Title: A Shout-out to Melancholy

Author: beililee

Rating: R

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the story itself, not the people within.

Word Count: 1575

Warnings: Angst, Switches POV at the line breaks, First person narrative, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, AU, potential OOC, Language

Author's Note: I don't even know.

"Next caller. What's your name and who would you like to give a shout out to?"

"My name is not important, but I'd like to give a shout out to melancholy and despair."

It was the first time I heard his voice, and my heart just ached to hear the pain in him. I wondered why he was so sad, if he had any friends to just give him a hug once in a while. So many things… I'd always had too much inquisitiveness for my Gryffindor roots and it was a wonder I didn't land myself in Ravenclaw all those many years ago, though Hermione had been the same way so perhaps the sorting system wasn't all that cut and dry.

"To melancholy and despair? May I ask why?" I had made it so he was no longer on the air, but all I got in response to my question was an audible click. And then he didn't call back for a few days. It worried me, and I knew I'd try my hardest to keep him on the line if he did call again; I wanted desperately to help him, though I didn't really know why. It was just something about that voice, and the void that seemed to exist within the words and tone.

"Next caller. What's your name and who would you like to give a shout out to?"

"My name is not important, but I'd like to give a shout out to red, black, and blue."

I really needed to teach the interns how to screen calls better—it was the first negative thing I'd thought about them, and it was only thought because I was so anxious about the man on the other end of the line. I wanted to be able to take a call from him without it being on the air. That way, maybe, maybe I could have an entire conversation with him and figure out what was wrong.

And the 'red, black, and blue'? That worried me even more. People might say that I'm a bit slow, oblivious, but I had an idea of what that meant, and this man wasn't joking.

I started screening calls myself, but the caller was obviously wiser than us all.

"I didn't want to have a conversation with you, you know. Why does everyone think they can fix me? I'm too broken, like a totaled car. You can't put a band-aid on me and say it's all better now. And for the record, my shout out is to things that gleam silver in the night."

"I don't think I can fix you, but I want to help. To listen. I think everyone should have someone that will listen to them. So, if you ever want me to listen, you can call me here, or we can go for coffee…" I had trailed off then, on uncertain ground.

"Fuck you." Click.

It was the most nerve-wracking week of my life, but finally he called again. Thank god. And every time I roll over in bed in the dark of the night, and smell his scent, I'm even more grateful because his beautiful soul is still alive and it makes me smile every day.

He was beautiful, even with the scars from his past, and the moment I laid eye on all of him, I knew I'd do anything to have him, and anything to make him realize just how sexy he was.

The scars somehow made him all the more beautiful, proof that he'd been strong enough to hang on (if you looked at it that way.)

I don't know what first prompted me to phone a radio show, but the other male's voice had always been soothing to me, and I was probably just that desperate, to let a stranger know of my plight. But, in some ways, it was easier that way, not knowing the person you were telling the deep dark secret to. Hence therapy, right?

He always tried so hard to reach out to me, and I guess that's what made me seek him out. I was planning to take the final plunge that night, but I absolutely ihad/i to know what the owner of that voice looked like before I went. And that was my biggest mistake.

Or rather, my moment of salvation.

We met at a coffee shop and the moment I saw him, I knew that he was someone I wouldn't feel self-conscious around, at least not about who I am. Who I am with him still gives me fluttery butterflies in my stomach, but that's a different story.

He smiled at me when I walked in the door, motioned for me to join him at his table. "I waited to order at the same time as you, and I'm Harry," he said, tacking the last part on sheepishly as if he remembered that proper introductions hadn't been made. Of course, I already knew his name was Harry; I had, after all, been an avid listener of his show if only for the brief moments of brightness that it brought to my bleak world.

It was hard not to smile back, and that sensation gave me pause because I hadn't felt like that in forever, but I was still determined to stick to my plan, 'in and out unscathed by his beauty.' It turned out that that was not meant to be…

"Draco." It couldn't hurt for him to have my name, right? That's what I was thinking as I let the word fall from my lips, a verbal bomb that only served to break down the first wall in the fortress of my heart.

A waitress came by, and Harry—his name was always uttered in a softly poetic manner in my mind, something I'd yet to understand—ordered a fruffy drink, complete with whip cream and caramel. I ordered coffee, black—no frills, no muss, I didn't think I deserved them anyways—and she flitted off, but only after flirting with Harry, something that made my stomach twist because his eyes twinkled back at her. I should have known then that months of listening to all his private thoughts over the air—he didn't seem to be good at hiding himself—and meeting him in person had sunk me. I was in over my head and falling fast without even knowing it.

"I was really worried about you after the last time you called, so I'm glad we're meeting." Harry struck me as the kind of guy that wanted everyone to be happy but my bitter self of then said that the fucking world didn't work that fucking rosy way.

I only nodded in response, looking down as I realized that my arms were showing, and he could see them, the cuts.

"They don't scare me off. You're not going to scare me off."

I didn't know what to say to that, and was grateful when the coffee came. Something about sitting with Harry, who was being so nice to me, made me feel guilty for my plan.

"So, do you want to talk about it, them? I've been told I'm a good listener when I shut up and stop blabbering like I do on my show." He chuckled, and reached across the table to grasp my hand; it was actually kind of nice, human contact, and I let him while I thought about it.

"Not really. I mean. The world sucks, blah blah blah, and this feels good. Too good. I'm addicted to it now. I don't know how to stop without doing something even more drastic." And in that moment, I realized that to carry through with my plan would be running from myself. I looked up at him, feeling very aware.

"I guess I'm pretty messed up, ne? I mean, I called in to a radio show and essentially told the world about what I do to myself." He clucked his tongue at me and shook his head. "Not crazy, and not messed up. You're just hurting. But you're worth it, so you'll get better."

His niceness was getting to me and my eyes watered, but goddamn it, I didn't want to cry in public. And he picked up on that almost immediately. "Would you like to come to my place? So it's private? I have a cat, but no roommate so no one will look at you funny if you cry."

It took me a moment; I was on the precipice of change for the better, and it was always a tough step out into the unknown. Then I nodded, and the rest is history.

I didn't learn until later that he'd been planning to end everything that day, and every time I think of it, it gives me chills and I cry. I don't know how I'd be the same without him because he's the first and only person I've ever loved. I'm grateful for every painstaking day we have as he works on getting better.

He knows that I love him, and I think he might believe it. And gradually, gradually, he's learning to smile, laugh, accept that life has many happy moments if you just look for them.

And I'll do everything in my power to keep him pointed it the direction of the next happy moment, and the next, and the next for all the days that we're together. For forever.

A/N: I'm pondering fleshing this out even more, perhaps something chaptered. Thoughts?