So, this is how it happens.

Harry sprints to the basement door, flings it open, skips a few steps and lands on his arse at the bottom.
Jumps up, spins around, swears to God that Willow is there spinning in the air, but no she's not it's Jazzie little 7 year old Jazzie and she's not-

She's not dead.

Well, that's good then.

'Jazzie,' Harry croaks, 'What- the blood- the floor- what-'

The relief and fear are mingling, relief that the remaining three members of the Poynter family are still- well, breathing- and that's when Jazzie looks up from her folded lap and holds out her wrists.

Her seven year old wrists.

Her slashed, bleeding, crimson, seven year old wrists.

Somewhere in the back of Harry's head, there is a voice saying and this is what you imagined, finding a dying girl, right, you dreamed of saving her life and being Dougie's hero after you told the story of how you lifted her out of the noose and stopped the bleeding and got her to the hospital

This isn't Willow.

This isn't a circumstance in which Harry has the time to regret what he potentially could have, but didn't, do.

This is Jazzie.

Harry grabs her by the waist and lifts her to his chest, and god damn she's lost weight, and runs back up the stairs, and then there's Dougie.

Dougie.

He's stood by the front door, his face completely ambivalent, gazing at Harry and Jazzie.

Then he stumbles.

Then he falls.

Then he says 'I'm drunk. Also, I have many, many pills in my stomach.'

Harry blinks.

Harry wants to hit something.

'Oh, you are fucking kidding me,' he snarls, and grabs Dougie by one arm to pull him up. 'You. With me. Now. I said now, don't make me slap you, Poynter-'

The sight of Harry Judd stomping to his car with a seven year old slung over his shoulder and an absolutely plastered 18 year old stumbling along behind should have been comical, except it really wasn't.

Danny wakes up at 3:a.m to the dulcet tones of Metallica- he's almost entirely sure that's his ringtone, back from when Harry changed it every day for a lark- and promptly falls back asleep.

He is awoken, again, five minutes later, by Tom bashing him over the head with a book. 'Wake up, you twat, Dougie's drunk and Jazzie's dying.'

Danny blinks, rubs his eyes, blinks some more, and then nearly falls out of bed as the reality of what Tom is saying hits him. 'Dying?'

'She tried to k- she fucking slit her wrists, we have to go, now now now, go go fucking go.'

So they go.

When they arrive, Harry is doing the stereotypical stalking-round-waiting-room thing, so Tom and Danny do the stereotypical run-to-nurse-and-ask-what-the-hell-is-happening thing. They find out that Dougie is having his stomach pumped and Jazzie is being sewed back together.

'How much did he drink?'

'Half a litre of vodka.'

Danny and Tom look at each other, then at Harry (who hasn't stopped stalking yet), then back at the on-call nurse.

'No. He never drinks that much. Never. He doesn't even drink vodka-'

'We found the bottle in his house.'

'His- his house?'

'A seven year old girl tried to kill herself, Mr Jones, of course we did a search a-'

'How do you know my name?'

Tom resisted the urge to murder his friend, and turned to Harry. 'Sam?'

'She's blacked out.'

'What did he take?'

'Aspirin. A lot of aspirin.' The nurse sighed. 'Look, I'm not even supposed to be telling you all this, you're not related, but I have to know about Jazzie. She's the priority here.'

And this is how ¾ of McFly ended up admitting that they watched Jazzie fall apart and didn't try and help her, while the remaining ¼ has a tube lodged down this throat, and his little sister almost dies.

Dougie wakes up to the sight of Harry's face inches from his nose. Just for a moment, he forgets the last few months and it's good, but then it all comes crashing back like a tidal wave, leaving him drowning again.

Well, apart from anything after yesterday afternoon, when he gave up on the glass and drank it all from the bottle.

But he's laying in a hospital, and his throat hurts, so it can't have been good.

'What happened?' Although he doesn't particularly care. Harry just looks at him, and Dougie tries to ignore the niggling feeling that this is more than the fallout of a drunken blackout.

And this is how 1/2 of Mcfly end up sat together in A&E, and Harry felt exactly how Tom had felt that day- because things don't get much worse than having to tell your best friend that he might have no sisters left.