The Wish (Sunnydale in Scotland Remix)

The Wish

Draco Malfoy lay on his side in the cold hospital bed and seethed with anger. His nose hurt, his stomach hurt, his pride hurt, he was cold, the sheets were itchy, and he wasn't at all looking forward to the trip back to his dormitory. It was the fourth straight game they had lost to Gryffindor, and no one would be exactly throwing a party.

Correction. It was the fourth straight game he had lost to Harry Potter.

Potter had somehow managed to beat him to the finish line once again. It didn't add up, didn't make sense. In the well-ordered world he'd been brought up in, weak, meddlesome blood traitors never had the upper hand. It was the pureblood families who ruled, and rightfully so, with an iron fist. Yet here, in this castle -- the place his father had once referred to as "the best and worst thing to happen to a man" -- here, everything was different. Nothing made sense in the order of things as he knew them to be. Blood counted for practically nothing in every house other than his own, and even the Slytherins were beginning to watch in horror as the hierarchical foundations of their world began to crumble at the edges. And one Harry Potter, seemed to be determined to beat Draco at everything he tried.

When Draco had dreamed of a spot on the Slytherin house team, Harry Potter was already on the Gryffindor team, the youngest Seeker in a century. When Draco wanted to know who the heir of Slytherin was, Harry Potter was already in the Chamber of Secrets. When Draco wanted to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry Potter won it. When Draco wanted to win the Quiddich Cup, Harry Potter was snatching the Snitch out from under his nose. And when Draco wanted to earn his father's respect, Harry Potter had it, in a loathsome sort of way.

He had hoped that after four years of this, Potter's luck would finally run out. It seemed that was not to be.

"Good evening Mr. Malfoy. Feeling better, I hope?" a female voice asked.

Draco ignored her.

"Now, then, there's no need to be surly. Your nose will be back to its normal size by morning."

Draco scowled and shrugged away from the friendly hand resting on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he growled.

The woman tutted affably, but removed her hand. "I've a potion for you to take. You'll need to sit up please."

Draco rolled over, reluctantly sitting up to face her, and realized that it was not Madam Pomfrey. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Shhh!" the woman said kindly, pushing a dram of steaming potion into his hand. "You've had quite a nasty knock. You need to rest." She reached down and took Draco's wrist, feeling for a pulse. "Want to tell me what happened?"

Draco sneered and looked down at his medicine. "I was ambushed," he said defiantly. He glanced up and narrowed his eyes at the woman. "What do you care?"

"I?" she asked with a kindly smile. "I am only interested in seeing justice done, Draco." She released his wrist. "You've seen a great deal of injustice in your short life."

Draco relaxed slightly. He didn't bother to wonder how she might know of his injustices. "Too right I have," he agreed, downing his potion and then relaxing back onto the pillows, propping himself up on one elbow. "But they'll get theirs," he added with loathing.

The nurse nodded sympathetically. "Of course they will," she agreed, "eventually."

Draco considered this. She was right, of course. Potter and the Weasleys were probably even now serving the first of a string of detentions, but that didn't make them even. Didn't even come close.

"That Potter seems to have it in for you," the nurse said thoughtfully. "I'd imagine your life would be much simpler if he weren't around."

Draco scowled. "Life without Potter would be infinitely better," he agreed. "Sometimes I just wish..." He let the thought die on his lips, not wanting to sound like a child.

"Yes?" the nurse prompted him eagerly. "What is it you wish?"

Draco huffed and rolled over away from her. "I wish Harry Potter had never come to Hogwarts," he spat. "Now leave me alone. I'm tired."

"Done," the nurse replied. Draco turned back to look over his shoulder at her, but she was gone.

Draco took his time making his way down to dinner after being released from the infirmary. None of his house mates would dare say anything to him about the loss, but he felt as though he could already feel their staring eyes on him.

The Great Hall, however, was oddly empty. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were almost completely devoid of life, and even the Slytherins seemed awfully few and far between. He didn't look at the Gryffindor table; their celebrations would only put him off his meal.

Wearing a look that defied anyone to say anything to him about the match, he slunk to his regular seat between Crabbe and Goyle, and across from Pansy. She fluttered her eyelashes at him as he sat, and he bit back the urge to scream at her to stop being so stupid.

"Great catch today, Draco," Pansy simpered. She leaned across the table towards him, exposing her décolletage. Draco tried not to stare at her at the same time that he tried to process what she was saying. Neither worked.

"Are you taking the piss?" he demanded.

Pansy blinked her big cow eyes at him and straightened up. "No, I was just congratulating you on..."

"On what? Getting the stuffing knocked out of me by a Mudblood lover and a--" Pansy gasped loudly, cutting Draco off in mid-sentence. "What?" he barked at her, glancing at Crabbe and Goyle who were trying surreptitiously to scoot away from him.

"You shouldn't call him that," Pansy said in a low, frightened voice. "He'll find out. He'll know."

"Who? Potter?" Draco scoffed. "He knows what I think of him."

Pansy frowned as she shook her head slowly. Draco fancied he could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes, trying to work out what he'd said. "I'm talking about Weasley," she said in a voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Weasley?" he repeated with a snort. "Which one are you scared of, Pansy?" he taunted. "There's so bloody many of them."

"You sure you're feelin' alright, Malfoy?" Crabbe asked.

Draco blinked at him. "Course I am. They barely knocked the wind out of me. They fight like girls, the both of them. They just caught me by surprise is all. If I'd been able to get off a clean punch at either of them..."

Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were now all staring at him with open confusion and concern. "There was only one person hitting you, Draco," Pansy said softly.

"Malfoy," a bored sounding voice said. Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle all jumped at the sound and stared at the newcomer behind Draco with wide eyes. Lazily, Draco turned to see who it was. Glimpsing a shock of red hair, he sighed.

"Get lost, Weasley," he said, turning back to his dinner. "Whatever you're selling, we don't want any."

"He isn't himself, Ron," Pansy said quickly. "He must have hurt his head or something..."

Draco frowned at her. "What are you on about, you silly bint? I feel fine!"

"Stand up, Malfoy," Ron snapped.

"Go to hell, Weasley," Draco replied, buttering his roll.

Pansy gasped again and Draco rolled his eyes at her histrionics. Suddenly, Draco felt a hand grasping at the back of his robes.

"I said, stand up!" Ron repeated.

Draco shrugged out of his grasp, standing quickly and turning to face him. "Look, Weasley, the song was ironic alright? You're actually king of fuck all, so just--"

Draco's head snapped back as Ron punched him squarely in the mouth. He stumbled backwards and sat down heavily on the edge of the table, upending his dinner plate and sending his food flying.

The Hall went deathly quiet as Draco's cutlery clattered to the floor. Draco tasted blood and put his hand up to his split lip which was gushing down the front of his robes. Outraged, he turned to the high table, ready to scream bloody murder. He scanned the length of the staff table for Professor Snape, but he was nowhere to be seen. Half of the people sitting at the staff table were strangers to him. Confused, he managed to pick out Professor Umbridge sitting at the head of the table where Dumbledore normally sat. Her eyes were wide and frightened, her round, flat face eerily pale. She looked at Draco for a moment, and then at Ron, still standing over him. Very deliberately she reached for her wine goblet and took a long drink before turning back to her supper.

"I thought I'd made things clear to you on the pitch, Malfoy," Ron said calmly flexing the fingers of his right hand.

Draco's head spun unpleasantly. He wanted to flail and shout and demand to know what the bloody hell was going on with everybody but, having already been hit more in one day than he was generally accustomed to, he held his tongue.

Ron looked down his long nose at Draco, watching him. He wasn't red faced or blustering, wasn't worried about consequences or lost for words as Draco had seen him so many times before. And there was no sign of Potter or Granger rushing to his side. A flick of movement caught Draco's eye, and he saw a fat glossy rat sitting on Ron's shoulder. He had the very disconcerting impression that the rat was watching him.

"On the pitch?" Draco repeated, putting a hand up to his head, hoping to look hurt and confused. It wasn't difficult. He was buying for time, hoping to figure out what had happened without any more bodily injuries.

"I think you hit him too hard, Ronny," Pansy said, leaning forward across the table again. Ron stared openly at the view down Pansy's blouse, and Draco felt himself flush angrily. She giggled falsely. "He's all mixed up. Thought there were two of you pounding him on the pitch -- that's how hard you hit him."

Ron's eyes flicked back to Draco's face, and Draco met his gaze cautiously, keeping his expression as blank as he could.

"Well suck it up," Ron said with a frown. "You're no use to me any stupider than you usually are, but I can't send you back to hospital. I need you downstairs." He turned and looked back at the other three still seated at the table. "You all know what to do tonight." It was a statement, not a question, but they bobbed their heads obediently in response.

Ron nodded curtly and turned towards the exit. "Come on, Malfoy. We need to talk."

Draco glanced back at Pansy, who gave him a pleading look, before deciding to take part in their little charade -- if only to figure out why he was being played -- and stepping over the bench to follow Ron out of the Hall.

Ron was quite a bit taller than Draco, and he found he had to take one and a half steps to every one of Ron's long strides. He ended up falling into a ridiculous sort of canter just behind him, feeling like a complete idiot.

He wondered vaguely if he had passed out. Maybe he'd been in a coma and they'd simply neglected to tell him about it. But that hardly accounted for the ridiculous role reversal charade he seemed to be caught up in. He felt like he was missing an entire chunk of his life somewhere. Weasley giving Slytherins orders? It bloody well didn't make sense. But Ron had a nasty right hook, and Draco was adverse to pain. Especially when it was his own. He fingered his wand in his pocket thoughtfully, wanting to be ready to use it if Ron took another swing at him.

At first, Draco was far too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to where they were going, but now he realized they were descending into the dungeons. They passed the Potions classroom and adjoining storerooms and Draco suppressed the urge to demand to know what the hell Ron thought he was doing in Slytherin territory as they passed the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories.

They made several sharp turns down corridors even Draco had never visited until they were deep beneath the castle, so far below ground that the torches hissed as water dripped from the walls.

Ron finally slowed as they reached a long curving corridor with barred doors off to either side. "How's the melon, Malfoy?" he asked shoving Draco hard and sending him stumbling into the wall. The rat on his shoulder chattered -- like it was laughing at him.

Draco scowled. "It would be better if you'd stop pushing me around," he retorted. Ron's eyes narrowed darkly. Draco quickly raised a hand and rubbed his temples. "Things are still a little fuzzy," he said, privately thinking that it was the understatement of the year.

Ron snorted. "S'that so?" he asked crossing his arms across his chest. "Well maybe that explains what happened with the Quidditch match, eh? Or did you just forget that you were supposed to let Creevy beat you to the Snitch?"

"Creevy?" Draco repeated, forgetting himself, but Ron wasn't listening.

"Too right, Creevy," Ron said, backing Draco up against the wall and punctuating his words by poking Draco sharply in the chest with his finger. "I had twenty-five galleons riding on that game -- which you are going to bloody well pay, aren't you?"

Draco bit back a response which had a great deal to do with wondering where the hell Ron had got twenty-five galleons to begin with and allowed himself to be poked a bit more in the interests of gathering information.

"Merlin's balls, Malfoy!" Ron cried, throwing his hands up in the air and walking away. "I mean, you'd think you could get that bit right at least. You're always going on about how bloody spiffing you are at Quidditch."

"I'm good at winning Quidditch, not losing it," Malfoy pointed out bitterly.

Ron whirled around and glared at him.

"Ron?" The high-pitched, girl's voice echoed eerily off the stone walls.

"Down here, Ginny," Ron called over his shoulder. He turned back to Draco and shook his head. "If it weren't for her, I'd've killed you a long time ago, Malfoy, your father be damned," he said wearily. "You make me ill to look at you."

Draco felt his stomach seize up with anger and fear as Ron turned to go and meet his sister. This was all wrong. Very, very wrong.

Cautiously, he followed Ron around the corner, revealing another corridor lined with cells. Near the end, a little girl dressed in formal white dress robes was sitting on the floor singing softly to herself. Draco had to stop himself from doing a double take. The little girl was undoubtedly Ginny Weasley, but she looked the way she had when she'd first come to Hogwarts, tiny and pale, her long red hair hanging limply about her face. Draco glanced at Ron; he looked normal, fifteen, and a complete git. Yet Ginny looked so much... younger.

"Ginny," Ron scolded affectionately, "come up off the floor. You'll get dirt all over the pretty dress robes I bought you." It occurred to Draco that she wasn't wearing her school uniform, and he fleetingly wondered why.

"Muscles and cockles alive, alive-alive-o!" Ginny sang thinly, allowing Ron to pull her to her feet.

"Where are your shoes, Gin?" Ron asked, lifting up the hem of her robes to reveal her bare feet. Draco stared at them. Her feet and ankles were so pale he could see the blue veins crisscrossing under her skin. "You'll catch cold," Ron admonished, wrapping an arm around her. "And what are you doing down here, anyway? I told you no more playing until--"

Ginny wrenched out of his grasp. "I want to play!" she whined. Suddenly, she caught sight of Draco and dashed up the corridor toward him.

"Draco!" she exclaimed wrapping her arms around his waist. She looked up at him through the long wisps of her hair, her brown eyes seeming much too large and dark for her ghostly white face. "You'll play with me, won't you Draco?" she asked with a pout.

"Er..." Draco managed, trying to pry away her arms. Of all the things that were suddenly and horrifically wrong with the world around him, Ginny Weasley clinging to him like a Devil's Snare just about topped the list. Ron sighed loudly and stomped toward them.

"Ginny..." Ron began, but she interrupted him with a wide eyed look, still clinging to Draco's torso. Draco grabbed one of her wrists and tried to push her away, but the move backfired when she intertwined her fingers with his.

"Please Ron..." Ginny pleaded. "Just a bit. I'll be good. I'll tell Tom that--"

"Fine," Ron said abruptly. Draco saw that the rat on Ron's shoulder had scurried around to the other side of his body, and was standing on its hind legs next to his ear. Draco shivered. "Whatever you want," Ron said, his voice ringing with defeat. The rat chittered noisily on his shoulder.

Ginny squealed with delight, disentangling herself from Draco's middle and dashing toward the cell she had been sitting nearest when they'd arrived. Draco tried to see what she was doing, but Ron stepped into his line of sight.

"Keep an eye on her, Malfoy," he said sternly, his eyes blazing again with some unidentified rancor. "I don't want her getting too... overenthusiastic. Like last time. If he dies..." Ron let his voice die out as he glanced over at his sister peering excitedly through the bars of the cell. "The Dark Lord will not be pleased," he finished ominously.

Draco's stomach dropped. Had he really just heard those words drop from Ron Weasley's lips?

"And keep your eyes OPEN!" Ron continued. He poked Draco in the chest again for emphasis. "No napping or skiving off. If any of these Mudbloods escape I'm holding you personally responsible." He turned to go.

"How long am I to be down here?" Draco called after him, shooting Ginny a sidelong glance.

Ron paused and gave him a searching frown. "Until the Purification begins at midnight." He considered Draco for a moment longer. "When it's all done, I want you to go back to hospital. I think I did hit you a bit too hard." He smiled wickedly. "Don't know my own strength I reckon."

When Ron was gone, Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. Whatever was going on was serious. He tried vainly to find something in his mind on which to hang all of his newfound information, but the facts just kept slipping away. He remembered the Quidditch match, but he remembered losing it to Potter. He remembered Fred Weasley and Potter both attacking him on the pitch -- Ron had been nowhere to be seen. He remembered being taken to hospital and talking with Madam Pomfrey's new nurse...

"Wake up puppy!" Ginny cooed, drumming her fingernails on the bars of the cell. "Time to play!"

Draco woke from his reverie and starting making his way slowly towards Ginny. If Ron actually was somehow involved with the Death Eaters... That possibility really didn't bear thinking about, but getting clobbered round the head again wasn't top of Draco's priorities either, so he reckoned he had better keep an eye on Ginny.

Curiously, Draco glanced into several of the cells as he passed. The first few were empty, but he froze in his tracks when he reached the first occupied cell. Three kids were slumped, huddled together in one of the back corners. At first, Draco wondered who they were, but suddenly he noticed a spot of yellow on their black robes.

They were students. Hufflepuffs.

Quickly, Draco went to the next cell and peered into the damp darkness. Four more students of varying ages were in this cell. Two Ravenclaws, another Hufflepuff, and a Gryffindor. They all seemed to be sleeping. Or hexed, perhaps. Six more cells on the one side of the corridor alone, and they were all being used to imprison students. Draco wrinkled his nose when he recognized several students from his year: Seamus Finnegan, Justin Finch-Fletchly, Mandy Brocklehurst...

"Make him wake up, Draco," Ginny insisted, grabbing Draco by the hand and tearing him away from his uncomfortable revelations to stand in front of the last cell.

"Ginny," Draco said quickly, "what are all these Mudbloods doing down here?"

Ginny smiled ecstatically. "Tom put them down here. They're for his 'speriment."

"What experiment? Who's Tom?"

Ginny giggled and rolled her eyes as though he'd just said something funny. Draco scowled, but decided to try a different tactic.

"Tell me about the purification."

Ginny sighed and leaned her head against his arm. He repressed the urge to shrug her off. "It's going to be wonderful, isn't it? Tom says that I can have a wand again once he's finished getting powerful. And Ron will get all powerful too." She looked up at him with her too large eyes. "We're purebloods too, you know. Seventh son of the seventh son. Only I'm not a son, I'm a daughter!" She laughed out loud again and went back to the bars of the cell making kissing noises with her lips. "Come on then! Wake up puppy!"

Draco turned to look, wondering who would keep a dog down in a cell like this, but the figure inside the cell was not a dog at all. It was a grown man. His clothes were little more than filthy rags, torn to shreds and barely still hanging on his frame. Where the rags were completely torn away, Draco could see angry wounds, just beginning to heal, and dozens of scars of all shapes and sizes. The man's long black hair was tangled and matted with filth, and from the way his chest was rising and falling, it looked as though he were having trouble breathing.

Ginny turned back and looked at him expectantly. "Make him wake up!" she commanded in her high pitched voice.

Draco frowned and cleared his throat. He drew his wand and rapped loudly on the bars with it. "Er... You in there!" he said loudly. "Wake up!"

"Not like that!" Ginny scolded and she snatched his wand from his fingers.

"Hey!" Draco tried to grab it from her, but she was too quick. With a muttered Alohamora she had the cell door open and closed again in seconds, with herself on the inside.

"Lazy dog," she said, her voice dropping dramatically from its high pitched sweetness to a deeper, huskier tone. "When I say wake up, you should wake UP!" A burst of red energy erupted from the tip of Draco's wand, and the man shrieked and writhed as it hit him square in the back. The man twisted so that Draco could see his face for the first time, and he stepped back from the bars in shock. He had seen that face before, laughing maniacally from the front page of The Daily Prophet.

Enraged, Sirius Black growled like a feral beast and slashed out at Ginny with a hand more like a claw than any human hand Draco had ever seen. He rushed to the door of the cell and tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Ginny!" he yelled, wondering what Ron would do to him when he found his sister's mutilated body in the cell of a madman. He wondered why Sirius Black, a mass murderer, escaped convict, and on the run from the law would be caged up in the dungeons of Hogwarts. It occurred to him, in the back of his brain, that the horrifying skeleton of a man was his cousin...

"Bad dog!" Ginny said in that same deep voice. Another blast of light shot from the tip of Draco's wand and slammed Black back against the wall. He whimpered in pain.

Ginny giggled.

"Ginny!" Draco scolded, regaining his senses. "What are you playing at? Come out of there at once!"

"No," Ginny said lazily, approaching Black with dainty steps. "Ron said I could play." She lifted the hem of her robes and stepped astride Black's chest as his head lolled to one side and he moaned in protest. Gingerly, Ginny sat down on his bare chest and pointed the wand at his collarbone. A muttered incantation floated to Draco's ears and he watched in disgust as Ginny began carving her initials into the flesh of Black's chest.

She turned and smiled at Draco over her shoulder. "Don't you want to play?" she asked, her sweet, high pitched voice returning.

Draco took a step backward, unable to take his eyes off the blood that was rolling off Black's chest, pooling on the floor of the cell, blooming up into the white jacquard of Ginny's robes. His stomach turned; he couldn't stand the sight of blood.

"I..." His mouth was dry, his throat constricted, the contents of his stomach threatening to rebel. Ginny watched him, her head cocked to one side like a little bird.

"Come on, Draco," she cajoled. "It's ever so much fun."

"That's OK," he said quickly, his brain kicking back into gear with a roar. "I-- I've just remembered. I've got..." But it didn't matter. Ginny wasn't listening to him any more. She was giggling quietly to herself as a small flame lit at the end of the wand, and she began burning the sensitive skin on the inside of Black's arm. Beneath her, he twitched and moaned in pain.

Draco turned on his heel and fled the dungeons as fast as his feet could carry him without actually running. If he was seen, he didn't want to look suspicious. Instinctively he headed straight for the tapestry which marked the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories, but either they'd changed the password while he was in hospital, or he'd never known the password in this world to begin with, because he couldn't get in.

He'd begun thinking of it in those terms: this world, as opposed to his world, because it was becoming clearer by the second that this was most definitely not his world. In his world, Ron Weasley was not in the service of the Dark Lord, neither one of the Creevy brothers was the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and -- as far as he knew -- Ginny Weasley was not an eleven year old psychopath.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco headed out into the grounds. His head was buzzing like a nest of Doxies with thoughts that didn't add up. One thing, however, stood out in his mind; Ron had mentioned his father. His father would know what to do, could explain what was happening, and could protect him from insane redheads of any ilk.

Keeping to the shadows, Draco hurried along the perimeter of the castle towards the main gates. He reckoned that if he could get to Hogsmeade, he could go to the Three Broomsticks and use their floo to reach his father. It was a good plan, but he wished he'd thought of it sooner, preferably before Ginny Weasley had taken his wand. He felt naked and vulnerable without it, and decided promptly to tell his father that Ron had forcibly taken it from him.

He was almost to the side of the castle where he could cut through the woods towards the main road when something hit him in the back of the knees. Draco tumbled gracelessly to the ground, hitting his knees, jamming his wrists, and knocking his sore head against a tree root.

"I've had just about enough!" Draco shouted angrily as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his head and wondering what had hit him. "I didn't do anything to deserve this! If this is someone's idea of a joke -- you'll be sorry!"

"If talking got it done, you'd be a real killer wouldn't you?" an eerily familiar voice laughed. "On your feet, Killer." Malfoy rolled over and stared up in to the darkness. "I'll give you your dignity as you die, which is more than you've ever done for anyone, and more than you deserve." A foot kicked him in his side. "I said, on your feet!"

"Why should I?" Draco demanded. "If you're only going to kill me anyway."

"Lacarnam inflamare." A blue flame erupted over Draco's head and he threw one arm up over his face to protect himself. The voice laughed. Carefully he drew his arm away from his face and stared up into the flickering blue light. He couldn't quite believe what he saw.

"For once in your life," the girl said disdainfully, "be a man, Malfoy."

"Granger?" he blurted uncertainly. But it had to be her; there was no mistaking her tumbleweed hair, even when it was tied back. A fistful of blue flames danced in her left hand; in her right, her wand was pointed directly at his head.

"Who did you think it was, you son of a slime slug? I won't tell you again: on your feet or I kill you where you lie."

Draco considered this; the Granger he knew was a know-it-all Muggleborn bitch with delusions of grandeur, but he doubted very seriously that she could ever kill anyone. On the other hand, if his previous encounters were any indication, this was most definitely not the Granger he knew. Very slowly, carefully, he got to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on her face all the time. The blue flame in her hand danced wildly, casting weird shadows over her face; he noticed a long scar running from her left temple down to her jaw line.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, still pointing her wand at him menacingly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Draco replied, dusting off his robes with what he hoped looked like an unconcerned gesture.

"Play coy all you like," she said darkly. "We'll get it out of you sooner or later. Give me your wand."

Draco laughed. "Too late," he said disdainfully. "Ginny Weasley beat you to it."

Granger narrowed her eyes. "Imperio," she incanted. A warm sensation came over Draco and he felt all of his muscles relax and go limp. Hold out your hands, a soft, feminine voice cajoled, and obediently he lifted his arms, holding his hands out palm up. Something was looped around his wrists. Now walk, the voice commanded, walk... And Draco obeyed.

When Draco came back to his senses, he was sitting in a clearing in the woods with his back against a wide, rough tree trunk and his arms tied behind his back. He blinked and shook his head several times, trying to remember what had happened as he struggled against his bonds.

"Don't bother Malfoy," a rough voice chided. "I charmed the ropes myself."

Draco blinked into the darkness, wondering if he'd been hit in the head again. A flickering blue light moved towards him and he remembered. He groaned.

"Lumos," the same rough voice said, and a bright flash of wand light momentarily blinded Draco. When he squinted his eyes open, it was not Hermione Granger's face staring back at him.

"Professor Lupin!" Draco blurted. Relief washed over him. He hadn't particularly liked Lupin as a professor, and he'd liked him even less when Professor Snape had let slip that the man was a werewolf, but Lupin had always been disgustingly fair and unbiased. His could be the voice of reason Draco was so desperately searching for in this insane world.

Lupin raised an eyebrow at Draco while behind him, Granger laughed.

"Professor? I like that," she said, closing her hand and vanishing the blue flames.

"Professor Lupin," Draco continued, undeterred, "you've got to help me. I'm under some sort of spell."

"It's called the Imperious Curse, Malfoy," Lupin replied evenly. "One of the Unforgivables. I thought surely you would recognize it as you're so adept at the other two."

Draco's mind raced. He'd never performed an Unforgivable curse in his life -- his father had said he wasn't old enough for the responsibility when he'd asked about them after seeing Moody's lecture on them. "Not that," he said quickly. "I mean, some other kind of spell. It's made the world turn completely upside down. Nothing is as it should be!"

From his left, someone snorted derisively. "You've got that part right at least," the figure said, stepping forward into the light. It was Neville Longbottom. His arms were crossed belligerently over his chest, his wand clutched in one fist. The sleeves of his jumper bulged with biceps that Draco was certain Neville Longbottom did not normally have. Draco sighed.

"Look, it's all wrong, alright? You're supposed to be a professor -- or you were, for a year at least," he said, looking Lupin in the eye. He glanced up at Longbottom. "And you're a spineless weakling."

Longbottom took a step towards him menacingly, but Draco sped on. "And you," he said, glancing up at Granger, "are a loud-mouthed know it all and best friends with Weasley and Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened with fury. She took a step forward and slapped him hard across the face. "How dare you?" she growled at him.

"Potter?" Lupin asked, interrupting Hermione's wrath.

"Yes!" Draco cried exasperatedly, working his jaw against the stinging of the slap. "Harry bloody Potter." He looked around at the three standing over him. "Where is he, anyway? I suppose he's Minister of Magic, is he? Wouldn't surprise me in the least... This does seem to be my own private hell after all. It would be fitting..."

"He's mad," Longbottom decided, uncrossing his arms and pointing his wand at Draco. "Let's finish him and be done with it."

"No one knows where Harry Potter is," Lupin said evenly, ignoring his comrade's declaration. "He hasn't been seen or heard from in more than five years."

Draco stared at him. "That's rubbish," he said at last. "Potter has been the bane of my existence for five years. I have to see him every bloody day at school. You lot have gone round the twist."

"Lupin," Longbottom said warily. Professor Lupin continued to regard Draco thoughtfully.

"You think that Harry Potter has been at Hogwarts all this time?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's what I've been trying to tell you! Only everything's been fouled up somehow." Fear crept in around the edges of Draco's mind as he looked Lupin in the eye. What if he couldn't get back? Worse still, what if he really was going mad, and this was how things had always been. "This isn't how things are supposed to be," he said aloud, to reassure himself more than anything else.

Lupin sat back on his heels in front of Draco, apparently making himself more comfortable. "Five years ago, Harry Potter disappeared. He was supposed to come to Hogwarts, but rumor had it that Dumbledore changed his mind at the last minute. Didn't think it was safe. He sent the boy even deeper into hiding.

"That's when things started to go wrong. A Death Eater tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. Severus Snape was able to stop him, but only by destroying himself along with the other man.

"And then, the year after Harry Potter should have started at Hogwarts, Voldemort returned."

Draco flinched at the name, trying to remember what had happened his second year. "The Chamber of Secrets..." he said slowly.

Lupin looked at him sharply and nodded. "A memory of him was given life in the Chamber of Secrets. As far as we can tell, Voldemort's spirit -- the one defeated by Harry Potter -- also inhabits the same young body. Your father and the other governors called for Dumbledore's resignation after Ginny Weasley died--"

"Hold on," Draco interrupted, his confidence soaring back to him. "Now I know you're feeding me rubbish. Ginny Weasley isn't dead. I saw her up at the castle not more than an hour ago."

Lupin stared at him for a moment, his expression incredulous.

"Get back to the others," he said suddenly, addressing the other students. "Hermione, tell Cedric what's been going on and help them make ready."

"But what about--" Granger protested.

Lupin cut her off. "This doesn't change anything," he said firmly. "We go ahead as planned."

Granger looked uncertain, but nodded.

"Don't you think one of us ought to stay?" Longbottom asked, approaching Lupin and Malfoy with his wand drawn. "Just in case."

Lupin shook his head. "I need to find out what he knows. I'll be with you shortly."

Longbottom gave Draco a look that simply burned with hatred, and the intensity of it shocked him. He shook his head, wondering what kind of curse could turn that spineless weakling into such an intense, brooding thug.

When the others had gone, Lupin pointed his wand at Draco and muttered a spell which dissolved the ropes binding his arms to the tree.

"If you try to run," Lupin said evenly, "I'll have no choice but to kill you."

Draco tried to rub the circulation back into his arms. Everybody here was so bloody interested in killing him all the time, it would be a wonder if he made it through the night.

"For your information," Lupin said quietly, "Ginny Weasley is, most certainly, dead."

"But I saw--"

"What you saw is her reanimated corpse," Lupin said bluntly. "Voldemort brought her back from the dead in exchange for her brother's service."

Draco's mind reeled at the thought. Ron was working for the Death Eaters. He shivered with disgust, remembering Ginny's cold arms clinging to him.

"Look," he said, taking a deep breath, "where I come from, I can't stand any of the Weasleys, but they're not... like this."

"Where are you from?" Lupin asked curiously. "And, assuming I believe your answer to that, how did you get here?"

"I don't know!" Draco said a bit desperately. "One minute everything was fine -- well, not fine, but normal -- and then..." He threw his arms into the air. "All of this!"

"Did anything out of the ordinary happen?"

Draco shook his head. "I was talking to the nurse, and then I went downstairs and everything was different." He paused, thoughtfully. "Maybe I took a wrong turn going down to the Great Hall..."

Lupin gave him a wry smile. "Hogwarts castle has many secrets, but I've never heard of it accidentally transposing reality."

"You think I'm mad," Draco spat.

Lupin's face was impassive. "I endeavor to never pass judgment on another person's sanity," he said calmly, "but it does seem unlikely that something so dramatic should just happen... unprovoked."

"You're saying it was a spell?" Draco asked.

Lupin shrugged. "A spell, a potion perhaps--"

"The nurse gave me a potion to drink!" Draco remembered. "Holy Merlin -- she poisoned me!"

Lupin arched an eyebrow. "Doubtful. But I do see how you could be used as a pawn, especially if suddenly your memory of this world was gone."

Draco balled his hands into fists in frustration. "It's not my memory that's at fault!" he exclaimed. "It's the whole world that's gone wrong -- not just me."

Lupin shrugged. "A more powerful spell then. Something that changes the very nature of reality." He began to get to his feet.

"Is that what happened?" Draco demanded. "How do I get out of it then?"

"I've no idea," Lupin said, dusting off his trousers. "The only thing I do know is that you're not acting like the Draco Malfoy we've come to know and loathe, and for that reason -- and that reason alone -- you could be useful to us. Stand up."

Warily, Draco got to his feet, facing his former professor, and wishing to Merlin that he hadn't let Ginny take his wand.

"If you agree to help us, then I'll try to help you," Lupin said firmly. "I don't know what I can do for you, but I'll do my best to figure out where you've come from and how to get you back."

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes cautiously.

"Help us stop Voldemort's Purification."

Lupin led Draco down a winding path, barely more than an animal trail, deep into the Forbidden Forest to a small makeshift camp.

"Lupin!" Longbottom cried, jumping to his feet from his place near a small fire at the center of the camp. "What are you doing?"

"He's under a spell!" Granger shouted, drawing her wand.

"I'm not under a spell," Lupin said, holding up his hands. "I've brought us an advantage." His eyes sought out a tall boy sitting on the opposite side of the fire. "If you don't want to use it, that's your decision, but I think it would be foolhardy to throw an opportunity away."

The boy rose and walked around the fire, and as the light hit his face, Draco's mouth went dry.

"We need every advantage we can get," Cedric Diggory said with authority. "What are you thinking, Lupin?"

Lupin nodded approvingly. "I'll tell you," he said, "but first -- Hermione, Neville, bring Mr. Malfoy up to speed."

Granger gave him a questioning look. "He knows better than anyone..."

"Not anymore," Lupin replied. He and Cedric walked away from the others, conversing in low tones, leaving Draco alone with two lunatics who wanted to kill him. Brilliant.

Longbottom and Granger glanced uneasily at one another. They seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Sit down," Granger commanded, pointing to a log near the fire.

Longbottom glanced around at the remaining few students who were watching them with interest. "Get some rest," he ordered. "You'll need it."

Draco watched the other students scatter as he gingerly sat down onto the log. Granger sat near him, watching him warily. Her wand was in her hand, but luckily it was no longer pointed directly between his eyes.

Longbottom loomed over them looking doubtful. "This is a mistake," he said in a low voice. "We can't trust Malfoy, we just can't."

"You trust Lupin though, don't you?" Granger asked, glancing up at him.

"Look," Draco said with frustration, "trust me, don't trust me -- it's no skin off my nose. I've made a deal with Lupin, and it has nothing to do with you."

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. "What deal?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "I scratch his back, he scratches mine. So tell me what the hell is going on so we can get scratching, right?"

"You-Know-Who wants to purify the wizard population so that only wizards of pure bloodlines will have power," Granger said quickly before Longbottom could object, "and he's starting with Hogwarts."

"Right," Draco said sarcastically. "This much I knew. He doesn't want Hogwarts to accept mud-- Muggle born students any more."

Granger sneered at him. "It's a lot worse than that. It's not just the next generation he's looking to purify."

Draco stared at her blankly.

Granger rolled her eyes. "Honestly! You've been working for him from the very beginning, even before Ron--" she broke off and looked away, angrily.

"Well, I don't remember any of that," Draco said, quickly tiring of their emotional overreactions. "So why don't you fill me in?"

Longbottom strode purposefully over to the end of the log Draco was sitting on and dropped down onto it heavily. "You-Know-Who has come up with a way of purifying the population by removing the magic from anyone he deems unworthy -- Muggle born, half-blood, pure-blood... Doesn't matter. If he doesn't like you, you're as good as a Muggle already."

"As good as dead, you mean," Granger put in testily. "It isn't a pretty process. Sucking the magic out of a person is the same as a vampire sucking out their blood, or a dementor sucking out their soul. It's ghastly, and it's permanent."

Draco made a face. "That's impossible."

"I assure you, it's not," Granger said emphatically. She stood abruptly and walked away, ducking into a tent at the edge of the circle.

"What's her problem?" Draco grumbled.

"It's a sensitive subject," Longbottom admitted. "Hermione was the person who figured out that magic could be separated from a person in the first place."

Draco stared at him. "Wait just a minute," he said, frowning deeply. "You're telling me I'm the bad guy in this scenario, when in fact Granger is the one who invented this madness?" He shook his head. "You're even loonier in this world than when you're pledging your allegiance to Potter."

Longbottom considered him thoughtfully. "You really think you know Harry Potter?" he asked. "The Harry Potter?"

"There's more than one?" Draco quipped. "Of course I know him. Can't very well miss him with that stupid great scar on his head, can you?"

Longbottom turned and stared into the fire. "What's he like?" he asked after a long moment. Inwardly, Draco sighed. Even here, where Harry Potter had never even come to Hogwarts, he was still upstaging Draco at every turn.

Outwardly, he scowled. "He's a complete git," Draco spat. "Absolute wanker. Probably cheats at Quidditch, and gets himself into more trouble than a Niffler in a silver chest. A bloody Gryffindor through and through."

Longbottom's expression perked up suddenly. "I -- I'm a Gryffindor too," he said, his face glowing in the firelight.

"Malfoy," Lupin called, approaching the fire with Diggory at his heels. "It's time for you to go back. You've got a job to do."

Draco stood quickly. "Which no one has bothered to properly explain," he complained.

"All you have to do," Lupin said quietly, "is get to the side entrance off the Great Hall and unlock the door. It's charmed from the inside, and it will take too long if we have to break the charm ourselves." He looked Draco firmly in the eye. "You unlock that door. We'll do the rest."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest. "And after that you'll help me get home?"

Lupin nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Fine," Draco agreed. "Anything to get out of this bloody nut house. How do I get back to the school?"

"I'll take you," Lupin said. He turned and had a few more words with Diggory before leading Draco back out into the pitch black woods. As they left, Draco cast a glance over his shoulder at the little camp.

"What is it?" Lupin asked.

"That Diggory chap," Draco said uncomfortably, though trying not to show it. "At home, he's dead."

Lupin cast a sidelong glance at him. "How?"

Draco shrugged. "Potter told everyone he was killed by the Dark Lord, but I don't think anyone knows for sure."

"Then Voldemort has returned in your world as well?"

Draco winced at the name. "That's what my father says," he replied, adopting his most superior tone. "He says that this time the Dark Lord will triumph over his enemies and that no one can stop him."

For a while, Lupin was silent. "Then you've chosen Voldemort's side, even in your own world? Even in a world with Harry Potter?"

Draco didn't know how to answer that. He'd known that his father was a Death Eater since he was thirteen, and the thought had thrilled him. He'd asked, at the time, if he too would be allowed to take the Dark Mark, and the question had seemed to please his father. But now, something niggled at his brain. The faces of his school mates imprisoned in the dungeons, Ginny's cold hands in his, the sight of all that blood on the floor gave him pause. Was that what it meant to be on Voldemort's side? And if so, what was the alternative? Potter's side?

Over my dead body, he thought vehemently.

"I'm on my own side," he answered at last.

Lupin did not reply. They had reached the edge of the grounds. Draco could make out the lights of the castle through the few remaining trees.

"Why are you so keen on helping me?" Draco asked as Lupin peered out into the darkness towards the castle.

For a long moment, Lupin said nothing. Then he sighed slightly. "Because," he said in a low voice, "I have to believe that there's somewhere that's better than this."

He straightened up and turned to look at Draco. "Remember our deal," he said firmly. "You help us, and I'll help you. But if you betray us, you will be the first to die."

Before Draco could even open his mouth, Lupin turned on his heel and was gone, slipping back into the darkness like a shadow born to the night.

Draco snuck back into the castle with ease. It was well past curfew, and the corridors were empty and quiet. He glanced longingly at the tapestry concealing the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon, but pressed on.

After a few wrong turns, Draco found himself back in the long curving corridor lined with cells. A quick glance told him that more students than before had been imprisoned. Draco found himself hesitating outside a cell where a tiny, blonde-haired, first year girl lay sprawled on the floor. He tried to imagine what it would be like to watch the magic sucked right out of her.

At the end of the corridor, Draco nearly stumbled over his wand, left lying in the middle of the floor. Gratefully he scooped it up and tried not to retch as he wiped the bloody fingerprints off the handle. Ginny was sitting in a corner humming quietly to herself, her face, hands, and clothes streaked with blood. He glanced into the cell which had housed Sirius Black, only to see a great ugly black dog lying on the floor, licking its wounds. It growled at Draco and barred its teeth, so he backed away quickly.

"Ginny," he said quickly. "Has Ron been down here?"

"Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie," Ginny sang softly, worrying a loose thread on her sleeve.

"Listen to me, you crazy corpse," Draco said, squatting down in front of her. He gagged at the coppery smell of blood when he came close to her. "Has anyone been down here since I left?"

Ginny's eyes focused reluctantly on his face and she shook her head slowly. "The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes," she sang softly, "when along came a blackbird and snipped off her nose!" She reached out and tweaked Draco's nose, and he stood up abruptly.

"You're completely raving, aren't you, then?" he said disdainfully. "I don't think the Dark Lord did a very good job bringing you back. He obviously forgot your brain."

Ginny looked up at him and her lip began to quiver slightly. Draco scowled. If there was one thing he couldn't stand more than a clingy girl, it was a crying, clingy girl.

"I didn't want to come back," she whispered, and Draco froze. "But Tom... Tom said that Ron needed me and..." Suddenly her expression changed. Her eyes glazed over and returned to their previous vacant stare. She got to her feet then, swiping unconcernedly at her face with the back of her hand, humming her nursery rhymes again.

"Tom will make everything right," she said as she walked past Draco. "He'll give you power too, if I tell him to." Draco turned to watch her go. "He loves me," she continued, not really addressing him any more, just speaking to herself. "Just like Ron loves me. Only, Tom loves me because I gave him a body..."

Just then, Draco heard the sound of footfalls coming from the opposite direction. Not sure if he was ready to be discovered, Draco ducked into the nearest empty cell. After a moment, he heard footsteps moving slowly, cautiously down the corridor towards him. As the figure passed, he chanced a glance out and almost choked with surprise.

He was wearing severe black robes with a high collar and long, fitted sleeves. His normally absurd black hair was clipped short to his skull, in an almost military style, and his wand was grasped firmly in his fist.

Draco's throat began to close up. He's not supposed to be here! he thought, irrational anger boiling up inside him. Before long, however, his rational side concerned with self-preservation took over: if Harry Potter was here, in this world, maybe that meant that they were somehow drawing closer to the world Draco knew.

He was about to speak when a strange rustling noise came from the last cell. Potter crouched down in a fighting stance, his wand pointed into the cell and Draco froze, keeping to the shadows.

"J-James?" a voice croaked from behind the bars. Draco craned his neck trying to see who was speaking. "But you're -- am I? Am I dead?"

Potter very slowly relaxed his stance, never moving his wand. "You certainly smell like you ought to be," he said with a sneer in his voice, "but no, I don't think you're dead. Yet."

"Then how...."

"My name isn't James," Potter suggested. "It's Harry Potter."

There was a long silence, and then a sound that made the hairs stand up on the back of Draco's neck; it was primal, something between a howl and a sob with a hint of laughter mixed in.

"Harry!" A hand shot out from between the bars and grabbed Potter's arm. He wrenched himself free immediately and pointed his wand more vigorously at the person in the cell. "What are you doing here? You have to get out of -- we have to get out of here!"

"I'm here to kill Voldemort," Potter said simply, "and I'm not leaving until I do." He watched Black for a moment before asking, "Who are you?"

"Sirius! Sirius Black. I -- I'm your godfather. Or I was, before..."

Potter seemed to consider this new information. "You murdered my parents," he said levelly.

"No!" Black exclaimed. "I was framed. Peter was the one who-- Let me out of here, Harry. I'll show you. I'll prove it to you."

"Why should I believe you?" Potter demanded.

"You have no reason to," Black admitted, "but believe that I want revenge on the people who did this to me. They've kept me caged here like an animal for almost two years. They're the same people responsible for your parents' deaths. Let me out of here, Harry, and I'll show you. I'll help you defeat him."

"Do you have a wand?" Potter asked reasonably. Black must have indicated that he did not. Potter stood very still for another moment, considering, before saying, "Alohamora," and unlocking the cell door.

Stupid Potter, Draco thought with a slight shake of his head. Thought you were supposed to be so clever! Serve you right if he kills you...

"Stay out of my way," Potter said simply and turned and kept walking.

For a moment, Draco vacillated, wondering if he should approach Potter with what he knew. The idea of letting him walk into a trap was almost too good to be true, but as he walked by, Draco felt something in his brain give. "Bollocks," he said softly, and stepped out into the corridor.

"Oy! Potter!"

Potter swung around to face him, wand at the ready. Draco's wand was clutched familiarly in his own fist, but he didn't want to use it if he didn't have to.

"Who are you?"
Draco blinked at him indignantly. "What do you mean, who am--"

"That's Draco Malfoy," Black said, emerging from his cell. Draco glanced behind him and was slightly taken aback by the look of utter hatred pasted across the face of the cousin he'd never actually met. "Lucius Malfoy's son. He's a Death Eater, Harry."

"Fat lot you know," Draco said indignantly. "Look, Potter I've got some information--"

"Don't trust him!" Black shouted. "He's nothing more than Ron Weasley's trained pet."

"Hang on!" Draco shouted, twisting around to yell at Black. "I'm nobody's--"

"Harry, wait!" Black shot past him towards Potter who was apparently uninterested in what either of them had to say. Sighing, Draco chased after them.

"Would you just hold on and listen for a minute!" Draco said impatiently, catching up to them at the end of the corridor. "Look, I'm trying to help you, Potter. Your friends -- they're not your friends here."

Harry gave him an incredulous frown, his eyes narrowing, his thick brows drawing together slightly. "Friends?" he repeated in such a cynical tone it set Draco's teeth on edge. "I don't have any friends."

Draco frowned as Potter brushed past him. This was not the Harry Potter from his world after all.

Draco suddenly felt very alone.

It wasn't long before Ron returned with Crabbe, Goyle, Montague, Nott, and a few others trailing his heels. Ron gave no indication that he was aware that Draco had ever left the dungeons, so Draco played it cool, throwing in a few complaints about how long he'd been down in the damp just for good measure.

He stayed out of the way as much as possible when the others began rounding up the students from the cells. They were, in fact, under some sort of spell, as they moved like life sized mannequins, standing when you stood them, walking when you pushed them, and so on. Before long, the whole lot of them was marching single file behind Ron out of the dungeons. Draco brought up the rear, looking shiftily into the shadows, wondering where Potter would make his stand. It wouldn't do to be caught in the crossfire; this wasn't his battle, after all.

The silent procession made its way to the Great Hall without incident. When Draco entered the room, however, he nearly retched.

Lying spread out across the room were half a dozen bodies. Most of them were adults that Draco didn't recognize, but one of them -- presently being hauled out of the room by several burly Slytherins -- was Professor Umbridge. A dark stain of blood trailed behind her as they dragged her across the flagstone floor, and Draco turned quickly aside, clutching his stomach and trying not to be sick. Near the high table, a young man with sharp features and dark hair was dusting his hands on his robes, and speaking to a group of Death Eaters, many of whom Draco did recognize. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw his father emerge from the room behind the high table and join their group.

"Draco!" Ron called, pointing to a cage into which the captive students were being herded. Reluctantly, Draco took up his place at the door, guarding it. It was only as he watched Ron walking away that he saw it: the door.

Everyone else in the room was preoccupied with their own tasks. The myriad candles floating overhead cast an eerie glow over the scene and sent a shiver down Draco's spine. He had a bad feeling about all of this, and a sour taste at the back of his throat.

The young man walked briskly to Dumbledore's seat at the head of the high table, and made the table disappear with a flick of his wand. Ginny Weasley appeared out of nowhere wearing clean robes and sat at his feet, humming quietly to herself while she stared up at the young man with unabashed adoration.

"Bring out the device," the young man commanded. Draco watched in confusion as the senior Death Eaters all rushed about to do his bidding. He wondered who this young upstart was; he didn't think he recognized him from school.

Before Draco could draw any conclusions, however, the device the young man had called for was rolled into the room.

It was a chair, or had been, originally, but its designers had thought fit to accessorize it with chains and shackles intended to hold its victim in place, and, above the headrest, an enormous hollow metal spike.

Draco stood perfectly still as Goyle's father brushed past him, went into the cage, and pulled out a student. The poor sop didn't even put up a fight, his eyes wide and glassy, staring out into the hazy middle distance. While the others were busy watching Goyle Senior strap the student into the chair, Draco sidled towards the door. He kept one eye on the device, and the other firmly on Ron, who was staring off into space as though he were listening to something that no one else could hear.

Draco drew his wand, expecting to have to do some very impressive spell work to be able to break the charm on the lock. To his surprise, he felt the charm dissipate the moment he touched the bolt. It slid back with a satisfying click, which luckily went unnoticed by any of the others in the Hall.

"We are pleased," the young man said, an oily smile spreading across his dark features. "We will reward you all once the new era of purification begins."

Draco sneered. What a ponce, he thought viciously. Just who does he think he is, the Queen Mum?

"The specimen is ready, my lord," Draco's father said with a little bow, and Draco's eyes widened as he realized who the young man must be.

"Proceed," the Dark Lord said with a wave of his hand.

Draco's father drew his wand. The needle-like spike began to lower and slid neatly into the top of the boy's head, at which point Draco turned away, expecting there to be a great quantity of blood. There wasn't; there was merely an odd sort of hum that he didn't so much hear as feel deep in his bones. Everyone in the Hall seemed enthralled by it, and no one noticed when the side door slid quietly open.

"Get the students out," Lupin whispered, motioning for Granger and a few of the others to move towards the cage. Lupin himself straightened, pointed his wand, and shouted "Stupefy!"

The bolt of red light hit Draco's father squarely in the chest. Draco didn't even have time to cry out in surprise before all hell broke lose. Students were fighting Death Eaters both old and young wherever he looked. Quickly he retreated into a corner to wait it out and see who would come out on top.

Granger was the first to reach the cage and had the door open in seconds. Longbottom and several others rushed in and began using enervate to revive the students inside. Before Granger could join them, however, a spell flew past her, missing her by a hair's breadth. She turned to face her attacker and shouted "Avada kedavra!"

Ron Weasley was dead before he hit the ground. His rat scurried off into the shadows as Granger stepped over his body unceremoniously, headed into the cage to help the others.

Ginny saw her brother fall and shrieked like some unholy demon. Leaping up, she raced down from the high table and tackled Granger, sending her sprawling to the ground. Draco flinched at the ungodly, animalistic noises coming out of the tiny girl's throat as she ripped and beat and tore. A figure dressed in black swooped past, hexing her with a word. Draco watched as Ginny fell forward onto Hermione's inert frame. Draco couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though they might both be dead.

It took Draco a moment to recognize that the figure in black was Harry Potter. He moved with confidence and authority, hexing Death Eaters right and left as they realized what was happening and formed ranks around their leader. Behind him, Sirius Black had turned to approach the cages.

"Sirius!" Lupin yelled, and Black's head whipped around at the sound of his own name. His eyes went wide.

"Remus," he said, his voice thick with disbelief. "Remus! I knew you would come! I waited for you--"

"Wait on the other side, then," Lupin said firmly. A flash of green light erupted from his wand and hit the other man in the chest. Sirius looked down, surprise written across his lined face.

Draco thought he heard Sirius say the word "Moony," as he fell, but he couldn't be certain. Lupin never looked back.

"Harry Potter," a cold voice said, ringing out above the din as though it had been spoken directly into Draco's ear. "We meet again -- for the first time. Dumbledore must think you are finally ready to face me. How droll."

"Dumbledore is dead," Harry replied.

The Dark Lord laughed, a cold, high-pitched, mirthless laugh. "Did you kill him?"

"No. Does it matter? I'm here of my own volition, Tom. This ends tonight."

The fighting around them seemed to slow then stopped as everyone in the Hall turned to watch the two wizards taking centre stage.

"Are you prepared to kill me, Harry?" Voldemort demanded.

"If I can," Harry replied. "Either way, it's done. And I want it done."

"Be careful what you wish for," Voldemort said ominously. "En guard, Harry Potter."

The opponents bowed to one another and took their stances to duel. Draco pressed himself back into the corner, marveling at the stupidity of observing dueling standards at a time like this. The Hall held its breath.

Draco wasn't sure who said the first curse. The spells were flying too fast and too many for him to even be able to tell who was winning. The Dark Lord threw killing curses at Potter with alarming speed, but Harry, for his part, blocked each one in turn, occasionally finding an opening to send a curse of his own flying towards his opponent.

And then it was over. Harry Potter lay sprawled across the floor, but he was not dead. Draco could see his chest heaving, could see the blood pooling around his head. Lupin cried out and charged towards him, only to be cut down in mid-stride.

Draco turned away, unable to look at the blood spilling across the floor as Voldemort approached to stand over Potter and cast his final curse. But everywhere Draco looked was more carnage, more bodies, more blood.

"I want it done," Potter rasped.

"This isn't right," Draco whispered to himself, clutching his wand and trying not to be sick. "This isn't the way things are supposed to be!" He didn't know exactly how he thought things were supposed to be any more, but clearly, this wasn't it.

Draco backed himself into a corner and continued muttering to himself, shaking his head as though it might dislodge the visions in his brain of the disturbing scene before him. It had all gone wrong somewhere. Somewhere between the Quidditch game and dinner that night, something had gone horribly wrong. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on," he muttered angrily.

And suddenly it occurred to him. The nurse. The potion. Their conversation echoed in his ears, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Had he somehow done all this by wishing... Had that nurse given him a wishing potion?

It was almost too good to be true.

A terrible, high pitched laughing filled his ears. But it wasn't in his ears -- it was in his head! Draco screwed his eyes shut, crying out and pressing his fists to his temples.

Such a clever boy, a voice hissed in his brain, and so predictable. We knew exactly what you would wish for... The voice laughed again and Draco fell forward, his knees hitting the stone floor and sending streaks of pain shooting up through his legs. You gave us Potter, Hogwarts, and soon, the world...

"This isn't how things are supposed to be!" Draco growled, fighting against the voice in his brain. It laughed again, and the pain of the sound was almost unbearable. Haven't you figured it out yet, my son? Everything is happening exactly as it was meant to happen -- exactly as we wish it to happen...

Wish. Draco's eyes snapped open. He had wished to know what was going on, and suddenly he had; the potion was still working.

"I wish..." he whispered, his stomach tightening. It was his only chance to get back to his world. "I wish I had never taken the wishing potion!"

"I wish Harry Potter had never come to Hogwarts!" Draco said angrily.

He looked around. The infirmary was empty. He suddenly felt very foolish for having spoken aloud. Dwelling on what might have been was for the weak, he decided, grabbing his jumper from the foot of the bed and pulling it on.

Still, he felt strange, relieved somehow; it was as though he had just woken from a nightmare, and realized that it was all a bad dream.

But that was rubbish. He hadn't even been asleep. Slipping his feet into his shoes, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed down towards the Great Hall. His mind wandered as he walked, and strange images kept coming to him that he couldn't quite place; cold hands, blue flames, gallons and gallons of blood. He shivered.

The Great Hall was warm and noisy as he entered. He could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on him as he slid into his customary seat between Crabbe and Goyle and across from Pansy, but he ignored them. The feeling that was niggling at the back of his brain was stronger.

"Good game, Draco," Pansy simpered, "it was a really close thing."

Draco blinked at her. "What?"

"The Quidditch match," Pansy said with a little frown. "I said it was really close."

Draco stared at her a moment longer, when some movement across the hall caught his eye. Harry Potter had just walked into the Hall with Fred Weasley, his shoulders hunched forward, hands jammed deep into his pockets, a pronounced scowl on his face. They made their way quickly up the Gryffindor table to where Ron, Hermione, and George were already seated. Harry sat down and began talking animatedly with his friends at once. Bloody, stupid, Harry Potter...

"You feelin' alright, Malfoy?" Crabbe asked.

Draco blinked at him, the strange sensation of deja vu rapidly dissipating. This is right, something in his brain told him. This is how things are meant to be.

"I'm fine," he said briskly, dismissing the strange thoughts. "They barely knocked the wind out of me. They fight like girls, the both of them. They just caught me by surprise is all. If I'd been able to get off a clean punch at either of them..."