How to Save a Life

When Harry woke the next morning he yawned and stretched, spending a few moments just luxuriating in the warmth of his duvet. He felt the familiar pulse of his morning erection and, without thinking, slid one hand under the covers to relieve himself.

His fingertips had barely made it under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms before the memories of the last few days slammed into his brain with all the subtlety and finesse of a train wreck. Somehow, having experienced those few blissfully unaware moments, made remembering all the worse.

Harry didn’t quite know how to respond to the pain anymore. He couldn’t cry, because there were no tears, and, really, the pain went too deep for that anyway. Anger didn’t help because, well, who was he supposed to be angry at? Draco, for not giving him a chance? Ron and Hermione, for their lack of faith? Ginny, for, well, he wasn’t quite sure what Ginny had done. That she had done something was becoming increasingly clear, but without an actual accusation to make, his rage was a little impotent.

The truth was, the only person that Harry was truly angry with was himself. If he’d only listened to Draco, trusted his friends, been honest with himself, then none of this would, could have happened. Because everyone would have know that he was gay and in love with Draco, and Ginny would have had to of known that her schemes were pointless.

So, without tears or anger, Harry was just left with guilt and self-loathing – two emotions he was perfectly attuned to.

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

His newly-formed entourage accompanied him to breakfast once again, saying nothing, just offering him small supportive smiles.

Harry slumped into a seat at the Gryffindor table and concentrated his focus on trying to force down some porridge. A short while later he became aware of a supercilious-looking owl hovering above him, beating its wings impatiently. Harry barely had time to remove the letter before the haughty bird resumed its flight and vacated the Great Hall.

Recognising the owl, Harry opened Charlie’s letter with some trepidation. He hadn’t seen Charlie since Draco’s New Year’s party, and he was a little afraid that the older Weasley had heard about the events of the last few days and was writing as the angry older brother. At least it wasn’t one of Mrs Weasley’s Howlers, Harry thought, wincing at the memory.

First out of the scroll was a letter for Pansy, which he set to one side and opened his own with some unease. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when Charlie’s missive turned out to contain nothing more sinister than an invitation to Romania, come the end of school.

The mention of Draco contained in the letter caused Harry to look up and glance in the direction of the Slytherin table. He was startled to find grey eyes staring right back at him. For the first time in days, Draco’s face wasn’t twisted with scorn or hate; he looked thoughtful – meditative, even.

Harry felt a flare of hope burn through him at this. Maybe there was a chance, maybe Draco would let him explain, maybe he...Maybe he would stop thinking and get up, because Draco had left with Great Hall with an almost imperceptible nod of the head in his direction.

Harry’s spoon clattered noisily to his plate; his hands clammy and ever-so-slightly trembling. A fierce internal debate raged within him, as he tried to decide if he had misread Draco’s intentions. He glanced again at the Slytherin table. Pansy gave him an encouraging smile and made a slight shooing motion with her hands.

Feeling faintly sick, Harry pushed away from the table. This was it. This was his chance to put things right, to get Draco back. He turned to speak to Neville; the last thing he needed was for his ‘bodyguards’ to accompany him this time. When he looked at his friend, Harry found understanding written all over the other boy’s face. Neville had seen the little by-play and nodded his approval.

Wiping his clammy hands nervously on his robes, Harry got to his feet and headed purposefully towards the doors.

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

Draco wasn’t sure what the fuck he was doing, but he knew it was all Pansy’s fault.

He cursed softly under his breath; he really ought to look into the possibility of befriending a few Hufflepuffs, he decided. They wouldn’t emotionally manipulate the drunken friends.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hex or hug the girl, but figured he would know the answer to that dilemma shortly.

Draco couldn’t remember exactly their conversation from the night before, but he had woken up with an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with excessive Firewhisky consumption, and the urge to at least hear Harry out.

The thought that he might be wrong, made Draco feel slightly sick. He had spent the morning going over every cruel and hurtful thing he had said to Harry in the last couple of days, and just the memory had made him flinch. If he was wrong, if Harry truly was innocent, how could he ever expect to be forgiven for what he had done?

He had to hear Harry out, had to know, one way or the other, what the truth really was; for his own peace of mind, if for nothing else. Draco still loved Harry. He didn’t even bother denying that. After all, if he didn’t, then there wouldn’t be this crushing weight on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

And if there was a chance, however small, that he could get back what he had lost, then he had to take it. A Malfoy always faced up to what needed to be done – well, most of the time, anyway.

Draco headed out of the main doors and paused, eyeing the steps speculatively. He cast a quick Cleaning Charm on them and, after scrutinising them further, he sat down. He had no concerns about Harry finding him; the Gryffindor seemed to have an inbuilt sixth sense when it came to locating people. Probably that infernal Map of his, Draco reflected.

“Draco?” Harry hovered in the doorway, watching the other boy with an expression somewhere between fear and hope.

Getting to his feet, Draco was forced to fight the overwhelming urge to gather the other boy into his arms.

“Harry,” he said, cringing inwardly at the slight waver in his voice.

“Are you...”

“I just...”

Both boys started to speak at the same time, and stopped simultaneously.

“You go first,” Harry said; he didn’t really know what to say anyway.

“We need to talk,” Draco said softly.

Harry resisted the impulse to point out that they already were. “I’d like that,” he replied honestly. “I’ve missed you.”

If Harry had been hoping for a similar declaration in return, then he was disappointed. Draco saw the flash of hurt in those familiar green eyes, but still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He would talk with Harry, allow him to give his side of things, but he would not give false hope. He had no idea how this was going to turn out and it wouldn’t be fair to let Harry believe otherwise.

Draco stood up and walked up the stairs, until they were standing so close that Harry had to physically restrain the urge to reach out and touch.

“Harry!” A breathless Ginny Weasley emerged through the doors. “There you are,” she panted. “Malfoy, could you give us a moment? Harry and I need to talk.”

Harry was sure that someone had reached into his chest and stopped his heart from beating. “Not now, Ginny,” he growled, barely daring to look at Draco.

“Malfoy doesn’t mind, do you, Malfoy?”

Harry steeled himself to look at Draco and was suddenly deafened by the sound of his hopes shattering; the mask was firmly back in place.

“Far be it from me to come between two love birds,” he drawled. Ginny simpered, oblivious to the undercurrent. Harry simply wanted to weep.

“Draco,” he croaked.

But Draco was already halfway towards the doors. “Forget it, Potter,” he said coolly. “It was a bad idea.”

As the echo of the slamming doors faded, Harry turned to face Ginny, a cold rage filling him.

“I mind,” he stated firmly.

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“You said that Draco didn’t mind. Well, I do. I have nothing to say to you.” Harry’s voice was calm but strained, and the redheaded girl seemed to understand that all was not well. She placed a hand on his arm.

“What are you saying?”

Harry rolled his eyes; how dumb was she?

“I don’t want to talk to you; I don’t even want to look at you. In fact, if I could, I would have someone Obliviate every memory of you out of my head.” He paused here and noted, with some satisfaction, the hurt and confusion on her face.

Determined to drive the point home, Harry flung Ginny’s hand off his arm. “You don’t touch me, you don’t speak to me, and I’d rather you didn’t even think of me, ever. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. You’re a sad, pathetic, little bitch and I can’t bear to be near you for a moment longer.”

Ginny reeled back as though he had slapped her. It wasn’t the words, so much as the way Harry looked. His expression was hard, his eyes like flints. And for the first time ever, Ginny began to under stand that maybe it really was over. That Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t be manipulated into taking her back.

As she watched her life’s obsession walk away without so much as a backward glance, Ginny wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach and trembled uncontrollably.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After he left Ginny, Harry headed up to the library. He had a free period first thing, but he didn’t want to chance returning to Gryffindor tower, just in case Ginny hadn’t quite taken the hint. Plus, there was the likelihood that Ron would be there, and in the mood that Harry was in, he didn’t think contact with either Weasley would be a good idea.

The library was blessedly empty when Harry arrived. He opted for one of the more secluded tables and sat down, spreading text books out in front of him. Not that he had any intention of working; his mind was far too distracted for that.

Truth be told, Harry was struggling to rein in his emotions. After Draco had walked away from him earlier, Harry had felt his heart break all over again. He had been so close. He would have given anything for the chance to talk to Draco, to be able to explain. And now, Ginny had ruined that, like she had ruined everything else.

Harry had never felt so much hatred for another person running through his veins before. Except possibly for Bellatrix Lestrange. But didn’t that say something about Ginny, that she was now bracketed with a psychotic murderer in his estimations?

Harry tried his hardest to put that morning’s events from his mind. Replaying them over only served to increase the crushing weight on his chest.

He read through Charlie’s letter again, just for something to do. The older Weasley had invited both him and Draco, along with Pansy, out to Romania for the summer holidays. It was something that he and Draco had talked about the possibility of doing, and the blond Slytherin had been so excited at the prospect, having something of a secret passion for his namesakes.

For the remainder of the period Harry gave himself over to daydreaming, to existing only in the happier memories of his relationship with Draco. It was a pleasant experience at the time, but it only served to make his return to reality more acutely painful. How could something so wonderful, fall apart so quickly? Except Harry already knew the answer to that – Ginny Weasley.

A quick glance at the clock told Harry that it was time for DADA, so, with a concerted effort, he pushed the bitter, angry thoughts from his mind, and began gathering his belongings together. He slipped Pansy’s letter from Charlie into his robe packed and headed off to the Defence classroom.
On arrival, he was relieved to see that there was no sign of Draco yet; he still hadn’t worked out how he was going to face the other boy. Pansy was there, leaning against the wall outside the classroom, chatting to Blaise and Neville.

Harry walked closer. “Pansy,” he called softly.

The Dark-haired girl’s face lit into a smile at the sight of him. She pushed off from the wall and walked over. “How did it go?” she asked eagerly.

It took Harry a few moments to process what she was talking about. ‘Of course’ he thought, ‘she means the talk with Draco.’ “Not well,” he replied, doing his best to keep his tone neutral.

“But I thought-“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry interrupted. “I can’t, not yet.”

Pansy took a closer look and saw the hurt in her friend’s eyes. “Okay,” she agreed. “But if you ever do want to talk, I don’t mind listening.”

“Well, isn’t this cosy?”

Harry flinched at the sneer in Draco’s voice.

“Draco, we’re just talking,” Pansy replied, just a touch of exasperation in her voice.

“I can see that for myself, thanks, Pansy. What I want to know is why? What could you, as my best friend, possibly have to say to him? Where’s your loyalty?”

Pansy tensed up a little at this. She turned to face Draco, an icy stare firmly in place. “I’m sorry, Draco. For a minute there it sounded like you were telling me who I could talk to.”

“Pansy, it’s okay,” Harry said softly. “You don’t have to...”

“Yes, Harry, I do. Draco, you’re probably the best friend I’ll every have, but that doesn’t give you the right to order me around. Harry is my friend and I won’t just abandon him on your say so.”

“Is that so?” Draco sneered. “Well, I hope he’s worth it then, because you can’t have us both.”

Pansy was momentarily stunned. “A-Are you asking me to chose?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort. I’m simply saying that if you are my friend, then your loyalty to me would preclude your friendships with those who have betrayed me.”

Harry went cold at this. Draco must really hate him to risk losing Pansy over it. Not that he really would, Harry reflected. As close as he and the Slytherin girl had become recently, Harry knew he couldn’t possibly compete with the history she had with Draco. Pansy wouldn’t want to chose, but if Draco insisted, well, Harry knew there was only one choice she could make.

He fumbled in his pocket, his trembling fingers brushing against the smooth parchment of Charlie’s letter.

Pansy and Draco were both stood glaring at each other, silently. Harry knew how much it hurt to lose such an important friendship; he still ached from the loss of Ron and Hermione, and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of that hurt to anyone else.

He held out the letter, hoping neither Slytherin noticed how his hand shook.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, somewhat unconvincingly. “I just wanted to give you this.”

Pansy reached for the letter and her gaze locked with his, her eyes full of apologies. “Harry,” she started uncertainly.

Harry shook his head. “It’s okay. I understand,” he said, more firmly this time, before turning and walking away slowly.

Even Draco’s smug expression faltered as he watched the dejected figure of his ex-boyfriend walk away.

“Sometimes I hate you, Draco Malfoy. I hope you’re proud of yourself?” Pansy didn’t wait for a reply. She stormed into the classroom without as much as a backward glance for her best friend.

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

Harry was a mess; there was no other word for it. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to walk away from Draco; to not beg, or plead, or simply breakdown.

The tears, that had been absent for the last couple of days, had now returned with a vengeance. They were prickling fiercely at the back of his eyelids, and he knew he just had to get away before the storm burst forth.

He hurried up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. Tears hot on his face by the time he reached the Fat Lady. Harry sped up the stairs into his dormitory and, slamming the door behind him, slid down the heavy wood till he rested on the floor, arms wrapped around his bent legs, his head resting on his knees.

The sobs tore from his throat and wracked his body with such ferocity that he felt almost like he was going to break apart. Eventually the tears dried up and only the continuing shudders that ran through his body bore witness to the storm that had just taken place.

Harry couldn’t remember ever having felt this utterly alone before. The closest he had ever come to this bitter sense of emptiness, had been in the aftermath of Sirius’ death. And even the memory of that pain seemed to pale in comparison to the utter gut-wrenching misery that consumed him now.

There had to be someway to make it all stop, even if only for a short while. It had only been three days since his world had fallen apart, but it seemed like an eternity to Harry, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

He got to his knees and crawled the short distance to his bed. There, in his bedside cabinet, was the answer. Oblivion in a bottle – otherwise known as Seamus’ Firewhisky.

Ignoring the fact that it was barely mid-morning, Harry quickly unscrewed the cap and raised the bottle to his lips. He choked harshly as the fiery liquid burnt a path down his throat.

He closed his eyes as he waited for the burn to subside. Draco’s image swam before his eyes, sneering and cruel as he had been earlier. The memory hit Harry harder than any blow ever could have.

The bottle was swiftly raised to his lips again in a desperate attempt to block the memories and the pain, even if only for a short while. It wasn’t a particularly healthy way to handle things; he knew that. But he didn’t care. It was the only available option at that moment, and Harry was going to take it. Consequences be damned.

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

Pansy was angry with Draco. No, scratch that, she was furious with him. How dare he put her in a position like that? And the hurt expression on Harry’s face had just made her long to gather him in her arms and soothe it all away.

She purposefully sank into the seat at the side of Neville in DADA, forcing Blaise to retreat to Draco’s side. Neville took one look at her intense expression and filed away all his questions for another occasion.

He noticed right away that Harry was missing, and assumed, correctly, that his absence had something to do with Pansy’s steely gaze and the thoughtful glances that Malfoy kept shooting in her direction.

Neville deduced that all had not gone well between Harry and Draco earlier. It had all seemed so promising at the time. He couldn’t bear watching his friend wallowing in this pit of misery and despair. Harry’s eyes had that dead, soulless look to them that he hadn’t seen for many months. Being with Malfoy had chased that away, and now it was back. And because he had seen how happy his friend could be, this emptiness seemed all the more painful.

There was no sign of Harry at lunch either. Pansy very pointedly sat herself between Daphne and Millicent, resolutely refusing to meet Draco’s gaze. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance, watching for some sign of Harry. She was starting to get more than a little concerned by his continued absence.

By the time that Potions began after lunch, and there was still no sign of him, Pansy decided that enough was enough. As the lesson ended, she hurriedly cleared away her work and then waited patiently outside the door for her target.

When a familiar frizzy head came into view, Pansy went into action.

“Granger,” she called.

Hermione turned with a look of surprise on her face. “Pansy,” she replied neutrally. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a word. It’s about Harry.”

The Weasel, never far from his girlfriend’s elbow, snorted derisively at this and looked about to launch into a rant.

“It’s all right, Ron. You go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.”

Pansy thought for a moment that Weasley was going to argue, but he obviously saw something in his girlfriend’s eyes that made him think better of it. Hermione watched him leave and then turned to face Pansy with curiosity evident on her face.

“Now, what about Harry?”

Pansy wasn’t entirely sure where to start, but she was sick of watching people get hurt, people she cared about. Something in this whole situation didn’t add up.

“I need to know what you saw,” she blurted out eventually.

Hermione’s gaze softened at this. “Pansy, I know it must be hard for you to accept, but it’s true. Ron and I saw Harry and Ginny kissing.”

“Can you be sure it was him, though?” Pansy persisted. There was something like pity in the Head Girl’s face and it stuck in the Slytherin girl’s throat.

“I know you don’t want to believe this, but it was Harry. I didn’t just see him, I heard him too.”

Pansy latched onto this last bit. “Heard him? What did he say?”

Hermione squirmed visibly for a moment. “He said that he never wanted anyone but Ginny. That he was just using you to make her jealous. I’m sorry, Pansy, but he said you meant nothing to him.”

Hermione had been prepared for many reactions to her revelations; anger, tears, even violence. She certainly hadn’t been expecting what she got.

“I could kiss you, Granger.” Pansy grinned wildly. Then, she placed her hands on the other girl’s shoulders and pulled her into a brief hug, before disappearing off down the corridor at speed.

Pansy ran all the way from the dungeons up to the Charms’ classroom. Ron eyed her arrival with suspicion. Doubtless wondering where she had hidden his girlfriend’s body. Pansy ignored the pointed glares – she had more important things to attend to.

Neville was just about to enter the classroom, when he felt someone grip his arm tightly. He turned to face Pansy with a questioning look.

“I need your help,” she stated firmly, before adding, “It’s about Harry.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “Is he in trouble?”

Pansy shook her head. “No, or at least, I don’t think so. But I need to talk to him.”

Neville looked over his shoulder into the classroom. “He’s not here.”

Pansy suppressed the overwhelming temptation to roll her eyes. “I know that. He’s not been in lessons all day.”

“Is he sick?” Neville asked. “He seemed okay this morning.”

Pansy shook her head impatiently. “Not sick, now. But Draco said some things earlier, things that upset him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh. So what do you need me for?”

“Well, I imagine that Harry is currently hiding up in Gryffindor, licking his wounds. So I need you to accompany me up there and give that hideous fat woman the password so that she’ll let me in.”

“How upset was he?” Neville asked, his voice laced with concern.

Pansy just gave him a look that spoke volumes. Neville nodded and grabbed her arm. “C’mon then. Before Professor Flitwick arrives.”

“He didn’t do it,” Pansy said breathlessly as they hurried up to the seventh floor. “I mean, it wasn’t him with Ginny.”

“I know,” was all Neville said in reply.

“But Draco will listen to me. He’ll have to give Harry a chance now.”

Neville paused midway through the portrait hole. “But does Malfoy deserve to be given a chance?”

“Probably not,” Pansy admitted. “But they’re both equally miserable without each other, and I just want to see them happy.”

They made their way up to the boys’ dormitory and Neville pushed the door open. Pansy reeled back. “Merlin, Longbottom! It stinks in here. Does it always smell this bad?”

“No,” Neville answered grimly before entering the room. “Harry,” he called, his voice a little tense.

The glass from the broken Firewhisky bottle crunched underfoot. “Well, I guess that explains part of the smell,” Pansy observed, paling noticeably.

“I’m not so sure I want to locate the source of the other smell,” Neville answered wryly.

Pansy headed straight for the bathroom and pushed the door open. No sooner had he stepped into the room than a loud gasp escaped her lips.

“Neville! He’s here.”

Something in the urgency of her voice had Neville at the door in seconds.

There, slumped on the bathroom floor, obviously drunk out of his mind, with vomit all down his clothes was Harry.

Pansy was crouched at his side, staring worriedly at his arm. Neville stepped closer and nearly lost his lunch at the sight of the deep gouge marring his friend’s forearm. When he could bring himself to look again, he noticed that there were trails of silvery scars littering the pale flesh.

“You knew,” he accused upon realising that Pansy did not seem remotely shocked.

Pansy just nodded, her eyes focussed on Harry’s arm, her hand pressed firm against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Yes,” she agreed finally. “I knew. But I hardly think that now is the time for recriminations.”

She grabbed a nearby towel and began winding it tightly around Harry’s arm. “We need to get him to the hospital wing. I’m not sure if it is the alcohol or the blood loss that has caused him to pass out.”

Neville moved as if on auto pilot. He scooped Harry up in his arms as if he were no more than a rag doll. He was in something of a daze. Neville had always prided himself on being observant, on seeing things that no one else did. He had known that Harry was in pain, but to think that this had been going on, right under his nose, for Merlin knew how long... Well, it just made him feel sick.

Pansy knew that Harry would be angry when he woke up in the hospital wing, knowing that his secret was out. She knew that she would be, if the situation was reversed. But she also knew that it had to stop. Harry hadn’t meant to kill himself, yet he almost had. The thought that her friend could have died, and that by keeping his secret she would have been complicit in his death, made Pansy’s blood run cold.

The relief she had felt when Madam Pomfrey had told them that Harry was sleeping naturally and would be alright had been overwhelming.

“Don’t...don’t tell anyone about this, will you?” Pansy eyed the Gryffindor boy nervously.

Neville looked hurt by the suggestion. “Of course not. But Harry needs professional help. It’s not something that you two can handle between you.”

“I know that now,” Pansy admitted sadly. “We just thought, at the time, it seemed like we could.”

“Does Draco know?”

Pansy shook her head. “No. He only told me, and made me promise not to tell anyone else. It was all going alright, ‘till this whole break up with Draco.”

Pansy got up from her seat then, a determined look on her face. “Neville, will you stay here with Harry for a bit? I have someone I need to go and talk to.”

Neville just smiled in return. “Sure. I’d planned to hang on a bit longer anyway. Give that idiot some from me, too.”

Pansy just grinned evilly, and for the first time ever, Neville almost felt sorry for Draco Malfoy.