Under Your Spell

Under Your Spell

A World Enchanted

By the Empress of the Eclipse

~~~

Harry woke up in pitch blackness. He panicked for a moment, then realised that the thick curtains had been closed around him, shuttung out the light. Slowly he sat up and pushed them apart. The room was equally dark as the curtains were also closed over the window. It was deathly silent in the room, a silence that was so silent as to be loud. Harry slowly slipped out through the curtains and padded over to the window, parting the curtains there to look out. The gardens were lit with the grey light of approaching dawn and when Harry checked his watch he saw that it was barely six o'clock.

He pulled himself up onto the window ledge and stared down at it, resting his head on the glass again. He tried to find his memories but they instantly slipped away and he gave up with a miserable whimper. Instead, he thought about what Draco had told him.

He was going out with Draco Malfoy, his apparent best friend. He'd been in Slytherin House of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until for some undisclosed reason, he'd been expelled. And he lived with the Malfoy family now.

Who were his real family? What had happened to them? Had they thrown him out when he started dating Draco or were they dead? Or had he just chosen to live with the Malfoys?

Harry shook his head. Thinking about this was meaningless because he just did not have anything that he could connect with them. They meant nothing, didn't ring bells, didn't even feel right when he felt them. He just couldn't do anything about any of it.

He scrambled off the window sill and padded over to the door, pushing it slowly open. He didn't want to stay in here any more. He wanted to look around his...his home?

Outside was a long stone corridor, with great torches held by brackets. When Harry stepped out of the room, the nearest one flared into crimson light, making him yelp. He wished it hadn't lit up. The corridor had been creepy enough before but now there was one patch of light and eerie shadows on either side. Summoning up his courage, Harry slowly padded down the corridor. In front of him, torches flared into light and behind him, torches died. On each side were heavy looking oak doors, faintly lit by the torches on each side. Harry didn't quite dare look into them. He wondered if Draco or Lucius were behind any of those doors and wished that he could find them.

As he rounded a corner, he saw something about waist height scurry to the side. Swallowing a cry, Harry forced himself to say, "Who's there?"

A figure stepped out, trembling violently. It had huge bat like ears and massive golf ball eyes.

"I'm sorry Master!" it squeaked. "I didn't mean to, Master, please don't be angry with Hoppy, he didn't mean to Master, please don't punish me..."
"Didn't mean to what?" Harry said confusedly. "Don't be frightened, I won't punish you I promise..."

Hoppy looked highly relieved.

"Thank you merciful Master!" he squeaked. "You are indeed gracious, Hoppy doesn't deserve Master's kindness..."
"Please stop that," Harry begged. "I haven't done anything, really I haven't."

Hoppy stopped obediently and bowed.

"May I continue with my duties before Master Lucius awakens?" he asked respectfully. "Master Lucius gets very angry if Hoppy doesn't finish making things ready before he awakens..."

"No, no, you go," Harry said. "Please feel free..."

Hoppy bowed again, then rushed off past Harry. Harry wished he asked where Draco was but knew it was too late. He kept walking slowly along an identical stone torch-lit corridor until he found himself on some sort of balcony. Looking over the rail, he realised that he could see a magnificent entrance hall, walls covered with giant tapestries which depicted strange scenes that Harry didn't understand at all. There was a fountain in the hall, a real working fountain with a gigantic snake spewing water from its mouth, water which splashed down into a deep basin. There were two staircases beside where Harry was standing. One was huge and grand looking, sweeping downwards to the hall, carpeted with a thick ruby red carpet. The other one was shabbier and pitch black. Harry slowly walked down the staircase and went over to the fountain, staring up at the massive snake. It was an eerie thing to have in the hall but it was definitely a magnificent work of art. It looked almost real with deep black stones set into it's eyes, giving it the impression of watching Harry.

"You could almost move," Harry remarked softly. "Aren't you a beautiful thing?"

Some sort of instinct made him suddenly lean forward and whisper, "Move."

Only he didn't hear himself say move. He heard a strange hiss come from his own mouth and then to his utter horror the snake did move, twisted its head slightly and staring at him. The water stopped its steady gush and dripped from its mouth like venom.

Harry screamed and leaped backwards. The snake stared at him for a moment, then returned to its old position, water spouting once more.

Harry staggered back to the staircase and sat down, clutching his pounding heart and trying to calm himself down.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, okay, okay. It's magic, that's all. It's completely normal, you've lived with that for...a year didn't Draco say? Something like that. Anyway, you've lived with it, you've been to magic school...anyway, this is all totally normal..."

"What are you doing down here?"

Harry had to stifle another frightened yell and twisted round to look up the stairs. A pale, blonde woman stood at the top of the staircase, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She resembled Draco enough so that she had to be his mother and she was as aristocratically beautiful as Lucius and Draco were. She held herself even more imperiously than either of them did and despite the fact that she was wearing what had to be a dressing gown, she wore it like a queen wore a crown.

"I...I decided to come downstairs," Harry stammered, somewhat overawed by her. "I....the snake....it..."

"Oh, Feoras," the woman said. She swept down the staircase and walked over to the statue, touching the snakes throat lightly. "I forgot that you can speak Parselmouth and can awaken him."
"Parselmouth?"

"Snake-Tongue," the woman said, sounding annoyed. "The language of snakes."

"Oh," Harry said, pretending this was absolutely clear and normal to him. "Um...what's your name please?"

She looked at him as though he was a slug. Then she suddenly smiled, a cold and regal smile. Despite this, it made Harry's stomach flutter slightly. He was horribly aware of the fact that he was still only wearing a shirt and boxer shorts. The woman didn't seem to care.

"My name is Narcissa," she said. "I am Draco's mother."

Harry nodded.

"I thought you might be," he said. "You look like him - or rather, he looks like you, you came first..."

Realising that he was talking rubbish, he stopped and blushed. Narcissa's smile turned briefly into what seemed to be a smirk.

"It's a little early for you to be awake," she said. "Still...let's get the house elves to provide you with some sort of food."

"Did I wake you?" Harry asked worriedly.

"No. I always wake early. Come along."

Harry obediently followed her as she glided off down a corridor to the left of the snake. He skirted that snake very carefully. He didn't care what Narcissa said about parcels or whatever, he wasn't going near that thing ever again.

Narcissa took him into a large room and pointed imperiously to a seat at a large ebony table. Harry sat down on the nearest chair, trying to tug the shirt down over his knobbly knees. Narcissa walked over to the mantelpiece and rang a tiny silver bell. A moment later, a creature very like Hoppy appeared.

"Yes Mistress?" it squeaked.

"Bring Master Harry and myself something to eat," Narcissa ordered.

The creature bowed and vanished.

"That's a house-elf?" Harry asked.

"Yes. They are wizard's servants," Narcissa said. She walked over and sat down in front of Harry, staring at him thoughtfully. Harry blushed again and stared down at his lap. There was another pop from the fireplace and two of the house-elves rushed over with a silver tray that had a silver tea service on it as well as toast and other things. The house-elves quietly served them.

"Does Mistress require anything else?"

"No," Narcissa said coolly. The house-elves instantly vanished and she turned back to Harry, gesturing at the things on the table "You may help yourself."

Harry nervously took a piece of toast and poured himself some tea, trying to remember if he actually liked tea. Narcissa poured herself a cup of black tea and sat sipping it, watching him with deep blue eyes. Harry tried to look like he wasn't terrified but his hands were trembling and he knew that she could tell. He wasn't very hungry and could only nibble at the toast.

"Isn't it good enough?" Narcissa asked, frowning slightly. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"No, no!" Harry said quickly. "I...I'm just not very hungry, that's all. It's lovely toast."

Narcissa put her head slightly on one side, staring at him in a contemplative fashion.

"You don't remember anything still?" she asked quietly.

"No," Harry said, his stomach squirming as he remembered that. "Nothing at all."

"Not even me?" Narcissa asked, her face suddenly breaking into a warm genuine smile which lit up her eyes, giving them a wicked, mischievous glint. "That's not the sort of thing a woman wants to hear Harry."

Harry managed a weak laugh, aware that his cheeks were crimson. Had Draco's mother always made him blush this way or was it just because he was suffering memory loss?

Narcissa didn't seem to notice his blushes and worry. She simply sat watching him and sipping her drink. Harry forced himself to finish the toast and tea (which he did like) then sat there, looking around the room and admiring the room.

"Do you like it here Harry?" Narcissa asked quietly.

"Y-yes," Harry said, aware that he sounded uncertain. Narcissa raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him and Harry gulped, feeling guilty.

"It's...very big," he said, rather embarrassedly. "I...I don't remember...it's so strange being in such a big place."

"Hm," Narcissa said, her lips slightly pursed. Harry felt guilty and looked at his hands, feeling that he'd offended Narcissa in some way.

"I suppose you are comparing it to the Muggle houses you remember," Narcissa said, smiling that cool, regal smile again. Harry smiled back hopefully.

"I'm sure it'll just take time to get used to again," he said.

Narcissa nodded and stood up gracefully.

"I have to go and dress before Lucius wakes," she said. "Don't play with anything. I don't want you getting hurt. In fact..."

She stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece, ringing the silver bell again. A house-elf instantly popped into existence.

"Keep an eye on Harry," Narcissa ordered. "Don't disturb him but make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"I...I don't need..." Harry began but Narcissa gave him a quelling look and he went quiet instantly. The house-elf bowed.

"Yes Mistress," it said shyly.

"Good."

Narcissa turned to Harry.

"You'll be all right now," she said calmly, then turned and swept out of room, leaving Harry staring after her in somewhat shock. And he'd felt that Lucius was intimidating! Compared to Narcissa, he was nothing!

Slowly Harry got up and instinctively began trying to clear up the things on the table.

"Master does not need to do that!" the house-elf squeaked, sounding shocked. "House-elves will do that Master!"
"I...I want to help..." Harry said.

"Master does not need to help!"

Harry decided that he was obviously offending the house-elf and obediently stopped trying. Going over to the door, he slowly set off down the corridor, the house-elf padding behind him. With no clear idea what he was going to do, Harry decided that he needed to dress.

"Excuse me," he said softly to the house-elf. "Could you tell me where my room is please? My real room, not the sick one."

The house-elf shifted a little awkwardly.

"Master must forgive Squeak," it said. "Squeak has been forbidden to take Master to his room. He must return to the sick room until Master Lucius will take him to his real room."

"But I don't want..." Harry began, then stopped. It wasn't Squeak's fault after all.

After a moment's thought, he came up with another idea.

"What about Draco's room? Can you take me there?"

"Yes Master but Master Draco will be sleeping..."

"I don't mind," Harry said. "I'll risk it. Please?"

"All right Master," Squeak said. "Follow me."

Harry was led back up the stairs and along the passage back the way he had come, past the room he had been in, then up another flight of stairs, these ones carpeted in green. Squeak stopped outside a bronze door.

"Master Draco is in there," it squeaked.

"Thank you," Harry said. Unaware of the affect this had on the house-elf, he tapped lightly on the bronze door, then opened it and peered inside.

The room wasn't as big as he was expecting, particularly considering the size of the door. There was a four poster bed as tall as the ceiling with silk curtains. There was a wardrobe and a dresser and a desk, all matching ebony with carvings of dragons on. On the desk sat a stuffed eagle owl. At the bottom of the bed was a large trunk with a crest stamped on it. Harry walked over to that and stared at it. It was a golden crest, shaped like a shield with a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle surrounding the letter H. Harry touched it gently, for the first time feeling a flickering of knowledge. He knew that crest, knew the snake, the lion, the badger, the eagle. They were almost friends of his, gave him a strange warmth inside that nothing else around here had. For a moment, Harry was teetering on the edge of a great discovery, gold light about to pour through a tiny crack in the blackness inside, illuminating everything...

Then there was a sharp hoot from the desk and Harry jumped. The crack closed, the moment gone. Harry turned and stared at the desk with fury. What he had taken to be a stuffed toy was in fact a real live owl, glaring at him with baleful yellow eyes.

"Damn you," Harry said to it. It hooted in response and closed its yellow eyes. Harry turned back to the trunk but no memories returned and he felt his shoulders sag, utterly disappointed. He looked up at the bed instead. The silk curtains were very thin and the light from the window shone through them, making them almost transparent. Harry could see Draco's form lying on the bed and curious, he walked over and parted the curtains to stare down at him. Draco looked extremely peaceful, his head resting on one hand. Curious, Harry walked over and sat on the bed beside him, staring down. This was...his boyfriend. His boyfriend. Once...in some time, some place...he'd loved this person.

He couldn't feel it. It didn't stir anything inside him. The face didn't make him feel a thing except a strange sort of bitter feeling which probably had nothing to do with Draco.

Harry cocked his head and tried to take in his thoughts. Draco was...well, beautiful, like the rest of his family. His face was delicate and he had long eyelashes that lay softly on his cheeks. Harry let his eyes travel over the delicate face, stopping at the lips. Had he ever voluntary kissed them, eagerly even? Were they soft? Did he want to kiss them? He didn't feel any particular desire to kiss them now. Was that just because of his lack of memory or...or was there something else?

Slowly, Harry reached down and brushed a strand of hair out of Draco's face.

Draco's eyes snapped open at once. With a yell, he lashed out at Harry, rolling backwards.

"What the hell...?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Harry gasped. "It's just me, Harry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I'm really sorry!"

For a moment, Draco just stood there, glaring at him with fury. Then suddenly his face seemed to relax and he smiled.

"It's all right," he said. "Just...don't do that okay? Don't wake me up that way."

"I won't," Harry said. "I'm really sorry, I was just..."

"How'd you find the room?"
"I asked Squeak to show me the way," Harry explained. "I...I want to get dressed you see and I thought that you could show me the way to my room where my clothes are..."

For a moment he thought that Draco was going to say no but then Draco smiled easily.

"Sure," he said. "Let me dress first though, okay? I'm not going round here in my pyjamas for the house-elves to eye up!"
Harry glanced briefly at the pyjamas. They were silk too, black silk. Harry couldn't help being impressed. Draco grinned at him, then walked over the wardrobe, opening it and flicking through the clothes on the rail until he produced what looked to Harry vaguely like a dress.

"What - ?"

"Robes," Draco said calmly. "Wizard clothes."

"Why aren't I - ?"

"You still cling to bits of your Muggle upbringing sometimes," Draco said lightly, pulling off his pyjama top and pulling the robes on over it. "And well...when you're climbing around like that you like to wear some of your old stuff."

"Oh," Harry said uncertainly, looking down at the shirt. "Draco, did I...did I, erm...lose a lot of weight."
Draco looked at him then suddenly laughed.

"No," he said. "Your Muggles always made you wear your cousin's cast-offs. He was about the size of a pregnant hippo and you were always a skinny little thing."

He looked for a moment like he was going to step up and kiss Harry and Harry found himself stepping backwards slightly. Draco didn't miss a beat, walking past him to pick up what seemed to be a long wooden stick. He stopped in front of the mirror and pointed it at his messy morning-hair.

"Sleko," he said. A puff of light came out and settled onto his hair, which delicately smoothed itself into complete neatness as Harry watched. Draco grinned and tucked the wood into his pocket.

"Is that...your wand?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

"Oak and dragon heartstring," he said with a smile. "The pieces of your wand are in your room."

"Pieces?"

"Well, they snapped it in half when you got expelled didn't they?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "They always do that at Hogwarts, it's to stop you doing magic illegally. Come on."

Harry followed him out of the bronze door feeling rather bewildered and down the corridor again. This corridor was brighter he noticed, lit by huge windows on the left. Harry glanced out and saw that it was a different view of the beautiful gardens. In the distance, he could see the faint line of trees that meant there was a forest and then -

"Mountains!"

"Yes," Draco said, still walking. "Nice, aren't they? Father occasionally takes us flying over them but not often - it's not our idea of a good time really."

Harry made up his mind that as he didn't remember the experience of flying over mountains, he was damn well going to have Lucius take them again. The mountains looked wonderful and he would love to fly -

Fly?

"Fly?" he said.

This time, Draco did stop, giving him an incredulous stare.

"On a broomstick," he said. "You don't remember broomsticks?"

"Well I know what one is," Harry said defensively. "I just...don't remember doing it, that's all."

Draco shook his head.

"We are going to have to re-teach these things to you," he said. "It's a disaster. You've forgotten Quidditch for crying out loud."

Harry nodded shame-facedly. Obviously, whatever Quidditch was, it was vitally important. Draco shook his head and kept walking. Harry followed, unable to take his eyes off the windows. When he was dressed, he was going to go out and explore. This place...it was too stifling, too cramped. He was going to walk in the open air and he was going to walk all the way up to that forest and maybe go tree climbing...

"This is your room."

The door was silver coloured and Harry didn't dare ask whether or not it was real silver. It certainly looked that way though. Slowly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, wondering what he was going to see.

It was a medium sized room, only marginally smaller than Draco's. The bed in it was four poster too, with thick grey curtains, embroidered with golden flowers of some sort. It contained all the same furniture as Draco's did but they weren't ebony, they were some other dark coloured wood that Harry didn't know. The floor was carpeted with a blood red carpet that Harry's feet could practically sink into. The window was open letting air into the room and there was a wonderful view of the mountains.

And nothing in it was even vaguely familiar to Harry.

Disappointment must have shown on his face because Draco lightly patted his shoulder.

"Hey," he said. "Don't look so down, I know your memories will come back eventually. You can't expect them to just flood back when you see old places."

"Some nearly did," Harry said. "In your room, looking at that trunk of yours. I nearly...I nearly had all these memories...but then that owl hooted and it was gone."

"Oh," Draco said. Harry couldn't tell anything from his voice, and when he looked at Draco, Draco's face was equally expressionless. Harry turned back to the room and walked over to the wardrobe. There was a huge carving of a peacock on it with a widely spread tail which spanned both doors. Harry carefully opened the wardrobe and stared blankly at the robes hanging up in front of him.

"You wear the black ones for everyday," Draco said, a tinge of impatience in his voice. Harry gulped and grabbed some. Something felt strangely wrong with them, something that Harry couldn't identify but he quickly got himself dressed, aware that Draco was watching and feeling embarrassed over it, but not daring to tell Draco to look away.

When he was finally dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. Nothing much seemed to have changed except that less of him was visible. At least these robes didn't swamp him. Harry looked around for a hairbrush to do his hair (which quite plainly needed it). Draco seemed to know what he wanted and cheerfully handed it over. Harry made a furious attempt at making his hair brush but no matter what he did, his hair remained sticking up in all directions. Draco eventually laughed at his frustrated expression and took the brush away.

"Your hair is always like that," he said. "You can't even gel the damn thing down - although once we did managed to get a really cool spiked effect, only Father didn't like it and made you stop. Still, we can always do that again when Father isn't around...he often has to go out on business things..."

"Sure," Harry said, still looking at himself in the mirror. Yes, he knew his hair was always sticking up. It wasn't a memory, just one of the things his brain automatically knew, like how to hold a fork or what a table lamp was.

But it didn't know...

"Draco? How did I get this scar?"
"That?" Draco said, looking at Harry's forehead in the mirror. "In the car crash where your parents died."

"My parents died in a car crash?"

Something was suddenly ringing in Harry's mind, somewhere through the black glass shield. It wasn't anything definable but he just felt like something was strangely wrong again. He suddenly felt extremely depressed. He desperately wanted to understand everything but he couldn't even understand his own feelings because everything was so dark and confusing and twisted. This was his life even though he couldn't remember it...so why did he keep feeling as though something was wrong with it all?

"Harry?"

"Sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry."

Draco put an arm around his shoulders and hugged Harry gently. Harry leaned into the hug, not because it felt like it was every something he'd done before, but because it was comfort and Harry desperately wanted comfort right now.

"It's going to be all right," Draco said quietly. "I promise Harry, you'll get used to all of this. I promise. Just trust me."
"I do," Harry said.

But he knew that somewhere inside him, that was a lie. He didn't trust anyone right now. No one at all.

Draco seeming to sense that Harry still desperately needed comforting, leaned down and sort of nudged Harry's face up towards him. When Harry obeyed the unspoken command, Draco hesitantly kissed him.

Harry wasn't sure what he felt about that kiss. To his memory, it was his first kiss and it felt...strange. There was something warm and sweet and gentle about it, but there was also something incredibly odd, almost alien. Harry was rather enjoying it but he got the odd sensation that Draco decidedly was not. He pulled back from the kiss and for a brief second, thought he saw relief on Draco's face. But then the moment passed and Draco was smiling again.
"Not too bad?" he asked, sounding gently teasing.

"No," Harry said uncertainly. "I...I guess I like that?"

Draco laughed.

"We're going out you idiot!" he said. "Of course you like being kissed by me!"
"Sorry," Harry said. "I just...I'm really sorry."

He suddenly felt the need to sit down, and did so wearily on the desk chair. Draco looked down at him, the strangest expression on his face.

"I think I'll leave you alone for a bit," he said. "You probably need time to get used to all of this again. Being back in your own room and all - it's probably affecting you a bit, even if you don't know it."

He turned and left the room, leaving Harry looking rather unhappily after him. In one way, he did want to be alone, wanted time to think and consider what the hell was going on. In another way, the idea horrified him. He didn't want to be left alone in this room which was supposed to be his and yet...wasn't. Harry couldn't remember his real room but he knew that this wasn't it, couldn't be it. He didn't live in this box of stone, metal and wood with only a window to escape from. He knew he didn't live in here, it was just he didn't know where his real home was.

Slowly, Harry stood up and walked over to the window. There were those sweeping, orderly grounds - but Harry ignored those, staring instead over to the woods and mountains. There was something wild and free about those, something that called to him far more than the strangely rigid Malfoy Manor. He knew that he desperately wanted to be outside and exploring those grounds, breathing cool air...

But Draco wanted him to try and get used to his room. And Harry felt that he should obey Draco because Draco...well, they had been going out. A universe ago, they had been going out. And Draco was the only person Harry knew. So...

Slowly, Harry began to look through his drawers and examine objects. There didn't seem to be very much in them for a...a...how old was he? Nobody had ever said how old he was. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen? Harry didn't know.

Shrugging the thought aside, he went back to feverishly searching the desk drawers for something, anything that could tell him what his life had been like. Blank parchment, delicately feathered quills, a pile of something that appeared to be handkerchiefs, a neat pile of pristine looking books...these Harry looked at with interest, reading the titles and flicking briefly through the crisp pages. They were interesting but rang no bells - as Harry supposed they could not, as they appeared to be brand new - and he closed the drawer, opening the one beneath it.

It was completely empty bar two broken pieces of wood. Curious, Harry reached down and picked one up.

Instantly, a warm tingle went up his arm. A feeling of knowledge, of safety slipped through his mind and Harry knew that this was something that was unequivocally his, something that he owned...

But then the feeling was gone with hideous abruptness and Harry looked down and saw the snapped wood. Whatever this was, it was broken, it no longer worked.

Of course! Draco had mentioned that his wand pieces were in his room, after being broken when he was expelled. This had to be them.

Harry looked at the broken want again. Part of a golden-orange feather poked out which Harry gently touched. He suddenly felt utterly desolate, as though an old friend had been murdered. Dropping the broken wood back into the drawer, Harry slammed it shut before resting his head on the chest of drawers and beginning to cry.

* * * *

After leaving Harry to search the room, Draco only walked a little way down the corridor before stopping. With a shudder, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. That had been the first time he'd ever kissed a boy - excluding that time yesterday where his lips had only been in contact with Potter's for a brief second before Potter had jerked away with a look of complete and total terror. It had been worth it actually, just to see that look on his face.

But that was besides the point! How was he going to keep up this blasted charade? Every time he saw Potter, he had to remind himself to keep himself smiling and friendly, like they were going out and were in fact really comfortable with each other. Like they had been best friends for years, like they had been as close as Potter and the bloody Weasel.

Draco shuddered and leaned against the wall, letting his forehead touch the cool stone. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. It was fun seeing Potter wander around like a terrified kid but it was also really, really annoying. And pretending to be Potter's boyfriend....who had come with this stupid idea anyway?

Well. He knew the answer to that. His parents. Or rather, his mother.

Draco wondered how everyone who looked in at the Malfoy family would react if they realised that in reality it was Narcissa who pulled the Malfoy family strings rather than Lucius. Oh, for appearances sake, Lucius was the one who did everything - that was only proper after all, it was only correct for the husband to do the work while the wife remained at home. But it was Narcissa who spent her time thinking and planning, Narcissa who suggested different Muggle tortures, Narcissa who could get Lucius to do whatever she wanted him to do....Narcissa who could even talk the great Lord Voldemort into doing things that the Dark Lord was uncertain about....

Draco would never admit it to a living soul, but he was frightened of his mother. His friends often mentioned to him how intimidating Lucius was and that Draco must prefer his "lovely mother."

Draco didn't. At a choice, he would always pick spending time with his father over his mother. He saw both of his parents as snakes. His father was a mamba, poisonous green and obviously dangerous. You knew what you were dealing with there. His mother was a hooded cobra, innocent as a grass snake - until she raised her hood. And until she raised that hood, you thought she was as safe as houses.

Draco knew that if he'd done something wrong, he'd rather tell his father than his mother. And he also knew that if he ever needed support, if someone had ever hurt him in any way and he wanted revenge on them, then he would go to his mother. And she would quietly and easily take the action needed to solve his problem without bringing any sort of disgrace to the family name.

Draco shuddered, suddenly feeling far too cold. He stood up and continued his walk down the corridor, thinking. His mother might be smooth and intelligent but surely she'd lost her marbles at this point. Okay, they'd been lucky so far - Potter had shown no sign of remembering anything on seeing Draco or Lucius...but what about when he met Narcissa? That would probably be a pretty spectacle. Potter would probably remember everything instantly, or look a bit confused and ask Draco later exactly why looking at Narcissa made him think about ferrets (after all, the whole reason Moody had turned him into a ferret was because of a row where Potter had insulted his mother). The thought made him smile wryly to himself, then he scowled again.

What was he going to do? Potter was bound to remember something soon, the Hogwarts crest had already jogged his memory, almost to the point of total recovery. Would his wand jog his memory like that? Draco knew the broken wand was in Potter's new room, along with the new clothes and any other things his father had got the house-elves to purchase to make Potter's room look more like a room and less like a spare room - which was what it was of course.

With a sigh, Draco sat down at the top of the stairs, staring mutely down at Feoras. He'd always loved that fountain, right from when he was small. He'd never known about its powers until the return of Lord Voldemort who had activated Feoras and spoken to him. Now Feoras was the Malfoy's watchdog, keeping an eye on intruders and those who should not be there. Anyone who broken in through the front door would instantly be ripped apart by the gigantic stone snake.

Had anyone remembered to explain that Potter was not an intruder? It would not be a good thing if Feoras ripped Potter apart...

No. His mother would have remembered. Narcissa Malfoy always remembered things like that.

Draco sighed and rested his head on the rail. He should probably go back to Potter, talk to him, show that everything was fine between them and that they were all sweet and lovey-dovey. But God, he didn't want to have to do that. How could he keep this going?

Draco had known something would go wrong when he'd heard his father was going out on a "business trip" to a Muggle Art Gallery. He hadn't explained why and Draco hadn't asked. He had, however, offered to accompany his father on the trip.

"Are you sure Draco?" Lucius had asked doubtfully. "It is a Muggle Art Gallery you know...you'll have to wear Muggle clothes."

"That's okay," Draco had reassured him. "I can live with that. Perhaps afterwards we can go to Diagon Alley together to make up for it."

His father had smiled and nodded his agreement and Draco had decided that however boring the Muggle Art Gallery was, it would be worth it.

And it had been boring. Draco had no interest in art at the best of times and Muggle paintings left a lot to be desired. They didn't even move for Christ's sake! Just as Draco had been considering breaking the decree of underage magic and setting fire to something, his eyes had been drawn to a group of Muggles, in particular a skinny little waif at the back, dressed in baggy clothes that drowned his small frame. There had been something so familiar about the figure at yet Draco hadn't been able to put his finger on it. Something...

Then the boy had looked at him and his face had turned pale with shock. And then Draco had finally recognised him as Harry Potter.

At first, he'd found it hysterically funny. Brilliant, famous Harry Potter standing there wearing ill-fitting clothes and being completely ignored by everyone. It had been hysterical. Draco had seriously considered walking up and pretending to be one of Harry's school friends just to scare the Muggles but decided against it. His father might want to do something. So Draco (after giving Potter a good bump with his elbow) had rushed straight out to tell his father.

Lucius had looked very thoughtful and Disapparated briefly. When he'd returned, he had been smiling. He hadn't told Draco anything then, just said that he wanted Draco to find Potter and get him into a secluded spot. It had been Draco's luck that he'd spotted Potter going into the deserted bathroom. He'd followed and they'd had their confrontation, cut short by the arrival of his father, who had brutally knocked Potter out, then taken them all back to Malfoy Manor where Narcissa had been waiting. She'd obviously been warned of Harry's coming because she'd simply said "The back bedroom is waiting. And stop that blood, I'm not having him making more work for the house-elves by bleeding all over the place."

Draco had left his father to it then, knowing that he should keep out of the way. He'd spent the day playing Clock Patience with exploding Snap cards until he'd had to stop after accidentally burning a hole in his carpet (which he'd hidden under a rug until he could get a house-elf to mend it). Then, out of sheer boredom, he'd begun his homework.

This had been quickly stopped when his mother suddenly walked in. She never knocked on Draco's door, always just walked in to prove that Draco could never have any secrets from her. Draco disliked it but there was nothing that he could do and had never tried to stop it.

"Draco," she'd said, sounding triumphant. "Potter has amnesia."

"What?" Draco had replied blankly.

"Amnesia!" Narcissa repeated. "He had lost his memory! Your father always was rather heavy handed...anyway, he doesn't have a clue who we are or where he is."

"Was that part of the plan?" Draco had asked.

"Not strictly," Narcissa said with a smile. "But this is even better than the plan. This changes everything."

She sat beside him.

"Draco darling," she said. "I want you to back up the story we're going to tell him."

"Of course Mother," Draco had instantly agreed.

When he'd heard the story, he'd tried to back out. Of course he had. But he knew that there was no point fighting his mother. There never had been, there never could be. He had no choice but to agree and go to speak to Potter while his mother went off to sort out the one thing of Potter's that they had - his wand which had been in his pocket, probably put there by some sort of instinct, despite the risk of carrying it around the Muggle world. Obviously, he'd forgotten about that when he'd been fighting or he would have surely used the stupid thing. She'd snapped it in half as Draco was telling Potter his lies.

Pretending to be Potter's boyfriend. Pretending to be Potter's best friend. To be his only friend.

Draco groaned again and dropped his head onto his knees. If Dumbledore didn't catch them and have them locked up in Azkaban, if Harry didn't regain his memories and murder them all in their sleep and if Harry's meddling friends didn't come and smash their way in to rescue Harry, Draco was probably going to go completely mad in any case.

Life certainly was getting much more interesting.

* * * *

Harry was still leaning against his desk, the wooden carvings digging into the side of his head uncomfortably. He'd stopped crying now. There didn't seem to be much point in it. It wasn't going to help him regain his memories, and anyway, he seemed to remember in a strange far-off way that there was no point crying because no one ever came anyway. Yet he also felt that he could remember a voice telling him that after a good cry, everything felt better. The information seemed to conflict and Harry wondered which one was true.

He moved away from the desk and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to hide the fact that he'd been crying. Sighing, he got up and nearly fell over the hem of his new robes. Shaking his head with annoyance, Harry peered at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked a little red but he doubted Draco would notice that. Walking over to the door, Harry pushed it open and set off down the corridor.

He'd barely got three metres from the door before there was an alarming pop and a house elf appeared beside him. Harry had no way of telling, but he suspected it was Squeak.

"Where does Master want to go?" Squeak asked.

"I...I don't need help," Harry said. These creatures made him nervous and he didn't like the way they kept calling him Master. That was something that he knew was wrong, just like he knew there was something wrong with the robes he now wore. He just couldn't put his finger on why exactly it was all so wrong. But that didn't change what he knew.

Forgetting the house-elf at his side, Harry set off down the corridor aimlessly, deciding that he was just going to look at rooms, see what they looked like, whether any of them rang any sort of bell in his memory.

He was reaching for the handle on the first door when Squeak rushed up to him.

"Please Master, I must watch you!" she said desperately. "Mistress Narcissa expressly commanded that you were not to wander into any of the rooms without herself or one of our other masters present!"

Harry blinked down at Squeak.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Squeak replied, shaking her bat ears. "But I must always obey Mistress Narcissa. I cannot allow you into that room."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to be around Draco right now. That was another thing he could feel some sort of inherent wrongness connected with. Perhaps Draco was just unhappy because this was somebody that he loved who was showing no signs of even liking him all that much. But Harry didn't know what else to do about it. He couldn't fake his emotions and every one of his emotions was screaming with fear and confusion and doubt. He didn't think he was capable of trusting anyone, no matter how kind they were to him.

But still. He wanted to see around this house and he didn't want to disturb Narcissa or Lucius. So that left Draco.

"Take me to Draco then please," he said to Squeak, who nodded and trotted quickly off down the corridor, Harry following. They found Draco sitting at the top of the big staircase, leaning against the rail and looking tired and worried. Harry felt a pang of guilt and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco jumped violently, then quickly smiled when he saw it was Harry.

"Enjoyed your look around your room?" he asked.

"I suppose so," Harry said, sitting down beside Draco. "I didn't remember anything...well not really."

"Not really?"

Draco suddenly sounded anxious. Harry shrugged.

"I found my wand," he said. "I...I knew it was mine. I could feel it. But....but it was broken."

"Yes," Draco said. "You were expelled, they always break wands once you are expelled."

"Do they take away your other things?" Harry asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "I didn't....when I was looking through the room, there wasn't one of those trunks. Or anything that looked like a school uniform."

"Oh that," Draco said, sounding awkward. "We had it all put up in the attic. So that it wasn't cluttering up your room. There wasn't much point having it lying around after all."

"Do you think I could see them later?"

"We'd have to ask Mother," Draco said. "She doesn't like us to go into the attics. They can be a little dangerous...."

Harry nodded. He had a sort tickly memory-idea of attics being dangerous. From somewhere far off, he thought he could hear a voice saying. "Terrible dry rot, it'll cost the earth to have it fixed..."

Then it was gone and Harry thought of another question.

"Draco," he said slowly. "Why was I expelled?"

Draco paused. He appeared uncomfortable.

"Harry," he said at last. "I don't think we ought to be talking about this now..."

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"Look, I just think that you ought to get used to being here again...maybe see if any memories come back," Draco said. "I...I don't want to give you any unpleasant shocks..."
"I want to know," Harry said stubbornly.

Draco paused a long moment. Then he opened his mouth, but as he did Narcissa's voice said from behind them. "What precisely are you two boys doing on the staircase?"

Harry jumped so violently that he nearly fell down the stairs and Draco grabbed his arm to stop him. They both turned to look at a now dressed Narcissa. She was wearing what seemed to be a black dress with what had to be a corset underneath because her waist was tiny. Harry couldn't help gaping at her and blushed when he realised he was. Narcissa didn't seem to notice. Her attention was fixed on Draco.

"I was waiting for Harry," Draco explained. "And then we just...sat down."

"I hardly think that the staircase is the place for talking," she said coolly. "Take Harry into your drawing room."

"Sorry Mother," Draco said. "We'll go. Come on Harry."

Harry nodded and scrambled to his feet, following Draco obediently down the corridor, aware that Narcissa's eyes were following them.

"You have a drawing room?" he asked Draco.

Draco nodded.

"It's only small," he said casually. "Not especially grand. But Mother wanted me to have one of my own so that I would have somewhere to take my guests."

Harry nodded, pretending that this made sense to him. He couldn't quite understand why Draco couldn't just use the normal drawing room - assuming the Malfoys had one, which they surely had to since Draco had his own one.

There were many words Harry would have used to describe Draco's drawing room but small and not especially grand were not ones which would have featured. It was all black and silver with that dragon motif again. The carpet and walls were black, only the walls had silver drapes over them for the most part. There were no windows and the place was lit by a great crystal chandelier that had burst into light as soon as Draco opened the door. There was a painting of a vivid green dragon hanging on the wall. As Harry looked at it, admiring its magnificent wing span, the dragon opened its mouth and blew flame at Harry. Harry yelled and leaped away.

"Oh for - " Draco began, sounding massively irritated, then seemed to check himself. "Sorry, I should have warned you. Wizard portraits move around. That's Tatsu, he's a bit grumpy but he's only a painting, he can't do anything to you. He'll probably fly off in a minute to wreck havoc in the ancestral portraits."

Harry sat down on the black sofa, which felt alarmingly like it was going to swallow him up. Draco grinned at him and sat on the armchair, crossing his legs casually and looking for all the world like he owned the place - which of course, he did.

"Don't you miss having a window?" Harry asked, looking around. "It's a bit...gloomy."

"Who needs a window?" Draco asked "It's lit well enough."

Harry shrugged and nodded a bit, personally not sure at all. He looked back at the dragon picture. Tatsu had indeed gone.

"That's very strange," Harry said.
"You'll get used to it," Draco said.

Then they sat in silence. Harry didn't quite know what to say. How could you have a casual conversation with someone who you didn't remember? How could you have a conversation at all when you didn't know anything? All he could think about at that moment was getting out of this room. It certainly wasn't small but nor was it spacious. Harry was sure the walls were closing in on him, trapping him in this room of wood and stone and silver and crystal. He hated that feeling and couldn't help shivering.
"You don't like it?" Draco asked, sounding hurt.

"No, it's gorgeous," Harry said. "I just...wish there was a window."

There was another long silence. Desperate to break it, Harry looked at Draco and said. "Tell me about school."

"School?" Draco said. "What do you want to talk about school for?"

"Because I don't remember it," Harry said. "Maybe if you tell me, the memory will come back."

"What's the point?" Draco asked scornfully. "You can't go back there anyway."

Harry looked away, biting his lip. Draco gave a soft groan.

"Oh - Harry, I'm sorry," he said. He got up and walked over, sitting beside Harry on the couch. "I'm being horrible. I just...this...I know this is hard for you but it's not easy for me either."

Harry looked at him and saw an expression of bitter sadness on Draco's face. He was staring at his lap, where his fists were lying, clenched so tight that the knuckles were white.

"I hate this," Draco whispered, sounding like he was going to cry. "I really, really hate this. I know you - I know everything about you and you don't and I have to...I can't do this, I really don't think I can do this..."

"Don't," Harry said desperately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...you can do it, I'm sure you can, don't worry, don't cry, please, I'm sorry..."

"You shouldn't be sorry," Draco said, suddenly sounding like he might laugh instead. "None of this is your fault - well, not exactly anyway..."

He sighed and gave Harry a little sideways hug. His face became smooth and expressionless again.
"Never mind," he said. "We'll work it through together right? Just...just like always."

Harry nodded because he wanted to see Draco smile again. He hated to see his only friend and companion so unhappy. In reality, he wasn't sure of anything. Would they work it out? This was...why did everything feel so wrong to him?

But he pushed the thoughts away for now. If he thought too long, he'd be depressed again. At least Draco was happy right now. Harry could pretend, at least for a while.

"If you don't want to tell me about me," Harry suggested. "Tell me about something else. Something...I don't know, funny or interesting. I don't know."
Draco paused for a long moment, then began to tell Harry about Quidditch. It sounded fascinating, and soon Harry was able to forget the worrying surroundings and listened eagerly as Draco told him the rules and then described Quidditch games they'd seen and that Draco had been in. In fact, they talked so long about it that they missed lunch and only remembered they had when a tray of sandwiches appeared with a message from the house-elves explaining Master Lucius had ordered them sent up.

"Whoops," Draco said, looking unhappy. "I should have checked the clock."

Harry glanced at the clock. It appeared to be a pretty useful clock with things like "you're late", "time for lunch" and "it's about bloody time you start that homework!" on it. He couldn't help laughing at the idea of a clock telling you thinks like that.

"You should see the downstairs one," Draco said. "That one's for the family."

Harry didn't understand how that would work but he didn't say anything. He was trying to avoid the subject of his memory problems. He bit into a sandwich instead, then gagged.

"Oh, ugh! What on earth is this supposed to be?"

Draco leaned over and peeled back the bread.

"Ah," he said. "Yes....that's...well...that's frogspawn."

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Then, with careful consideration, he put the sandwich back on the plate, then manfully swallowed the mouthful. Draco grinned a little.

"It's an acquired taste?" he suggested.

Harry smiled at him in a calm sort of way. They he picked up the nearest cushion and lashed Draco around the head with it. Draco seemed to cower, then laughed. He sounded strangely uneasy, as though he wasn't completely used to people hitting him with cushions. Harry wondered briefly if he'd done something wrong, but he was pretty sure that there was nothing wrong with doing that. He might not remember any instances but the idea of it certainly seemed fun.

"Are there any sandwiches that I can eat?" he asked instead, prodding at the frogspawn sandwich in disgust. "I can't believe you eat that."

"Wizards eat strange things," Draco said with a shrug. "Here try...okay not that one. Or that. Er..."

Harry groaned and Draco shrugged. He eventually managed to prod several sandwiches in Harry's direction that didn't have bizarre and disgusting fillings. Harry ate them, watching Draco eat his own thoughtfully.

"Do you often eat sandwiches like that?" he asked.

"Sure," Draco said. "Well, no. We're not sandwiches eaters in this house. I think it's just because you and I were so busy that we never showed up for lunch so we just got sandwiches. Don't worry, we'll get other proper food later."

"When you say "proper"," Harry said dryly. "Do you mean edible food?"

Draco snorted.

"Yes," he said. "Of course."

Harry laughed and tucked his feet under him on the sofa to make himself more comfortable.

"So tell me more about Quidditch," he said hopefully.

Obviously Quidditch was something Draco had no problems talking about for hours and he promptly swung straight back into the conversation. Harry listened eagerly, ignoring the fact that his head was beginning to pound uncomfortably. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on what Draco said.

"Harry?" Draco interrupted himself to say. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry wanted to say fine but he knew it was a lie.
"No," he said in a small voice. "Draco...my head hurts."

Draco moved back onto the couch and slid behind Harry, touching the raw spot where the pain was coming from.

"I guess you're over worked," he said quietly. "Come on, I'll take you back to your room."

Harry had to be led. He couldn't see clearly, the outlines of everything were blurring. Draco carefully helped him into bed and tucked him in.

"There you go," he said sympathetically. "You have a nap and you'll feel better."

Harry snuggled down and closed his eyes. He was just dozing off when he heard Draco snarl some sort of curse and the thump of him kicking something. He tried to ask what was wrong but instead sank into a heavy sleep.

Draco glowered with hatred at the silent form. God, he hated Potter, he hated him so much. Pretending to be all pally with his worst enemy, with that moron who didn't deserve his attention. How the hell was he going to keep this up?

Potter was fast asleep now, breathing softly and peacefully. Scowling horribly, Draco strode out and back down into his drawing room. He sat down with a thump and stared moodily into the empty fireplace. He hated this, he hated it. Damn Potter, damn him deep into the depths of hell.

"Draco?"

Draco turned his head to see his mother standing in the doorway. She so rarely came into his private drawing room that he instantly began to wonder exactly what he'd done wrong. He stood up and stared anxiously at her.

"Yes Mother?"

"Where's Harry?"

"He's sleeping," Draco said. "He...he got a headache, I thought it was best to put him into bed."

His mother nodded. She was looking at him suspiciously.

"Are you having doubts Draco?" she asked quietly. "I've been watching you two today. You seem...strange."

Why was it that she could always see inside his head? And why did she have to spy on him?

"I...I just don't know," Draco said quietly. "I hate him Mother, I really do. He's my enemy, and I'm supposed to pretend to be in love with him. It's....it's all wrong. I don't think I can keep this up..."

His mother moved towards him and gripped his wrists tightly, her long nails drawing blood. Draco winced and tried to pull back instinctively.

"You listen to me Draco," his mother hissed. "You are not going to mess this up. I don't care how hard this might be for you, you are going to do this and you are going to do it well. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" Draco cried, trying to pull away. "Yes, I understand, I won't mess it up, I promise!"

"Good," Narcissa said, calmly letting him go as though nothing had happened. "I'm glad we had this little chat."

She turned and walked out. Draco slumped back onto his couch, feeling mentally and physically drained. His wrists were smarting painfully and he looked down at the thin trickles of blood.

"Draco?"

This time it was his father, his voice gentle and concerned. He often appeared after Narcissa had been to see Draco, particularly if she was talking to Draco about something that might upset him. Draco suspected that it was some sort of gift. He turned and looked up at as his father, aware that his face was still pale and that he was probably shaking. His father walked over and sat beside him, touching Draco's wrists gently with the head of his staff. The cuts shrank and became pinky-brown lines on Draco's skin. Draco stared at them dully and rubbed them, knowing that they would fade away in a few hours without leaving any sort of mark at all. This had happened enough times before for him to be fully familiar with the drill.

"You know your mother just worries," Lucius said softly, as though continuing a conversation that they were having. "That's all. You shouldn't have upset her."

"I didn't mean to," Draco muttered. "I just...Father, I hate this! How can I keep this up? It's not that I have problems with lying but this...with Potter...it would have been hard enough to just pretend to be his friend but pretending to love him? I don't love him. I don't think I ever could. How can I keep up a lie where we've been friends for years? Where I know everything about him? I can't do this, I really don't think that I can..."
"Draco, you have to try," Lucius said, his voice still kind but also with an undertone of firmness. "He has no memory of a real relationship after all, I'm sure that whatever you tell him, he'll believe."

"You can hope," Draco said bitterly. He knew his father was wrong. Potter was already sure that there was something wrong between them, Draco knew that. Potter might be willing to try and believe, but he was bound to keep on sensing little things that were wrong between them. It couldn't be hard after all. There was something blatantly wrong because Draco did not love Harry Potter. And every time that they kissed or touched, Draco was repulsed because it just felt wrong to him.

Seeming to sense his son's mood, Lucius reached out and pulled Draco onto his lap, like Draco was a little kid. Draco allowed himself to be unwillingly pulled there, knowing there was no point resisting his father anyway. Lucius smoothed Draco's hair lightly and smiled at him.

"Don't worry little Dragonfly," he said. "I know that you can do it. You're a Malfoy, of course you can keep up appearances."

Draco said nothing to that. He just let his father stroke his hair and tried not to stiffen when his father kissed his cheek lightly.

Personally, he felt that it was ironic that his mother didn't seem to love him at all, but his father seemed to love him too much.

Ironic. And scary.

* * * *

Harry slept for hours and was awoken very late at night by a violent crash of thunder that ripped through his dreams like a knife through silk. For a moment he didn't realise what it was and thought the house was falling down around his ears, but then he recognised the sound of rain on a roof and knew what was happening. He scrambled out of bed and walked over to the window, peering out in silence as another great flash of lightning lit up the landscape, briefly revealing the mountains and woods and grounds. It made an impressive sight, with rain coming down in sheets and the lightning illuminating the world for seconds before darkness descended again. It was beautiful.

Harry suddenly felt hideously stifled inside that room. He wanted to get outside, he wanted to feel the rain, he wanted to be able to breathe. This place was suffocating him, he needed air. He didn't care that it was raining, in fact he felt that the rain made it better. Something cool and calming to wash everything away, give him peace. This wasn't his world but out there - out there that wouldn't matter so much.

Harry pulled his shoes on and rummaged in the wardrobe hopefully for something waterproof. He couldn't find anything that seemed to be waterproof so he left it and ran out to see if he could remember where Draco's room was.

It didn't matter that he couldn't. In a matter of seconds, Squeak popped into existence and willingly led him to Draco's bedroom. Harry felt that the house-elves were extremely useful things to have around and wished that they didn't have to wear the strange pillowcase things that they did. He made a mental note to himself to find them some sort of nice clothes to wear at some point.

Draco was curled up into a ball underneath his sheets, completely undisturbed by the thunderstorm. Harry leaned over and gently shook him.

"Draco! Draco!"
"Huh? What the...?"

Draco jerked away in much the same way he had earlier, instinctively jerking backwards from Harry was staring at him with alarm which faded into minor puzzlement.

"Harry? What are you doing?"

"Draco, I want to go out," Harry said. "I want to go outside, I can't breathe in here, please..."

Draco gaped at him as there was another flash of lightning, followed by a thunder clap.
"Harry, are you insane?" he asked finally. "One, it's..." He reached out and grasped something on his bedside table which he looked at "...Two forty three in the morning and two, it's absolutely tipping it down with rain!"

"I don't care," Harry said. "Please Draco? Please? I have to go outside! Just for a little while, I have to go outside."
Draco stared at him, then shook his head.

"You are completely and totally mad," he said, swinging his legs out of bed. "There is definitely something wrong with you. It must have been the knock on the head, I'm sure you've never been like this before."

Harry thought this was an odd thing to say - surely Draco should know if he was like this before or not - but he didn't say anything, not wanting to put Draco off. Draco pulled on a cloak over his pyjamas and put some boots on.

"Now be very quiet," he said. "Because if my parents catch us, they will kill us."

Harry nodded obediently and followed Draco down the two flights of stairs. Draco gave the fountain snake a rather worried look as he tip-toed past it. Harry made sure to skirt it entirely.

"Aren't we going out the door?" he asked softly.

"No," Draco said, sounding a little impatient. "Not the front one. We'll take the side door, it's quieter, more out of the way and you can go and sit on the grass without the risk of my parents looking out of their window."

He led Harry down some twisting corridors and to a small wooden door which he opened. Rain promptly gusted through it, making Draco stumble back with a curse but Harry instantly raced out straight into the icy rain.

"Harry, come back! Don't run so far!" he heard Draco call but the words were quickly sent into the distance by the rain and Harry chose to pretend that he hadn't heard them. He ran over the wet grass as fast as he could, not knowing where he was heading, just making sure not to step on the flower beds or anything that looked alive. He eventually stopped when he tripped and ended up lying on the soaking grass. Not caring, Harry rolled over onto his back and stared up at the stormy sky, willingly letting himself get completely drenched.

"Potter, you are stark, staring bonkers!"

Draco was standing over him, sheltering under his cloak and looking very annoyed.

"You're getting soaked, you'll get filthy and you'll probably die of pneumonia! We'll explore the gardens tomorrow when it's not bloody raining but please get up!"
Harry said nothing, just stared at the rain soaked sky. He remembered looking at a stormy sky like this before...although strangely enough, he didn't remember getting wet.

"Harry!"

Draco sounded like he was about to lose his temper. With a sigh, Harry got to his feet, ignoring his dripping robes.

"Let's go then," he said reluctantly.

Draco let him back inside. It was quite a way (Harry had run very fast) and by the time they got back, they were both shivering.

"We're going to drip all the way back up," Draco said with a sigh. "I hope the house-elves clean it up before Mother sees it."

They padded up the stairs as quietly as possible and Draco took Harry straight to his own room.

"Now get into pyjamas and go to sleep," he said, sounding quite fierce about it. Harry obediently began to unfasten his robes.

"Not yet you idiot! There's a towel over there - dry yourself off a bit or you'll get your pillows completely soaked!"

Harry nodded amenably. He was too tired for any sort of argument. He rummaged under his pillow until he found pyjamas. Drying himself with the towel, he then pulled them on before padding over to the window and opening it as wide as it would go. That done, there was now a very strong breeze blowing in. Harry made sure his curtains were fully pulled back, then crawled back into bed and stared at the window until he finally dozed off into a sea of uneasy dreams where he was huddled in a dark cupboard of some sort, feeling terribly hungry and knowing that there was something missing, but not knowing quite what it was.

End of Part 2.