the scarf slowly and set it on the sofa at the side of him. “It’s off now, Ron. You can relax.”

“Actually, Harry, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about next weekend.”

Harry tensed momentarily. She couldn’t know, could she? Hermione was good, but she wasn’t that good. There was now way she could possibly know already.

“What about it?” Harry asked, hoping his friends didn’t notice the waver in his voice.

“I was thinking it might be nice for us three to spend some time together, just us. We could go into Hogsmeade. It would be just like old times.”

Harry refrained from telling Hermione that nothing was ever going to be like it used to be, that too much had happened this last year for them to ever go back to how they were. Hermione had an almost pleading expression on her face and Harry didn’t have the heart to shatter her illusions just yet. Instead, he cleared his throat and shifted nervously in his seat.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you two about next weekend as well.”

“Really? What about it?” Hermione was intrigued.

“Well,” Harry began uncertainly, fiddling with his sleeves. “I need to talk to you guys.”

“Uh, Harry? What exactly do you think we’re doing now?”

“Hush, Ron.” One look at Harry’s face and Hermione gave her boyfriend a sharp dig to the ribs.

“What about?” she asked gently.

“I’d rather not say right now.” Harry looked around uneasily at the other occupants of the room. “It’s not something I want everyone else to know just yet. I mean, they’ll have to find out eventually, but just not yet.”

Hermione paled. “You're not sick are you?”

This caught even Ron’s attention. “Are you ill, mate?”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just…it’s kind of personal and I don’t want other people overhearing. So I though that next weekend, when everyone is in Hogsmeade…”

“Of course we will. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities for us to go to Hogsmeade.” Hermione leant forward and squeezed his hand softly. “We’re here for you. Aren’t we, Ron?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it, and Pansy had been right - it was easy.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell us about it now, Harry?” Hermione’s eyes were alive with inquisitiveness and Harry promptly made his excuses and bolted for the portrait hole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week seemed to fly by for Harry. The days merged together and before he knew it, it was Friday night and he had only a few short hours left before he had to lay everything on the line and risk losing it all.

Draco had wanted him to spend the night down in the dungeons. The blond had made a few lewd suggestions about how he would like to help Harry forget for the night. But the dark-haired boy had declined, opting instead, to spend the evening brooding, alone, in Gryffindor Tower.

Harry went to bed early, his mind full of memories of moments from his friendship with Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t shake off the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to lose them. That as soon as they heard about him and Draco, they would turn their backs on him.

Unable to take it any longer, Harry opted for the easy way out and retrieved a small vial of Dreamless Sleep from his bedside cabinet. Quickly chugging the contents, he curled up under his covers and promptly fell asleep.

It was late on Saturday morning when Harry finally dragged himself out of bed and made his way down to the Great Hall. A quick look at his watch told him that breakfast would be almost over, but not even this information could persuade his reluctant feet to move any faster. His stomach was already in knots and the thought of food caused an unpleasant churning sensation.

On entering the Great Hall, Harry was relieved to see that there was no familiar head of blond hair over at the Slytherin table. In fact, there were very few students left at all. He made his way to the Gryffindor table and found himself being beckoned over by a far-too-happy-looking Dennis Creevey.

“Hiya, Harry,” the younger boy enthused in tones that reminded Harry greatly of Colin.

“Hello, Dennis,” he replied tiredly, slumping into the vacant seat opposite the fifth year boy.

Harry reached for a slice of toast and nibbled on it dry. He kept his eyes fixed to his plate, hoping against hope that Dennis would take the hint and leave him alone. It was not to be though, for the younger boy began to chatter excitedly.

Harry made minimal eye contact and only the odd murmur of acknowledgement, focussing on trying to keep his food down. He chewed his breakfast slowly, trying desperately to work out what it was he was going to say to Ron and Hermione. No matter how many times he tried different versions of the conversation in his head, it always ended with an explosion of temper from Ron, and a hurt expression on Hermione’s face.

He was brought from his reverie by a crashing noise and babbled apologies from Dennis.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. It was an accident, honest.”

Harry looked up in confusion. He saw that the younger boy had knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice and was trying, with little success, to mop up the spillage with a sodden napkin. Pulling out his wand, Harry cast a quick Scourgify, vanishing the mess instantly. Straightening up his goblet, he reached for the jug to pour himself a refill, only to realise that it was empty.

“Have mine, Harry.” Dennis slid his own drink across the table. “I’ve not had any out of it yet.”

“It’s OK, Dennis. I’ll just have water.”

“Take it,” the younger Gryffindor pressed somewhat desperately.

Not wanting to upset the nervous boy further, Harry reached out and took the fresh goblet. “Thanks, Dennis,” he murmured, drinking deeply.

When he had finally eaten all he could stomach, Harry made his excuses and fled back up to Gryffindor tower. The common room was full of students, milling around, waiting to go into Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione were frantically trying to round up the lower years into some semblance of order so that they could marshal them down to the Entrance Hall.

Harry shot his friends a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks for the help, mate,” Ron grimaced.

“Ignore him, Harry,” Hermione said as she tried to round up some errant first years. “Hopefully it won’t take us too long to get this lot safely into Hogsmeade and then we’ll come straight back.”

Ron cast a disbelieving eye over the throng of children and snorted. “By the look of this lot, I wouldn’t expect us much before lunch time.”

“Don’t be silly, Ron,” Hermione chastised. “Of course we’ll be back before then, Harry. Then we can have a good talk.” She smiled encouragingly and Harry wished he felt half as positive as she obviously felt. He forced a weak smile onto his face and watched as his friends disappeared out of the portrait.

Harry made his way, slowly, up to his dormitory, deciding to get a quick nap in before they returned. Considering how excited the first years had been, he figured he had a couple of hours at least before the other two managed to return.

He slumped onto his bed fully clothed and shut the hangings with a flick of his wand, trying his best not to think about his impending doom.


Just over an hour later, Ron and Hermione made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower, speculating as they went about what it was Harry was planning to tell them.

“You don’t think he’s got Pansy pregnant or something, do you?” Ron suggested in hushed tones.

“Don’t be silly, Ron. Harry wouldn’t do something like that.” Hermione looked quickly at her boyfriend. “Would he?”

Ron just shrugged. “You never know with Harry. He’s always been a bit of a mystery.”

“Hmm,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “He’s certainly always been very secretive. I wonder what on earth it could be.”

“Only one way to find out,” Ron said, as they paused in front of the Pink Lady.

The portrait hole swung open slowly and the two of them made to enter. They were brought up short by the sight that greeted them. Harry was sat on one of the squashy couches with Ginny Weasley straddling his lap. Her hands were buried in his hair, while his hands seemed to have disappeared under her top. Not only that, but they seemed to be trying desperately to eat each other alive.

Ron and Hermione stood in shock, they just couldn't not look. Finally, the couple on the sofa pulled apart and began talking, their hands never leaving each other's bodies, completely oblivious to the onlookers. Ron’s face went bright red and he made to walk into the room. Hermione put a calming hand on his arm and gently guided him out of the room, the portrait closing behind them.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I guess that answers our questions about what Harry wanted to tell us.”