Harry ran.

He didn’t spare one ounce of thought to where he was going or why. Just that he ran, as fast as he could, away from Malfoy, away from Snape and his false understanding, away from Slytherin and away from the guilt. Only when the crisp Scotland air hit his lungs did he realise how far he had ran--all the way to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Gasping in lungfuls of cold air that made his chest burn, Harry let out a sob of relief that the tower was empty. Finally catching his breath, he lifted his head, walking right to the stone ledge of the tower and looking out into the grounds.

The sky was beautiful at night, especially at Hogwarts. The air was so clear, the sky so expansive that the black seeped like ink into the eyes, and the tiny glittering stars mesmerized even the most jaded of minds. The sky was the only place Harry had ever felt whole. Flying or watching the sky had given him the feeling of sheer hope and possibility. The jaded grief of reality was but another sparkle in the endless sky, and he could just be free.

Suddenly overcome with the urge to get closer, to touch the sky, Harry climbed onto the ledge. His face burned as the cold air licked at his tear-stained cheeks. He made no attempt to stop the tears as he balanced himself on the thin rock, holding his head high as he looked out into the dead of night.

Harry’s eyes searched the sky calmly, as the adrenaline began to run out of his system to be replaced with dull, depersonalized numbness. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he mused. In fact, he wouldn’t mind feeling numb all the time. What was the point of feeling if all you felt was bad?

Harry slowly dropped his head, looking down on the grounds below him.

It would be so easy.

He could see Sirius again. He could finally meet his parents. He could apologise for getting them all killed.

It would be so easy.

…But if he jumped, who would be left to defeat Voldemort?

If he jumped, how many more would die because of his selfish decision?

Gritting his teeth, he clambered back down to the floor, brushing his shirt off as he looked around the empty tower. A lone telescope stood perched an arm’s length away. An expensive telescope, Harry noted as it sparkled in the moon light, probably left by a NEWTs student who had nothing more on their mind than getting a head start for the coming term.

Clenching his fists, the numbness morphed into anger as the injustice of it all boiled up inside Harry. He seethed that they could expect a sixteen year old boy to save the world, that he was left with no family besides a bunch of abusive excuses for human beings, that he couldn’t even be normal if he tried, before nothing was normal about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

His lungs let out a wail that was soul-deep, manifesting the sheer grief of his emotions as he swung, slamming the telescope into the stone wall as the glass exploded into a hundred pieces.

Harry winced as a sharp piece of glass imbedded itself in his forearm. Plucking out the shard, he watched in fascination as the hole in his arm began to ooze blood, thick droplets that slid down his arm and hit the stone floor with a soft patter.

Almost as if he were drugged, Harry watched the cut in awe, as the essence of his life slowly drained out, proving that despite it all, he was still a living, breathing human being. It didn’t hurt, not really, but the pain was an anchor. This was pain that was controlled, not inflicted on him by the world. It was as if his grief and guilt bleed out of that very cut, only to be replaced with focus and determination.

Sliding down the harsh rock wall, Harry looked between the glass in his hand and his bleeding arm.

Placing the glass to his skin, Harry pushed, pulling the shard slowly across his arm. He brought it down again, repeating the action as the guilt seemed to lift from him. When he finally dropped the broken lens, Harry looked at his arm, only to realise that the lines and scratches formed two words.

Harry shook his head in ironic exasperation as he lolled it back against the wall. Drowsiness crept over him as his eyelids fluttered open and closed. He couldn’t tell if it was from the emotional rollercoaster that had been his last few days or from the blood loss. Either way, Harry pulled the collar of his robe a litter tighter, his exhausted body quickly succumbing to the pull of sleep.

-------

Draco Malfoy dragged his feet along the quiet Hogwarts halls. After a great day of ‘bonding’ with his bastard of a father, Draco’s body was beyond exhausted, despite Professor Snape’s potions. His muscles ached and burned, his bones creaked and his head throbbed as if a herd of hippogriffs had trampled on it. And having been trampled by a hippogriff in his third year, he knew the feeling all too well.

The cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae that was his day, however, had been Potter showing up as he returned from his Father’s care. Draco had some choice words for the Boy Who Lived to Torment Him, and had been quite happy to see the prat run from the common room. He didn’t belong there, anyway. Unfortunately, Snape disagreed on Draco’s reaction and responded with quite the tongue-lashing. Like he’d said, cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae.

Draco huffed as he made his way through the halls. Sleep had eluded him as usual, and in his frustrating pre-sleep thoughts, he’d remember that he left his telescope in the Astronomy Tower the previous evening after calling his truce with Potter. So while aimless wondering was a frequent pastime of Draco’s, tonight, he had a destination.

Tiny lights glittered at the entrance to the tower, catching his attention and making him pause at the broken glass that littered the floor. Had Peeves broken his telescope? His state-of-the-art, multi-thousand galleon telescope? Setting his jaw and scowling, Draco took a deep breath before slowly turning the corner to enter the tower.

Red. Blood. Lots of blood.

Draco couldn’t recognise much, except for the excess of red blood on the tower floor. His eyes wide as saucers, he looked for the source, only to find an incredibly pale Potter lying against the far wall. Even in the dull light, the words ‘I’m sorry’ glittered menacingly at him as he nearly fainted from shock.

I’m sorry.

The same words Potter had uttered at him not two hours ago. Did Potter try to kill himself because of Draco? Was that possible? Why would the git do something so stupid??

Draco rushed forward, determined to see if the boy was dead or not, whether he should try to heal him or just go get help. The last thing he needed was for Potter to die and have the blame fall on him. The boy's arm was still bleeding steadily. That was a good sign. The heart had to be beating for blood to flow like that. Right?

Carefully placing his fingers on Potter’s neck, he detected a very faint, but steady, pulse. Nearly collapsing in relief, he pointed his wand at the arm.

“Episkey,” he incanted, watching as the first several letters slowly scabbed over and stopped bleeding.

He repeated the spell several times, until the boy’s arm was healed over. Looking around, Draco knew there was no one in this area of the castle to help him. He’d have to get Potter back to the dungeons on his own. He debated going to the hospital wing, but it was equally distant at the other end of the castle, and he rather preferred not to be blamed for hexing Potter or some such nonsense.

With a sigh, he carefully lifted Potter into his arms, noticing the boy was disturbingly thin. Shaking his head, he slowly made his way from the tower, his tired muscles protesting at the strain as he trudged through the castle.

Panting as he reached Snape’s office, he kicked the wooden door, hoisting Potter in his arms, lest the boy fall. Draco should have known the moment Potter was resorted, that their sixth year would be like none other. If anyone could make Draco question his beliefs, and Merlin forbid, make him feel remorse, it was Harry bloody Potter.

------

Severus sat reviewing lesson plans in his office when a loud kick thudded on his door. Narrowing his eyes at the late hour, he stood, making his way to open the door and berate whoever was on the other side. His Slytherins used the door that connected to the common room, there was no reason one of them would use his regular office door.

“What can you possibly require-”

Severus cut off as he noticed a pale, sweating Draco Malfoy holding an even more pale Harry Potter in his arms. Not levitating him, like the boy’s pure-blood breeding should have dictated, but holding him in his arms like a one might cradle a child.

Quickly taking the boy from Draco’s arms, Severus quirked an eyebrow at the blond’s actions, before transfiguring one of his chairs into a day bed and laying Potter on it. A quick wave of his wand summoned several potions to him, and he massaged the boy’s throat as he poured the potions in his mouth, triggering the swallowing reflex to ingest the liquid.

“Where did you find him?”

“The Astronomy Tower, sir,” the boy replied, dropping himself in another chair as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. Severus furrowed his brow at the uncharacteristic display, until he lifted Potter’s arm to apply a salve and saw the words carved there.

Severus sighed. Potter blamed himself for what Draco had suffered, and in turn, Draco was now blaming himself for what Potter did, even if he would rather die than acknowledge the fact. The two really were alike, as much as it pained him to admit. Both boys grew up in the worst familial situations, only to be singled out when they arrived at Hogwarts; Potter for his celebrity status as the Boy Who Lived, and Draco for his money and his name. No wonder they fought so much. Each boy brought out the worst traits in each other and inadvertently knew exactly how to make an insult hit home.

Draco cleared his throat. “I-Is he going to be okay, sir?” the boy asked awkwardly.

“Yes, I believe so,” Severus replied. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but a few Blood Replenshing Potions and he should make a full recovery”

“Oh,” Draco replied in a small voice. “Well… that’s good.”

Severus stared at the boy. “Potter fails his attempt at suicide and all you can say is ‘that’s good?’”

“With all due respect, I don’t think he tried to commit suicide, sir.”

Severus scowled. “You don’t consider slicing your artery in three places to carve an apology in your own flesh an attempt to kill oneself?”

Draco shrugged uncomfortably under his teacher’s stare. For all the boy tried to act as if nothing scared him, Severus was still the only person who could intimidate him. Besides his father, of course.

“Potter’s not the blood-and-gore, self-pitying type,” the boy replied.

“And you’ve suddenly become the expert on all things Potter?”

“‘Know thy enemy.’ Trust me, if Potter wanted to off himself, he’d sneak into the forest an take a potion or something. It wouldn’t be messy. And believe me, this was messy.”

“I’m beginning to believe there’s a lot more to Potter than we know,” Severus muttered, rubbing the boy’s fingers to get the blood flowing back through them. “I take it the Astronomy Tower is still unsanitary?”

Draco blinked. “I wasn’t actually worried about a few sullied stones while I was struggling to keep Potter from dying on me. Literally.”

Severus had to refrain from sneering at the boy’s cheek. “I wasn’t blaming you, Draco. I was merely inquiring if the room required my attention after Potter is settled."

“Oh,” the boy replied, his cheeks tightening as Severus realised he was holding back a yawn. Damn Lucius Malfoy and his ‘training.’ No sixteen year old boy should feel the need to refrain from yawning, of all things. Refraining from belching, poor manners and swearing--yes. Forcing your child to learn not to yawn, sneeze or cry was another thing entirely.

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening, Draco,” Severus suggested, watching the boy. “Suffice it to say that I shall be staying here with Mr. Potter this evening.”

Draco hesitated for a second after he stood, casting a quick glance at Potter. A glance that was not missed by Severus.

Severus would never go as far to say that Draco cared for the brunet boy, but he was also one of the few people who knew that Draco Malfoy had a heart. Rather like himself in that respect, the boy hid all his emotions away until the world thought him a cold, hollow shell. There were no more than five people on the entire planet that knew the truth, that Draco Malfoy was one of the most emotional people Severus had ever met; he loved and loathed with everything he had, although he couldn’t hate. The child was not inherently dark like his father. In fact, he was much like Potter, except he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. Yet another similarity of the two archrivals.

“Go, Draco,” he commanded softly. “There’s nothing else you can do for him tonight.”

Draco looked back at him, scandalized. “I didn’t ask if there was anything I could do for him!” he said. “I just…. Merlin, Professor! He nearly died because of me!”

“You need to understand that other people’s actions are not your fault,” Severus said calmly, watching the stoic teenager before him. “It’s a lesson both you and Potter have to learn. In fact, I insist upon it. Be here tomorrow at one for mediation.”

Draco let out a loud groan, letting his head fall back as he blew a tuft of hair from his eyes. Severus smirked, enjoying his pupil’s reaction. Mediation was easily the least favourite activity for many of his students, and Severus knew it.

“Must we, Professor?” the boy asked, a mix of dread and disgust pasted on his face.

“Yes,” Severus replied, smirking. “Now go get some rest. I will see you tomorrow.”

Grumbling, the blond boy departed, returning to his dormitory and leaving Severus to tend to a still-unconscious Harry Potter. Knowing the boy would be out cold for at least an hour with the amount of potions in his system, Severus stood, creaking his aging bones and began making his way to clean the mess left in the Astronomy Tower.

And what a mess it was.

Having been a Death Eater and later a spy, Severus Snape was all too acquainted with the more unpleasant aspects of the human body and all that it could endure. Where most people would have taken in the sight of the blood drenched rocks and expected a dead body, Severus simply sighed, shaking his head.

“Tergeo,” he incarnated, watching the mess siphon off of the floor and into oblivion. A quick “evanesco” banished the bits of broken telescope still littering the floor, and the Astronomy Tower was returned to its usual state.

With one last look at the now-clean tower, Severus made his way back to his own rooms, quite apprehensive about the conversations to come.

He had been sure that Potter wasn’t suicidal, in fact he would have bet on it, but now all evidence seemed contrary to his belief. Draco was nearly positive that it had not been a suicide attempt, and granted, the boy did watch Potter closer than almost anyone, but Severus had watched him, too, most especially these past few days. Harry Potter was an enigma, and if there was one thing Severus hated, it was working out a puzzle that he couldn’t complete.

Severus knew he didn’t have all the pieces. Something beyond physical abuse had led their boy saviour to self-injury, if not attempted suicide. Physical abuse was traumatising, but Severus had watched the boy take injury after injury in his years at school, without so much as batting an eye. No, Severus was sure that it was something on a deeper level, something he couldn’t yet get to, save breaking into the boy’s mind. Someone had said something to Potter, or done something so irreparable that it had torn the boy’s spirit into pieces.

“What has the world done to you, Potter?” he asked the still-sleeping boy rhetorically. “Fate must truly be ironic for me to be expected to save you.”

Steeling himself for the coming commotion, he pointed his wand at the boy’s heart.

“Rennervate.”

Bright green eyes popped open and looked around frantically, quickly locking onto Severus’ own. Even without Legilimency, Severus could see the trepidation and confusion pasted there.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” he drawled. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.”