Saved

by: Roslyn Drycof

Love is the worst emotion a person can feel. It really is.

It does nothing but bring you pain and suffering. And I have already suffered enough in my life. The fairy tales of 'happily ever after' fed to you as a child are shit. Complete and utter shit. There is no knight in shining armor to carry you away into the sunset, no princes to save you from your evil family.

I once thought otherwise. I believed those stories and they kept me going when I felt like giving up. I stayed alive because I knew I would be saved someday. But I will never be saved.

All my life, I'd been brought up to be the heir to a prestigious family, the wealthiest wizarding family in all of Great Britain. In all of the world. I was groomed to take my father's place like a good son. Like a good clone.

For eleven years I was satisfied with that life, loved that life. Yes, I was punished over and over again over the slightest mistakes, but I knew it was to my benefit. I had to become strong, faultless. It was my heritage.

And then I met the Boy Who Lived. I'd been told to befriend him by my father because Harry Potter would have been a powerful ally. But I screwed up with my big mouth. You see, my mouth is the one thing that always gets me into trouble. It is the one thing I cannot control no matter how hard I try. And so I made Potter my enemy.

For a while, that was all right. He'd slighted me by choosing pathetic Weasley over me and so I had a right to be angry. We sparred several times over the years, our rivalry growing more heated over the years. He always managed to best me. I could never figure out why.

I mean, he was a halfblood orphan Gryffindor. He shouldn't have even come close to besting me at anything! And yet, he bested me at flying. At Quidditch. At DADA. At friendship. At. . .being human.

As each year passed, I began to see cracks in my beliefs. Potter made me realize that being rich and powerful wasn't necessarily what you needed to have a good life.

But still, even though I started to realize that he was right, I never admitted it. I continued to hound him, pulling pranks on him and simply tormenting him. I said some awful things to him. And he took it all in stride.

Until the day he shattered everything.

"Hey Potter, I hear they cleared the mutt's name. A pity it came just a little too late, don't you think?" I drawled, a sneer curling my lips. It was a great taunt. Never failed to rile him.

He turned from where he was walked down the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. His emerald eyes were flinty and his muscles were tense. I'd pissed him off. Good.

"Shove off, Malfoy. At least he was innocent, unlike your bastard of a father. Were those weeks in Azkaban hard on him?"

I had to suppress a shudder. His stay had been very hard. He'd come back even more twisted than before, which was saying something. The punishment I'd received then still haunted me.

Covering my pathetic reaction, I crossed my arms and smirked. "You know, I heard that you were the one to kill Black. It must be so horrible, knowing you killed the only person who cared about you."

I felt a surge of guilt at the pain-filled expression that tightened his face, but I dared not let him see it. I banished the ridiculous feeling. Guilt was not something Malfoys felt.

Potter stalked up to me, fury written clearly in his shadowed green eyes. "You are a piece of work, Malfoy. Yeah, it was my fault Sirius died, but you know what? I feel the guilt of that mistake every day, see his face before he died every time I close my eyes. Even though I'm the murderer here, I'm the better person. Ask yourself this, do you feel the least bit sorry for the pain you cause people? Do you! Because I don't think you do."

"What do you know about how I feel!" I shouted at him, my gut clenching at the condemnation I saw in his hard eyes.

He blinked slowly and said, "More than you think. I know your father has been grooming you to be his perfect little heir for years, and that his version of grooming is sick. I know your home life is hell. Heck, it's worse than mine, and mine was pretty bad. But the difference between us is that you take your own suffering out on others and I don't. Because my life has been so bad, I try to make it better for others. You make it worse. Tell me, is there any logic in that? Why hurt others because you've been hurt! I don't get it! Why!"

Potter turned around after that and walked off. I was left to stare at his retreating back in shock. I was dumbfounded, because I knew the truth in his words. And I questioned everything about myself. Why did I cause more pain? It didn't make any sense!

That night, everything I was shattered into a million pieces. With a few simple words, Potter had shaken the foundation of everything that I'd believed.

I woke up the next morning with a heavy feeling in my gut. As I sat down in my usual seat at the Slytherin table, I looked around at my Housemates and I felt my lungs constrict. Many of them nodded at me, acknowledging my presence. It was a sign of respect. But their eyes held no respect. Dislike and fear shone in their eyes, quickly veiled as they lowered their heads to eat.

That wasn't all. They all spoke to each other, and no one spoke to me. I usually preferred to eat in peace and didn't mind, but now I realized they didn't want to talk to me. I was their leader, but only because of my family influence. None of them were my friends.

To know this, it was the worst feeling I'd ever felt. Worse than the pain of torture my father gave me, worse than the pain of neglect my mother gave me. My chest tight and my breathing shallow, I got up and left the table. A mask of arrogance on my face, I strode out of the Great Hall with tears hiding behind my eyelids. I looked back only once, to glance at the Gryffindor table. Potter stared after me, his eyes hard and flinty. The loathing in his eyes deepened the pain I felt. Was I that great of of a monster?

As soon as I was out of sight of the Great Hall, I broke into a run. My feet pounding against the stone of the ground, I ran through the corridors of the school until I reached the one place I could be utterly alone. I climbed up the rickety ladder that stretched to the top of Angel's Perch, a tower situated in a vacant part of Hogwarts. After five minutes of climbing, I reached the top and stepped out into the morning breeze.

A lone statue of an angel reached his hands to the skies, a lone tear dripping down his marble face. His wings were broken. He had no way of reaching Heaven.

And now, I realized just how terrible that was. To have known the joys of Heaven and then to be forever denied?

No matter how hard they try, no matter how how high they climb up the ladder, they won't reach up into heaven. . .(1)

Tears slipped down my cheeks as I stared at the angel, my heart breaking. I dropped to my knees, sobs wrenching from my chest. I wasn't crying for the lost angel, but for myself and everyone I'd hurt. How many times had I carelessly said something that really hurt someone? Or purposely said or done something to hurt them?

And because of it, I was all alone. No one cared about me because I'd never cared about them.

"You're right, they don't care. And it's all your fault," a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

I turned to see Potter straightening up to look down at me. Pity shone in his emerald eyes, an emotion I hated. He could hate me, but never pity me. Never pity!

I stood up and faced him. "Yes, it's my fault. I know that. But admitting that doesn't change anything. The hurt is still there."

"Yes, and you have to live with the knowledge of what you've done for the rest of your life. But you can make amends, to try and fix your mistakes."

I laughed, and it was a bitter sound. "It's too late for that. Everyone hates me, as they well should. Hate is a feeling you can't just erase."

I backed up and came dangerously near to the edge of the ledge. The wind rushed around me, plastering my clothes to my body.

"What are you doing? You're too close to the edge," Potter said, his eyes narrowing.

I took another step backwards. Worry flared in his emerald eyes. I smiled, and it wasn't a happy smile. "What do you do with a sore that's been giving you a lot of pain? You get rid of it."

"Malfoy, don't! Killing yourself is not going to fix the problem"

I shook my head at him. "It will. My life means nothing. My mother barely even acknowledges that I exist, my father uses me only as his whipping boy, and everyone else hates me. They would all love to see me disappear"

"Not like this," he yelled, reaching out a hand towards me.

With the wind whipping his clothes and hair, his cheeks pink with the cold, and his eyes furious, he was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Belatedly, my heart realized the truth it had been blind to before. I'd never really hated him. I'd always taunted him because I wanted his attention, wanted him to notice me. I'd tormented him because I loved him.

Fresh tears poured from my eyes, dripping down my face. "Goodbye," I whispered. And I leaned back to fall off the ledge.

"No!" Potter screamed and leapt towards the edge of the ledge. He whipped out his arm and grabbed my arm, stopping my fall.

I cursed him as I hung there, hating him as he pulled me back up. I knelt on that ledge in front of the broken angel and cried.

"Damn you, Potter! You weren't supposed to save me," I sobbed, pounding my fists against the stone floor of the ledge.

Through eyes blurred with tears, I saw him kneel in front of me. He reached out a hand and took ahold of my chin firmly, tilting my face up. He pressed a chaste kiss to my salty-wet lips and whispered, "It's all I know how to do."

He dropped his hand and got to his feet. Walking away, he left me alone on Angel's Perch to relive that moment over and over again in my mind. The sorrow I'd heard in his voice haunted me, echoed in my head, my heart. And as I knelt there, I wondered, Who did he have to save him?

It is a question that resounds in my mind every time I see Potter falter, every time I see him with doubt in his emerald eyes. Who saves the savior?

The answer is no one. Nobody realizes that a savior is just like any other person and needs to be saved just like them.

I don't know how he can go on like this. He saves these people again and again, and yet they don't give two cents about him! He fucking saves them and they abandon him. Why can't anyone look past his role as the Boy Who Lived, as their hero? Why won't anyone save him!

Three months have passed since the night I tried to kill myself, since I was saved. I'd like to say I've been able to make reparations for all the pain I've caused, but that would be a lie. People still fear me, still hate me. They are too afraid I'll hurt them again to believe that I've changed. I am the cobra in a nest of mice.

I've given up trying to convince them I am no longer the arrogant bastard I was before. Now, I simply avoid them. Although it is lonely, it is better this way.

By distancing myself, I can also observe things more clearly. It is because of this that I now notice every time Potter loses a little more of his faith. We are now in the spring of our sixth year. Another year after this to go, and Potter looks about ready to collapse. His emerald eyes are always shadowed, his mouth never smiling. He's even begun to lose weight, precious weight he can't afford to lose.

I've heard whispers that the Dark Lord has had several recent successes, resulting in the loss of many important Light wizards. Wizards such as Remus Lupin, Bill Weasley, and my cousin Nymphadora Tonks. I've also heard my godfather, Professor Snape, has been found out as a spy for the Ligh side and tortured terribly. It was only by pure luck he managed to escape alive.

I look at Potter and wish I could save him. But what can I do? I know how to hurt people, but not how to help them. He's the savior, not me.

And so I watch him break apart inside, my heart bleeding for him. Every time someone unintentionally hurts him, I feel that pain. Every time he swallows the angry words he'd love to yell at someone, I feel them beating at my breast. It's all I can do, and it's not enough.

One evening at supper, I'm watching Potter as I always do. He's picking at his food, not really eating. His friends stopped nagging him to eat weeks ago, knowing it was useless. Idiots. They shouldn't have given up. He needs to eat.

Cho Chang, a seventh year Ravenclaw who I feel is a complete bitch, sashays up to the Gryffindor table. She leans over towards Potter, blocking my view of him. She talks to him for a few minutes before walking away with a satisfied smile curling her lips. There is a dark gleam in her eyes that makes me suspicious. Hasn't there been whispers that she's been slipping out on certain nights? Nights that I know Death Eater meetings are on, courtesy of my father?

Narrowing my eyes, I notice her finger something in her pocket and look back at Potter. He's lifting his goblet to take a drink. Shit, she must've slipped something in it!

I jump up without hesitation, running towards the Gryffindor table as he takes a long drink. Cho is laughing, and it isn't a pretty sound. Potter drops his goblet, grabbing at his chest over his heart.

"You poisoned him, you bitch!" I shout at Chang, knocking her to the ground as I try to get to Potter.

"What are you going to do about it, Malfoy? I used Death's Web." She chuckles, her eyes shining with twisted pleasure.

Her words echo in my head as I reach Potter. He's now on the ground, writhing helplessly in pain. Death's Web. One of the most deadly poisons in the wizarding world. It travels to the victims heart within seconds and the poison filters through the entire body. The heartbeat slows and the body grows cold. Pain grips every nerve and the victim is dead within five minutes.

I grab his shoulders and straddle his waist, struggling to stop him from moving too much. A victim could break their back from arching it too much. Knowing there isn't much time, I press my lips to his. There's only one way to save a victim, and that's by someone magically sucking the poison into their own body.

"What are you doing to him! Someone help," Ron Weasley shouts, grabbing at my shoulder.

I ignore him, closing my eyes and concentrating on what I was doing. Almost immediately, I feel the poison filtering into my own body. Pain grips me, but I refuse to move until it's all gone from Potter's body. When I'm sure he's okay, I fall away from him. A cry involuntarily escapes my lips as the terrible pain races through my body.

Someone screams, "No! You weren't supposed to do that!" I think it's Cho Chang from the rage in her high-pitched voice.

Hands grip my shoulders and a male voice yells, "Why'd you do it"

It takes a lot of will, but I manage to open my eyes and look into Harry Potter's emerald eyes. Panic and anger war in those green depths. Through the pain wracking my slender frame, I hoarsely whisper, "It's. . .your. . .turn. . .to be. . .saved."

"Damn you, no!" he shouts. There are tears falling down his face and for the life of me, I can't understand why.

"Heroes. . .don't. . .cry. . .Pot. . .ter," I taunt softly, closing my eyes. The pain takes over me completely. Darkness is taking over and I can't breathe. The pain is all I know. . .

So this is it, this is my life. This is my time, it's ending tonight. I made my mistakes, I tried to look right. Stepped out of the darkness, into the light. And when I'm gone, will they remember? Will they mourn? Will they move on?. . .And on my grave, what will it say"Here lies another soul that was saved". So please don't cry, just sleep at night. And I will wait on the other side.(2)

I died that day in early spring. My funeral was a dismal affair. It rained, and only a handful of people showed up. The priest. Dumbledore. Snape. Potter.

They printed an article in the paper about my bravery in saving the Boy Who Lived and I posthumously recieved a medal of honor, but most people have chosen to forget that incident. Many wonder exactly why I saved Potter, and I don't care to tell them. Most stopped asking after I sicced Peeves on them.

Yes, I'm a bloody ghost now. Well, I'm not actually bloody, but I am a ghost. I don't know why I came back, but it's not bad. I haunt Hogwarts, having become quite attached to it. I'd spent almost half my life here, after all. And Potter's here.

I first approached him after my funeral while he cursed at my tombstone.

"You idiot, why did you have to do that! You weren't supposed to fucking save me!" he yelled at my grave, glaring daggers at the tombstone.

I floated next to him. "Well, I couldn't just let the Boy Who Lived die, now could I"

He jerked his head around, shock widening his emerald eyes. "You're a ghost"

I nodded. "Violent deaths, especially ones at Hogwarts, have a tendency to create ghosts."

Potter got to his feet and stared at me, sorrow shadowing his eyes. "Why did you do it"

"Don't you remember what I said before I died?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He could be so thickheaded sometimes.

He raked a hand haphazardly through his wet hair. "Yeah, I remember. But why? Why would you sacrifice yourself for me"

I floated over to sit on my tombstone, or rather directly above it. "No one else would do it. You're their savior, but they wouldn't lift a finger to save you. You give everything you have for them, and they do nothing! How is that fair?"

"It's not, but it's the way it has to be. Four people have saved me and they've all died. My parents. Sirius. You. I don't want to be saved if the price of it is death."

"That's the price of being saved in a war! One of these days, you're going to die, too! Just for saving people!"

His jaw tightened and he raised his head to the pouring sky. Rain fell all around him, drenching his clothes. "You don't think I know that? I wake up every morning wondering if that day will be my last. But it's my choice! I have to defeat Voldemort!"

"Just like it was my choice to save you. You have to be alive to defeat that monster."

"But I still don't understand, Malfoy. Why? Why in the hell did you save me? I know what you're saying is true, but why you? Why!" he yelled at me.

Drifting towards him, I whispered, "Why did the other three save you?"

I left him there, standing on my grave in the pouring rain.

I avoided him for the next week, instead annoying the hell out of my godfather as he taught his classes. Severus never made me leave, though. I guess he feels sorry that I was another casualty of the war.

Potter finally caught me on a Saturday. At first, he simply stared at me with a torn expression in his eyes. Then a solitary tear dripped down his cheek. "Why?" he asked, his voice broken.

Silvery, ghostly tears slipped down my face as I answered, "You are everything I wanted to be. Goodhearted, friendly, great at Quidditch, funny, generous, and so much more. You saved me when I thought it was too late for me to be saved. How could I not?"

He shook his head. "I'm weak, I suck at Potions, I get people hurt or killed, I always screw up, and I can't kill Voldemort."

"You're sixteen and you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. You've done pretty well for a Gryffindor, I'd say."

A choked laugh escaped him and I smiled softly. I loved hearing him laugh, even though it was something he rarely did after fifth year.

All too soon, he was back to staring at me with broken eyes. "If you did, why did you have to die? Especially now, when everything's so hard? I need you alive!"

"Why? Why would you need me alive?" I asked, shaking my head with confusion. What did he mean?

Tears welled up in his eyes, making them shine. "Because I love you, damnit!"

Even though I technically didn't have a heart since I was a ghost, I felt it wrench painfully. "No. You can't. That's impossible."

He shut his eyes, causing salt water to drip down his face. "I do. I used to hate myself for being attracted to you, and then came that day on Angel's Perch. When you tried to kill yourself, I felt my heart break. I realized I loved you, even though I tried to deny it. And then you saved my life and I knew I couldn't deny it. But it was too late. You were dead."

I felt more ghostly tears fall from my silver eyes. No! This was not real! He couldn't love me! I was dead!

I floated closer to him and stared into his shining emerald eyes. Pain shone in their depths, an indescribable sadness. I reached out a hand and brushed his face gently. My fingers went through him and he shivered. My tears fell faster.

It was so ironic. I was finally able to touch him, and I couldn't. He was mine, and yet he wasn't. And it was all because I was dead.

We met many times after that, talking about numerous things. We never really spoke of our feelings again because it was too painful. Talk about a love that could never be.

Summer came and he went away. I counted the days till he came back for fall term. All that time, I hoped he'd forgotten about me. Forgotten that he loved me. I didn't want him to love me because he needed to love someone who could actually be with him.

My hopes were in vain. He came back and no matter how many times I tried to avoid him, he always managed to find me. I finally gave up. Our encounters gave him comfort that I could see he treasured. As the War got worse and more innocent lives were taken mercilessly, I was his anchor to keep him going, to keep him sane. I couldn't take that little peace away from him.

And then came the day the Death Eaters brought the War to Hogwarts. It was a cold January day, and it is a day that I'll remember forever.

The front lawn of the castle was where the battle was fought, and my memory will always see it littered with the bodies of the fallen. So many innocent children, so much carnage.

By the end of the day, it looked as if the Death Eaters were winning. And then the final battle between Lord Voldemort and the Boy Who Lived began. It was a long battle, lasting well over an hour. Then the Dark Lord fell, his body turning to dust.

The remaining Death Eaters scattered like lost chickens without their powerful leader. Most were easily rounded up by the remaining Aurors.

I made my way towards Harry just in time to see him collapse. Blood poured from a large wound on his torso. The edges were already turning black. I knew the spell. It caused a mortal wound that instantly became infected. Even if a medi-witch arrived in time to stop the bleeding, the infection spread too quickly to be stopped. The victim always died.

And that was how Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, died.

We both haunt the halls of Hogwarts now, along with the ghosts of his best friends. One problem with Gryffindors. They always do everything together. Becoming ghosts is one of those things.

It's quite fun to disturb the students of the school with our ghostly fun. Most of the time, you can find Potter and I in some scandalous mishap, Ron fighting with me or haunting the kitchens, Hermione in the library, and Dean and Seamus bothering Trelawney. Of course, we do other things, too. Ghosts don't just haunt, you know. They have lives as well, or should I say deaths? Unlives? Whatever it's called.

Well, I better go. The new First Years are arriving, and I hear Neville and Ginny's firstborn in in the group. I wonder if Weasley will be mad if I have a little fun with the bugger. . .

Oh, and that angry stuff I said about love being the worst emotion a person can feel? Just disregard that. It may hurt sometimes, but it's the best feeling a person can experience. Without love, you are nothing. And you want to be something, don't you? So my advice is this, Don't be afraid to love!

Okay, that's pretty weird coming from the Ice Prince of Slytherin, but hey. . .I'm in love here. And love is the biggest changing force in the universe.

Now where are those delightful little Firsties?

A/N: My brain is officially on vacation due to an over-indulgence of that precious drug called caffeine, and so I apologize for the ADHD ending. The story started out very angry, and then got depressed, and then sad longing, and then sad, and then hyper. Oh well, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!

Note:

(1) Good Charlotte, The Chronicles of Life and Death; In This World (Murder)

(2) Good Charlotte, The Chronicles of Life and Death; Meet My Maker (Bonus Track)