Disclaimer: I don't own any characters herein.

Rating: PG-13

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Chapter Two: Similar Differences

Harry's mouth fell open in surprise, of all the possible things he would have suspected Hermione to come out with that was by the far the bottom of the list; in fact, it wasn't even on the list. He'd assumed that it was something like Malfoy had tried to get various members of staff sacked, or that he physically hurt someone, or was being his regular old malicious self. "He…he…he what?" Harry managed to get out quietly, all thoughts of his lessons and library books fleeing from his now wide awake mind.

"He tried to kill himself, he took about thirty wizarding painkillers along with some muggle ones and washed it down with some fire whiskey. It was lucky that Snape found him this morning when he went to rouse his students, another few minutes and they'd never have been able to bring him back." Hermione's voice was quiet, the soft tone saddened by having to repeat such ill deeds.

Ron shuffled his feet next to her, still looking uncomfortable just standing there, "He's in the infirmary." He put in helpfully before he looked down at his feet as though it were none of his business.

Harry's eyes flickered to Ron's face; he knew that the redhead didn't really understand that depression was more of an illness than it was a state of mind. People just couldn't snap themselves out of it, they needed help. Ron had been so desperate to have Harry get better when he was in St. Mungo's. He's believed that he's failed as a friend, so he'd hung around not knowing what to do, trying to help but failing and annoying Hermione. It was one of the things that infuriated Harry about their friendship, Ron seemed to think that if Harry ignored his problem it would go away. Harry just didn't share that view. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw someone waving, he turned his head slightly, "Ron, I think you're cousin's calling you."

Ron looked up and focused on the tall fair haired boy that was his cousin, he looked guilty and relieved for having found a way out of the situation he found himself in. Harry gave him a half smile that showed that he didn't mind and Ron made a sharp exit.

"I'm coming Scott!" he yelled as he pushed past a group of giggling second years.

Harry shook his head at his friend and then turned back to address Hermione. "Do they know why he did it?" he asked raising an eyebrow in question.

Hermione shook her head, "I've got an inkling that the professors know why, but if they do, they're not saying anything, and quite rightly so, it's really none of our business." She bit her lip, "It reminded me of you though."

Harry sighed, he'd only been up half an hour and already he had a feeling that this year was going to be as bad as the last few, full of problems and misadventures. Damn he never had it easy. Silently he cursed his fame. "But I didn't overdose." He replied softly.

Hermione lowered her eyes, "I know. That's not what I meant. I meant that because you and he have something in common now, you may feel the need to talk to him. But you don't you know. Let his friends help. It's not your concern." There seemed to be desperation in her voice, was it possible that she didn't want him coming into contact with Draco? Was she worried that the Slytherin would be a bad influence on him?

Harry thought for a moment before he replied, "I think," he began slowly, "That had our places been reversed at the moment, mine and Malfoy's then I would have been extremely grateful to have someone who knew what I was going through, even if I didn't exactly like them, I would have listened to what they had to say. When you're in the black hole of your own mind, you're willing to go to any means to get out again." He paused, he looked at Hermione who appeared to have unshed tears in her eyes, realising that he had brought up bad memories for her he tried to lighten the mood, "I would have tried dressing like a goat to try and get myself out." He gave her a smile, she smiled bravely back.

"I suppose that you have to go through to understand it." She admitted grudgingly, "You're going to go and talk to him then?"

Was he? Harry frowned to himself, was that what it sounded like? Should he go and talk to Malfoy, after all, he hated Malfoy. Or did he? He searched through his mind to try and find some reason why he shouldn't hate him. He couldn't think of anything. The speech he had just given to Hermione dictated that he was going to talk to the ferret.

Sometimes Harry's own logic frustrated him beyond belief. He had to go and open his big mouth.

He half shrugged, "I don't know."

Hermione sighed, "Well just think about what I said first okay? He's a Slytherin, and besides talking to him may make you….you know…again."

Harry grimaced, "Don't be afraid to say it Hermione, 'Depressed'. It's not an evil word. It can't hurt you and I'm not averse to hearing it." Absently he reached up and pulled the long strands over hair out of his face so that he could view her with both of his eyes, "But don't worry about it, that part of my life is over, and nothing is going to make me fall back into myself." He wondered briefly when he had started talking so much like an adult. "Besides, Malfoy might not even want my help. Whereas I would have welcomed help, he might not."

Harry had no idea as to why he was telling such a blatant lie and to one of his best friends as well. He would never have accepted help; he had been in a rut and refused aid from his friends and his teachers. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt reassured when he felt the familiar shape of his wand.

It was Hermione's turn to wince, "I'm sorry I really am. It's just I couldn't help you when you were depressed and I don't want you to end up like that again. Seeing you like that nearly destroyed Ron, I think we'd both understand that you'd want to help him, having been there yourself, even if it someone as arrogant as Malfoy…" her voice trailed off and she looked across the common room at the rumour mongering that was going on between the Gryffindors. "But if you'll excuse me, I have to do something about this." She said tightly gesturing to the masses.

Harry nodded and stepped aside to allow her passage; he watched her walk up to the front of the group and call them all to her attention. He smiled at her as she glanced over to him as she began berating the younger students about good manners and that there was no need to be spreading rumours and having a good gossip. Malfoy was a fellow student and even if he never treated them with respect they should respect his privacy now.

The first years were listening with rapt attention, their wide eyes shining in awe as they watched the intelligent and kind words coming out of the beautiful girl's mouth.

Harry having heard the speech before from a few years ago when a Ravenclaw had been caught stealing from the Charm's Teacher, gave a half wave to her, grinned at Ron and then proceeded towards the swinging portrait. It opened automatically to let him through.

Once he was out in the corridor free from the crowded room he allowed himself to expel a breath and lean against the wall to clear his head. Such unexpected events already and the year had barely begun. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and his thumb and he closed his eyes and scowled to himself.

He wondered what had pushed Malfoy over the edge; his little group must be devastated to have lost there all powerful leader. He imagined Pansy shrieking hysterically in a bid to gain as much attention as he could. Somehow though when it came to imagining Malfoy's father, he had great difficulty imagining a grieving face.

The human mind fascinated him beyond simplistic measure, it had the ability to make or break a person. After his own experience he had forced himself to pay more attention to what was happening in his mind, he was uniquely in tune with his thoughts now, and he found that not only was he thinking far more clearly than he had ever done but his grades were improving. Harry tried to picture what was in Malfoy's mind, but couldn't bring himself to no matter how hard he tried. Not only had he had no civilised contact with the blond enigma, but it was impolite to try and assume things about someone but having the chance to get to know them.

Harry opened his eyes and pushed himself up. He would go to the infirmary and check up on Malfoy's condition, Madame Pomfrey would understand surely. But then, the nurse was always very unpredictable.

He began walking, his feet taking him in the general direction of the infirmary, saying hello to the paintings as he passed, stopping on occasion to compliment them on games of chess they were having. He was relieved to see that the painting were not discussing the subject of Malfoy, they were talking about mundane things, like how nice the new DADA teacher was.

"Well, well, well." Said a voice to his left, not expecting anyone to be talking to him, Harry jumped out of his skin and turned to great whoever was there because there weren't supposed to be any portraits on this corridor. He was wrong however.

There in the shadows, cleverly disguised in the dark was a large painting framed in black. It was of a tall man dressed in pitch black robes; he had long black hair and was perched on a tree branch reading a book that lay open in his left hand. Harry didn't know what to make of it; he had never seen this painting before. He wondered what it was doing here.

"Um, hello." Greeted Harry stepping closer to the picture, noticing that the man's fingernails were painted black. "Who're you?"

The man turned his head and Harry was surprised to see that the painting had onyx coloured eyes that were outlined with black eyeliner, he was wearing a spiked collar around his neck. He closed the book, "I am Azriel." Harry opened his mouth to reply but the painting raised a hand and cut him off, "And you are Harry Potter. But what do we have here, Mr. Potter, you seem to have forgotten yourself."

"I have?" Harry asked slightly bemused by this strange event.

"Oh yes. You are without a doubt in the stages of a transformation."

Harry thought the painting was being very matter of fact about it all, but he had learnt through past experience never to take what the paintings said seriously. "A transformation? What am I changing into?" he decided to play along.

"I would have thought that that was obvious Mr. Potter. You are becoming a goth. Just look at your clothes, and you've started liking literature and have an almost obsessive fascination with death." Azriel smiled slowly, and the expression reminded Harry of a predator.

"A goth? No, why on earth….hey, how do you know about my fascination with death?" Harry was beginning to think that maybe he should have moved to Canterbury and bought a house like he had in that weird dream he had had not so long ago.

The painting smiled knowingly, "All in due time, Mr. Potter, although a word of advice, if you are planning on going to see Mr. Malfoy, you may want to take a detour past the Slytherin common room."

Harry opened his mouth to reply to this rather odd statement but Azriel picked up his book again and went back to reading, still confused Harry questioned the reason for him to need to go to the Slytherin common room. Azriel didn't reply. Harry tried again.

"Time's are wasting Mr. Potter, if you wish to catch them you must hurry." The painting fell silent and refused to answer anymore questions. Biting back a snarl of frustration Harry turned on his heel and began to descend the stairs that led to the long way around to the infirmary.

A thousand thoughts like broken shards flew around Harry's head. First Malfoy, now Azriel and now this bizarre quest to the Slytherin common room. Harry huffed under his breath. A goth indeed. He looked down at his clothes and his eyebrows rose…Was that really what he put n this morning? Unbelievable. Maybe the painting was telling the truth, but what was all that about literature? Hermione liked books and she was definitely not a goth.

Suddenly the corridor widened out onto the broader landing that went past the Slytherin portrait. Harry looked up quickly as he heard giggling and low voices. There, leaning against the wall of the corridor were Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini. Pansy had a piece of paper in her hands and she was pointing bits out to Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise for his part looked completely miserable being there, he kept saying things to the others but they either ignored him or laughed.

Harry had a sickening feeling in the very pit of his stomach, what was it that they had? It couldn't be anything good, how come they weren't sad at the fact they nearly lost Malfoy, wasn't he their friend? It seemed from Harry's point of view that only Blaise seemed kind of upset about the whole thing.

He paused, thankful that his footsteps were quiet and slipped into the shadows so he could listen to what they were saying. There always seemed to be an abundance of shadows on the Slytherin corridor.

He leaned slightly closer to them to try and catch some of the words that were being said.

"Oh this letter is priceless…" purred Pansy in a dark voice.