When a boy who’s broken and shattered inside, slips off the edge of the astronomy tower. Who will save him?

Or

A story about a sour Potions Master saving a boy’s life. And maybe realising he cares about said boy.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringott's carts."

Harry readily agreed to this, but as soon as the half-giant was out of sight, he immediately doubled back on himself, making a beeline straight for Gringotts. He'd noticed something on his earlier walk through and, given the opportunity, he decided to investigate further. Once inside, he headed for it— a list of services that could be procured within the bank. There it was, under Wills and Inheritance: Guardianship of Dependent Children.

The bank was a thrumming hive of activity, and no one seemed to notice Harry as he picked his way through the crowds. He nervously approached a wizened goblin seated beneath the sign at an individual desk, set aside from the hustle and bustle of the bank of tellers Hagrid had taken him to earlier. At Harry's approach, the goblin raised his head from the parchment in front of him, fixing him with an expectant stare that seemed to demand, "Well?"

"Um, hello," said Harry, hesitantly. "I'd like to look at my parents' wills please, if I may?"