Draco ran. He didn't even know where he was going. He just ran, his mind racing with too many thoughts for him to focus on, his feet pounding against the stone floor. He found himself bursting through the doors of Professor Snape's classroom of 2nd years.

The room was quickly silent. There was blood on his hands, probably all over his clothes too. And he was still holding the dagger. He didn't need to say anything, didn't need to explain that something was terribly terribly wrong. Snape said something to the class - Draco was so full of adrenaline he could hardly hear what was said. And then he ushered Draco out of the classroom, shutting the door behind them.

Once they were in the corridor Snape grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall. His head hit against the bricks, and Snape was staring down at him, anger and worry burning in his eyes.

"Who?" he hissed. He pushed Draco back against the wall again. "Where?"

Draco blinked up at him. "The - the abandoned bathroom. Potter."

Snape let him go and Draco fell to the floor. Snape ran, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor and robes billowing out behind him. Draco took a second to breathe. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears. He stood up shakily and followed after Snape.

The trip back seemed to take so much longer. Draco got to the door and almost didn't want to enter. But somehow he did. The smell of blood hit him first, just as it did the last time, and even though he thought he was prepared for it he almost wanted to throw up. Rich and metallic, it burned at his nose. He stared down, eyes immediately on Potter's body. He noticed, and thanked Merlin for it, that Potter was still breathing.

Snape was already knelt down, eyes narrowed in concentration. He used his patronus to call for Madam Pomfrey, then set to work casting spells Draco had never heard of. Draco just stood there, silent and still, trying not to hyperventilate. He watched as Potter moaned and writhed on the floor in pain. He wanted to look away, he knew he probably should, but he couldn't make himself.

"Hold him still," Snape said.

Draco couldn't move. His limbs felt like lead.

"Malfoy," he snapped, staring up at him, with desperation in his voice. "For Merlin's sake, help me. Hold him still."

Draco collapsed to the floor. He felt the warm blood seeping through the fabric in his trousers. With shaking hands he gripped Potter's shoulders. Harry's eyes fluttered open for a second, but they were dull and glazed and Draco could tell he wasn't truly seeing anything. Snape muttered another spell. Draco noticed, with relief, that Potter seemed to relax a little.

"This should be enough until Poppy gets here," Snape said, to himself more than Draco. Then Snape turned to him, his eyes dark. "You did this?"

Draco felt the panic climbing up in his chest. Before he even had the chance to open his mouth to explain he felt Snape probing his mind, looking for answers. Draco was too panicked to fight back against it. Snape's expression changed from that of anger to something indecipherable, then he looked away, back at Potter.

They waited for Madam Pomfrey in silence. The only thing Draco could focus on was the sound of Potter's uneven, shallow breaths.

Harry opened his eyes to unforgiving white light. Sharp pain darted down his left arm, like a fiery poison through his veins. He winced, and then clenched and unclenched his hand until the pain ebbed, until all that was left behind was a dead ache. He moved his head, with a little difficulty, to look around. He was in the hospital wing, he could see that much, and it appeared to be empty. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, but he was shivering, even under the covers.

"Madam Pomfrey," a voice said from beside him. Harry jumped at the sound. He had been so sure he was alone. "He's awake."

"Okay, dear," she said, from across the corridor most likely. "I won't be a minute."

Harry turned his head slowly. He was dazed, as if he'd just been hit in the head with a bludger. Maybe he had been. The boy sat on one of the wooden visitor chairs. White-blonde hair was the first thing Harry noticed, and then grey eyes. Slytherin robes.

". . .M-Malfoy?"

What the hell is he doing here?

More importantly, what the hell am I doing here? It couldn't have really been Quidditch, could it?

He tried to sit up, but was met with the same searing pain in his arm. He let out a small cry that he quickly managed to silence, and persisted, despite the pain, until he was sitting upright.

"Lie back down, Potter," Malfoy said coldly.

Harry glared at him. Lying down would have probably been a good idea, especially with the way his vision was blurring, but Harry – as a matter of principle – couldn't take Malfoy's advice. So, stubbornly, he remained sitting, trying not to topple backwards.

"How are you feeling?" Malfoy asked. Harry tried to detect sarcasm in his voice but found nothing there.

Harry stared at him. "I . . . I can't . . . What happened?"

Panic consumed Malfoy's features. It was strange seeing such an expression on his face. His eyes darted from Harry, to the floor, and back again. He held his hands up, in apparent defence.

"Look, Potter," he said. "I was only trying to help."

Harry frowned. He tried to think back to what had happened. Memories surfaced slowly, but they were faint and discordant. He took a deep breath, willing himself to recall exactly what had happened. He had some sort of idea, of course, but he was desperately trying to come up with an alternative - anything else that could explain why he was here, why his arm was searing with pain, why he felt dizzy and weak.

He looked down at his arms, at the white bandages that covered them both. His stomach sank.

Fucking hell. I'm still alive.

Harry let out a shaky breath.

It didn't work, then.

Harry turned to Malfoy, who had been watching him. But before Harry could say anything, Madam Pomfrey walked through the door. Malfoy sunk back into his chair and looked back at the floor.

"Right, Mr Potter. How are -? Oh, Harry, do lie down." A small metal container floated in front of her, carrying numerous vials of potions. "You don't want to wear yourself out, do you?"

Harry looked away from her, embarrassed. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey. Sorry."

"How are you feeling? You lost a lot of blood." She placed a cool hand on his forehead and helped guide him back so he was lying down again.

He stretched back onto the bed, trying to keep his expression blank. "I'm fine."

Why didn't I die?

He felt like bursting into tears.

Fuck.

She gave him a look. "I have some more pain relieving potions here for you to take, and then I would like to reapply your bandages and – oh, Mr Malfoy, I have another Calming Draught here for you." She handed Malfoy a vial of blue liquid. "You may go back to your classes as soon as you feel well enough, but Professor Snape has allowed you to take the day off if that's what you would prefer."

Snape knows? Merlin, who else must know by now?

Harry risked a glance at Malfoy, who was staring intently at a spot on the floor, his hands gripped tightly around the vial of Calming Draught. Harry's anger flared.

I hate him. I fucking hate him. Why didn't he just leave me?

"Can I stay here a little longer?" Malfoy asked, looking up.

"Of course, dear," she said. "Sit here until you feel ready to leave. I can talk to you after I have finished with Mr Potter." She smiled, turning to Harry. "Now, Harry, I just want to have a quick look at -"

The infirmary door creaked open. Harry and Malfoy both turned to look. Professor McGonagall poked her head around the door. Her eyes met Harry's and she put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, Potter," she said quietly.

"Professor," Madam Pomfrey said, turning away from Harry again.

"I-I've brought Lupin," she said, her voice hoarse. "And S‒" She stopped herself, obviously spotting Malfoy. "And the dog. Is it -?"

"Get out of my way, Minerva, please. Let me see him."

McGonagall stepped forward into the room. "Remus, wait a ‒"

Remus stumbled through the door, hair ruffled, expression one of pure panic. His eyes immediately met Harry's. Harry wanted to look away, to bury his head under the covers, to disappear.

"Harry?"

Harry's stomach churned with guilt. Remus stepped forward, one tentative step towards him. Padfoot pushed his way past Remus, ears back, tail between his legs. Harry looked away, his breath speeding up. He couldn't look Sirius in the eye, not now. The dog nuzzled at Harry's legs, whining pitifully. Harry didn't dare look. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Keep it together. Don't cry.

"Harry?" Remus asked again, and Harry heard his footsteps drawing nearer.

Padfoot nuzzled his shoulder, whining again.

"Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "Would you like to wait in my office across the hall?"

Harry heard the chair scrape back, the footsteps, the sound of the doors opening, and then closing.

Remus spoke again. "Harry, look at me please."

He shook his head, staring out across the empty room, away from everyone.

There was a rustling sound, and then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. "Please." That was Sirius's voice.

He scrunched shut his eyes, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back tears. He wouldn't cry in front of them. They couldn't see him like this.

Sirius moved his hand away.

"Harry," he said. His voice was so full of pain, hoarse and taut. Harry took a shaky breath and turned his head to look at Sirius. His grey eyes were shining with tears. Sirius grabbed hold of him, pulling Harry up into a warm, smothering hug. Harry burrowed his head into Sirius's robes. Sirius held him tighter, one hand in Harry's hair, the other on his back. They remained like that for a while, in silence.

"Harry," Sirius finally said. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. What was there to say?

Sirius stepped backwards, hands on Harry's shoulders now, his grip just a little too tight. "What were you doing, Harry? What were you thinking ?"

Harry tried to look away but Sirius took hold of Harry's chin, forcing his head back so Harry had to look at him.

"Harry," he said. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Again, Harry was silent. The whole room was silent. He could feel their eyes on him.

"Do you have any idea how stupid , how irresponsible , how -?"

"Sirius," Remus said softly. "Come on, now."

Sirius blinked at Harry, and then gathered him up into a hug again. "Don't do this to me," he said. "Don't."

Harry couldn't stop the tears from falling this time. They rolled down his cheeks, and small choking sounds left his throat.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said hoarsely. "But it's going to be okay. This is going to be okay."

Sirius stepped back, his eyes bloodshot, a few stray tears trickling down his cheeks. He tried to smile at Harry, but looked away quickly.

"Poppy," Sirius said, "how bad . . . how . . ." He shook his head, walking towards the windows. "No, never mind."

There was a long silence, and then the infirmary doors creaked open. McGonagall snapped her head around and made her way quickly towards the door.

"Harry?"

Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway, and Harry stared in shock.

"You two," Professor McGonagall said harshly, moving to block the door. "Out. Now."

Hermione leant to one side, on her tiptoes, looking past McGonagall. "Harry! Are you alright? Wait, Remus? Siri ‒?"

"No, Miss Granger. I want you and Mr Weasley out of here this instant. You have lessons to attend."

Ron looked ready to push past Hermione and McGonagall. "But that git Malfoy told us -"

Harry's breath hitched in his throat. What had Malfoy told them?

"No 'buts'," Professor Mcgonagall said, and she started to close the door. "Go to your next lessons. Now . Or do you want me to take house points away? You can see Mr Potter another time."

"But -"

" Go ."

Harry took a long shaky breath. This wasn't a part of the plan.

The doors to the infirmary clicked shut, and this time McGonagall locked them.

"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, after a moment, voice subdued. "Let's heal up the rest of your injuries. Then you can rest."

Harry nodded silently.

Remus walked over to Sirius and put a hand around his shoulder. They both stood by the windows, looking out at the courtyard below. McGonagall had come to stand beside Harry now.

Madam Pomfrey took hold of Harry's arm, and with a swish of her wand the bandages slowly unravelled. McGonagall let out a small gasp, and placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry stared at his arm. There were two long deep scars running up from his wrist to his elbow, and surrounding that were countless others in various stages of healing. Remus and Sirius were still over by the windows, still staring out, for which Harry was grateful; he didn't want them to see this.

Madam Pomfrey dabbed something against his arm, and Harry recognised the smell immediately: dittany. He watched in horror as the scars on his arm faded to white. They were barely noticeable now. Watching them all disappear like that left him feeling anxious. As much as he hated his scars, they had been a source of comfort. He would run his fingers over them every time he felt himself getting overwhelmed, but now he wouldn't even have that.

Harry tried to make sure his expression was blank. Madam Pomfrey inspected his other arm, which wasn't nearly as bad. But still, again, the scars disappeared and Harry was left with two blank canvases.

"There," she said softly. "All done. Now, the injuries on your left arm were fairly severe, Mr Potter. The tendons had to be repaired. I would expect to still feel some mild discomfort for a few days, maybe a little tingling."

Harry nodded. The anger had gone, and now he felt numb.

"You also lost quite a lot of blood," she said. Harry felt McGonagall's hand tighten on his shoulder. "So I need you to drink this"

She handed him a vial of dark red liquid. He looked up at her.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," she explained.

Harry drank it in one gulp, and almost instantly began to feel less dizzy. Madam Pomfrey smiled at him. Remus and Sirius were still standing by the windows, talking quietly between themselves. Harry tried to strain to hear, but couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Harry," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "My door is always open, should you need it. I hope you know that."

"I know," Harry said, his voice a monotone. "Thank you."

Of course, there was no way he would ever be able to talk to her. But she smiled at him, and seemed to relax a little.

"With regards to your Dreamless Sleep Potions," Madam Pomfrey said. "Professor McGonagall has taken the liberty of confiscating what you have in your trunk. If you want to continue taking it - which you may - I will have to ask that you visit me once a week for refills. I believe it unwise for you to have access to. . . a larger volume."

Harry could feel his cheeks reddening. This was humiliating.

"Lie down and try to get some rest," she said. "If you're feeling better you can go back to your friends this evening."

Harry lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. Remus and Sirius had stopped talking now, and Harry heard them walk over to him. He turned to look as Sirius sat down in the chair by his side. Remus dragged another chair over to him. Harry looked back up at the ceiling, tears pricking at his eyes again. Sirius brushed the hair off his forehead with a gentle touch.

"I wish you had talked to me," he said quietly, but Harry couldn't mistake the anger bubbling under the surface.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice colder than he had intended.

"Did . . . Had you been planning to do this for a while?" Remus asked.

Harry paused for a second. "No," he said. It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't a complete lie either.

There was silence. They were waiting for him to explain.

"I just . . . felt overwhelmed," he said, finally. "But I didn't mean for this to happen."

This was a lie, the last bit was anyway. He hoped they would believe it.

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

Harry gulped. "I . . . I wasn't trying to kill myself," he said. "I just . . . I don't know what happened. I've been . . . cutting myself. For a while. It helps me cope. I just. . . I don't know, I just got carried away. But this was an accident. I didn't mean for it to go this far."

He stared up at his godfather pleadingly. Sirius' eyes softened and he rubbed Harry's cheek with his thumb.

"There are better ways to cope," Remus said, voice a little strained. "I know things have been difficult, but you don't need to hurt yourself."

Harry sighed.

"I know," he said. "I'll try to stop."

Even if he wanted to - which he didn't, not now - he knew it would never be that easy. It was an addiction. But he hoped they believed him. He didn't want them to worry even more than they already were.

"Try and rest now, dear," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "You need to regain your strength."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He was grateful for that. He couldn't answer any more of their questions.

This had not gone to plan, not at all.

Draco left Madam Pomfrey's office after taking the Calming Draught, which - much to his dismay - did not live up to its name. He just wanted to get out; he couldn't talk about it with her again. He had bumped into Granger and Weasley, and was sure he had blurted out something to them about Potter. Though he wasn't sure exactly what he had said. His mind felt like it wasn't working properly. His thoughts were jumbled and made no sense to him. He just had to get away from all of this.

Draco walked down the deserted corridors. He decided today was a write-off. He couldn't go back to lessons. He felt sick. He couldn't get the images out of his head.

There had been so much blood.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He still felt in a daze. This all seemed fake. He was almost expecting to wake up in his bed, realising this was only a horrible, horrible nightmare.

Draco felt like puking. Or crying. Or screaming.

He had seen Harry in a new light. He was even starting to feel sorry for him. For Potter. The scrawny brat, he was feeling sorry for him. Well no, it wasn't pity. Draco Malfoy felt worried . He wondered, absently, whether he had ever felt this worried about someone before.

Even now, he was worrying. His mind was a mess. Why had Harry Potter, the heroic, golden, Harry Potter, tried to kill himself? Draco didn't understand. He couldn't even begin to understand.

What if I hadn't followed him?

Draco stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath.

He would be dead by now.

He shook his head, hoping to shake away the thoughts. Potter was alive, and that was that. No point thinking about what could have been.

He continued walking down the corridors. He definitely couldn't go back to classes in this state. But he didn't know where he was going.

And fuck, there was so much blood .

Draco took a moment again, trying to steady his breathing. He couldn't help but think back to the way Snape had looked at him, the way Snape had seemed so sure it was Draco himself who had done this to Potter. His stomach churned.

Do people really think I'm capable of that?

Obviously Snape did, and up until now he'd thought Snape knew him best out of all the teachers. But apparently, Snape didn't know him at all.

Is that what he expects from me?

Draco's mind went back to Potter again. He just wanted to know why. Why did he do it?

He thought about what his father had told him about the cemetery. Draco knew there were parts his father left out, but even the things he'd been told were harrowing. He thought back to the third task. He had been watching with the rest of them, in the stands, when Harry had come back with Diggory's body. It was chaos. The screams. The way Potter had held on to Diggory's body, unwilling to let go. Draco could still picture it clearly, and he was more than certain that Potter could too.

Draco sighed again.

Why do I suddenly care so much about Potter, of all people?

It must be the shock, he tried to convince himself. That must have been why Draco was feeling like this, so scared and worried and vulnerable. He pushed it all down, as far as he could. No, this whole thing was none of his business. He just had to forget it ever happened. He tried to think of all the things he hated about Potter, all the times they had fought, all the stupid attention-seeking stunts Potter had pulled over the years.

Maybe this is all just for attention , he tried to convince himself. Harry fucking Potter, always after attention .

He pushed his worries down, locked them away, safe. Draco stood up straight and adjusted his tie. Everything was fine. Potter would be fine, and everything would go back to normal. They would go back to hating each other, fighting, arguing, and everything would be just fine.

He tried his best to believe that.

It was just after dinner that Harry was finally allowed to leave. Sirius and Remus had left a few hours earlier, and Harry had promised them he would stop cutting, that he would find a better coping mechanism. Of course, it was a lie. But the way their faces relaxed as he had reassured them made the lie worth it.

Harry walked down the corridors towards Gryffindor Tower, trying to get his story straight in his head for Ron and Hermione. Sudden fainting? Did that sound believable enough? He hoped so, because he had no better ideas right now. He just prayed that Malfoy hadn't told them the truth.

He turned down a corner, and sucked in a breath. He debated turning around, walking back the other way, but it was already too late. Malfoy and Nott were walking towards him. Malfoy looked up, and their eyes locked. Harry looked away quickly and sped up past them.

"Potter," Malfoy called.

Harry kept walking, trying to ignore him, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"Theo, go on without me," Malfoy said.

Harry walked faster.

"Potter, wait!" Malfoy shouted.

Harry heard footsteps, and Malfoy pushed in front of him. Harry stopped suddenly.

"Potter," he said.

Harry said nothing.

Malfoy sighed. "You're okay, then? I was ... worried."

Harry looked down sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry."

"It's fine," Malfoy said, taking a step towards Harry.

Harry wasn't sure whether Malfoy was being sarcastic or not.

Harry looked up again, suddenly finding himself closer to Malfoy than he had expected. Draco smirked, one side of his mouth quirking up slightly more than the other. "So are you? Okay, that is."

Harry stared up into silver eyes, eyes that were now looking down at him expectantly.

"Oh," he said, taking half a step back. "I'm fine now."

Malfoy's smile dropped slightly. "Potter," he said sharply. "You're crap at lying."

Harry looked away. "I'm not lying."

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and automatically flinched. Malfoy drew his hand back quickly.

"Well," Malfoy said. "I just wanted to . . . reassure you. That I haven't told anyone. And I wasn't planning on it."

Harry relaxed, and looked back up at Malfoy. "What did you say to Ron and Hermione?" he asked.

Panic flashed in Malfoy's eyes for half a second, but he quickly composed himself. "I just told them where you were," he said.

Harry nodded, relieved. "That's alright, then."

Malfoy looked away. "And things can go back to normal now," he said. "We can pretend none of this ever happened."

Harry smiled, despite himself. "That's more than fine with me."

Malfoy seemed happy with that response. He nodded at Harry, and walked back off down the corridor.

Harry was reunited with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Gryffindors, who all seemed really happy - for some reason - to see him. Ron and Hermione had practically pounced on him as soon as he walked into the common room. If his friends had missed him this much after only a few hours, maybe there was still some hope for him. Maybe, just maybe, things would get better. He tried to hold on to that thought.

They had asked him questions, though, awkward questions that got him flustered. They knew he was lying - Harry was sure of that. But they had quickly let it drop as soon as they could tell that he was starting to get uncomfortable.

Hermione smiled at him warmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We were all so worried, Harry," she said. "I'm just glad that you're alright."

Harry smiled back at her, trying not to let his true emotions show.

"Oh," she said, reaching down to her bag. "I almost forgot. I wrote out some extra notes for you, from the lessons that you missed. They're not that good, really, but hopefully they'll do."

Harry felt tears prick at his eyes as she handed over the notes. The guilt kept growing stronger and stronger.

"Thank you, Hermione." He looked up at her. "Really, thank you."

"Harry," she said, laughing. "Don't be silly. It wasn't a problem!"

He nodded, trying hard to smile. They all deserved someone so much better, so much stronger than he was.

Why do they put up with me?

"Still," he said, looking back up at her. "Thanks."

She looked at him oddly, as if she wanted to ask him something, but then shook her head and went back to her conversation with Ron.

Harry quickly made his excuses to leave, and went upstairs. He noticed, with a sinking feeling, that his trunk was on top of his bed, clothes all neatly folded inside it. It was obvious that somebody had been looking through his things. McGonagall, probably. He knew she had confiscated his potions, but what about everything else?

He scrambled through his things, desperately looking for the small muggle toiletry bag that he kept his blades in. He found it, right at the bottom of his trunk, and with shaking hands he unzipped it. The blades were gone. Panic built up and up in his chest, and Harry felt like he was about to explode.

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

He pulled at his hair, and the pain helped him calm down for a moment. He looked around the room, mind racing. There had to be something he could use, right? There was a half empty glass on his bedside table. He supposed that would have to do. He gulped down the stale water and held the cold glass in his hands.

Do I really want to do this? So soon after all that's happened?

He dropped the glass, and stared as it shattered and the shards spread out across the floor. He took a deep breath, and wondered again whether he really needed to do this. But the itch was too strong. He scrambled on the floor and picked up the sharpest pieces. He vanished the rest with his wand.

He climbed into bed, drew his curtains, and rolled up his sleeves. He could only just make out the two faint white lines on his left arm, but the rest of his scars were completely gone. It felt like he was looking at somebody else entirely. It was like the last few weeks and months had never happened.

He swiped a shard of glass against his skin. For a moment nothing happened, but then a few small droplets of blood pooled out. Harry let out a sigh of relief he hadn't even realised he had been holding. The cut stung, but it was a comforting, familiar feeling.

He waited a minute. Sometimes one cut would have been enough, but the vast clear space on his arm was screaming at him. He looked down, with a mixture of horror and pride. He was already regretting it, but it felt too late to turn back now. He had already broken his promise to Sirius and Remus. What did it matter, whether he cut once or a hundred times? The promise would be broken, either way.

He dragged the shard across his skin again and again, making sure to press down hard, but not too hard; it was a delicate balancing act - each cut had to be deep enough to hurt in just the right way, but he was more nervous than ever about not hitting anything important. There was no way he would be able to explain himself if he cut too deep.

As the blank space on his arm got smaller and smaller Harry's anxiety shrunk. This was how it should be, this was what he was used to seeing. This is what comforted him. He tried to cut his other arm, but his hand still felt stiff and numb; he could barely hold the shard of glass between his fingers. So he gave up on that quickly after only three small jagged cuts. He grabbed his wand and tapped it against his left arm.

" Ferula ," he said quietly, and bandages spun up and around the injuries. He hoped that would do for tonight.

He shoved the pieces of glass under his mattress. A small part of him, in the back of his head, told him that this was bad, that he had promised to stop. But he quickly pushed that down.

This is the only thing that helps. This is the only thing that keeps me going.

Draco stared up at the dark ceiling. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop thinking about him, about Potter.

Harry fucking Potter. Do you even realise what you've done to me?