How to Save a Life

Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been a little busy writing a story for hd_inspired's Back to School fest (on Livejournal). Should be back to regular updates now!!

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Harry made his way up to the dormitory, trying his best to ignore the sounds of Ginny and Neville's conversation as it floated up the stairs after him. Seamus and Dean were already in the room, and Harry tried not to care that the conversation died the instant he entered the room. Even after years of having every aspect of his life under intense scrutiny, he never quite got used to it. But what annoyed him more were the pitying looks that his friends sent in his direction.

The last thing he wanted right now was to be around people. Harry just wanted to slink away into some dark corner and lick his wounds in peace. He murmured something that could have passed as a greeting to his dorm mates and then headed into the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, Harry cast several strong Locking Charms; he didn't think his friends would
intrude, but he didn't want to leave it to chance.

Turning on the nearest shower, Harry slowly removed his clothing and he waited for the water to heat up. As he took in his reflection in the mirror, Harry was startled by his appearance. The stark light in the bathroom made his skin appear almost 'white'. The already purpling flesh around his eye and lip further juxtaposed this pallor. His eyes had reverted back to their
old deadened expression.

Harry stepped into the shower, but despite the hot water soothing his aching body, he still felt cold. Draco's words were echoing in his ears. Guilt was a familiar emotion, and even though he knew deep down that he was not to blame on this occasion, old habits were hard to break, and that well-known sense of self-loathing settled over him.

Harry leant his forearm against the tiled wall and leant his aching head onto it, allowing the water to course over his body. His eyes closed, all he could see was Draco's face as it twisted in anger and hatred. It was an expression Harry had seen many times over the years, but seeing it directed at him now, after all that they had shared, was like a knife to the gut.

His breath came in short shallow gulps and Harry could feel a sense of panic rushing through his veins, as tears burst from him like a storm. He slid down the wall until he was huddled on the base of the shower.

In his distress, Harry barely noticed when he began to scratch at his arms, his fingernails leaving angry red tracks in their wake. The sound of a gentle knock on the door brought him back to his senses; he looked down at the marred flesh, speckled with tiny spots of blood, and turned his head away in disgust.

“Harry!” Neville’s voice was so soft that it was barely audible through the door. When there was no reply, he tried again. “Harry.”

“I’m OK, Nev,” he lied, climbing slowly to his feet.

“I’ve sent Seamus and Dean down into the common room for a bit, so you can come out if you want.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He grabbed his towel and began to dry himself, carefully avoiding his newly damaged skin. He didn’t want to go out there, because if he did, he would be forced to acknowledge that it was all real, that he had really lost Draco, and he just didn’t think he would be able to handle that.

After pulling on his pyjamas and roughly towelling his hair, Harry reluctantly took down the Locking Charm on the door and slowly opened it. He entered the bedroom and was relieved to see that Neville had spoken the truth; Seamus and Dean were nowhere to be seen, and for that, he was infinitely grateful.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was to have to put on a brave face in front of his friends. All he really wanted to do was crawl into bed, draw the hangings around himself, and brood on how his life had so suddenly fallen apart.

Not fallen, he corrected himself. Fallen implied it was accidental. It had been deliberately torn apart by the very people he had once trusted with it.

Neville perched on the edge of his bed and watched as Harry emerged from the bathroom. He noted, with a sinking feeling, that the deadened look had returned to his friend’s eyes. There was such an air of defeat around him, that Neville rather thought he would like to hit the people responsible for it. Starting in Gryffindor tower, and finishing up in the Slytherin dungeons.

As the only one of Harry’s friends to see him really interact with Draco on a da ily basis, Neville had managed to get over his previous dislike of the Slytherin simply by watching the smile he put on his friend’s face. It was an expression that had been all too absent following the events of the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Anyone who could put that look of unadulterated happiness on Harry’s face was alright in Neville’s book. And now it was gone. Only to be replaced with one that was heartbreaking in it’s blatant misery.

Neville didn’t say anything as Harry readied himself for bed. He had learnt over the years that the other boy hated to feel pitied, so he sat back quietly and waited. Ready to offer whatever was needed.

Harry sank to his bed with a soft sigh and ran his hands through his still-damp hair.

“I’m OK,” he said, not very convincingly.

Neville’s expression apparently showed his disbelief, as Harry cracked the tiniest of smiles - starting and ending with his mouth.

“Alright, so I’m not OK,” he admitted with a small shrug. “But it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.”

“D’you want to talk? I’m not that bad a listener?”

Harry shook his head emphatically. “No. I don’t think I could hold it together. What I’d really like to do is crawl into bed, fall asleep, and then wake up to find that this is all some fucked up kind of nightmare.” He cradled his head in his hands briefly, steadying his emotions. “But it’s not, is it?”

The faint plea in his tone wrung Neville’s heart. “No, it’s not,” he agreed reluctantly.

Raising his head to meet his friend’s gaze, there was a flash of anger on Harry’s face.

“How could they do that? Just lie to my face? I know we have drifted apart this year, but they must really hate me.”

“I don’t think they were, Harry. Lying, that is.”

Green eyes narrowed at this. “You said you believed me.”

“I do,” Neville reassured hastily. “It’s just; I find it really hard to believe that Hermione would lie about something like this.”

“We can’t both be telling the truth.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they just think that’s what they saw. Like they didn’t get a good look, and it was only someone who looked like you.”

Harry shook his head sadly. “That doesn’t explain Ginny, though.”

“Well, no,” Neville admitted. “But I don’t have quite as much difficulty in believing her capable of lying. Not considering her behaviour last term.”

Harry just shrugged again. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense. What would she have to gain by saying it? I still know it’s not true, whatever anyone else thinks.”

Neville thought for a moment. “She thinks you’re dating Pansy, right?”

“Um, I guess so. I mean, I’ve never actually told anyone that I was, but they all just assumed.”

“Well, Ginny made it quite clear how she felt about that. Maybe she realised she couldn’t scare Pansy off, so she found another way to split you up.”

“But how would that benefit her? She has to know that by doing that, it would just turn me against her even more.”

Neville thought again for a moment. “Maybe she’s just decided that if she can’t have you, then no one else will.”

Harry massaged his temples lightly; he could feel a headache coming on. “I don’t know, Nev. Hermione was always the one who solved the puzzles. I’m no good at working stuff like this out.” He pulled the duvet back and slid underneath, propping himself up against the headboard.

“Where were you all day?” Neville blurted out suddenly. Harry raised an eyebrow at this and his friend flushed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just thought that wherever you were, someone was bound to have seen you. Then you have an alibi, and we can prove Ginny is lying.”

“I was asleep,” Harry admitted shamefacedly.

“What, all day?” Neville asked incredulously.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I took a nap after breakfast.”

“That was some nap!”

“I guess I was really tired. In fact, I’m still kind of knackered now. I think I’m just gonna go to bed, if you don’t mind?”

Neville had enough sense to recognise a dismissal when he heard one, and he had no intention of pressing the matter further. “OK. He smiled. “I’ll try and keep the other two out of here long enough to let you fall asleep.”

Harry smiled his thanks, but inwardly he doubted that there was any point. He just knew that sleep would be a long time coming that night.

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Despite Neville’s best entreaties, Harry could not be persuaded to join his friend at breakfast the next day. Neville reluctantly left him to his private misery and headed down to the Great Hall alone.

Deep in thought, he made his way over to the Gryffindor table. It was only after he had sat down, and saw who his companions were, that he realised his mistake.

Hermione smiled at him tentatively, while Ron just settled for glaring fiercely. After Harry had gone to bed the night before, Neville had returned to the common room and had been instantly embroiled in a heated discussion with the redhead. Neville had tried to stay calm, and had, in the end, been forced to walk away.

Ginny, simply leaned over the table and placed her hand on Neville’s arm. “Where’s Harry? Is he OK?”

Neville restrained the urge to tell her that it was none of her damn business. Instead, he slid his arm from her grasp and returned her gaze coolly. “In bed,” was his terse reply.

“Maybe I should go up and talk to him.”

It was more of a statement that a question and it was all Neville could do not to roll his eyes. She was certainly persistent, he would give her that. It was only when Ginny rose from her seat that he spoke. “Leave him alone. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I’d rather hear that from him.”

She looked so smug that Neville’s hand itched to slap her. “I think Harry made his feelings very clear to you last night.”

Ginny opened her mouth to dispute this, but a hand on her arm pulled her back into her seat.


“Sit down, Ginny.” Hermione’s tone was a little sharp and Neville looked at her curiously.

“But I-”

“You can’t force him to talk to you if he doesn’t want to.” Her tone was a little softer and it apparently soothed Ginny’s ruffled feathers.

“You’re right,” she nodded. “He probably just needs some time alone to think.”

Ron snorted. “Thinking, my arse. He’s just too much of a coward to come out and face us.”

Neville regarded Ron coolly and quirked an eyebrow at him. It was an expression that was pure Slytherin and it caused the redhead to squirm uncomfortable. Neville couldn’t help but reflect on the usefulness of a Slytherin boyfriend.

Despite his discomfort, Ron had no intention of backing down. “If he’s done nothing wrong, I don’t see why he won’t come out of his room.”

“Why should he? So you can all gang up on him again? Or perhaps you’d like to throw another punch at him?” Neville’s voice was dripping with a sarcasm that stopped his three fellow Gryffindor’s in their tracks.

“Neville,” Hermione began.

The boy in question merely shook his head and got up from his seat. “We are not talking about this anymore.”

“Where are you going?” Warm brown eyes looked up at him, filled with concern.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Neville flung at them, before turning and making his way out of the Great Hall.

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Draco studiously avoided looking over at the Gryffindor table during breakfast. He didn’t even look up from his plate to meet the sympathetic gazes that those, brave enough among his housemates, were sending him.

It took all of his energy and concentration to maintain his cold Malfoy façade, and to keep his breakfast down.

A casual observer would have noted very little difference between this Draco Malfoy, and the one who had occupied this space for the last six years. However, those who knew the blond better, noted the faint shadows under his eyes, and the almost sickly pallor of his skin, both of which told of a restless night with very little sleep.

Those of an even more intimate acquaintance with the Slytherin, would have been able to point to the slight furrows on his brow which told of his inner battle for self-control.

Pansy noted all of these signs with concern, and it was with great restraint that she managed to hold her tongue. She was wise enough to know that Draco would not thank anyone who dared to suggest that his appearance of self-possession was anything other than genuine. For all that Draco liked to play the cold and haughty Malfoy, Pansy knew just how tenuous her friend’s grip on his self-control was, and despite her concern, she could not bring herself to call him on it.

She would have to wait for him to come to her. It would be a few days before he would do so willingly, but Pansy knew from experience that he invariably would.

Unlike Draco, Pansy’s eyes flitted constantly in the direction of the Gryffindor table. At one point her gaze locked with that of Ginny Weasley, and the Slytherin girl was momentarily confused by the outright smugness of the redhead’s expression.

It took Millicent Bulstrode, of all people, to remind Pansy that, as far as most of the school knew, it was her that Harry had cheated on - Ginny included. Pansy felt, rather than saw, Draco tense up at the mention of Harry’s name. Millicent too, realised her mistake just seconds too late, and after a nervous look in Draco’s direction, she turned back to her breakfast.

Pansy’s gaze shifted towards the entrance to the Great Hall, and she watched hopefully, waiting to see if Harry would appear. She quashed the feeling of disloyalty that rose within her when she thought of how hurt Draco had been. She couldn’t help but feel concerned for Harry; he had been in such a pitiful state the night before, and having heard at least part of Draco’s words to him, Pansy could well understand why.

What worried her was the thought that, in his distress, Harry would fall back into old, bad habits in an effort to cope. She knew exactly what her first impulse would have been had she been in his situation, and she just prayed, to whatever God was listening, that Harry had more strength.

When Neville Longbottom entered the Great Hall, late, and lost in thought, Pansy knew that Harry wasn’t coming.

She watched, with interest, the interaction between Neville and his friends, and was surprised to see the obvious anger on the usually-placid Gryffindor’s face. When Neville left the Hall, Pansy saw her chance. Gulping down the last of her pumpkin juice, she made her excuses and hot-footed it after the disappearing boy, completely oblivious to the narrowed grey eyes that followed her exit.

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Neville had already begun the climb back up to Gryffindor tower, when he heard hurrying footsteps behind him.

“Neville!” Pansy called, slightly out of breath. “Wait a minute.”

Neville came to a halt and waited patiently for the Slytherin girl to catch up to him. “Pansy,” he acknowledged. “What can I do for you?” There was some residual coolness in his voice from his earlier conversation, but if Pansy noticed, she chose not to acknowledge it.

“I just wanted to ask how Harry was?”

“What do you care?” Neville bit, and instantly regretted it when he saw the flash of hurt on the girl’s face. “Sorry,” he said a little sheepishly. “But if you’d seen how upset Harry was, you would understand why I’m not big on Slytherins right now.”

“That’s hardly fair. Draco’s hurt too, and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Except attack his boyfriend and break his heart, you mean?”

Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but stopped herself and snapped it shut for a moment. She looked thoughtfully at Neville before speaking again.

“I don’t want to fall out with you about this; that’s not why I’m here. Harry’s my friend too, and I’m concerned about him. He was in a bit of a state last night, and he wasn’t at breakfast, and …, well, I’m just worried, I guess.”

Neville felt his anger melt in the face of this sincerity. “He’s as well as can be expected, I suppose. You know Harry, not big on sharing his problems.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still in bed, and planning to stay there for the rest of the day as far as I can tell. I spoke to him briefly before I came down. He looks like shit. I don’t think he slept at all last night.”

Pansy frowned in concern. “But does he seem OK…you know…mentally?”

“I don’t think he’s going to try and top himself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Neville replied, smiling despite himself. But he didn’t miss the faint shudder that ran through the Slytherin girl at his words, and his smile faded quickly.

“Pansy,” he began carefully, “is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Honestly? Yes, there is. But it’s not my place to tell. Just look after him, yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, Pansy turned on her heel and bolted back down the stairs.

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Mindful of Pansy’s words, Neville kept a close eye on Harry for the remainder of the day. Not that it was particularly difficult, as Harry showed no signs of moving out of the dormitory. By lunchtime he had gone as far as to get dressed, but no amount of coaxing could persuade him to leave the room.

“I’m fine,” Harry said in a tone that revealed his exasperation with the other boy’s continued presence. “I’m just not that hungry.”

“You said that at breakfast,” Neville objected.

“And I’m saying it again now.” Harry sighed softly and looked at his friend, forcing a weak smile onto his face. “I appreciate the concern, Nev. Really, I do. But there’s no need; I’m fine.”

“So you said. Doesn’t change the fact that you look like shit though.”

Harry chuckled bitterly at this. “Thanks for the compliment. You certainly know how to kick someone when they’re down.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. But you look like you didn’t sleep last night, you won’t eat, and being cooped up in this room all day isn’t helping.”

“I’ve got this essay to write for tomorrow.” Harry indicated the scatter of parchment on his bed with a wave of his hand.

“Well, come to the library then, and I’ll help you.”

“It’s Potions, Nev.”

“Oh, OK, so maybe I won’t help. But come anyway. It’s got to be better that brooding in here.”

Harry shut his text book with a loud snap, and when he spoke again, Neville could hear the struggle for control behind the words.

“You know, It’s funny. You would think that with the amount of times its happened before, that I would be used to having everyone talk about me, dissecting my life.” He paused here and looked up. “But it doesn’t. I know I’ll have to face them all tomorrow, but can’t I have just one day where I’m not being gawped at like the newest freak show in town?”

Neville just nodded; what else could he say to that?

“I’m really not that hungry, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Kreacher and have him bring me up a sandwich or something.”

Neville nodded in satisfaction at this compromise. “Yes, it would,” he agreed, sitting down on the nearest bed, clearly intent on waiting till Harry had made good on his word.

Realising this, Harry huffed in annoyance, but called the wizened old elf all the same.

They had much the same conversation later that day when Harry pointedly refused to go down for dinner. Yet again, Neville waited while a house-elf was summoned to bring food to the brooding boy.

Not that Harry ate either of the meals that Kreacher brought for him. He simply waited until both the elf, and his friend, had left the room and then vanished the offending food.

The very thought of food made Harry feel sick, and he just knew that anything he managed to eat, would not stay down for long.

Harry spent the evening in much the same way as he had passed the rest of the day. Lying on his bed, hangings drawn, eyes fixed to the picture of him and Draco that had been taken of them at Christmas. He seemed to find some sort of grim satisfaction from torturing himself with the image of happier times.

His roommates stayed away for the most part, and Harry wasn’t sure if this was Neville’s doing, or simply that Dean and Seamus felt uncomfortable around him.

The Irish boy had been up at one point, helpfully offering Harry some of his private stash of Firewhisky. He had been sorely tempted to take Seamus up on his offer; anything for a few hours of blissful oblivion. But the thought of facing everyone the next day was worrying enough; Harry knew there was no way he could manage it with a hangover to boot.

He declined Seamus’ well meant offer. The Irish boy only grinned and tucked the bottle in Harry’s bedside cabinet. “Just in case you change your mind,” he had explained.

For the second night in a row, sleep proved elusive to Harry. When he finally did manage to nod off at around 3am, it was only to wake an hour or so later, shaking and sweating from a vivid and terrifying nightmare.

He cast a quick “Lumos” and glanced at his watch; it was almost 5am. Knowing that any further attempt at sleep would be futile, Harry dragged himself out of bed and made his way into the bathroom.

A long, warm shower did nothing to improve Harry’s mood. His insides felt like they were busy twisting themselves into knots every time he thought about the prospect of facing Draco later that day.

If he thought there was a chance he could get away with it, then Harry would have stayed in his room all day again. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of facing people, it was just that seeing Draco, and not being with him, would only serve as a confirmation that it was really over. And Harry wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with that yet.

In the few short months that they had been together, Draco had come to mean more to Harry than anyone else in his life, ever. The sense of loss he was feeling since their break-up left Harry feeling bereft in a way that only Sirius’ death had made him feel before.

That was as close as he could come to describing what he was feeling. It was like he was grieving. Only in a weird way it was worse. If Draco had died, Harry knew he would have been heart broken and would have grieved terribly. But eventually he would have come to terms with it; it was inevitable. But this way, he lost Draco in almost every sense, apart from the bit where he had to face him every day. Where he had to see those eyes, once filled with such affection, spitting venom at him across the classroom. Where he had to face a constant reminder of what he once had, but had lost, through no fault of his own.

And that was the real kicker - he had done nothing wrong. Harry knew he should be mad at Draco for not believing him, not giving him a chance to tell his side of the story. He should rant and rave at Ron and Ginny, give them hell for destroying his one chance at happiness.
But somehow he just couldn’t muster the energy. A hopeless sense of lethargy had descended on him and Harry didn’t want, or couldn’t be bothered, to fight it.