How to Save a Life

Song How to Save a Life by the Fray

Lyrics

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

*****

Author's note--I was driving back from a New Year's Eve party at 4am (on New Year's Day) when this song came on the radio. How to Save a Life by The Fray. I cried in the car, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head since. This is why...

WARNING Angst, sadness, character death (not H/D), DH-compliant (NO EPILOGUE)

Pairings Harry/Draco (at the end), Harry/Ginny (well, SHE wishes!), Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Dean (past), Ginny/Michael (past)

I was really melancholy the entire time while writing this, crying and just generally being depressed without a reason. I was even contemplating a sad ending. Luckily for you guys...I couldn't do that. You'll have to read carefully because some of the lyrics are italicized and others are interweaved into the story.

Dedication This is dedicated to sunset20, who knows what it's like to be depressed without a reason and who always knows how to make me smile again. Thanks, girl!



How to Save a Life by Graballz

The day after “The Day” was a very tumultuous one for Harry James Potter. It was the day after the end of the Final Battle, the first day after Voldemort was dead. Since his birth, up until yesterday, Harry’s days had been steadily getting more hectic since he had an encounter with the Dark Lord nearly every year since coming to Hogwarts; not to mention trying to deal with the other regularities of growing up. The day after the Dark Lord’s death would have been confusing anyway, since the wizarding world was slowly and collectively raising their head (cautiously) amidst the smoke and rubble and ruin, looking around tentatively to see if the abrupt ceasefire was a trap. It was not. Tandem celebrations and expressions of grief rung out as the cost of the freedom was tallied.

The day would have been crazy for Harry anyway, since everyone still alive wanted a piece of him. To congratulate him, to shake his hand, to give him a hug, to kiss his cheek, to laugh, cry, scream, shout, celebrate, grieve, and shake with him. Last night, Luna had been an absolute doll in assisting his escape for much-needed rest. Today, there was no escape. This was an indication of the rest of his life as a hero, and Harry would have to learn to face it alone…as he had everything else.

Of course, Harry wouldn’t have had an easy day of it, but there was one thing in particular that forced this day to stand out among the many replicas that were to come. That one thing was, naturally, Draco Malfoy. Harry was used to Malfoy creating havoc in his life; they had been enemies practically since they had inhaled their first breaths around each other. Over the years, they had each grown into someone they didn’t expect to be, but regardless of how fated their destinies might be, they were still just confused and scared little boys trying to be men underneath it all. They were still human, even if they had a hard time showing that to the other.

Except on that day; that day was a day of freedom. Before the war, petty things like blood status and income had been important. During the Final Battle, the most important things had revealed themselves to be the people…not purebloods, halfbloods, and Muggleborns, but who was exhausted beyond human limitation and still on their feet, battling evil, and whether they were winning or losing. In the face of evil, trivial things melted from the scope of everyone’s focus; the edges of that focus were death, which excused a lot of normally-petty bullshit. That day, there was no war, but the people hadn’t gotten used to it yet, so the important things were still important and the trivial things were still nonexistent, but no one was dying in front of their eyes.

Harry would never in a million years have expected to be cornered by Draco in a somehow empty portion of the castle. He hadn’t even heard the blonde approach, and suddenly his (former?) rival was standing in front of him, staring intently into his shocked green eyes. Harry had opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would come out and his vocal chords refused to cooperate. He attributed it to the rushing sound in his head and the way his pulse began to pound (which Ron later justified as the fact that Harry thought Malfoy had probably been about to kill him…because Harry deliberately left out details when telling his best mate) as Draco came closer, not smiling but not sneering, just holding Harry captive with that intense grey gaze.

He also was not saying a word, and Harry jumped when his back hit the cold stone wall. He truly was backed into a corner, but he couldn’t tear himself away from Draco long enough to care. Then Draco turned Harry’s world upside down once again. The blonde unexpectedly pressed himself to Harry, and their lips locked. Harry wasn’t sure if he was more shocked about kissing Draco in the first place or the way the blonde had pulled back, eyes swimming with unshed tears, and for the first time in a long time, sounded human when he spoke to Harry.

“I know you probably hate me forever, and I’m okay with that. It’s just that…I realized some things yesterday when they brought you out of the forest and we all thought you were dead. I just had to tell you that I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot; I only wanted to be friends, and then I was trying to save face after you snubbed me in public. I don’t hate you…not anymore…and I was more terrified of the fact that I thought you had died without me getting the chance to do this than of your reaction to me doing it,” and Draco kissed Harry one more time, fiercely and briefly. Then the blonde pulled away and was gone as suddenly as he came.

Harry stayed against the wall for support, staring straight ahead without seeing anything as his brain tried to process the most amazing kisses of his life and as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was out of breath and panting, heartbeat thudding in his ears, butterflies in his stomach, and that his palms were sweaty…for Draco, because of Draco! Harry had never contemplated being gay before; sexuality was one of those fairly regular ‘growing up’ things that Harry had put on a back burner because he was running for his life again. He had felt minor sparks of attraction for pretty girls before, but he had had no name for the reaction he ALWAYS had to Draco Malfoy, until now.

Draco liked him…and obviously fancied him if he was brave enough to press the Savior of the Wizarding World up against the wall and snog him, completely unconcerned with whether Harry wanted to be snogged or not. Before, Harry would have said ‘no’, he didn’t want to be snogged. After, it was like the end of the first buzz of an addictive substance; he was unsure of everything and focused on one thing: getting more.

Of course, being that he was Harry Potter and the day was that day, he emerged from the uninhabited portion of the castle to be stopped, sidetracked, and distracted unintentionally by everyone who saw him. He hadn’t been able to get even remotely close to Draco, but by the end of the day, he suspected that the blonde was avoiding him as well. The rational side of Harry could appreciate Draco’s aversion to potential rejection, but the addicted side of Harry was irrationally pissed because of his absence.

*

Then, because he was Harry Potter and apparently not destined to have a normal day…EVER…he found himself in a similar and yet wildly different situation after dinner that night as he was being herded back to Gryffindor amongst the gaggle of Weasleys plus Hermione. A hand had slipped into his, and when he turned his head, Ginny Weasley was smiling softly at him. He returned the smile quizzically, squeezing her hand, and she nodded. Her family was spending the night bunking with the Gryffindor students, but Ginny had managed to wrestle him into her empty bedroom, sitting on the bed and staring at Harry until he sat beside her on the bed, uneasy about being alone…late at night…in her bedroom.

She must have bribed her roommates to keep out because they weren’t disturbed as Harry looked expectantly at Ginny, silently requesting an explanation of what was going on, why she was holding his hand and looking at him like that. Instead, she leaned forward and began to kiss Harry. He wasn’t quite as shocked as before, so he managed to kiss back, and in the absence of an intense physical reaction, Harry logically processed the subtle differences between kissing Malfoy and kissing Ginny.

Admittedly, they smelled differently, but Ginny’s mouth was softer all around and wetter. The way she kissed was almost borderline sloppy, and Harry tried to shut down the natural impulse to compare. Next to Malfoy, though, she seemed fumbling and ameaturish, but Harry supposed that could have been his fault since he started kissing back. HE certainly didn’t have much experience with soul-kissing, and he had been too startled to properly kiss Malfoy back, so the vibe that it wasn’t a very good kiss with Ginny could have been caused by Harry, but it was something he instantly realized he wouldn’t be able to figure out until he kissed Malfoy back.

And that thought made his blood boil again. He gasped inadvertently, and Ginny had taken that as an opportunity to part his legs, slide in between them, and press their chests together as she intensified the kissing. Harry’s pulse began to pound, at first because of the thoughts of kissing Draco and then as he realized exactly where the situation was heading, and he knew he wasn’t ready. Ginny was pressing her breasts to him harder than was necessary, and she had started to make minute grinding motions with her hips, not-so-subtly hinting what her ultimate goal was, but Harry panicked.

He broke the kiss by jumping up from the bed, trying to recover by running a hand through his hair. She had pitched forward, caught herself, and they spent several long moments staring at each other, trying to figure out how the other one was feeling.

“Ginny, it’s not that I don’t like you…..but I’m just not ready,” Harry stammered, already feeling as if that statement wasn’t true, because if he was honest with himself, Ginny hadn’t done anything for him. She had mistaken his reaction to Malfoy, and that, too, shocked Harry beyond belief, but it was something he couldn’t process while Ginny was there and glaring at him.

“Harry, the war’s over,” she replied softly. “I’ve missed you so much. I was so afraid you had died, and that made me realize that I won’t let you get away again. I accepted the way you were trying to protect me, but I’m a witch now. I don’t NEED you to protect me, and I want to be with you. I want to show you how much I care about you.”

“Ginny….” Harry began, chewing his lip. “I’m flattered; really, I am. And I care about you too, but I’m just not ready. Everything under the sun has happened today, and I’m really confused about a couple other things, and…”

Harry trailed off because the longer he rambled, the more upset Ginny was looking. Harry felt the first immediate stab of guilt as he rushed forward to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Ginny, don’t cry,” he pleaded.

“How can I not?” She retorted, trying to brush her hand across her face to keep him from seeing her tears. “I just offered myself to you, and you rejected me.”

“No, Ginny, it’s not like that,” Harry tried to explain half a dozen times before he realized that she just wasn’t going to listen. She had interpreted the situation for herself and no amount of explanation on his part would change her mind. Not even his plea for her to be patient for a few days while he ‘figured stuff out’. He left the room and returned to his depressed and confused, hating that she had kicked him out with tears running down her cheeks but at the same time, inexplicably relieved that he no longer had to deal with her.

*

Not that returning to his own bedroom to find every single living member of her family bunking with him was any picnic. He just wanted to sit down with Ron, one-on-one, and blurt out the whole story and beg his mate for advice…but it was his best mate’s little sister. Even if he fibbed and said it was someone else, he knew that her brothers and father would be furious with him the following day for hurting her feelings AND for lying to them about it, even if that lie was for their own good! He suffered in silence, mumbling something about how being the Chosen One was a job that would suit someone with better people skills. That sent Percy into a long rant that Harry tuned out as he readied for bed. At least no one else could talk to him while Percy was talking because being interrupted made the newly-reconciled member of the family madder than anything.

Harry resigned himself to being confused that night and promised himself he would corner Hermione the following day and confront her about the female gender in particular and get advice on how to deal with Ginny and her emotions. His dreams didn’t help him; he woke half a dozen times, sweating, panting, and about to burst through his shorts while thinking of Draco’s face, hair, and remembering their secret kisses. After the umpteenth time, Harry had finally slipped his hand under the covers and brought himself to a ferociously pleasant but utterly silent orgasm with the ghost of Draco’s lips upon his own as his body shook and convulsed in the aftermath of his ejaculation. He remained silent as he shuddered, trying to make sense of why it could feel so good when Draco was involved and how he had not known sooner…and then he dropped back into a sticky sleep with pleasant dreams of his definitely-former arch rival.

*****

Upon waking with a hard-on, despite the masturbatory session from earlier, Harry decided that he needed to kiss Malfoy back—JUST for comparison purposes—before he continued with his muddled and deeply confused analysis of his orientation. However, Harry quickly realized that that was easier said than done. Either he had lost his touch when trailing Malfoy or (he shuddered to think) that Draco had known he was obsessed and purposefully allowed Harry to follow him around in sixth-year because Harry could not find the blonde Slytherin anywhere! If Malfoy didn’t want to be found, even with his Cloak and Map, the Slytherin was better at avoiding Harry than Harry was at trailing him while simultaneously trying to avoid Ginny.

He had been pleasantly, if briefly, distracted when Ron finally kissed Hermione (and then proposed!) in front of the Great Hall, and he had joined in the wild applause, the smirking, and the wolf whistles that his best friends were together and deserved to be so. He slapped Ron on the back half-a-dozen times and hugged a very pink Hermione, and then he found out that getting her alone to ask her advice when she was being hugged and congratulated by every girl in existence was quite a difficult thing, even for the Boy Who Lived.

Harry knew his problems would take a back burner even if he DID manage to steal Hermione away for a moment because she was so radiant about being engaged. Ron would probably also take it as him literally trying to steal Hermione away because he was suddenly attached to her hip, glaring at every male, including his brothers and father, when they too came up to kiss her on the cheek, welcome her to the family, and congratulate her.

Harry sighed, glancing around, frustrated. The only times he actually SAW Draco was at mealtimes, and they were surrounded by everyone, so he couldn’t exactly go test his masterful little theory out. When they weren’t at mealtimes, Harry spent a lot of time skulking under his Invisibility Cloak (when he could break away from the half a dozen women who somehow always required his help, whether it was planning a funeral or walking from one room to another) checking his Map for Draco, but he had to hand it to the blonde Slytherin. Draco was an expert in avoidance.

He had even drummed up enough courage to approach Narcissa quietly and beg her to take him to Draco, but he had gotten so flustered when she raised a silver eyebrow (now he could see where Draco got it from), giving him a questioning and appraising look that he had mumbled a ‘never mind’ and gotten the hell out of there, leaving Narcissa smiling in amusement and slight confusion at his retreating back.

*

By the time Ron and Hermione left to go retrieve her parents from Australia, Harry was desperate to talk to someone, anyone. He briefly considered spilling his guts to Luna—after all, she WAS his friend and she wouldn’t spread it around—but after seeing her with her father, he was reluctant to pull her away. Then they left without warning to return to their home that he didn’t even get to say goodbye. Really, their departure sparked a sort of ‘wake up call’, and everyone realized that it was probably time to stop living in a time warp and go back to their houses, assess the damage, and get on with their lives.

More people started disappearing, and the days after his best mates’ absences were filled with tearful goodbyes and a monotone recitation of the list of funerals that everyone would come back together for over the course of the next few weeks. Harry welcomed that to facing an angry, crying, and persistently stubborn Ginny who was becoming increasing enraged with Harry for not ‘being ready’ or for giving her a timeline of when he WOULD be ready…since she had managed to corner him several other times in her room alone, trying to express the depth of her feelings for him, and he had bolted like the Snitch every time.

Ginny thought herself to be a fairly good Seeker, and she was frustrated when her particular prey kept slipping through her fingers. She also began to wonder what was wrong with Harry, since both Dean Thomas and Michael Corner of Ravenclaw had only been too happy to jump in bed with her. Admittedly, Dean had protested more than Michael, but that was only because he was a fellow honorable Gryffindor, and it was more to demonstrate his respect for Ginny as a woman before they slept together.

Harry began to panic the day that the Malfoy family didn’t show up for breakfast; he had tried to inquire with McGonagall and Shacklebolt discreetly about them, but he lacked the finesse to make his inquiries seem unimportant to him. He had ended up walking away with his head hung after they stared at him incredulously for an indeterminable period of time, and he just KNEW that they could see the reason he was asking about Malfoy written all over his face, and he couldn’t bear to hear their ridicule, so Harry would leave the conversation without the knowledge he so desperately wanted.

Then the owl arrived from Ron and Hermione, and that halted the Weasley family’s preparations to move back to the Burrow. Their youngest son and his fiancée would be returning within a few days with the bodies of Hermione’s parents. Apparently they weren’t hidden as well as Hermione had initially hoped, and somehow the Death Eaters had tracked them and killed them just recently. Since it was ruled an unsolved double homicide and there was no next-of-kin listed for either, the government of Australia had claimed their bodies and was making preparations for an anonymous burial in the Australian version of ‘Potters Field’…ironically named, but no one could laugh in the face of this tragedy.

They were having trouble getting the bodies released, since Hermione had changed their names and paperwork and not listed herself as their daughter, and it was taking longer than expected. At least Harry finally had something else to worry about besides his problems, and Ginny suddenly started clinging to him again instead of glaring at him every time he rounded a corner. Rather than question it or upset her by speaking, Harry merely went along with her wishes, holding her when she cried over Hermione’s parents but still refusing to go ‘all the way’ with her, continuing to plead for patience as he ‘figured stuff out’.

*

When the couple returned, Hermione, naturally, was in bad shape. She was an absolute mess, and even Harry was shocked at how un-Hermione-like she was behaving. Ron had taken over as the one in charge, and Harry was startled at how well he did at it and at how they responded to each other naturally. He suddenly understood the term ‘third wheel’, especially when he would be sitting with Hermione, fidgeting about whether or not to bring up his problem and just ask her, when she would inexplicably burst into tears and try to cry on his shoulder.

He would put his arm around her, of course, but he felt horribly inadequate when she would start to tearfully ask the unanswerable questions and he would have to shrug helplessly, his own voice cracking as he repeated his new mantra of “I don’t know, Hermione” while looking around wildly for someone who WOULD know how the Death Eaters found the Grangers, when and exactly how (the cause of death had been determined ‘natural but inexplicably young’) even though Harry suspected ‘Avada Kedavra’. According to the police, they had closed their investigation the day before Ron and Hermione arrived, and Hermione blamed herself for not getting there sooner.

“Harry, if I had only gone to get them IMMEDIATELY,” she would choke, lifting her head from his embrace to stare at him pleadingly, her brown eyes begging him to either join her in her self-blame or give her a reason why she wasn’t at fault, neither of which Harry could do. “They’d still be alive, and it’s my entire fault!”

And then suddenly Ron would be there, adeptly taking Hermione out of his arms and murmuring about how she didn’t know and shouldn’t blame herself while giving Harry a sympathetic and patronizing glance. Harry would be left feeling like he should have known what to do, but he wasn’t a trained grief counselor. He didn’t know what to say to someone who had just lost their parents: “Hi, welcome to my world. Only I never really knew mine, but I know what it’s like to be an orphan, if that helps.” Clueless as he was about how to assist someone in grieving, even Harry knew that Ron would skewer him alive for saying something like that.

*

The funerals and burials had been brutal on them both, and the realization that she would quite possibly never know the full story surrounding her parents’ deaths hit her like a ton of bricks, sending her into a full relapse of her collapse in Australia, according to Ron. He continued to be in charge with an ease that shocked Harry speechless. Ron had quietly argued with his parents about the wisdom of turning Hermione over to the Healers at St. Mungo’s. He stubbornly insisted that Hermione would get better faster if she was surrounded by the people who loved her while Molly and Arthur suggested that perhaps her collapse into depression required professional attention. Harry could not believe that the calm redhead was the same boy who had been accused of having the “emotional depth of a teaspoon”. Ron was Hermione’s rock and anchor, and Harry would never admit to feeling very left out.

During their hunt for Horcruxes, it was always the three of them depending on each other, each bringing different talents to the table and compensating for each other’s weaknesses. When Ron got pissed and stormed off, Harry had been the one Hermione turned to, and their friendship had grown stronger. Now, it was Ron who comforted Hermione, and Harry was left feeling on the outside, watching as they worked in perfect harmony, in no need of him, but Ron would assure him that yes, of course he was needed whenever he hinted at such a thing.

*****

Soon after, Harry found himself at Hogwarts facing McGonagall alone. The Weasleys had left for the Burrow that morning, with Harry promising that he would be over for dinner, and when he had looked around to see who was left and what to do, he met the eyes of the new Headmistress. Together they inspected the newly-repaired school.

In the convivial living atmosphere, it was crowded, but that crowd represented comfort and support over luxury and privacy. Breaks had been taken in their celebrations to clean up and restore the worst of the damage done to the school and surrounding community; breaks in the working had been taken to attend funerals. Slowly the school began to look less like a war zone and more like a school again, and as the repair needs dwindled, so did the numbers that lived in the dormitories. There were only a few very minor repairs left to finish, which Minerva assured Harry she could handle without his assistance and suggested gently that he head home.

Harry’s head had snapped up to look at her at the mention of the word. Home? Where was home? He thought simultaneously of Grimmauld Place, the Burrow, and Godric’s Hollow, unsure of which was truly his home, and during the packing of his trunk in Gryffindor, Harry came to the realization that if he couldn’t identify one of the three, then he actually had no home. He finally decided to move his stuff back to Grimmauld, since he technically owned the house even though he had only felt ‘at home’ there while Sirius was alive. He spent a great deal of time over at the Burrow, since so many people he cared about lived there.

Ginny was still after him, but he had gotten quite good at refusing her invitations to come up to her room, where she lived alone (being the only girl in the house). Even though it was clear that Molly and Arthur didn’t approve, Hermione was permitted to stay in Ron’s room. Ron assured them that nothing ‘inappropriate’ was happening since Hermione wasn’t in any state of mind for anything like that, but the assertion that they were both still virgins and would remain such until their wedding night came about during a VERY uncomfortable discussion that left Ron, Arthur, and Molly blushing furiously all the way to their ears and Ron unable to look his parents in the face for a couple of days after.

Percy went back to his own place after a few days, as did Bill and Fleur. Charlie kissed his parents and siblings goodbye and left for Romania again, which turned the focus of Molly’s fussing to George. He was in an even deeper funk than Hermione over the death of Fred, and the hovering of his mother didn’t help matters. He finally began to spend a couple of nights in his and Fred’s apartment above the joke shop, just to get away from Molly’s constant coddling. Naturally, Molly’s focus turned to the next child in her home in dire need: Hermione. Unlike George, however, Hermione seemed to accept and even welcome Molly’s mothering, and Ron wavered between disapproval (“You’re smothering her, Mum!”) and gratitude at being relieved as Hermione’s sole supporter for a few hours (“Thanks, Mum; I just need a break for a few hours, but you owl me right away if she needs me, ya hear?”).

Molly was a natural at comfort, and Harry watched from a distance with envy, hoping to learn a thing or two. He knew that Ron didn’t blame him, but he felt a vague sense of guilt that he had failed his friend in assisting him with Hermione the way Molly did with astounding ease. Even Arthur had his purpose in Hermione’s life, which was to help her remember her Muggle parents (with whom Arthur had been so duly fascinated) and to make her giggle. Arthur had always been somewhat of a comedian—with seven children, he had to have SOMETHING of a sense of humor—but it increased tenfold with a purpose of keeping Hermione out of depression, but luckily his skill at joke-telling increased as well until he was actually funny (instead of receiving pity laughs).

Harry still hadn’t spoken to or seen Malfoy since the morning they weren’t at breakfast. The absence of a decision about his orientation had been a decision in itself (and one with which Ginny was exceedingly dissatisfied and unhappy), and while Harry was no closer to being able to explain himself or give himself a label, he had learned to be content with that. The blonde still starred nightly in his dreams, and Harry wondered idly if a bloke was supposed to get off that much while thinking about his arch rival.

*****

Again, Harry’s problems were pushed to the back burner when Arthur came home with tickets to see a Chudley Cannons Quidditch game. Ron was beside himself, as was Ginny, and even Hermione seemed vaguely interested. Life was slowly returning to normal throughout the wizarding world. The professional Quidditch season had begun, and Arthur had just known that tickets would be an instant hit with his family. Even Molly, the homemaker, seemed excited to get out of the house for a change of pace, and then the morning of the game, Hermione had woken up in one of her blacker moods and refused to go.

Harry had jumped at the chance to be the savior again, after feeling like a failure for so long with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Molly, and he offered to stay home with her while the rest of them went to the game. Molly had burst into tears, trying to shoo him out the door since he loved Quidditch just as much as Ron and Ginny, but Harry finally stood up for himself and vocalized that he really wanted to help out and give them a much-needed break.

The proud looks they gave him made his heart swell; logically Harry knew that they loved and approved of him no matter what, but their gratitude helped ease the burden of guilt Harry had been shouldering at being inadequate as of late. He figured that he had been around Molly, Ron, and Arthur dealing with Hermione enough that he would be able to handle it, and it hadn’t gone too badly at first.

He and Hermione had played a couple of rounds of Wizard Chess, and then Harry realized that this was exactly the opportunity he had been searching for ever since the day after “That Day”. He tentatively tried to bring up the situation to Hermione, asking her gently (while cringing) whether she felt ‘up’ to giving him some advice.

She had sat up on the couch and really looked at him, and Harry saw a spark of the ‘old Hermione’ in her eye again. He was pleased with himself for making HER feel needed, and he proceeded to explain the details of his problem, leaving out the specific identity of the bloke he had come to realize he had feelings for but wasn’t sure if the guy still liked him.

Hermione had lit up, asking questions eagerly as if Harry were one of her girlfriends waxing poetic about a new boy…until she asked when his feelings started. He explained the kiss (without giving away who had kissed him) but when he said it was the day after he killed Voldemort, it was like a light switch. Harry practically watched as the gears in her brain came to an abrupt halt. The light and happiness in her eyes flicked off in an instant, and Harry had a brief merciful moment of shock before he went into panic mode at her mood swing.

She began screaming about how that was probably the day her parents had died, which led to a tirade about how he was selfish and never thought of anyone but himself. Harry at least knew better than to protest or get angry with her; Ron had explained that Hermione, as a survivor of the war, was feeling typical helpless rage and she tended to take it out on the people around her, so Harry shouldn’t take any attacks personally. She wasn’t attacking HIM; she was merely angry at the situation.

After the rage wore off, Hermione collapsed in tears, apologizing all over herself for yelling at him and for not being able to help him, and Harry did his best to soothe her, but he quickly found that watching someone else do it and doing it himself were two VERY different realms. He still stumbled over himself and felt all of the inadequacies rush back as he tried to repeat what Molly, Arthur, and Ron had said, but he must have gotten it wrong because instead of making her feel better (as it did when they said it) it only caused Hermione to flee from the living room up to Ron’s bedroom, with the finality of a slammed door.

Harry tentatively ventured up the stairs and knocked, asking through the door what he could do to help and received a curt ‘I’m fine, I just want to be alone’ response. Doing as she asked (not realizing that ‘I’m fine’ was woman-speak for ‘ask five hundred more times and then I’ll tell you’) Harry had retrieved a book and retreated to the living room to read for the rest of the evening. He periodically went up and listened at the door, not knocking again so that Hermione couldn’t accuse him of ignoring her request for privacy, but for the first half of the night, he could still hear her heartbroken and gut-wrenching sobbing, wondering how in the world she could even CRY that long physically.

There was finally a silence and no answer when Harry scrabbled at the door, hoping that it wasn’t a mistake. He eased the door open and stuck his head in the room long enough to see Hermione lying on Ron’s bed with her back to the door. He could barely make out her form in the darkness, and there was no response to her name being whispered. Rather than wake her, Harry left her be, leaving the door cracked so that if she began to scream or cry again, he would hear her.

*

The Weasley family returned from the game, tired but quietly elated. The Chudley Cannons had actually WON the game, and Ron was beside himself. He hugged Harry repeatedly as they all sat having tea in the kitchen, telling Harry all about the game in true disjointed family-story-telling fashion. Ron had finally wound down and asked Harry how the evening with Hermione had gone. Harry had worried for a moment, but he came clean with his mistake, saying that she had just gotten upset (instead of telling him the details of their conversation or the specific reason for her mood swing). Ron had nodded sympathetically, clapping Harry on the shoulder and saying that sometimes there was no explanation for her moodiness and that she just needed to be supported without having a reason.

A flicker of alarm went through Harry’s gut at that, and he reluctantly admitted that he had left her alone, per her request, and the kitchen had gone silent as Ron frowned for a split second.

“No worries, mate,” he said, shaking himself. “I’m sure she’s fine; I know, she can be tough to deal with sometimes, but just for future reference, ‘I’m fine’ means ‘I’m not fine’ and ‘I need to be alone’ means ‘don’t leave me’.” He had sighed and shaken his head playfully at Molly and Ginny. “These women, mate, they have a language all their own. I’ve discovered that it’s kind of like Ancient Runes; if you have the key, it’s difficult but doable. Of course, I was never any GOOD at Ancient Runes, and unfortunately, the key is different for every woman and constantly changes even with the same woman, but…” he shrugged as if to indicate that such was life.

“Anyway, thanks again, mate, for keeping her,” Ron hugged him yet again. “I really needed a short break, but I should get up there and see how she’s doing. Don’t worry, Mum and Dad, nothing’s happening; I just need to hold her for a bit to be set to rights after being gone. G’night!” He kissed his mother and sister, shook hands with his father, and cheerfully waved, disappearing up the stairs.

Conversation had scarcely started up again when Ron’s bloodcurdling scream sent all of their cups to the floor, shattered, and they all raced upstairs to find their youngest kneeling beside his bed, incoherent as tears dripped steadily down his cheeks. One look at the bed, and the source of his distress was apparent. The light was on, and Hermione was half-rolled onto her back, exposing a pool of blood that had gathered under her cut wrist while the glittering silver knife was still clutched in her other hand. Her head was lolled to one side, the dried tear tracks still evident on her cheeks, but the expression on her face was peaceful, and she appeared to be in a deep sleep. So deep, in fact, that Harry couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t breathing, but Molly’s own sobbing, Arthur’s retching in the bathroom, and Ginny glomed onto his waist again brought the reality home.

Molly was standing at the foot of the bed, stroking Hermione’s hair and lifeless face as tears poured down her cheeks and she mumbled about depression and the utterly tragic loss of so much potential. It was only then that Harry noticed Hermione was lying with her head towards the foot of the bed, instead of the proper way. Ron had bowed his head on the edge of the bed, still kneeling, and his initial screams had given way to silent sobbing, with only the shaking of his shoulders and an occasional sniffle and hand to his face to wipe away the snot giving any indication that something was wrong.

Arthur had stayed where he was, rooted in the doorway, as he took in the scene, desperate helplessness upon his face. In light of such tragedy, no amount of joking could take away this pain, and indeed, it wouldn’t be welcomed anyway. Without humor, though, Arthur floundered, and after looking at the remains of Hermione’s successful suicide, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Even through the door, Harry could hear him gagging, followed by choked sobs.

Ginny had been frozen at first, too traumatized by the sight of her friend, her brother’s fiancée, dead by her own hand, to move. It was only after her mother swept past her to offer comfort to her son with a hand on his shoulder and the nearness of her presence as she touched said dead friend, that Ginny had shaken herself out of her stupor, calmly walked over to Harry, and wrapped her arms around his ribcage, leaning on his chest as if she belonged there. Harry had absently put an arm around her back, more out of habit than conscious thought, as he stared at Hermione—no, Hermione’s body, because the corpse on the bed was no longer his brilliant friend—and wracked his brain for the clue, the sign, the telltale signal that she was so upset and so depressed as to be suicidal.

And he suddenly understood exactly why she felt responsible for her parents’ deaths because he caught himself in the middle of self-blame for her death, and the irony threatened to rise up and consume him. He let out a choked, broken, harsh half-laugh by way of quelling it, and it had caused Ron to jump out of his skin.

The redhead had risen, and the Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort took a step back at the pain and helpless rage burning in his friend’s blue eyes. Ron had stepped so calmly towards Harry that Harry wasn’t sure if he was still rational, until he had stopped about four inches from Harry’s face and spoke in a low voice.

“You think this is funny?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry replied, his voice betraying the shock. “God, Ron, how could you think that?”

“How could you let this happen?” Ron finally voiced the terrible question as he gestured back towards his bed. Even his mother went silent as all eyes (except Hermione’s) turned to Harry, awaiting his response.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, feeling fresh tears spring to his eyes, and he idly realized that he hadn’t cried before now. “I didn’t know…”

Harry’s eyes drifted past Ron to the still form on the bed, and then they widened.

“Is that Bellatrix’s knife?” He asked incredulously, taking a step past Ron, accidentally pulling Ginny with him, as he tried to get a closer look. Ron whirled to examine it too. “That’s the knife she used to kill Dobby! Where did she get that from?”

“She picked it up after we buried Dobby,” Ron admitted, and Harry blinked. “You stayed behind at the grave, and we all went inside to give you space. She insisted that she could make it back to the house on her own, and so I walked with Dean and Luna. I saw her straightening, but I didn’t know what she had picked up until a week ago…when I caught her skimming her wrist with it up here,” Ron’s voice was suddenly heavy and choked.

“You…what?” Harry couldn’t even believe what he heard, and he thought he must have misunderstood. Perhaps Molly’s and Ginny’s audible gasps had drowned out what Ron said.

“I caught her with it last week,” Ron repeated. “I didn’t say anything because she played it off as no big deal at the time, and…” Ron glanced at Molly as if ashamed. “And that was the first time we made love. The only time, Mum! I swear it! She hadn’t tried to cut herself, but the skin was red where she dragged the blade sideways. I tried to take it from her, but she insisted on keeping it as a ‘memento’ of her Mudblood status. She seemed so fiery and insistent and so like the old Hermione that I relented.” Ron brought his hands up to clutch at his hair.

“She said it helped her release, and she laughed when I said that I was afraid she might slip,” he laughed hollowly and humorlessly as he remembered more details. “She said something ominous about how it wouldn’t ‘be a slip-up’ and then just as suddenly, the knife was gone—put away—and she was kissing me and begging me to make love to her.”

*

He looked apologetically at Molly, who had gone white and pressed one hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mum. I know I told you were were waiting until after the wedding, and that’s what we had planned on…at the time. But then last week, I dunno…she seemed so insistent, like that’s what she needed, and like that’s what would make her better. I couldn’t tell her no, Mum,” Ron’s voice went soft as he pleaded with his mother. Ginny had pressed her cheek to Harry’s chest, and Harry was still busy trying to grasp the fact that his best mate had lost his virginity and not said a word.

“Ronald, I’m not angry with you for sleeping with your fiancée,” Molly’s voice broke through Harry’s musings. “You’re old enough and mature enough to handle the physical aspects of sex.” Harry noted the distinct lack of squirming and discomfort during this sex talk, and he chalked it up to the circumstances. “I was afraid that you would get too close to Hermione and then something like this would happen. I know you wanted her to get better, baby; we all did. But sometimes grief just consumes the person, no matter how much love or attention you give, and sometimes they just never return to the person they used to be, love. I just wanted to spare you from getting hurt.”

“But she WAS getting better, Mum!” Ron protested, his throat closing up at his mother’s admission and the late implications of that. “Where did I go wrong?”

“I know she was, dear,” Molly said, glancing down to Hermione one last time and stroking her hair again. “And we’ll never know why tonight, of all nights, but sometimes these things just happen. We just lost her…”

I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness.

“It wouldn’t have happened if Harry had known better and checked on her and not left her alone,” Harry was jolted from his recent revelation at the muttered comment. He drew back in shock as he stared at Ginny, who blinked and looked just as surprised at what had just come out of her mouth. She took a step toward Harry, reaching for him. “Harry, no, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry! That came out wrong…”

“No, you’re right!” Harry choked, slapping her hands away. Arthur had appeared in the doorway again, looking wan and pale, just in time for the new exchange. “But I had no idea she’d do…THIS…” he gestured. “I’m sorry. I would have stayed up with her all night…had I known how to save a life!”

*****

He turned and pushed past Arthur, screaming and batting defensively as the man tried to stop him, tried to hold him, and Arthur let Harry go reluctantly. Harry ran down the stairs, out the door, and kept running. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World. But apparently, all he knew how to do was survive the Killing Curse, get lucky, and kill one man. He didn’t know how to save a life torn apart by grief. He could save the whole damn world collectively, but the thought that he had failed his best friends individually in the most final way possible was more than he could bear.

About half a mile down the road towards Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry stumbled on a rock and went sprawling. He reflexively began to cry as pain shot through his body, and he lay in the dirt, sobbing, all concept of time lost to him until he felt hands picking him up.

“Come on, son, let’s go home,” Arthur muttered, bracing Harry’s neck as he picked the boy up, cradle-style, after having Lightened him. The head of the Weasley household had gone after Harry, glad for something to do while simultaneously afraid that Harry might do something stupid himself. He hadn’t been able to keep up with the young lad, but Arthur caught up to him after he fell, and the elder man’s heart broke for this boy, orphaned too young, of whom the world had expected so much before he was ready, the boy who was as much a son to him as his own son, who had transformed from a shy, introverted little boy who was new to the wizarding world into a good, kind-hearted, independent young man who was still struggling to understand the burdens he bore.

*****

In the days following Hermione’s suicide, Molly and Arthur kept a closer watch on all three of the remaining children in their home. Ron was shattered; he could barely speak without crumbling into a crying fit. His steadiness evaporated, and he relied heavily on his parents. Arthur took over being ‘in charge’ while still allowing Ron to assist in the making of simple decisions, such as what outfit Hermione should be buried in, what the order for the service was going to be, who would speak, and so forth.

Ginny helped out as much as she could, and she had taken to spending more and more time with her mum in the kitchen. Harry was terrified at Ron’s abrupt change, especially since he still heavily blamed himself for Hermione’s death, even though both Molly and Arthur had taken him aside at separate times to talk with him and tell him that it was NOT his fault.

There was a steady stream of visitors, coming to pay their last respects to the Muggleborn witch and to give their condolences to her fiancée. Harry tried to stay in the background, but somehow people always found him to give him a hug as well, clucking their tongues at ‘what a shame’ the whole ordeal had been. He wanted to help Arthur bear the burden of responsibility, but the confidence in himself had been shattered, and so he kept to himself as much as the Weasleys would let him. Molly had worked herself into a right screaming fit the night he whispered that perhaps he should get out from underfoot and move back to Grimmauld. Harry had been taken aback at her vehement insistence that he stay right where he was at; part of him had been incredulous that they even wanted him around and another part had been immensely relieved to not be alone.

*

Hermione’s funeral was held at Hogwarts, in the same place that Dumbledore’s had been. Harry remembered that he had gotten up, spoken, made everyone (including himself) cry several times, and then sat back down to stare at her closed casket, numb with horror. The only times he had felt anything was at the graveside when they lowered the coffin into the ground—there had been a twist in his gut—and then when he had turned away from the newly engraved headstone to find Draco Malfoy standing a little ways away; Harry had stopped breathing entirely.

The blonde was watching him, pity and wariness evident in his eyes. He began to inch forward slowly, as if moving quicker would either cause Harry to anger or shy away, until he was standing in front of the Gryffindor, holding an exquisite and obviously expensive bouquet of flowers.

“Hi…” Harry said, mouth dry, as he struggled to keep his emotions from running away with him. Draco nodded to him, the muscles in his jaw clenching as Harry watched his expression falter for a fleeting second, and then his face was back in neutral.

“My parents send their apologies,” Draco said stiffly, and he held out the flowers awkwardly. “I know they’re not adequate, but…”

“No, they’re beautiful,” Harry said softly, running his hand over one of the blossoms. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Malfoy…Draco…”

“I’m sorry about calling her a Mudblood,” Draco blurted as he nervously brushed his palms off and then crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I…she was definitely the best witch in our year, and I resented her for it because she was Muggleborn and I was a pureblood.”

“Yeah, she was,” Harry agreed. “But her blood shouldn’t have mattered.” Harry choked as he thought of the last time he had seen her blood. He had paid the Prophet dearly to keep the cause of death under wraps, including the details (such as the knife she used or that Harry had been alone with her in the Burrow that night). He had paid off and duly threatened Rita Skeeter if she so much as THOUGHT about writing an article about Hermione’s death. He had been pleasantly surprised to find Hermione’s obituary with nothing but positive things to say, quite obviously NOT written by Skeeter.

Draco’s reply of agreement that blood shouldn’t have mattered died on his lips as he watched Harry’s face crumple. He blinked, wondering if this was how Harry had felt when he saw Draco in the bathroom their sixth-year, and he quickly stepped closer, putting a hand on Harry’s arm in a nervous and awkward gesture of comfort.

He glanced around, peeking every so often at Harry but mostly trying not to watch as the boy lost the battle with his sadness. He flinched, hearing Harry cry, but a warm hand suddenly covered his own on Harry’s arm, so he knew he couldn’t pull away. Draco was exceedingly uncomfortable with displays of emotion, and he tried to give Harry some semblance of respect and privacy by not looking directly at him during his breakdown.

“Potter…Harry…do you…do you want to talk about anything?” Draco stumbled over the quietly offered words, hoping simultaneously that the answer would be ‘no’ (because he wasn’t good at emotional talks) and ‘yes’ (because Harry seemed like he really needed to let some things out, and Draco desperately wanted to be there for him…even though he was terrified).

He was staring intently at the top of Harry’s head when the Gryffindor raised it, and they caught each other’s eyes. Draco was trapped by the evident pain and anguish, and it caused involuntary tears to spring to his own eyes. Harry’s eyes lit up, though, as they stared at each other, and the way he opened his mouth and took a breath to answer told Draco exactly what he would have said.

Because at that exact moment, his hand was roughly shoved from Harry’s arm, and he blinked in shock, the moment broken, to find that Ginny Weasley had inserted her hand right where Draco’s had been and was glaring at him. Arthur Weasley had appeared on Harry’s other side, his face carefully blank as he surveyed the only child of the man he had fought in Flourish & Blotts during their second-year (Ginny’s first).

Draco stepped back, realizing that Harry would have said yes, but everything was too public now, with more redheaded reinforcements following close behind, and Draco gave Harry a last meaningful, mournful glance before spinning on his heel and walking away quickly. Harry felt as if he could scream, cry, vomit, and quite possibly explode all at once as he watched Draco’s retreating back helplessly. Arthur already had an arm around his shoulders, guiding him in the opposite direction, while Ginny rubbed his arm and hand as if to scour the places where Draco had touched him.

Harry plodded along between Ginny and Arthur, trying to crane his head around in last-minute attempts to catch another glimpse of Draco, but the blonde had effectively disappeared again. He stared dully at the ground, tuning out Ginny as she tried to figure out exactly what devious Slytherin motives had gotten Malfoy off his arse and bothering Harry again. His troubled green gaze flickered upward to catch Ron’s intense blue stare, and he simply walked away from Ginny towards his best mate, ignoring her cry of surprise.

Harry could see the struggle in Ron’s eyes that was happening in his soul. He knew that Ron, essentially, blamed him for Hermione’s death, felt guilty for blaming him, and was trying NOT to and also feeling bad that it was even an issue. Harry almost pathetically hoped that Ron would just hate him because Harry figured that it couldn’t be any worse than he hated himself. He had wished a thousand times, with every fiber of his being, that he had done SOMETHING that night that would have caused a different end result. He knew that subconsciously, Ginny blamed him, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Molly and Arthur thought him guilty as well. But Ron was his first real friend, his best mate, and they had been through more together with Hermione than anyone else on the planet. He desperately didn’t want to lose that friendship, but secretly he doubted that they could get past this obstacle.

Ron finally turned away, the side that screamed blame having apparently won, and Harry went to his knees, head bowed, unable to watch his best friend walk away as well. Right in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to have died in his crib the night his parents were murdered. It was Molly who knelt in the grass in front of him, pulling him into her motherly embrace, and Harry felt her forgiveness both soothe and burn him at the same time. At least there was one person who still accepted him, but he was acutely aware that said person was not Ron, and that was painful.

Harry didn’t cry, though. He had cried in front of Draco and had received unexpected comfort. He had cried himself out, and mercifully, the pain from Ron’s rejection dulled into numbness. He disentangled himself from Ron’s mum, thanking her hollowly, and allowed her to lead him out of the cemetery by the hand like a small child.

*

They gathered back at the Burrow, but Ron was noticeably absent. Arthur said that he had elected to remain at Hermione’s grave, alone, but at Molly’s fearful expression, he admitted that Kingsley had authorized the Aurors to discreetly keep an eye on Ron until he returned home. The silence was palpable and heavily riddled with tension. Harry had a sudden clarity in the oppressive silence.

“I…I have to go somewhere,” he said, getting to his feet. Both Weasley parents sprang up with him.

“Where, love?” Molly tried to keep the worry out of her voice.

“Just…somewhere…” Harry said vaguely. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to…or anything…I just…have to leave. At least for a bit.” Harry’s eyes pleaded with them to understand. Arthur and Molly shared a glance, and Arthur nodded.

“As long as you understand that you MUST return here whole and healthy,” Arthur said grimly. “And I want you to promise us that you WILL NOT do anything like…”

“No, I won’t,” Harry’s voice broke. “I promise. See you.” He slipped out the door, but not before Molly had caught him in another motherly hug. He walked quickly to the edge of the Burrow, musing that the feeling of walking with a purpose was foreign to him, and Apparated.

*****

Harry flinched as he landed outside Malfoy Manor. He had forgotten how large and intimidating the gate was, and he forced the memories out of his head. He had been here with Ron and Hermione…it was just after he had said the Tabooed name…the Snatchers came…Hermione had disfigured him so that they wouldn’t recognize him, thereby saving his life…and then she had been tortured by Bellatrix…

The gate swung open, and Harry cautiously stepped through, glancing warily at the peacocks that were abnormally still, watching him walk down the drive to the Manor. He raised his hand to knock on the door, hesitated, and felt stupid when the door opened just as mysteriously as the gate had. There was no one in sight until he crossed the threshold and a house-elf appeared, startling him.

“Can Catty be helping you, sir?” The little thing’s voice was reverent, as if she understood Harry’s state of mind.

“Um….is Draco available?” Harry asked nervously. He felt less dumb asking the house-elf than he had Draco’s mother. The house-elf squinted at him.

“Who should Catty be telling Master Draco is here?”

“Um…Harry Potter…” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. The house-elf bowed, gesturing for him to follow her into what he presumed must be the waiting room, right off the entry. She disappeared, and Harry shuffled from foot to foot, wondering if Draco’s parents were home and whether they would know he was here.

“Master Draco be telling Catty to say to Mister Potter that Master Draco be coming down right away,” Catty popped back into the room. “Mister Harry Potter is knowing Dobby the house-elf, sir?”

“Yes, I knew him,” Harry’s eyes went wide, and Catty cringed, throwing herself at Harry’s feet.

“Catty be meaning no disrespect, Mister Harry Potter, sir!” She wailed. “Catty be hearing stories about Mister Harry Potter from Dobby the house-elf, and Catty is only wanting to be knowing if Mister Harry Potter remembers Dobby!”

“Catty, Catty, it’s okay,” Harry crouched, reaching out to her. “I’m not upset; it’s okay. You can ask me about Dobby if you want. I remember him. He saved my life.”

Catty went still and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Harry pulled her to her feet when Draco’s voice startled her so much that she Disapparated right out of his grip.

“Harry?” The Gryffindor’s head shot up as Draco entered the room, dressed in casual robes that were still more expensive than Harry’s formal robes, hanging open in the front to reveal crisp black slacks and a white sweater that could not be as soft as it looked…and that tempted Harry to run his hand over Draco’s chest to find out.

“Draco—Malfoy—Draco…” Harry again couldn’t decide what to call the blonde.

“Draco, please,” Draco said, smiling slightly. Harry liked the hopeful light in his eye and wished it wasn’t accompanied by a guarded undertone. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I…I just needed to get away from the Burrow,” Harry admitted. Draco’s smile dropped, but his eyebrow arched in a silent invitation to explain. “And…to take you up on your offer…if it’s still good.”

“My offer?” Draco seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh…to talk?”

“Yeah, but never mind,” Harry blinked as Draco’s tone turned slightly afraid. He instantly regretted showing up, since it just became glaringly obvious that Draco had just been being polite.

“No, wait,” Draco made a move to stop him, even though Harry hadn’t started for the door yet. “I…I’m just not good at the whole…talking thing…but…but I really do want to listen if you need to talk.”

“I do…need to talk,” Harry said haltingly, and Draco drew in a deep breath and nodded. He turned to the doorway that he had come through; Harry’s brow furrowed as Draco walked, and then the blonde turned back around. “You don’t have to stand there. We could sit down; it’s just a talk…”

“Er, would you rather walk and talk?” Draco gestured vaguely, and Harry shrugged, following Draco as the Slytherin led him away from the front door to a side sunroom with a large window on the right that offered a view of a garden with a fountain. There were two separate doors that led out to two pathways that merged at the foot of the fountain with a bench on the opposite side, surrounded by gorgeous flowers; the same flowers that Draco had brought in Hermione’s funeral bouquet, Harry realized.

Draco smiled politely at Harry, clearly uncomfortable, and Harry frowned as he looked away, staring through the window.

“Shall we?” Draco walked over to the left door and motioned to the garden beyond. Harry nodded tightly, staying to the right, and they walked out to the garden, around the fountain, and paused awkwardly, unsure if they should sit next to each other on the bench or not.

As they hovered, Harry trailed his hand in the water and blurted out the real story of Hermione’s death—how it was a suicide with Bellatrix’s knife; how he had been the only one home and had left her alone; how the Weasleys, Ron especially, blamed him, and how he blamed himself. Harry could tell that Draco was shocked, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Draco had turned tail and walked away. He knew he should stop talking, but he couldn’t seem to, afraid that when it was Draco’s turn to react, he would agree with everyone else.

He was so caught up between the lines of fear and blame that he misinterpreted Draco’s frown, thinking that the blonde was agreeing with his guilt, and Harry began to wonder why he came. Draco was his arch nemesis, and if anyone would use this information against him, surely it would be Draco, Slytherin’s Slytherin.

“I’m sorry…I’m just rambling…I should go,” Harry turned on his heel, and Draco sprang into action. He hurried after Harry and grabbed the Gryffindor’s robe to prevent him from leaving.

“No, you don’t have to…stay…we could go somewhere else,” Draco pleaded, and then mentally reprimanded himself for not using decorum.

“No, I’m making you uncomfortable…it’s okay…I understand,” Harry protested, trying to tug his arm away.

*

“Harry, no, come to the parlor,” Draco commanded gently, trying to let him know that he knew best (because he was a Malfoy, after all; he did know best). Directness worked with Gryffindors, Draco found out, because Harry followed him obediently, and Draco settled him comfortably on one end of a plush couch, choosing for himself the matching overstuffed chair that sat to the side of the couch.

He reminded Harry that he wasn’t great with emotions and talking, and then proceeded to try to slip past Harry’s defense, asking questions neutrally without giving the impression that he considered Harry guilty but also without granting innocence. Once Draco was satisfied that he knew the whole story, he laid down a list of what was wrong with the entire situation in general and with the Weasleys in particular, emphasizing that he did NOT think Harry was to blame for Hermione’s condition. Draco noticed with alarm that Harry was staring blankly at the coffee table, and he prayed to God that Harry was hearing him.

Pray to God he hears you, Draco’s psyche advised him, and Draco shot up a second prayer just to be safe. The alarm grew as Harry continued to ignore him, and then the Gryffindor’s face grew angry at Draco’s bitter tone when he mentioned the Weasleys, Ron in particular.

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed suddenly, jumping to his feet. “It was a mistake to come here! You said yourself you’re not great at talking, so why am I even here talking to you? It’s not like you’d arse yourself to care for longer than five minutes, and it’s not like you can save me anyway!”

*

Draco was frozen to his chair in shock at Harry’s outburst. Harry took off at a dead run out of the room and out of the house before Draco could recover his tongue, and by the time Draco made it to the front door, Harry had already ran outside of the gates and Disapparated.

Where did I go wrong? He thought. I lost a (potential) friend…

Somewhere along in the bitterness, his subconscious argued back.

I would have stayed up with him all night, if that’s what it would have taken, Draco realized. Had I known how to save his life…

*****

Disgusted with himself at being pants at talking, Draco dragged himself back to his room, throwing himself down on his bed in despair. He buried his head in his arms and allowed himself to brood. It was probably about as close to crying as he got, and he replayed the conversation over and over, trying to figure out why Harry had snapped at him without warning.

*****

Harry threw open the door to Grimmauld Place and immediately Mrs. Black began to screech. The Gryffindor ignored her, giving the umbrella stand a savage kick, sending it clattering across the hall. The other portraits began to scream as well, and Harry ripped several chunks of hanging wallpaper off the wall.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” He screamed at the portraits, and then he went into the room opposite where her portrait hung. He paused, glancing around, and then he grabbed a small nearby end table and hurled it across the room with a frustrated screech of his own. He grabbed the bookcase and tipped it sideways into the other one, screaming as he heaved it, and they splintered, spilling their contents onto the floor. Harry shoved the couch and basically rearranged the entire room, venting his rage so loudly that by the time he had trashed it, Mrs. Black and the other portraits had fallen silent out of fear.

Kreacher appeared in the doorway, shuffling nervously at the sight of his master red-faced and breathing hard with a murderous look in his eyes.

“Master Harry! Kreacher will get right to cleaning!” The house-elf wheezed, and Harry brought his hand down in a short chopping motion.

“NO! You will leave this room and any other room the way it is until I tell you otherwise,” Harry snarled, brushing past the elf into the other sitting room. “Kreacher, go back to your bed unless I call for you!” He could hear the elf in the first room, muttering under his breath, and Harry didn’t put it past him to be wracking his brain for a loophole in the ‘no cleaning’ stipulation. He heard the CRACK of Apparition, nodded in grim satisfaction, and proceeded to tear apart that sitting room as well.

He ran to one of the walls and began scraping at the wallpaper, ripping it off in big chunks where he could. He grabbed one of the couch pillows, tore the cloth, and threw the stuffing all around the room. Leaving the kitchen, Harry ran up the stairs to the bedroom that he and Ron used to share on the second floor. He threw himself down on his bed, panting as his blood roared in his ears and sweat trickled down his cheek from his brow. He stared at the high ceiling and tried to remember why he was angry in the first place. He remembered going to the Manor to talk to Draco, and he remembered pouring the story out to Draco. Draco asked some questions, and then he started talking, but Harry had mostly tuned him out.

The Gryffindor gave another barking laugh as he realized he had never kissed Malfoy back…but he wanted to. He didn’t even care that it was only as a comparison to the way Ginny kissed, just to see if kissing Draco back would be as messy and fumbling as kissing Ginny back had been. That way, he would know whether it was HIM who was a fumbling amateur or if Ginny was just a bad kisser (or worse than Draco, at least).

Harry sat bolt upright. He wasn’t angry at Draco, not if he was contemplating snogging him. He had yelled at Draco and said some awful things to the blonde who was only trying to help, but he wasn’t mad at Draco. The shame followed that thought closely; Harry was ashamed that he had taken his anger out on Draco. Swinging his feet off the bed, Harry hurried down the stairs again to the porch. He paused in the kitchen to tell Kreacher that he could begin cleaning up, and then he slipped out the door.

*****

Harry Apparated to the gates again, and they opened like last time. He sprinted up the drive and banged on the door. Catty answered again, squeaking in fear.

“Master Draco is being gone, sir!” She cried in answer to his pleas to see Draco immediately. “Master Draco left after Mister Harry Potter, sir, and is being still gone!”

“How long has he been gone?” Harry demanded, too keyed up to figure it out himself from the information that Catty gave him already.

“Less than half an hour, Mister Harry Potter, sir!”

“Where did he go, Catty?”

“Catty does not know, sir!” The house-elf pulled at her ears as she curled into a ball in the door. “Master Draco did not tell Catty!”

Harry turned away sadly, wondering where Draco could have gone, after giving the house-elf a message asking Draco to owl Harry right away once he got home. He paused outside the gates and glanced back. They closed automatically as soon as he got to the outside, but he stared down a couple of the peacocks that were watching him belligerently from inside. He didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld, he knew that. Hogwarts wasn’t an option, and they were expecting him back at the Burrow. He knew he should return before they got worried.

*****

Harry Apparated to the edge of the Weasleys’ property and slouched up the walk to the front door. Already he was feeling the weight of his unprovoked outburst. If Draco had only been gone for half an hour, then he must’ve cursed Harry for the hour or so before that, after Harry had stormed out. Taking his anger out on the Black house had taken around ninety minutes, and Harry was back to feeling slightly sad and guilty, but mostly numb. He opened the door and stopped in shock at the sight of pale blonde hair sitting in the Weasley household amongst the redheads.

*

Draco’s head snapped around as the doorknob turned. He had brooded for almost an hour, maybe more, before he came to the conclusion that Potter had just gone off his rocker for no apparent reason that Draco could discern. He tried to sneer and tell himself he didn’t care, but truthfully, the blonde was extremely worried that Harry would try to hurt himself in his ire-filled state. He knew that Harry had been staying at the Burrow and so he Apparated there, hoping to find the Gryffindor. He had found several Gryffindors all right, but just not the right one.

He wasn’t sure who was more shocked, himself or Ron when Ron answered Draco’s frantic knocking. Ron’s eyebrows had gone through the roof, and he had listened in a stony silence to Draco’s sincere condolences and apology.

“I’m sorry I used to call her a—all kinds of bad names, Weasel—ey,” Draco added, looking at the ground before glancing up to meet Ron’s suspicious blue eyes.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Ron said carefully. “Is that why you came by?”

“No, actually, I was looking for Harry,” Draco tried to peer around the frowning Gryffindor. “Has he returned?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Ron said shortly, and Draco remembered Harry telling him that he was certain Ron blamed him. “Why do you care?”

“I was just getting to that, Weasley. Harry left the Manor rather…upset and in a rage,” Draco explained. He continued to explain, holding his hand up to stop Ron from interrupting. “Honestly, I wasn’t trying to provoke him this time. He’s got enough on his plate right now without me making it harder on him. I am just afraid that he could potentially be a danger to himself and possibly others when he was like that. I didn’t want him to go, but he just screamed at me and ran out.”

“If we’re going to discuss this, you might as well come in,” Ron pulled the door open wider, and Draco walked inside for the first time before he could change his mind. Ron took his outer robe and hung it up, offering Draco a seat on the couch.

“Helpless survivor rage,” Ron continued, nodding sagely once they were both settled with cups of tea. Draco quirked an eyebrow and cocked his head. He was suddenly unsure if he was talking to Ron or Ron channeling Hermione. “It’s typical after a traumatic event. The survivor feels helpless to change whatever situation they are in, and they have inexplicable mood swings and violent temper tantrums sometimes. Only for him, it might be about guilt more than anything.”

“I see,” Draco said, processing the information thoughtfully.

“Hermione had it after her parents died,” Ron admitted quietly. “She thought she should have been able to save them, and if you dare to make any sort of crack about them not being worth anything because they were Muggles, I swear to Merlin I will beat you black and blue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Draco held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I was going to ask how you knew, since your explanation sounded like something Granger would have researched. I wouldn’t have figured YOU for a counselor, Weasley.”

“Came with the territory,” Ron shrugged. He was unnerved that he was having a mostly tolerable (but not going as far as to label it pleasant) conversation with Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire, and from the screwed-up look on the Slytherin’s face, that thought crossed his mind a time or two while talking to Ron.

Suddenly the doorknob wiggled, and Draco remembered in a flash that he had come to find Harry. If Harry hadn’t been here, then Draco should have had Weasley tell him Harry’s other hangouts so that Draco could find him and ensure that he was okay. Draco’s anger at Harry subsided in light of Ron’s explanations, and he felt better knowing that Harry wasn’t angry at HIM personally.

*

Harry appeared, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Draco. Draco held his breath, waiting to take his cue from Harry’s mood.

“Draco, Ron….why are you two sitting there?” Harry asked warily. He was curious as well, but he peered at them suspiciously. Ron and Draco did not ‘chat’.

“Weasley was explaining some things to me,” Draco said, and Harry’s face fell.

“I get it,” he said, moving into the living room and shutting the door. “Ron was trying to turn you against me because it’s my fault Hermione died.”

“No, Harry…” Draco tried to protest, but he was drowned out by Ron jumping to his feet, angry now.

“You’re damn right it is!” Ron said. “If you had checked on her sooner! If you hadn’t left her alone! If you had been Harry bloody fucking Potter, then you would’ve been able to save her! You should have saved her!”

*

Draco’s face drained of color as Ron raised his voice, and his heart constricted painfully for Harry, who seemed remarkably calm in the face of the accusations. Draco had expected Harry to rip Ron to shreds, the way Harry had shredded him, but the black-haired boy just looked sorrowful and extremely regretful.

“You don’t think I know that, Ron?” Harry lowered his voice. “You don’t think I haven’t been thinking those exact thoughts every second of every minute of every hour of every day since that night? I know I’m a failure, Ron. You don’t have to tell me because I know! I’m Harry Potter; I’m the Chosen One; I’m the Golden Boy; I’m the Savior. I should’ve been able to save her…the exact same way I should’ve been able to save Remus or Tonks or Fred or Moody or Hedwig or Dumbledore or Sirius or Cedric. Yeah, I have a big fucking long list of people I should have saved. You know what they all have in common? They’re all dead! They’re all dead because they counted on Harry Potter; because they counted on ME.”

Draco drew in a breath, ready to break in and try to convince Harry that it wasn’t his fault, but Harry plunged on ahead with his speech.

“Tell you what, Ron,” Harry’s voice had gotten louder and more emphatic during his speech, and now he lowered it again. “I’ll grant you one last choice. Remember when we flew your father’s car into the Whomping Willow? We can either drive until you lose the road or you’ll break with the ones you’ve followed.

“What about you, Ron? What part did YOU play in Hermione’s suicide?” Harry moved closer to the redhead, who looked stricken. Draco hoped the conversation wouldn’t turn to blows. “Why didn’t you TELL any of us that she was potentially suicidal? Why didn’t YOU take the knife away from her? Why didn’t you tell any of us that she even HAD the knife? What if she had come back downstairs and slit my throat before slitting her wrists? What if she had tried to stab your mum or dad or Ginny before she took her own life? How guilty would YOU feel then?”

The Gryffindors seemed to forget that Draco was even there. This was heavy stuff that was happening, but Draco would rather have been there in the Weasleys’ living room to witness this than anywhere else. It wasn’t because he was relishing the Weasel and Potter disagreeing; Draco was past all of their petty rivalry bullshit. It was because he was now sure that Harry was safe, and he knew without a doubt that Harry would need someone after his conversation with Ron was over, regardless of the outcome. True to his confession to Harry, Draco desperately wanted to help Harry, be his friend, and be the one Harry turned to when he needed someone because Draco cared about him.

Draco found himself nodding along to Harry’s arguments and counter-accusations. The way he saw it, Ron would do one of two things. He would either admit to everything that Harry just postulated or this would be the end of their friendship once and for all.

“That’s different,” Ron said at last. “None of those things actually happened. We could drive each other crazy with the ‘what ifs’. I get what you’re saying, Harry, but I can’t help it. Every time I look at you, I think of her lying upstairs all alone, and I can’t shake it. I’ll say this, I’m just not the same. I don’t think I can forgive you for this. At least, not right now.”

“So this is it, then?” Harry’s mouth went dry, and he began to wonder why he came. “I’m sorry, Ron. Sorrier than you can even imagine. I will be sorry until the day that I die, but if that’s not enough for you, then do what you have to do.”

“Good bye, Harry,” he said coldly, setting his lips in a straight line. “I’ll tell the family for you, but I think you should leave now.”

“I meant what I said earlier, Ron,” Harry said sadly. “Draco, earlier I asked, ‘where did I go wrong’, and now I think I know. But again, I lost a friend to the bitterness, and I would have stayed up with you all night. But I don’t know how to save your life. Good bye, Ron.”

*****

Harry turned and walked out the door. Draco got to his feet and hastily put his mug down. Ron stopped him as he grabbed his robes.

“Am I losing another friend too?” Ron asked a bit more harshly than he intended.

“You and I were never friends,” he replied coolly. “But yeah, you lost a friend tonight. Harry’s one in a million, and he’s punishing himself enough over this without you adding to that. I know you’re hurt and that you’re suffering, but so is he. You all lost a friend to the bitterness. We all failed Hermione. Not just Harry, not just you. Or it was entirely her choice, and it was no one’s fault. Maybe we all should learn how to save a life.”

*****

Draco jerked his arm away from the redhead and left without a backward glance. He heard the door slam behind him, but he was too busy scanning the front yard for any sign of Harry or where he might have gone. The yard was empty, and Draco’s heart fell. If Weasley hadn’t stopped him, Draco would know where Harry was! And then in a moment of clarity, Draco knew exactly where Harry had gone.

The blonde tried to control and muffle the sound of his appearance, out of respect. The Muggle cemetery in which Granger and her parents were buried was a lot creepier when there were less people around. Draco moved swiftly towards the newest headstone, pausing as a figure crouched, leaning against it. His heart broke as he realized Harry was talking to her. He crept forward, not wanting to intrude or eavesdrop, but he did want Harry to know that he was there and that Harry was no longer alone.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione. I guess we’ll never know WHY for sure. You were always so strong. I could never be as strong as you. I couldn’t have done it without you, any of it. You know that, right? I remember when Ron and I first met you, and how annoying we thought you were. But you kept coming back until it was the three of us, and it’s been that way ever since.

“First it was me and Ron. Then it was me and you when Ron left that one time. You remember that, don’t you? I heard you crying, even though I never said anything. And then…then it was you and Ron, and I gotta tell you, ‘Mione, I was looking forward to your wedding. You and Ron are perfect for each other, and now what is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to deal with this? Move on from this?

“I know you were upset about your parents and all, but that wasn’t your fault. We all tried to tell you that it wasn’t your fault your parents died. It was Voldemort’s fault because he’s the one who sent the Death Eaters after them. If you had been there, ‘Mione, there’s no guarantee you would’ve been able to protect them. If you’d tried to stop them, they probably would’ve killed you too. You and Ron. And then where would I be? Right where I am now…because I’ve lost you both over this.

“Ron blames me, ‘Mione. I failed you, but he can’t forgive me. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I can forgive myself. And now I wish I would’ve thought to tell you that while you were alive…about the Death Eaters and all…I’m so sorry,” Harry’s voice broke.

*

“It was Rabastan and Rodolphus,” Harry lifted his head, sniffling, at the sound of Draco’s voice, low and gravelly and tragic. “The Dark Lord sent them away after you all escaped from the Manor. He punished us all, including Aunt Bella, but he approved of Granger’s torture. Aunt Bella was ranting and ranting about her, and that’s when he got the idea to track down her parents.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he stood, wincing as the pins and needles prickled his legs. He wasn’t angry at Draco, since none of it was Draco’s fault, but he suddenly wished that he had spoken with Draco before Hermione’s death. If she had only known, it might have helped.

“They would have most definitely killed her, and Weasley too, if they had been there,” Draco confirmed. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell her, but it was actually better this way.”

“Was it the Killing Curse?” Harry managed, and Draco nodded.

“Once they found out that her parents were Muggles, You-Know-Who realized they would have to be careful, since he didn’t want you going anywhere until he found you. It was his plan to wait until the last possible minute to murder Granger’s parents, so that you couldn’t slip out of the country with her to go protect them,” Draco’s voice was hypnotic to Harry, and the blonde inched closer until he was right beside the Gryffindor.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Draco glanced down at Hermione’s headstone. “If I could have done something, Granger, I would have. But please believe me when I say that it was better you weren’t there.”

Harry nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks, but he felt freer than he had since before Hermione died. Draco filled in enough of the gaps that Harry was satisfied, and he figured that Hermione would have been too. Harry watched, mesmerized, as Draco’s hand raised and slowly traced the path of his tears down his cheek, a look of profound caring in his eyes. Draco looked like he were in pain, but because Harry was hurting, not because of any physical ailments.

Harry closed his eyes at the caress, feeling Draco’s fingers ghost along his jaw line, and then he knew what to do. He opened his eyes and leaned in, pressing his lips to Draco’s in a reverse image of what Draco had done to him. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut as he allowed Harry to kiss him, and his heart expanded and began to soar. Draco tried to rationalize in his mind, and then Harry’s mouth opened, his tongue darting into Draco’s mouth, and all coherent thought fled Draco’s mind.

Their breathing sped up as their snogging grew more intense. Harry reached out and pulled Draco to him, holding him firmly by the small of his back. He could feel his own heartbeat speeding up, but instead of being scared by it, Harry accepted it…and found that it felt right. He couldn’t help himself as he broke the kiss to nuzzle Draco’s throat, sucking lightly, and his cock twitched when Draco emitted a low moan of desire. He could feel Draco’s pulse flickering rapidly under Harry’s tongue, and that was when Harry figured his stuff out. His sexual orientation pointed unerringly to Draco as the one who stopped the sun, moon, and stars in Harry’s universe. The label of ‘homosexual’ or ‘gay’ seemed inadequate, because Harry wasn’t attracted to other guys. He was severely attracted to Draco, and the feeling was mutual.

Draco was a fabulous kisser, and Harry quickly came to the realization that Ginny was the faulty party because he couldn’t get enough of Draco’s kisses. Draco’s hands came up and framed his face as they continued to snog, and Harry melted into the light caresses he received. They paused to catch their breath, resting their foreheads together and nuzzling noses…and then they remembered that they were standing right beside Hermione’s grave…snogging…and they pulled apart. Up until then, it had been therapeutic, which made it okay in the cemetery, but if they continued at their present location, then it would just turn creepy.

*

“What changed your mind?” Draco took Harry’s hand as they walked towards the edge of the cemetery to Apparate to Malfoy Manor, walking and talking at the same time.

“About what?”

“Kissing me,” Draco smiled shyly. Harry was saved from answering right away when they Apparated, and they took hands again as they walked to the mansion and up to Draco’s bedroom.

“I had to see for myself whether it compared,” Harry smiled softly.

“To what?” Draco was genuinely curious as he shut his bedroom door, pulling Harry over to the bed.

“You’re not going to like this part,” Harry warned. “Ginny kissed me, and I kissed her back…then. You had surprised me so much and pulled away so soon that I didn’t have time to kiss you back, so while I knew that you were a bloody stunning kisser, I had to find out whether I would bring it down a notch or not.”

“Weaselette was that bad, huh?” Draco smirked, throwing his blonde head back and laughing heartily when Harry wrinkled his nose and nodded. “Well, good. I would hope I’m a better kisser than that slut.”

“Slut?” Harry narrowed his eyes. Draco raised his eyebrow.

“She banged that one black Gryffindor kid and…what was his name…Corner…Michael Corner from Ravenclaw, while you were gone in seventh year,” Draco said, and Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“No wonder she was so eager to have a go at me!” He growled, more glad than ever that he hadn’t lost his virginity to Ginny. He had contemplated it, thinking that she was still a virgin too, and now that he knew this information, he knew he made the right choice.

“Mmmm, but now I’m the only one who gets that,” Draco murmured. They had settled on the bed, comfortably lying pressed together and were trading short, sweet kisses in between dialogue.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning in and nuzzling Draco’s nose again.

“For what?” Draco rubbed his nose against Harry’s, smiling.

“For saving my life,” he touched his forehead to Draco’s again.

“My pleasure,” Draco tipped his head to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. “I need to thank you as well for saving my life…multiple times.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry had forgotten about the Fiendfyre and the Death Eater during the Final Battle. Draco kissed him several more times before pulling back and regarding Harry seriously, bringing his hands up to Harry’s face again to make sure that the Gryffindor was listening to him.

“You see, Harry Potter, you DO know how to save a life.”

FIN

Author's note--Alright, so if anyone didn't get where the lyrics are that were interwoven, I can post a second chapter with all of the lyrics underlined if you want. Just let me know.

*sigh* I hope you liked...and I hope you thought the plotline/situation I picked fit well with the song. My New Year's was really fun, but I'm still depressed and melancholy, but I don't really know why...

Sorry if I made you cry at all. I love you guys. There are three different Harry/Draco music videos on youtube for this song. (Plus a Grey's Anatomy one that rocks as well)

They are all really good...Enjoy!

~Graballz

Youtube links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iw8UcCdDxv0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdQ1et-Ctvs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfVxUs2PBF8