Dreams Of Enchantment

//...// denotes thought
*...* denotes emphasis





"Harry, wake up!"

Harry Potter opened his eyes, blinking blearily into the sunlight fluttering through the open window. Birds chirped happily on the tree outside the window, making sure that Harry followed his mum's orders.

Wait. ...His mum?

"Mum?" he asked, hesitating. The red-head came to his doorway, peeking into the room, and a brilliant smile crept across her lips.

"Yes, dear? I'm glad you're awake; now you can get up. Your friends are downstairs, waiting for you."

"They are?" Harry asked, disbelieving. Why was his mum here? Hadn't Voldemort killed her years and years ago? Ignoring the nod that his mum gave, Harry stared curiously at her. Her hair fell to her waist, shining in the light, and her eyes sparkled a deep green, which appeared different shades of green when she shifted.

Frowning, Lily Potter stepped into the room, stepping over piles of clothing and scattered books and sports equipment, and brought her hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"Yes, Mum," Harry replied, shivering under the feel of his mum's hand. Lily's frown deepened at this, and sighed.

"If you're sure..."

"I am," he said quickly. "But... how did you get here? I thought..."

"The business trip ended early, don't you remember? So I came home yesterday afternoon. You were out cold, so your father carried you up here."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, "okay."

"Now hurry up and get dressed. You shouldn't keep Ron, 'Mione, and Draco waiting."

Harry watched his mum leave in horror. Draco? Draco Malfoy? His... friend? Voldemort had to have done *something* to him. He must've thrown him into a parallel universe, or something like that. He'd have to converse with Hermione about this. She had to be smart here, too, right?

Quickly standing, he glanced around the room. The floor was littered in clothing. Jeans, tee-shirts, and socks. Walking over to the dresser, he barely took notice to the sports magazines or the hockey stick lying in the room's corner. He pulled out jeans, a red tee-shirt, and socks from the drawers. After dressing, he carefully looked into the mirror above the dresser. His eyes were the same shade of green as he remembered, and his glasses, that were sitting on the dresser, were a gold frame. His hair was just as black and messy, so why did he feel different? Lifting his bangs, he instantly knew why. No lightning bolt scar.

He was still staring into his mirror when there was a knock on the door.

"Harry?"

Harry turned, and found Ron Weasley poking his head into the room. The hair colour was just as bright as he remembered.

"Your mum asked me to come and get you," Ron explained, walking into the room, "because you hadn't come down yet. Are you okay?"

"I'm not fine," Harry confessed, frowning. "Nothing is right."

"Have another fight with Draco?" Ron asked with a knowing smile.

"We fight everyday...." Harry protested weakly.

"Yes, true," Ron agreed with a laugh.

"Ron, can I ask you something strange?" Harry started, then looked expectantly at his friend. Ron nodded, so Harry continued. "Have you ever felt you didn't belong somewhere?"

Ron snorted. "You're asking the person who has five older brothers, a younger sister, and another sister on the way?"

"Another sister on the way?" Harry repeated.

Rolling his eyes, he nodded his head. "Yes, remember? I made that huge deal about it weeks ago? Complaining and whining? And you had to knock sense into me with your hockey stick?"

"Hockey stick?" Harry felt as stupid as he had the day he'd first gone to Diagon Alley.


Harry blinked, then stared at Ron before bursting out laughing. "'Mione... a cheerleader? That's...crazy!"

"So are you, it seems," Ron said.

"This *has* to be a joke," Harry muttered. "Does McGonagall know you guys are doing this? We could lose a lot of House points."

"Um, Harry. Why would we care what McGonagall thought when we're on Summer Break? And what are House Points?"

Harry stared at him, "Don't we go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Ron agreed, "Hogwarts High School."

"Don't you mean Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

It was Ron's turn to stare, then burst into laughter. "McGonagall would *suspend* you if she heard *that* coming from you! A witch school!"

"Its true, though," Harry argued. "We're both wizards, and Hermione is a witch."

"And what's Draco?"

"A toad's liver," Harry muttered, then quickly amended, "a wizard, too."

"Uh-huh," Ron snorted, "Right. I'm sure Hermione will just love this. Watch." Ron grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him from his room and down the hall into the living room, where Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were talking among themselves.

"About time," Hermione said, "sleeping late again, Harry?"

"Er, yes," Harry agreed faintly, eyes moving quickly between the two people. Hermione's hair was not how he remembered it. It was long and a darker brown, almost to her waist. Her teeth, like they were supposed to be, were straight and sparkling white. She wore a short dress that came to her knees made of a flower print. Then he glanced sideways at his Slytherin nemesis. His blond hair was cut short, stylishly, and was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, like himself. Ron wore the same, except he was in shorts.

"Hey, lover," Draco smiled at him, "should have told me you wanted to stay in bed all day! I would have joined you."

"Um," Harry stuttered, his mind going blank. //Please,// he thought, //don't mean what I think that means.// "What?"

"Ignore him, Harry," Ron said, "he's been whining all day to come and see you. But anyway," Ron turned to look at Hermione, "Harry called you a witch."

"What?" Hermione asked, eyes raising.

"Um, a good witch!" Harry amended, glaring at Ron, who only smiled.

"Really," Hermione mused.

"But it's true, you are...one."

"Oh that's wise," she snorted. "Keep talking and I'll show you what kind of witch I *will* be."

"Oooh," Draco and Ron echoed lowly in unison, and Harry blinked in surprise. Ron... and... Draco... were agreeing on something...?! He felt faint for a moment. And on top of that, Draco had called him *lover.* This was getting a little too weird, and he started to pinch himself, staring at his friends who were nearly strangers.

"You thinking I'm too good to be true again?" Draco leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "You're so great!"

"Cut it OUT, Malfoy!" Harry insisted, in shock. He was going to reach up and wipe away the soft, warm, moist feeling Draco's lips had left on his cheek, but looking at the expression of perfect surprise on Draco's face, he paused with his arm halfway up.

"I... I... Sorry, Harry..." Draco said, then quickly covered his hurt. "Maybe we shouldn't have woken you, you're an awful grump today."

"Nonsense, he's the one who wanted to go play roller-hockey!" Ron admonished. "Now, kiss and make up so we can go play."

"What are you *talking* about?" Harry moaned.

"Uh, hello," Ron reached out and tapped Harry on the forehead. "Anyone home in there? You called me last night and said you and Draco wanted to go out just for fun and shoot around the puck... uh, that's right, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Of course," said Draco, who had crossed his arms and was looking smaller and smaller every second. "But we don't have to play if Harry doesn't feel up to it."

Harry suddenly realized he'd hurt Draco's feelings, SOME how, SOME way.

"No, no, I'm sorry," he said from gut instinct, then glanced down at his toes. "I am... I'm just rather out-of-it this morning. Strange dreams."

He trailed off, and suddenly Draco's warm hand was holding his.

"More nightmares? No wonder you look so wonky."

"What kind of nightmares now? The same as before?" Hermione instantly asked, frowning.

"Oh, give it a rest 'Mione," Ron sighed, once again exasperated with a friend. "He's surely not going to babble it all out so Doctor 'Mione will solve his every need."

"It's okay, actually," Harry said, interrupting the beginning of Hermione's retort. "Dumbledore said it would be a good thing to talk to you guys about it..."

All three blinked, staring at Harry.

"When did you go to school and talk to Mr. Dumbledore?" Ron demanded.

"Um... Three days ago," Harry ventured at the confused glances.

"Mr. Dumbledore likes skiing?" Draco asked in disbelief. "I never saw him at the ski resort, Harry, and we were practically joined at the hip."

"Ski resort?" Harry blinked back. Three days ago they had not been skiing. In fact, they had been on the train coming home from Hogwarts, grieving over the death of Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff who had fallen victim to Voldemort. Instant tears came to his eyes as he remembered the Avada Kedavra curse. //It should have been me...//

"Oh, boy," Ron muttered under his breath. "He's in for it now."

Hermione had a very pained look on her face. Suddenly, Malfoy - er, Draco let go of Harry's hand and started to glare.

"Harry," Draco said in an incredibly sharp, Malfoy-ish voice, "that's really not funny!"

"Ohh, boy," repeated Ron, stepping slowly back behind Hermione, who stepped back, too.

"If you're sore over something and don't want to even tell me what," snapped Draco, "then fine. I'll *leave.* But that was horribly uncalled for!"

"Wait a moment!" Harry said, pained. "I'm not mad!"

"Then stop acting like we didn't just have our one-year anniversary!" Draco said, frustrated. "It was one of the best weeks of my entire life, Harry... and..."

//One... year... anniversary... with... MALFOY... at... a... SKI-LODGE?// Harry's mind slowly processed. He found his hand moving suddenly, and the back of his hand touched Draco's softly before his fingers curled around Draco's, causing an immediate softening in those icy eyes Harry knew so well, yet were so unfamiliar.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to act so daft," he said, apologizing yet again for not remembering a fact that his friends found to be so obvious. This day was just shaping up to be too surreal... was he going to wake up any moment now in his warm bed at Hogwarts and hear Seamus' loud laughter, smell the breakfast being cooked in the kitchen, and moan because he forgot to do his Herbology assignment?

"I'm sorry, too... I'm just scared you're going to leave me someday. You know me."

Draco leaned in and rested his forehead gently on Harry's shoulder, and Harry sent a rather alarmed look at Hermione and Ron, who looked considerably relieved.

"Well, that was easy," approved Hermione. "Can we go now, you two, or do you have another hurdle to jump over before you finally get me on a pair of skates?"

Draco laughed into his shoulder, snuggling in a little too close for comfort.

"No, no! I'm looking forward to THAT sight, 'Mione."

"Laugh while you can, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.

Harry watched the banter and abruptly moved away from Draco, causing him to stumble in surprise. "Uh, listen. I'll meet you guys in a few minutes. Gotta go get my... skates, and check on Hedwig."

Harry didn't notice the confused chorus of "Hedwig?" as he left, in the search for his skates. Or the frown on Draco's face.

His search of his skates led him into the kitchen, where he found four people that he least expected to find. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and... his father.

"Hey, Harry!" Sirius smiled as Harry came into the kitchen. The teen smiled a lop-sided smile, and frowned. "Something wrong?"

"Yes, I mean no..." Harry said. "I don't know. Everything! And why are you in the open, Sirius? With *him*?" Harry pointed at Peter, eyes darkening. Nobody said a word, and finally, his father broke the silence.

"Harry," James started, "Your mum said she didn't think you're feeling very well. Are you sure that you're all right?"

Harry tore his attention from Sirius, and looked at the lanky form of James Potter, and felt his breath catch in his throat. He looked just like all the pictures, and it was almost too much. He blinked several times, telling himself he couldn't cry. Not now, not when he had a chance to talk to him. He wouldn't let *any* of them see him cry, especially Peter, who would for sure note and file that little information away for his master.

James exchanged quick glances with Remus, and spoke again, "Son, you look like you've never seen me before..."

"It's because I haven't!" he choked out in a whisper, and whirled on his feet, leaving the kitchen in a hurry. He barely registered the fact that he left another group of very confused and worried people.

* * * * *

//This cannot be real. This absolutely cannot be happening! I'm dreaming. Surely I'm dreaming!//

Blood pulsing through his veins and pounding in his ears, Harry darted through the dining room and down the hallway to his room, leaving Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy all sitting in the living room.

//Have to... wake up...!//

The back of his mind seemed to know the floor plan of this house by heart, and he didn't have to think about it to get to what he knew was his room at all. And of course, upon storming through the door and slamming it loudly behind him, he suddenly realized this, and broke out into a cold sweat.

His body slumped back against the door and he closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Harry tried to recall something, anything about - his real life...

Snowflakes and Hermione with a flame in a jar, her black robes swishing around her feet.

Ron submerged deep under water, fast asleep, with an eerie greenish light cast over his features.

Malfoy with mud dripping down his face, staring at a spot six feet away from Harry, who had been under his invisibility cloak at the time.

finding his wand - or rather, his wand finding him - at Ollivander's, feeling the magic rustle back his hair...

His wand.

Harry set to tear apart his room, ripping his clothes off the floor and tossing them onto his mussed-up bed, in search of his wand.

//Please... it *has* to be here somewhere! If this is a dream... well, you can control dreams, right? Lucid dreaming! My wand is *somewhere* in here!//

A knock sounded at his door, but Harry ignored it in favor of plowing through his closet. A few moments later, it opened a little.

"Cleaning your room, are you?" asked Malfoy's voice.

"Looking for my wand!" replied Harry, distracted.

Draco closed the door behind him, casting a significantly worried look at Harry. "Your... what?"

"My..." Harry paused to sit back on his haunches and look at Malfoy, whose eyes were wide with concern. "Skates," he finished for some reason.

Draco hopped easily over a pile of magazines. "Why, are they not under your bed?"

"Oh. Under the bed. Good idea," grunted Harry, continuing to paw through the miscellaneous junk in his closet. Harry heard the squeaking of springs as Draco sat on the edge of Harry's bed, moving a pile of tee shirts and jerseys back.

"Talk to me, Harry," he said reproachfully. "Something's bothering you... if you're not ill, what's wrong? Your mum and dad are sort of worried... and... well, so am I..."

"Where's - er - my hockey stick?" asked Harry distractedly. "I do have one, don't I?"

"What? It's in the garage with your padding, for Christ's sake! HARRY!"

"Huh?"

Harry stopped and sat back again, panting a little. Draco's face was positively confused. He looked down for a moment, then patted the clear space next to him on Harry's bed.

"Come sit next to me."

The proximity implied made Harry pale, then blush. Avoiding Malfoy's eyes, Harry slowly got up and made his way to the bed, all sorts of thoughts running through his head. Namely, how could he be with Malfoy here when he hated him so much? And Malfoy hated him, too, it wasn't like it was a one-sided disgust. He took extra care not to sit *too* close to the boy.

There came a finger to his chin.

"Look at me."

He let Malfoy direct his face up and towards him reluctantly, and had to hold back a small gasp of shock. Draco's eyes were so much more open than he'd ever seen them before, and it was almost like... he could see past the smoky-gray irises into Draco's mind.

"Now," Draco prompted softly. "Talk to me."

"I think I'm going mad," said Harry immediately, wishing he could look away again. But Draco's face was warm, had a flush of happy life in it, and it was too startlingly pretty not to look at.

//Pretty, no, I didn't just think that...! I've stayed too long!//

"Oh, well, we all think that about you. After all, you're no ordinary boy, Harry."

Smiling, Draco moved his finger up Harry's jawline, then slid a soft hand over his cheek.

"No?" Harry asked dully, wondering whyever not. He wasn't a wizard. He didn't have a wand or a snowy owl. And if Voldemort hadn't killed his parents, then he wasn't The Boy Who Lived, so what made him anything but ordinary?

Harry found himself closing his eyes slowly as Draco's hand made it back around his neck, toying with the hair there gently. But he opened them again when he realized what he was doing.

"Mmm, of course not. You've been the star of the Lions for years now, you're the most talented bloke at school. You're half past mad with all you take on..."

"All I take on," echoed Harry. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an entire bookcase full of trophies. Hockey ribbons and trophies were practically overflowing the shelves, as well as newspaper articles ("'Time Out' With Harry Potter - Meet The Year's Most Valued Junior Athlete") and other things he couldn't even begin to sort out.

"Don't let it get to you, Harry. You know I'm always going to be here for you," Malfoy said softly. "And Ron and Hermione, too... they've been your best friends way longer than I've known you... you have to let them help you. And you have to start getting out and having fun. We had a lot of fun at the lodge, didn't we?"

Draco placed a comforting arm around Harry's shoulders, and from somewhere, an immense sense of relief flooded through Harry's body. He let his enemy pull him in a little closer, cheek pressing against Harry's head comfortingly.

//I wish... I could remember,// Harry thought distantly, calling up all his mental pictures of Malfoy from the first time they'd met in Madam Malkin's...

"I love you, Harry. Just remember that, won't you?"

Harry froze at the words, completely shocked.

//Draco... Malfoy. Malfoy loves me. We just had our one-year anniversary... we've been together for... so long... and he loves me?//

Draco's other hand caressed gentle fingers on Harry's chin, tilting his face up once more, and Harry's breath left him as Draco pressed soft, sensitive lips onto his. There was a flush of surprise, then of panic, then of something else entirely that had no name. Draco's mouth was gentle and experienced-feeling upon his, gently trying to coax Harry's mouth into movement with his.

//I... I'm not ready for this!// Harry panicked. But to his surprise, Draco didn't push, or pull back and question his unresponsiveness, only moving his lips tenderly.

//I love you, Harry,// Draco had said. //Just remember that, won't you?//

And suddenly, Harry was timidly moving his mouth back, scared out of his wits, but not wanting to move from the sweet, soft pressure.

Draco's fingers curled a little at the back of Harry's head, and Harry could tell that this kiss meant a lot to Draco. He put a little more effort into it, and then Draco delivered another thing he wasn't ready for: tongue. Harry gasped sharply at the warm, wet intrusion, and cursed himself afterwards for his stupidity. The gasp had left his mouth wide open for Draco, who seemed to like familiarizing (refamiliarizing, realized Harry, flushing heatedly) himself with Harry's tongue. At first, it was completely unsavory, and Harry wanted to gag, but after a few moments, he grew used to the intruding, wet, hot feel of it, trying to be brave and participate, and it slowly grew... actually... rather pleasurable.

And naturally, Draco pulled back just when Harry was beginning to like it.

"Hm," Draco smiled. "You really are out of it today... that reminded me of our first French kiss."

Harry reddened even more.

"Remember it?" Draco asked fondly. Harry nodded, though he had no actual memory of the event. "At the homecoming game... in the bleachers, under Ron's jacket..."

Draco had apparently gotten in the mood for another kiss, even a sloppy one, because he attacked Harry's mouth again. This time, Harry was semi-prepared, and it actually felt good to have Draco pressing him back into the pile of soft clothes, flat chest against his, tongue insistent and frantic with his. And Draco made an intensely interesting noise in the back of his throat that made Harry feel funny in places he didn't know had nerve endings.

The two of them jumped when the door opened again, and to their relief, it was just Ron peering in.

"Oh, jeez, do you two ever engage in any OTHER kind of stimulating activity?"

The innocent smile Draco gave Ron said it all.

"Well, since you've taken my advice on the kiss and make up issue, what say we actually go out and play some hockey now?"

"Oh, if we must," Draco said lazily, in the exact kind of drawl Harry would have expected from him normally. Harry coughed, embarrassed, and Draco moved a little to let him sit up dizzily.

"My... gear. Is. In the garage," Harry panted.

"Indeed," said his boyfriend, smiling. "And your skates?"

"Under the bed," said Harry.

Draco just laughed. "Let's go. It's the nicest day ever outside... and I intend to laugh quite heartily at Hermione trying to skate."

* * * * *

"Harry, are you okay?" Harry sat up, looking dazedly around his surroundings. A park -- it appeared to be the park a block from the Dursleys' -- how did he get *here*? Ron and Hermione stared worriedly down at him.

"Oh, yeah," he assured them, blinking as the sunlight hit his eyes as they shifted. "I had the strangest dream. That I woke up to this place I didn't know, and I had parents, and Malfoy was my *boyfriend.*"

There was a silence, and Harry continued on, oblivious, "And, get this, you guys were there, trying to convince me I'm a hockey player, and I've never been on a pair of skates in my *life*! Give me a broom, and the Quidditch field, any day, I tell you. I still remember when I was seven and Dudley tried to get me on skates, and I broke my leg in two places, because he pushed me down a hill. And how did I get here, anyway?"

"How hard did he hit his head?" Harry turned when he heard the voice of Draco Malfoy, approaching with ice in a hand towel. Draco knelt in front of him, staring hard at his face. His lips were in a tight frown as he applied the towel to Harry's head, even before he could squeak out a protest.

"He might have a concussion," Hermione murmured, tearing her eyes from Harry and looking at Draco.

"Concussion?" Draco asked in shock. "I don't think he hit the wall THAT hard. Can you get up, Harry?" Draco offered a hand to help him up.

"Yes, of course," he snapped, ignoring Draco's hand. The world turned topsy-turvy, and he crashed back to the hard cement. He faintly realized that he was in a pair of skates. //It's not a dream?// Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. What *happened* to him?

"Are you sure you're okay?" Draco asked again.

"I.... Maybe I could use some help," Harry finally consented. Draco smiled warmly at him, and took his hand, bringing him wobbly to his feet.

"Can you skate?" Ron asked, backing up from the duo. "Maybe you should rest, Harry..." he added when Harry wobbled, and stumbled back into Draco.

"Maybe he just wants someone to hold him," Draco snickered, placing his arms firmly around Harry's waist. "Not that I blame him."

Harry was busy turning red again with the feel of Draco's arms in a circle around him. Hermione smiled, and Ron just raised his eyes heavenward like he'd *never* get used to seeing Harry and Draco together, even though they'd apparently been dating for a year.

"I'm fine," he sighed stubbornly, shaking his head. It was like there was a massive gray cloud in some areas of it, and he was so sick and tired of being so confused, and it all felt so REAL, even though it couldn't possibly be. After all, he harbored no memories of befriending Ron and Hermione other than at Hogwarts, no memory of spending time with Draco if they weren't slinging insults or mud. But he kept trying to remember, and nothing was coming, and all he felt was frustration and confusion and discomfort at being upon a pair of roller blades that threatened to slip from under him and land him on his head again.

"I'm beginning to think you *are* ill, Harry, and of course, you'd never admit it," Hermione speculated. "You seem weak and irritable... I've never seen you not be able to brake on your skates before."

"You probably laid awake all night thinking too much. Idiot." Draco squeezed him a little. It was such a contrast, being held so affectionately and being spoken to in that Malfoy tone.

"Harry's resilient!" Ron clapped him on the back, and with his wrist guard on, he made quite a crack on Harry, who nearly slipped and would have landed on his arse if he hadn't been supported by Draco. "He always bounces back. Another go, then? What do you say?"

Harry mumbled, "Sure."

"You're all against me," sighed Hermione, as shaky on her skates as Harry was on his. "If this is another ploy to get me on my back, Ron Weasley..."

Ron just grinned and skated away before Hermione could whack him with her hockey stick.

"So, Harry, love, when are we going to have a repeat of the ski trip?" At Harry's blank look, Draco whispered into his ear. Harry's face went scarlet, and he began to stumble on his skates.

Hermione watched from where she skated aimlessly in a circle, trying to get the feel of not being grounded on the ground. Glancing to Ron, she said, "Something tells me we aren't going to do anymore skating today. Should we head back?"

Ron, oblivious to her comment, began to skate, circling the puck. After a moment of silence, Hermione smiled as she was able to move over behind him, and with a smack of her stick, sent the puck flying.

"Hey!" Ron protested, whirling to look at her. His eyes widened, "You stayed up this time!"

"All in a day's work," she said proudly.

"Uh, guys..." Draco began, looking up from Harry. His eyes narrowed as he watched the puck disappear. "It went into Knockturn Alley. Those Slytherin bastards are going to be pissed."

"Slytherin? Knockturn Alley?" Harry perked up, then quickly frowned at the looks he received.

"Great," Ron moaned dramatically, "that's the fourth puck we've lost this week! Diagon Alley Rentals aren't going to be happy with us, you know."

"Diagon Alley?" Harry said, dumbly. This was getting *too* weird. Almost every person or place he knew was here. The worlds were mixing, and... and...

"Duh, Harry," Ron said, "you know, where we skate everyday?"

"Oh, right," Harry agreed faintly.

"I think," Hermione began, "we better get home before they send Crabbe and Goyle after us again. I still have nightmares from the *last* time they confronted us."

"I'm with you," Ron said, and Draco nodded his agreement. Harry just followed them, lost in his own thoughts.

* * * * *

As they walked from the park opposite the direction of Knockturn Alley, they stepped into a bustling, colorful-looking street full of shops and restaurants of all sorts, stretching down a clean street. Harry peered around for street signs - and sure enough, Diagon Alley crossed with Privet Drive. He must have made an incredibly odd face, for Draco nudged him.

"For the millionth time, you're not going to be sick into the nearest trash can, are you?"

"No, I just..."

Draco's face clouded over momentarily. "Oh," he whispered. "Of course. I'm sorry."

Harry paused, pretending to look in the window of a place called Malkin's Finery. Was Draco finally getting a clue? Suddenly understanding that Harry was *not* his Harry? He could see Draco's hushed face in the reflection, standing behind him. Ron and Hermione were up ahead, walking still without notice that they'd stopped.

"You do understand... don't you.... Draco?" Harry found himself murmuring slowly. Draco slid a hand around his waist.

"You know I do," he assured Harry softly. Harry's heart took a shallow dive. No. Draco didn't understand. He was still going on about being tired. Being sick. Whatever they all thought he was.

//Probably completely insane,// he realized. //I've been harking about Mum and Dad being dead, and... they're not... here. This can't be a dream... the sunlight is too warm... I smell Italian food... Draco's mouth... I can still taste him. What is this place, and why have I woken up here? Maybe Voldemort really did send me into a parallel world... and if he did... how do I get back?//

He stared at his forehead in the window.

//Do I... want to go back to a place where my parents are dead and everyone's out to kill me?//

"No," Draco yelled, and Harry whirled around.

"What?!" he yelped. Had Draco heard his thoughts??

"Oh. Do you *want* to get ice cream?" asked Draco, looking at him with surprise.

"Get ice cream?" he asked blankly. "What?"

"See," sighed Draco, "this is exactly my point. You're not functioning well today. I think we ought to head back to your house... but if you do want to get ice cream with Ron and Hermione, that's fine, too."

"Oh..." Harry breathed in realization, catching onto the fact that Ron and Hermione were making a tinkly bell sound as they waved and entered a quaint ice cream shoppe. He stared at the chiseled glass of its clean main window. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

So it existed here, too.

It was all just... too much. Every time he adjusted slightly, something new came along, and he grew even more confused and bewildered. If this was a dream, it was a pretty powerful dream... and if not... he didn't even want to think about his life at the Dursleys' and at Hogwarts being a dream. It couldn't possibly be. Ever! All his memories, all his times... it was just as real as this.

//I'm not crazy... I'm not... What's happening... I'm so scared...//

"I'd like to go home," he told Draco softly, suddenly stepping in much closer to the boy. The blonde boy looked triumphant, but in a nice way instead of a malicious one. His face was so much more handsome when it wasn't sour and superior-looking.

"I know you better than you know yourself, silly git. If you want," Draco added as an after-thought, "we can make eyes at your mum and get her to make us a milkshake... your house always has that kind of stuff, right? I bet she will. And then we can share it, just the two of us... without strangers to stare at you. Does that sound nice?"

Harry nodded, profoundly thankful. Even if Draco didn't understand that Harry didn't belong here, he understood that something wasn't right... and though Harry wasn't *his* Harry, he seemed to know just what to say to make him feel a little better about everything.

* * * * *

Harry and Draco walked home in silence, their gear in opposite hands and the hands between them joined (it was sweaty... why did Draco want to hold a sweaty hand?) and their eyes taking in the cheerful neighborhood full of old, but happy, houses. As they walked along the sidewalk, their hands swung a little, and their skates dangled against their back annoyingly, but Harry found that he was getting a bit more comfortable with the status-quo of his relationship with this Malfoy... even if that risqué comment was completely more than he needed to know and the first kiss Harry had tasted earlier hung in the back of his mind heavily. But... holding hands... a peck on the cheek... Draco liked him here, and it was pointless to argue. The last thing he needed, Harry realized, was Malfoy hating him here, too. He held Draco's hand back.

//This life is a lot less eventful, but it's... nice not to have death hanging everywhere like ugly curtains. And I want to hug my Mum and Dad so much when we get home.//

Home... the word felt lovely just to think about.

Home turned out to be back up Diagon Alley, through the park, up a quiet road, and left onto a street called Godric's Hollow. It wasn't nearly as fussy as the Privet Drive Harry had lived on with the Dursleys'; it had much more personality, and Harry liked it so much more just from the mere sight of it. The house was wooden with buttercup yellow shutters and daisies growing in the front garden.

He followed Draco's lead into his driveway, which he only vaguely recognized as being his, as one would in a dream even if they were walking into a house they'd never lived in. He hopped a little through the tiny front lawn in excitement to see his parents. Draco shot him a grin, and Harry found it lovely, squeezing Draco's hand.

"You're a wonder today."

"So are you," said Harry, in amusement. If only Draco could understand... he seemed as if he could. He was so much nicer, so much more open and real, that Harry wanted to slap himself.

//I've managed to land one of those boyfriends they profile in Witch Weekly,// he thought to himself. He and Draco cut through the garage, leaving their gear at the door in a messy heap. As an afterthought, Cho came to mind. //I wonder... I... wonder if she's here too? And Cedric...//

A pang of pain made his stomach flop, but it soon disappeared as they opened the door to the kitchen and Harry heard his mother calling out,

"Hello? Boys, is that you?"

"We're home," Harry found himself calling back. Lily's smiling face made his heart break. She was *so* beautiful, and so... alive. Breaking from Draco, Harry strode forward and threw his arms around her shoulders.

"Oh! Harry," she laughed, surprised at first, then hugging him back with equal intensity. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, breathing in the kitcheny, clean, soapy smell of her. His eyes welled up even though he was squinching the urge to cry. "Yes..."

//For the first time, everything's all right.//

"... Are you sure?" she laughed a little, but she sounded worried.

"We decided that home would be the better option today," Draco stated vaguely, closing the kitchen door with a squeak. Harry hugged her, still, not able to speak; he tried to convey how much love he felt through his hug only barely remembering not to squeeze the woman to death.

"Oh, I see." His mum's arms tightened around him, and two tears leaked onto her soft sweater. Harry sniffed a little and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the tears. Then, he saw his father sitting at the dining room table, looking up from the chess board he and Remus Lupin were sitting at with a quizzical, somewhat concerned look on his face. And Harry managed to step away from his mom, walking blindly towards his dad.

"Harry? Son, what's..."

James Potter found himself with a heap of hockey player in his lap, awkward because Harry was nearly the size of him, and too old to be sitting on his lap anyway. But he squeezed Harry to him anyway, feeling tears on his neck.

"I'm sorry," Harry's muffled voice said. "I'm just happy you're alive."

Remus and James shared a careful look.

"I'm happy too, Harry. I am too."

His father smelled like shaving cream and, eternally, like the Gryffindor common room. He breathed in deeply. The smell was so familiar that it was comforting. The smell of the common room existed here, even. Or maybe he'd made up the smell of the common room from the way his father smelled.

God, he was so confused. So scared. But his father's arms were strong around him. He felt protected. It was amazing.

He turned his head on his father's shoulder so he could stare at his mum, trying to keep the tears blinked away. Lily was looking back at him, with his very eyes set into her beautiful, delicate face. Draco stood next to her. Harry managed a smile at them both.

His mum jumped a little, like she was embarrassed for something, sending an impish grin back at him. Harry nearly melted with complete adoration. He loved his mum and dad so much... so much.

Lily glanced at Draco, who smiled uneasily at her. She reached up a hand and ruffled his blond hair into a mess, like Harry's hair constantly was. It looked odd to see Draco's carefully-kept hair looking so ruffled, like he'd just stepped off the Quidditch field.

"And how are you, Draco?"

"Brilliant, Mum," grinned Draco, sheepish at the hand through his hair.

//He calls her 'Mum'!// Harry bit back an amazed snort. His father patted him on the back, and he sat up, immediately trying to slide fingers under the frames of his glasses and wipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"You all right, mate?" his father smiled at him. Harry couldn't help a grin not unlike Draco's sheepish one.

"I'm feeling better."

"Just not ready to go out and face it all quite yet, are you?" James pulled him in for another embrace.

"You have no idea," murmured Harry, wondering how his father could be so empathetic. Had he recently been ill here? Everyone was treating him as if he might break at any moment - that he was incoherent or suffering a relapse when he'd babbled about Dumbledore. Perhaps the trip to the ski lodge Draco had mentioned had gotten him sick or something... everyone was certainly acting like it.

"You just better sit in here with us for a while," advised James, running thin, long fingers through Harry's hair. "If you want to talk, you know we're here."

Harry nodded, even though he felt like he ought to be shaking his head. The last thing he wanted to do was slip up talking about something that was different here than in the real world...

"Mum?" he spoke up tentatively. Lily looked at him, and he realized he hadn't actually had anything to say... he just liked saying her name out loud as such. So he quickly pulled something out of nowhere. "Do we have any ice cream?"

"Ice cream? About five cartons full," his mum laughed, walking to the freezer. "Sundae or shake, kiddo?"

"Shake..." Harry glanced at Draco. "Just one... Draco and I want to share it."

Draco nearly beamed.

* * * * *

Listening to the conversation at the table, Harry had picked up on several things. One, it was completely uncomfortable to be sitting here at the table across from Peter Pettigrew, who was laughing loudly with the Marauders like they were the best of friends. Which... they were, he supposed. Two, there was no mention of Death Eaters, Voldemort, Snape, or anything ill in nature. They all seemed determined to keep things light, and Harry mostly listened instead of joining in on the conversation.

Harry and Draco were squished into one chair, Harry half on Draco's lap, which he found okay, for some reason. It was like was a puzzle piece, and all day he'd been trying to slip into place, but the corners weren't exactly matching up, and now, sitting with Draco, his parents, his godfather, and his favorite teacher, he seemed to be tentatively edging into place. They all laughed and poked at each other around him, and he and Draco shared the most excellent milkshake Harry had ever had. His mum was beautiful, shining next to his grinning dad, who was as devious as Sirius. Lupin was healthy-looking, getting his fair share of jabs in at his friends while somehow looking amazingly innocent next to his dad and Sirius, and Peter just laughed and seemed like a happy, nice person, so different from the panicking man who had begged for his life that Harry had always known, always hated.

He tried to take it all in, but he didn't understand most of it, and he was feeling immensely tired from the stress of the day. He started to droop back against Draco, who only cuddled him reassuringly, even in front of his parents. Harry supposed that they had gone to the ski-lodge with them...

Most of all, three: his mum loved Draco. She was always smiling at them like they were unbearably cute, like Hermione, while his dad keenly avoided any issues that involved Harry and Draco's love life, changing all the conversation that veered towards Draco onto something else. It was puzzling, but Harry understood... it's the way he would have acted.

The most blatant example came when his mum said,

"Darling, you look so tired. You must not have slept a wink last night... perhaps you should go lay down?"

Harry found himself nodding wearily, and he and Draco stood.

"Hmm, Draco... if you go with him, leave the door open a bit, huh?" his dad asked, peering at Draco, who laughed uncomfortably and made an agreeing noise.

Remus made a coughing sound, and Sirius only smiled lopsidedly, saying, "You look beat, you do."

"Want me to wake you for dinner?" his mum asked, and Harry thought for a moment.

"No," he declined. "I'm full from the shake, thanks."

Lily looked dubious. "You only had half a shake... and no breakfast."

"C'mon, Harry, you need something in you," Draco poked at him, and suddenly Remus choked and James did a double-take. Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, honestly..."

Sirius hid his mouth behind his hand and tried to look unamused, and was failing desperately. Peter was rather red.

"James, really." Lily nearly smacked her husband on the arm. "You're as immature as the day I married you."

James managed a grin. "Thanks."

The Marauders all began to laugh... hard. Draco was slowly stepping behind Harry.

"Er..." Harry finally said, "bye then."

"Have a good rest, you two," Lily said reassuringly, then hot glares at the four men around her.

* * * * *

Draco purposefully shut the door. "I don't suppose your dad will ever tire of making me squirm."

"Aren't you supposed to leave that open?" asked Harry, heading towards his laundry-covered bed.

It was like Draco had gotten caught at nearly turning someone's hair green. "No..."

"Ever the disobedient one," sighed Harry.

"Oh, always!" said the blond boy.

Harry began knocking laundry off his bed back onto the floor, shooting Draco a pointed look. "Are we going to rest?"

"Absolutely. Of course. Have you no faith in me?" Draco managed a wounded look, coming over to help him with the removal of the clothes from his bed.

"Bad faith," muttered Harry.

"Oh, ahaha. You're so like your father, never letting such things go."

Harry grinned a little. "He does seem to not trust you quite as much as mum does."

"Understatement," Draco clipped. He pulled back Harry's navy blue comforter, revealing white sheets and an old, very raggedy-looking teddy bear. "Oh... sleeping around on me, I see."

Harry blinked. "...What?"

Draco laughed, eyes glinting. "Oh, don't even try to deny it. I know you're sleeping with Mister Bear!"

Flopping down onto his bed, Harry glared up at Draco. "On second thought, I don't know *why* you and Dad don't get along better!"

Draco tucked "Mister Bear" against his chest, hugging it a little. "Oh, you know I'm just being mean for the sake of my reputation. I don't mind that you sleep with your bear every once in a while. I don't, honestly. You know that, right?"

Harry only nodded instead of muttering, "No?" like he wanted to.

"In fact," Draco suggested playfully, "I think we should make it a menage a trois!" With that, he plunked into bed beside Harry, laying down just as comfortably as if it were his own bed, making Harry wonder even more, and patted the space beside him with wide, inviting eyes.

//Bedroom eyes,// Harry thought out of nowhere, now feeling reluctant to trust his boyfriend, nearly as much as his dad was. After all, the door was closed, and... if... he... or this illusion's Harry and Draco were intimate...

"Lay down?" requested Draco. "Come on, don't deny Mister Bear some due cuddle-time."

Harry suddenly snorted, and grumbled, "Honestly, when did you become such a dork?"

Draco just smiled in pleasure as Harry laid down next to him, warily facing him. "I don't know. You make me feel happy and stupid, all right?"

"It's just so unMalfoyish of you," murmured Harry, finding his eyelids becoming heavy.

Draco's smile drifted away like cloud covering the sun, eyes falling away from Harry's like the moon disappearing. "What, do you want me to be an arsehole?"

Harry's eyes opened fully again in surprise. "Well, no," he exclaimed. He hadn't mean to tread into sensitive territory... but how could he have known? Malfoy had always been *proud* of his father before today... he felt himself lapsing into confusion again. Draco was as volatile as ever in reaction to Harry, that was for certain. Apologetically, Harry leaned his head in on Draco's shoulder, and again felt Draco's cheek rest against his head. He watched with bleary eyes as Draco's hands made Mister Bear wiggle and bend on his stomach, worn-out feet dragging Draco's black tee shirt in odd directions across his skin.

"Tip-toe... through the tulips... by the garden..."

Harry snorted again when he realized what Draco was singing under his breath, and that Mister Bear was in fact, dancing to the tune of this song. Dudley used to watch cartoons with singing animals, and he recognized the song from the old black and white shows.

"That's where I'll be... come tip-toe... through the tulips... with me..."

Mister Bear, or rather, Draco, ended the tap-dance by rubbing the bear's nose in an Eskimo kiss against Harry's nose. Harry couldn't help smiling in amusement. If only the real, Hogwarts Malfoy could see himself - he'd probably want to curl up and die on the spot. Draco tucked in Mister Bear between him and Harry, then slung an arm over him and curled in a little closer.

Harry couldn't help feeling relieved. Maybe he was wrong about assuming Draco would... well... he couldn't think about it. He uncurled a hand from his side and found himself grasping at the loose material of Draco's tee, too afraid to touch Draco in any other way at the moment. Draco's hand was gentle as it began to minutely stroke Harry's back.

//So confused... scared... happy. This... Draco... Mum and Dad.//

And Harry slept.

* * * * *

Harry woke, sweat clinging in beads to his forehead.

"Tip-toe... through the tulips... by the garden..."

He touched his forehead and looked around wildly. His voice cut through the merry, exaggerated singing.

"Draco?" Then he felt it - the rough, mended flesh of the scar on his forehead, hidden beneath his mess of sweaty bangs. And his chest hitched. And he finally realized where he was.

In his bed, in his room - his real room - at the Dursleys'.

It was still, completely silent except for Harry's heart pounding over the ridiculous singing he could hear from the television in Dudley's room.

"That's where I'll be... come tip-toe... through the tulips... with me..."

Harry stared at his ceiling, breathing in silent but large breaths, trying to place himself. What day was it? What hour? He'd been sleeping... what a wild dream... an unbelievable dream... His heart suddenly plummeted painfully, and hot tears were stinging at his eyes again.

"Mum and Dad," he whispered, slowly rolling over onto his side. A tear trickled hotly over his nose, meeting the pillow in a pinprick of noise. His legs slowly drew up to his chest as he struggled not to totally lose it. God... he'd had dreams... terrible ones... ones that disturbed him to no end... but never one so incredibly vivid. He could remember every tiny detail to perfection! Just recalling the smell of his mother, the arms of his father, the yellow shutters on his house, sharing a milkshake with someone who loved him like they did in cheesy films - it made him ache rawly in his gut.

"Mum," he whispered again, suddenly breaking and letting a sob out. His tears melted into the worn pillowcase, seeping out wet and salty and warm. The droning of Dudley's ridiculous cartoons that he shouldn't want to bother watching in his age anyway was drowned out by the sudden grief Harry was feeling.

He'd lost his parents all over again.

And Cedric... Cedric was still dead.

And Draco was still his arch nemesis.

It was all too much to deal with... just too much.

//I sure made up a bloody great life for myself,// Harry thought miserably. //God... it hurts.//

If he'd thought seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised and appearing from Voldemort's wand was difficult, this was ten times worse. In that wonderful dream he'd spent half a day in the midst of people who loved him intensely, and now? The Dursleys. It was like waking up to a black hole.

Harry cried himself back to sleep.

***