Friends?

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Friends?

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He looked down at his wrists. Scars. From sixth year. Whenever he was asked about it, he felt so ashamed, he attempted to lie about what had happened. No one ever believed him, of course, because it was obvious what he'd tried to do..... and Draco didn't lie very well, to anyone. Especially his parents. Perhaps this was because because they had beat him every time he lied when he was younger, perhaps it was that he was taught that Malfoys didn't lie. He eventually learned his lesson, and he hadn't lied to his parents since..... and found it extremely difficult to lie to anyone else.

After only moments of staring down at his wrists, he realized he was deep in thought, and he knew he couldn't have that, so he looked back up and glanced around his dormitory. He walked over to his bed and pulled a black covered note book from under his pillow. His journal. He refused to call it a diary..... Malfoys don't keep diaries.

With a quick swish of his wand, he said the complicated charm to unlock it. Then he sat down on his bed and reached over to the bedside table, opened the top drawer and scrambled around in it for a pen.

After just glancing over his last entry, a couple of weeks ago, he gathered the words:

"Feeling depressed again.....he's sick right now, and I don't know how long I can go on like this....."

Oh, yes, he'd only felt this bad for a few weeks. Boy, time flies when you're having fun... Draco sighed. He had felt so happy for an entire year, and everyone at school could tell. It was the best he'd felt in a long time. Maybe all his life..... Everyone knew it had been Harry who had saved Draco from killing himself back at the end of fifth year. He'd walked in on him in the owlery.....

//memory from end of sixth year//

Draco stood at the window, razor in his left hand, and as he looked out at the stars, he slowly pushed the razor into his right wrist. He didn't look down..... he could feel the blood trickling down his arm. He didn't need to look down. He was also afraid he wouldn't be able to handle it. He whined, it hurt so much.....

"Hello? Who is that?" came a voice from behind Draco.

Draco turned around to see a dark figure. Draco put up his fists.

"Who is it? Back off!" yelled Draco, but it was too late. He looked at his hands, his wrists, covered in blood from the slits in them.

"Draco?? It's me, Harry. What are you doing up here?"

Draco fell to the floor with a soft thump, and Harry rushed over to help him.

"Oh my God.....Draco, I knew something was wrong, I could tell, the way you've been so quiet and..... well not yourself, and oh god, are you alright? I followed you up here, and I'm so sorry! Draco! Are you okay?" Harry was yelling by now, and it was to no avail, because Draco had fallen unconscious.

//end of sequence//

Ever since Draco woke up, he and Harry had been tight friends, relying on each other for everything. They'd even owled each other all summer, even though they had to keep it secret from the Dursleys and Draco's parents.

Draco's parents had called him a wimp and a coward for slitting his wrists. They said it was a coward's way out of the hard parts of life. Draco knew now, no matter how hard he tried, his parents would never love him. They never had, of course, but now Draco felt like he'd never be able to do anything to make them.....

At the beginning of seventh year, they had greeted each other like old friends, and up until Harry had come down with a bad case of the hooselets a couple weeks ago, Draco had continued to rely on Harry, told him everything. Hell, they'd been best friends. Many of the students at school had taken this as quite a shock, but to the rest, it was almost as if it had been inevitable.

Now that Harry was sick, Draco had no one to talk to. He couldn't talk about his girlfriend problems with Crabbe or Goyle. He couldn't practice quidditch with them either. Now Draco was going through his roughest time ever and he needed someone to talk to about his parents' divorce.

The news had hit Draco pretty hard. Not because he loved his parents, or ever had, but because he respected them. He respected their relationship. He'd always been slightly closer to his mother, so when his father came into his room one night, telling him that his mother was leaving him to take care of Draco, he had to fight back the tears. Once his father left, of course, he burst into tears into his pillow. Malfoys don't cry.

Marry was in the infirmary, and it wasn't that Draco couldn't go see him, in fact, Dumbledore had actually given Granger, Weasley and himself passes into the infirmary to visit Harry whenever they wanted to. Draco tended to see him when he felt the most depressed. Harry being sick only encouraged his depression, however.

Draco put his journal away quickly and silently as he heard the door handle creak violently as it was turned, and saw Crabbe and Goyle walk through. They didn't even notice him. They'd never really noticed him. Only Harry had noticed him.