Not a Dream

Chapter 1

OF CHANGES

The day they shook hands was his life's turning point. He realized that not everything in life is easy to earn. Those things that matter - such as love, or trust. It was a month ago today when he decided he'd earn that trust. No matter what it takes in the end. He decided that the Gryffindor's trust was worth the effort, it was worth everything. Not that he'd admit it to you, or anything. He was a proud young man, not used to letting his emotions and true feelings show out, to the surface.

He was one of those people you could never mistake for just a normal wizard, just an ordinary person. He was a Malfoy and that meant something. His name made him known everywhere he went; his features told the story of a young aristocrat, follower of the ancient Malfoy line, by looks and manners. He was everything a young pure-blooded wizard should hope to be. Or so his family and friends thought.

One day, this young man decided it was time for a new step in his life, a new beginning, perhaps.

He knew he was getting closer and closer. With each step it was only harder to move, The Apparation took a great deal of energy from his fragile body, but it was not only that that was slowing him down.

He overheard some things on the train back from school. He hoped he was doing the right thing, he hoped the address was accurate. He wished to believe that the Gryffindor was a true Gryffindor. He wished to believe that Harry Potter was his only, and right, way out.

Finally, he was there. He looked at those beautiful flower beds, the carefully mowed lawn and windows which were shining, spotless in the bright, sunny morning. Then, between two flower beds, he saw a person lying on the grass. He was almost completely hidden from view, but the young, exhausted man knew exactly who he was.

"Potter," he whispered hoarsely. He was not heard. He limped a few more steps until he came in full contact with this person he called Potter.

"Potter." It was the last word he remembered before he fell to the ground, unable to stand a second longer.

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"Who is he, then?" asked a female voice disgustedly, if even a bit curiously.

"I've already told you, he's someone I know from school." He wanted to tell his aunt to shut the hell up and not make him think about who exactly the person next to him was. However, he was more willing to give a better explanation when it came to his mind that he will need his aunt's help. "He's name is Draco Malfoy. His father is a very, very rich man and I am sure he would be pleased to hear you gave the proper treatment to his son." Yes, Malfoys had enough money to feed the entire population of China, but Lucius Malfoy would NOT be happy to hear where his only son, his only hope for the continuation of the Malfoy line, was sleeping at the moment. Harry Potter was not sure it would be a good idea to tell that to his aunt.

"Yes, we have enough money to feed the entire population of China, but my Father would NOT be happy to hear that I, his only son, his only hope for the continuation of the Malfoy line, am currently sleeping in the bed of one Boy-Who-Lived."

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, startled. He was obviously not expecting the blonde to wake up. "And if you are not happy with your sleeping arrangements, please do consider going out and never coming back. Plus, how the hell would you know if it's my bed or not?"

"Oh please! It has you written all over!" He refused to explain any further. Just when he was getting out of bed and arguing the 'considering going out and never coming back' point, he noticed his clothes...or lack of them, thereof. But then it started to hurt. All over. Every bone in his body, his skin and his hair...it all hurt so much that his legs buckled and he fell to the floor. Harry was readily at his side, supporting him and laying him carefully back to bed.

"I don't need your bloody help, Potter!" Draco protested and desperately tried to rid himself of Harry's firm grasp.

"I was under a different impression, Malfoy." Harry was angry. No, he was past angry, he was absolutely furious. Here he was, Draco Malfoy, lying in his bed, all mighty and powerful. He had been out for a day or so, but Dumbledore was called immediately after the blonde showed up. Before he left, Dumbledore had said that he had hoped for some time for something like this. He specifically pointed out that Harry should help the blonde, act as friendly as he could forwards him and let Draco stay as long as he could. Harry didn't understand any of it, but he didn't have much time to ask questions either, because Dumbledore left shortly after. The Slytherin was left at his care and protection. It made Harry furious.

"I was under the impression that someone beat the shit out of you and that you come here willingly, looking for help. And I was under the impression that Dumbledore knew exactly what was going on, which makes me angrier because I don't have a bloody idea as to why exactly you're here in the first place!" Harry yelled, the windows shook, Draco visibly paled and aunt Petunia flinched.

"Who took my clothes off?" Draco asked, completely startling both Harry and the still silent hoarse-like woman who was standing a few feet away from Harry.

"What?" Harry questioned as if it was the most ridiculous question in that moment.

"Potter, are you deaf, or just dumb? I asked who took my clothes off." Draco sighted.

"I...I did. Yesterday. They are of no use to you now. They were all dirty, bloody and thorn. We had to take them off before healing some of your minor wounds and putting you to bed."

"As though it would make any difference if I was sleeping in my clothes. Looking at the state of your room...." Draco trailed off with a smirk plastered firmly on his pale, pointy face. Aunt Petunia mentally congratulated the blonde. That, she could agree with. The state of the room was terrible. Papers, dust... To a normal person it would seem empty and maybe a little unused, but to someone like Petunia, it was the most horrible room ever.

Harry rolled his eyes, not even wanting to comment. "I need some explanations. Now," he said sternly.

Draco got serious immediately, and sat up on the bed, even though it required a great deal of energy on his behalf. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Everything! Why you suddenly showed up at my door, why you aren't one least bit worried about it and why Dumbledore seemed to be completely untouched by it. Does he know something I don't?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Draco sighted. "This is very difficult for me." He had to muster every ounce of courage he had to swallow the last bits of his pride and speak from the heart. "Ineedyourhelp."

"You, what?" Harry asked, stunned.

"I-need-your-help," Draco repeated slowly. "Don't make me say it again. Listen, I know we aren't friends at all. We don't have to be friends now, for all I care." He knew he lied about that, but he couldn't say how much he wanted to be friends with Harry, forget the past. "But I don't know who else to turn to. Dumbledore's been difficult to trace these days and well...at Hogwarts Express I heard where you lived. I just didn't know I would be coming here in this state." He showed to his weak body.

"Just get to the point, Malfoy," Harry ushered him.

"If you would let me finish, Potter..." Draco sighted and rolled his eyes. "We had a meeting. I mean, the Death Eaters, the Da---Dark Lord and I. They wanted--they wanted to make me one of their own. They wanted to mark me." Draco came to the point where he could barely talk anymore, but he collected himself and bravely went on. "There was Pansy, too. She took the mark. I am to be the next one to get it. They--they tortured us both. It was some sort of an initiation test. Bella, Snape--even--even my own father. They said that every servant of the Dark Lord had to go through it. My father was so very proud of me for being so resistant to pain," Draco grimaced. He looked down, breaking the eye contact with Harry. "No matter what you think of me, Potter, I don't want to be a Death Eater. Yes, there was a time when I was so bloody excited about it, but not anymore. Not now, not ever. Do you realize how difficult this is for me? I think you're my only chance and it's scary. I am possibly abandoning my Malfoy name and everything I have ever known because I don't want to be one of them. Do you understand that?"

Harry nodded and, for a few moments, no one spoke. The Gryffindor decided to break the silence. "You can't possibly go back to Malfoy Manor, can you?"

"That's it? That's all you have to say? You trust me? Do you really believe every word I said?" Draco asked, not believing how easy it was to convince Harry. Actually, he didn't even HAVE to CONVINCE him.

Harry lowered his head to look the blond directly in the eyes. "I believe you, Malfoy," he said truthfully.

"You're a bloody trusting Gryffindor. It could cost you your life some day, you know."

"Malfoy, I believe that you don't want to be a Death Eater. I believe that you needed to turn to someone, but that's just IT, Malfoy. You are far from earning my complete trust. Remember that."

"Like I would want anything more," Draco sneered. Their eyes met in a violent mix, like a chemical experiment gone wrong. It seemed as though it was the first time Draco really saw those eyes - those incredible green eyes. And before he knew what he was doing, he held up his hand. Harry looked at it, but after a few moments, when Draco was already ready to lower it down, Harry took it in a firm grasp. They shook hands.

"But, Malfoy, we don't have to be friends." It was more of a statement than a question. Harry was pacing around the room when Draco decided to answer.

"Potter," he called, searching for the Gryffindor's full attention. However, he lowered his eyes as soon as Harry turned to him. He suddenly found the sheets to be quite interesting. "No, we don't have to be friends."

Aunt Petunia snorted. Both Harry and Draco looked at her, surprised. Up until now she was completely invisible to them. They had forgotten she was even in the room.

"Erm...if you don't mind me asking...could I get some clothes?" Draco inquired silently.

"Seeing as Potter there took them off me and probably threw them out as last garbage, I don't have anything else to be in." Draco smirked. "And where the hell is my wand?!"

Aunt Petunia flinched. Her horse-like face turned chalk white and her eyes were growing rapidly. "Yes, I'll go--go get you some clothes. I'll see if I can find something." She hurriedly left the room.

"What's up with her?" Draco wondered.

"That's my Aunt Petunia. My Uncle, cousin and she hate magic. Try not to talk about it in front of her. Uncle Vernon is at a business trip and Dudley is visiting his friend for two weeks, so you're OK, basically. It's lunch soon and we'll go down if Aunt Petunia lets us and we'll talk about where you should stay, since there is no way you could go back to your father now." Harry said. "Here is your wand."

Aunt Petunia leaned to the door, trying to hear the conversation led by the two boys. She was in no way the wisest of women, but she was intuitive--due to the experience with watching her neighbors for years (it was her only fun activity). When she heard the young Malfoy's story, as well as the conversation between him and Harry, something inside her changed, even just for a bit.