Play The Game

All he could see were blurs of different colours, all merging into one colour; grey. Harry blinked, blocking everything out then bringing it back into sharper detail, so the colours were no longer smudged. He was stood onto of a hilltop where the wind was blowing furiously, slipping between the cracks and crevices that were ruins of an old castle. He stepped forward, a single piece of hair landing across his forehead.

At first, he thought he was alone, but there was someone else with him, stood near one of the crumbling pieces of rock. Their back was to him, but he could already tell who it was, from the short white-blonde hair moving slightly in the wind. He stepped closer.

"Draco?" he asked tentatively.

"What?" the figure asked rudely. The voice was familiar, definitely Draco's, but lighter, higher, younger. Unbroken. He turned to glare at Harry.

Harry stared at the miniature Draco stood facing him on the hilltop, and was suddenly lost for words.

"Boggart got your tongue?" Draco asked unpleasantly, walking towards him and folding his arms across his eight-year-old chest.

"No, actually," Harry replied slowly, raising his voice over the wind and continuing to stare at this mini-Draco. "Where am I?"

"The same place as me," the younger version of Draco replied. He tossed his head haughtily, hair whipping and curling in the wind. "Or rather, I'm in the same place as you." He looked Harry up and down. "Unfortunately."

"Right." Harry moved away from Draco and looked around. The sky was the same colour grey as Draco's eyes when he was depressed or unhappy, and seemed to stretch forever in every direction. He couldn't see much else.

"Why am I here?" he asked, turning back to Draco and looking down at him with a slight frown.

"You've passed out," Draco informed him lightly, walking over to sit on a wall.

"If I'm passed out, why am I walking and talking?" Harry replied sourly. This younger version of Draco was reminding him of how much they had hated each other in the first five years at Hogwarts.

Draco gave him a flat look, the rounder, younger face somehow hardening the expression in its strange unfamiliarity. "This is all in your head," he told Harry. "You've cracked."

"Thanks," Harry replied sarcastically, walking over to sit on a piece of the castle also. "So why are you here?"

"Who else would answer all your bloody questions?" Draco asked disdainfully.

"Draco," Harry replied promptly, before adding, "The older one."

"Draco's not here," the eight-year-old Draco answered simply.

"I know."

"Oh, maybe your eyes do work, then," Draco said, waving splayed fingers in front of Harry's face. "How many fingers, Potter? How many fingers?"

"Shove off," Harry snapped, picking up a piece of rock from the ground and throwing it from one hand to another. "Can't you be the older Draco?"

"Does it look like I could mature nine years in as many seconds?" he asked flatly. "No. Thank you."

"So what are you then? A figment of my imagination?" Harry asked, testing the weight of the rock in his right hand and looking at Draco curiously.

"I'm the cat's puckered sphincter," Draco said, echoing - or perhaps preceding - the elder Draco's words. "Does it matter?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "So why am I here?"

"Because you passed out!" Draco snapped exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in defeat. He slipped off the wall and paced across the hilltop, hair whipping about his head. "You passed out because you didn't have the magical capacity for the Killing Curse you managed to produce. Your - my father's - amulet realised this, and instead of the curse backfiring, it simply put you into a coma. That's where you are now. Any more questions?"

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, taking everything in like a sponge.

"Because you need someone to talk to," Draco answered, sitting down in the relative shelter behind a wall and wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Oh," Harry said quietly, dropping the stone.

"I think I'm meant to explain things to you as well, but right at this moment, I frankly can't be bothered." He looked around, nose wrinkling and lip curling. "Couldn't you visualise somewhere less bleak?"

"I have a feeling it would be a lot more cheerful if you were someone else," Harry replied, running his eyes up and down the eight-year-old Draco before resting his chin on his hand. "I don't think I can visualise somewhere else right now."

"Oh thanks," Draco said sarcastically. "I can go if you want."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised. "But anything could be happening while I'm stuck here with you."

"You're not likely to be participating without realising," Draco said, one eyebrow raised as he looked askance at Harry.

"I know that," Harry snapped. "I was just thinking, anything could be happening while I'm here. Voldemort could be torturing people, someone could be dead, I could be missing..."

"And there's absolutely sweet fuck all you can do about it," Draco beamed. Evidently, he had learnt that word recently.

Harry blinked. "Fuck you," he growled, knowing that he was being baited.

"You're not supposed to say that word to me," Draco told him, a smug little smile lifting his face, eyes gleaming maliciously.

"You can't do anything about it," Harry replied with a smirk. "I don't see your dad here anywhere, and I know a lot more magic than you."

"Why don't you try it?" Draco suggested, puffing his chest up. "I wonder what would happen to the me you know if you killed him before you even met him?"

Harry paused, staring with wide eyes at the little Draco. "Draco?" he asked quietly, before glaring at the younger version. "I hate you."

"So bump me off," Draco spat. "You know you want to. Just do it. Make right the mistake when you tried to kill Him. It didn't work? Maybe if you kill an eight-year-old child you might have more luck." He stood up, eyes flashing. "Go on, it's not like you'll ever see him again anyway. What does it matter if he simply ceases to exist? Maybe he'll even turn into a corpse right there and then. Who knows? Why don't you cure the world of its itching, burning curiosity and find out once and for all?"

Harry stood up suddenly, grabbing the little Draco by the front of his shirt and dragging him upwards. "Don't you dare tell me to do something like that, don't you fucking dare tell me that I won't see him again. I made a promise, and that promise will be kept." He flung Draco onto the soft grass and stood clenching and unclenching his fists.

Draco stared at him, expression gleeful and malicious, before he started laughing. It was almost frightening, somehow, even though it was just a little boy laughing. He knew too much, that was evident. This child had seen more than twice his years already, and was none the better for it.

"You promised him you'd be back, but how can you go back to him when you don't know where he is?" he demanded incredulously, manic laughter continuing as he lay on his back on the turf.

"Because I can," Harry stated, emerald green eyes flashing dangerously.

"So where is he? Where am I?" Draco asked, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Tell me, because I sure as hell don't know."

"If you don't know then I won't tell you," Harry replied, mirroring some words he had once told Draco. "Now, there are two things. What a man can do, and what a man can't do. Now you, you can stop being a whiny eight-year-old and tell me what I need to know, or you can't, but neither of us are going anywhere for a long time."

"I'm eight years old, and I'm whining because I'm stuck here with you," Draco said, rising to his feet. "That's not going to change. However, if you can manage to stop threatening me every time I turn around, we might be able to come to some kind of agreement. I want to be here about as much as you do, and frankly if we added those amounts together we'd end up with something large enough to play Tiddlywinks with a lentil. Shall we just agree to disagree and get on with what we're meant to be doing?"

Harry walked over to the little Draco slowly and held out his hand. "Deal."

Draco took his hand, and the world turned over. Grey melded with green in a swirling mass of light and shadow.

"Two years into my future, seven into your past," he identified the time as the spinning slowed and their feet hit the ground. They stood in a low-beamed drawing room of some kind. A bright fire burnt in the grate. Lucius Malfoy sat in a leather armchair, a pair of spectacles low on his nose and a large newspaper spread across his lap. A woman who must be Narcissa sat primly on the sofa across from him, watching him almost expectantly.

"Narcissa, would you please not do that?" Lucius asked, turning a page and looking down through his spectacles at the article he was reading.

"Where's Draco?" Narcissa asked in reply, glancing about her for some sign of her little boy.

"I wouldn't presume to know," Lucius replied without looking at her.

There was a light tap at the door, followed by a polite silence.

"Draco, come in," Lucius almost snapped, folding his paper and looking up. "You don't have to knock in your own house, only when I'm in my study."

Ten-year-old Draco stepped in, looking almost exactly as Harry remembered him from their first year at Hogwarts.

"Um..." he said quietly, blushing. He had deep shadows under his eyes and his uncharacteristically short hair made his face seem paler, more hollow.

Narcissa's sharp accented face seemed to soften as she laid her eyes on Draco. "Yes Draco?" she asked, moving up the sofa to allow him to sit down, tapping it with her hand to invite him over.

A brief expression of incredible reluctance passed over Draco's face, but he quickly suppressed it and dutifully went to sit by his mother.

"I... can't sleep," he mumbled, looking at his feet.

"That's OK," she said softly, ruffling his hair. "Would you like a story?"

"It won't help," he said, lips barely moving.

"Speak up, Draco, your father's going deaf," Lucius said, eyes twinkling as he looked at his son.

"I can't sleep. I think I've got insomnia," Draco told him, slightly louder.

Harry turned to the younger Draco by his side and tapped him slightly on the shoulder. "You mean you didn't know you had insomnia till you were ten?" he whispered.

"I knew alright," Draco murmured. "I knew when I was five, but I wasn't meant to realise that I had it, so I just suffered it. No one seemed to care when I said I wasn't tired. They put me to bed anyway and I hated them for it. Do I still hate sleeping... when you know me?" He seemed puzzled by the question, because it made perfect sense, but the situation was so odd.

Harry frowned as he thought it over. "Yes and no. You seemed to have grown to live with it, and you practically encouraged me to sleep when you were around. I did offer to try and stay awake and well, there are side effects, but you'll learn about them in due time," he replied, a faint tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks.

"I see," Draco replied, an arch smile crossing his face.

"Insomnia?" Lucius asked. "How much do you sleep?"

"About an hour in total a night," Draco answered. "It's been going on since I was five."

"Oh, Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed quietly, pulling him into her embrace. "Why didn't you tell us, darling?"

"Because you didn't listen," Draco said in a voice muffled against his mother's chest. "I tried to tell you before, but you said I just needed to close my eyes and stop trying too hard."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry!" Narcissa said hurriedly, holding him tighter. "You should have told us sooner!"

Draco looked pleadingly at Lucius.

"I think you're throttling the boy," Lucius said, winking dryly to Draco before lifting his paper again. "There's nothing we can do other than sleeping potions. Would you like some?"

"Yes please," Draco was saying, before Narcissa cut across him.

"Absolutely not, Lucius. He's just a boy; we can't be pumping him full of potions when we don't even know the heart of the problem." She let go of Draco slightly to look down at him. "What's the matter, dear?"

Draco looked blank. "I just can't sleep," he replied, eyes tightening slightly as he looked away.

"That's not true," Harry's guide supplied. "I think we're done here." He took Harry's hand again, and the colours of the drawing room swirled into one. Their feet hit the ground again outside the Slytherin dormitories at Hogwarts.

"Your fourth year," Draco told Harry. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded, glancing around. He had been here only once before, and he had been under the effects of Polyjuice at the time. He turned his head as he saw some movement at the other side of the hall.

"Draco, talk. Now. You're being far too quiet," said the slightly exasperated voice of Blaise Zabini as he rounded the corner and came into the light.

"I have nothing to say," Draco's voice sounded flat, as though he was in shock.

"You're hiding something from me," Blaise stated suddenly, rounding on Draco and peering at him out of narrowed eyes.

It struck Harry that he had never seen Blaise Zabini actually looking this relaxed around anyone in a long time. It took longer for him to realise that he had never seen Draco shocked.

"What happened?" he asked his guide quietly.

"Wait and see," the young Draco murmured, blushing slightly.

"Yes, I bloody well am," Draco laughed, eyes still slightly wild. "I can't tell you everything the moment it happens. Abby might have objected."

Blaise blinked and tilted his head to the side. "English, please."

"J'ai perdu mon... comment-est-ce qu'on dit 'virginity'?

Blaise's jaw dropped and he stared at Draco with a completely floored expression. "Who?" he demanded, wrapping an arm around Draco's shoulders. "Nevermind, Abby?"

Harry blinked, and tapped the little Draco on the shoulder. "I don't speak French."

"He said 'I have lost my... How do you say virginity?'," Draco translated.

"Yeah, Abby," the elder Draco admitted. "It was really rather funny, actually." He embraced Blaise tightly. "I feel much better now, though. I was almost pissing myself worrying about it when she told me last time." He looked sharply at Blaise. "NO ONE hears that. It goes no further than between you and me, right?"

"Oh," Harry said slowly. "Can we go now?" He wouldn't look at the mini Draco, his face cast in shadow.

"Do you want to?" young Draco asked. "There's probably more, but we can go if you want."

Harry's head moved once, in a nod. "Yes, please."

Draco reached to take his hand. "Does it bother you?" he asked, pointing to Blaise and Draco, who were talking quietly.

"Yes," Harry admitted, looking down at the little Draco and forcing himself to smile slightly. "Seeing as... never mind, you'll see."

"You mean that I'm going to lose my virginity before you even get a girlfriend?" Draco asked, beaming again.

"That wasn't what I meant, but yes," Harry replied, looking back at Draco and Blaise.

"Right, I suppose we can go." Draco took Harry's hand and the world turned on its head again.

They were standing in a crowded corridor. Fourteen-year-old Harry and fifteen-year-old Draco stood facing one another. Draco looked smug, self-congratulatory, and Harry looked plain pissed off. A circle had been cleared in the middle of the hallway for them, and what seemed like half the school was gathered around them. As usual, everyone ignored the two visitors.

"Who would have thought it? Potty's most important possession is his Weasel," Draco drawled, looking around subtly to judge the reaction of the crowd, to see how far he could push it before people starting disliking his words.

"Well done, Malfoy," Harry replied, folding his arms across his chest. "Got anything worth my time to say or can I leave now?"

Harry, stood with mini Draco, found himself mouthing the words as they were said.

"Not really," Draco shrugged. "Do you have an eye for the younger ladies?" He was referring to Gabrielle Delacour, clearly. "I thought you were into younger boys."

Harry scowled. "Got an eye for the pug faced ones?" he asked innocently, eyes sliding over to Pansy Parkinson then back to Draco.

"Not any more," Draco said, loudly enough for Pansy to hear. "I felt she sort of brought my reputation down. I've got my eye on... someone else."

His eyes widened and he blinked a few times.

"I have to go," he said, turning and pushing through the crowds out of sight.

Harry's mouth opened and closed, he blinked once, twice, three times before turning to Ron and Hermione, shrugging, and then leaving.

Harry frowned, turning to the little Draco. "I remember that conversation," he said thoughtfully. "It was about a week after the Second Task in the Triwizard."

"Yes, and it's when I realise that I ... like you," Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "Can't think why. They decided it was important, so now you've seen it."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face and he scratched his nose absently. "'They'?"

"Don't ask," Draco warned him. "Ready to go?"

Harry shrugged. "Whenever you are."

They visited the scene of Harry and Draco's first kiss, throughout which the young Draco stood with his back to the wall, hands over his eyes in disgust, then that lunch break when the two had skived off transfiguration, and Harry fell asleep with Draco in his arms.

Older Draco lay awake, gazing woodenly at the ceiling, fingers tracing idle circles in Harry's hair.

"This is boring," the young Draco stated, wandering around Harry's room. "I don't know why we have to do all this."

"Neither do I," Harry murmured, watching the Draco he knew. "I don't understand the significance of this one."

"Wait a minute - you walked in on me while I was in the shower?" Draco demanded, wheeling to look at Harry. "YUCK!"

"That wasn't my fault!" Harry protested, raising his arms as if to protect himself. "You were talking to the soap, and I was really tired and out of it."

"Talking to the soap?" Draco looked puzzled. "Well, plainly. If I was talking to the soap, why did you come in?"

"Sounded like you were talking to me," Harry shrugged, then grinned. "Just think, you're going to be just like him one day." He pointed at the Draco lay with Harry with a wicked grin.

Draco walked over to his grown up version, looking him over.

"I guess that's not so bad, but I don't want to kiss boys," he said, scowling at Harry reproachfully.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Grow up."

"I already did," Draco pointed out, pointing at himself lying awake on the sofa.

Harry repeated the eye-rolling action and sighed. "Never mind." He sat on the edge of the bed and craned his neck to look at the ceiling.

"I still don't see why this is an important scene in Draco's life," he said finally.

"My life. It's because you're the only person I've never hated for sleeping. I know it sounds stupid, but it's a big part of my life."

"I always thought you hated me for it," Harry admitted, glancing over at the couple on the sofa again. "So I never brought it up."

"I've never watched someone sleeping. I always woke them up," Draco said. "That's why I got my own room at Hogwarts. You're the first person I watched sleeping. That's why it's important, I think."

"You have your own room? I thought you shared it with Blaise..." Harry looked confused.

"Blaise doesn't sleep much either. I just ignore him," Draco said. "I started out with my own room, but they were trying to ween me off sleeping totally alone."

"Oh, where to next?" Harry asked, standing up again.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged. "We could try for Draco's present, but as no one knows where he is it might be hard to find him. What do you think?"

"No one knows where he is?" Harry asked, suspicion and slight terror sneaking into his voice. "What's happening?"

"Well, obviously someone knows where he is. They'll find him eventually," Draco shrugged. He paused, frowning. "Me, that is. They'll find ME eventually."

Harry smiled slightly. "So we've done the past and are moving to the present?" he asked.

"If we can." Draco furrowed his brow in concentration. "I can feel where I am, but I'm moving too fast. We can't go there, either there are wards or there's no land to stand on." He looked up. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK," Harry replied, placing his hand on the mini Draco's shoulder. "So long as I know he's alive at least."

"I'm alive at the moment," Draco mumbled. "But what's going to happen to me?" He looked so vulnerable, so young. He hesitated for a moment before putting his arms around Harry and holding onto him desperately.

Harry crouched down to wrap his arms around the young Draco. "It's OK," he promised. "I'm going to make sure nothing happens to you, well, the you I know."

"What good is that if something happens to me now? It'll just wipe the future me out completely. You need to wake up," Draco insisted, gripping Harry's back tightly with his little fingers.

"I can't," Harry said quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady. "We need to finish this thing we're in now before I can, I think."

"There's nothing more I can do, if I can't find me now," Draco said helplessly.

Harry closed his eyes and took the young Draco's arms from around his back, keeping one of his hands in his and walking over to the Draco and Harry on the sofa. "Can you concentrate on yourself through this Draco?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," Draco frowned, gripping Harry's hand. "I don't know if it would help..."

Harry smiled and kneeled on the floor. He kissed the young Draco's hairline and looked at him sternly. "Do this for me instead, concentrate on what the present Draco wants to see, concentrate on the present not where he is, but where he wants to be."

"So... You're saying that it would be easier to find my thoughts, pin them down, get the location of them, get access to the place he'd rather be, than to just find him?" Draco asked, smiling slightly. "You're flipped."

Harry returned the smile. "You don't need to find your thoughts; I think you already know where you'd rather be."

"I know where I know where I'd rather be," Draco said. "If you follow me on that one." He took Harry's hand again. "Off we go."

Their feet hit the ground this time in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Snape and Dumbledore were standing around a bed with Madam Pomfrey.

"This is now," Draco told him. "Don't talk to me, this is very hard."

Harry nodded mutely, moving to try and see around the group of people around a bed. He couldn't see anything, and frowned, sucking in his stomach to fit through the small gap between Ron and Seamus. His breath caught in his throat.

The Hospital bed was occupied by a very sick looking figure, raven black hair falling across the relaxed-looking face haphazardly. The skin was pale, paler than Harry remembered even Draco's ever looking.

"Do you think he'll wake up?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "He looks so sick."

"Sometimes people simply don't wake up from comas," Hermione said. She looked very, very pale and shaken. Her eyes were red from crying.

"Harry will wake up," Ron snapped. "For Merlin's sake, stop saying things like that Hermione. This is Harry; he can't just pass out and not come back."

"He can," Hermione almost sobbed. "People do. Maybe he deserves the rest; after all he's done for us. She gripped Harry's hand tightly in hers, lip shaking as she fought not to cry.

"Miss Granger, if you have such little faith in Potter then why are you even in this room?" Snape asked suddenly, in his usual drawling tone.

Seamus was trying not to look at Harry's still form in the bed, and was instead looking at the wall. "Come on Hermione, he'll wake up, he has too. This is Harry."

Harry moved to stand in front of Hermione and smiled sadly, moving so his mouth was next to her ear. "I'll be back, 'Mione, don't worry," he whispered quietly, not caring if she probably couldn't hear him.

He moved to stand next to himself and reached a hand out, resting it on his forehead. He was ice-cold. 'Man, I even feel dead.' He turned away abruptly and pushed his way back to the younger Draco, sitting on the floor. "I want my Draco," he said unhappily, staring at the people around his bed.

"He's not fucking here," the young Draco swore in a strained voice. "Shut up and let me concentrate."

"He doesn't have to!" Hermione squeaked. "You're all relying on him so heavily. It's not fair!" She stood up, her chair falling backwards with a crash, and ran out of the hospital wing.

Snape sighed. "Headmaster, I think it is too much allowing them to see Potter in this... condition."

Seamus treated him to a glare before turning to Ron. "You better follow her."

Ron rolled his eyes and groaned, following Hermione out.

"Severus, I believe that they have a right to see him. He is perfectly aware of their presence, I am sure."

Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore looked straight at him as he said this, though he couldn't be sure.

Snape snorted. "I will be returning to my classroom to continue researching something that may help him," he drawled, before nodding to Dumbledore and leaving.

Seamus looked at Dean, saying a silent question. 'Should we go?'

Dean nodded, jerking his head at the door.

"Bye Harry," he said, waving to the comatose boy.

Harry continued to watch himself lie still in the bed. As Seamus and Dean left, he was struck with the horrible feeling of being alone and closed his eyes, resting his chin on his knees.

"Harry, Draco," Dumbledore said, looking across at them.

"Professor," Draco said respectfully, rising to his feet and crossing over to the bed. He righted Hermione's chair and sat down in it, plucking the bedcover idly.

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore invited him.

Harry stood up warily before sitting on the young Draco's right. "How can you see a dream I'm having?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's a little more complex than that," Dumbledore smiled. "Perhaps you're dreaming a see I'm having. Anyway, the fact of the matter is, Harry, that you've been out cold for over two months now. I think your body is on the mend, but your mind is still all over the place. That's why Draco's here to sort you out. There are a lot of things you need to get to grips with. One is that Draco has vanished, we can't find him anywhere. Bad news may or may not come, but you have to be ready to accept that it might. It is hard to convene with you in such situations, so we'll have to make it brief. Is there anything you really need to know?"

"Two months?" Harry asked suddenly, looking stunned. "Voldemort... The Death Eaters... Malfoy Manor..."

"Voldemort has vanished, for the time being. Cornelius is convinced that he is dead, but that is not the case. The Death Eaters have also disappeared. Malfoy Manor is deserted."

Draco looked up. "My house?" He looked down. "Why did father have to do this?"

"Draco," Harry said weakly, eyes searching Dumbledore for some sign of hope or sign that Draco was going to be OK.

"Draco disappeared when the Deatheaters left the Manor. We have not seen nor heard hide nor hair of him since that time. Our only guess is that he went with them, willing or captive," Dumbledore said. He looked sadly at Harry. "I fear the worst. His betrayal is very possible, considering the mental strain he has been under. Lucius is dead, killed for betraying the Dark Lord in giving you that amulet. That would, I think, be enough to scare anyone."

Harry bit his lip and looked away. "I'm sorry," he apologised quietly. "We wouldn't be in this situation if I didn't go."

"You're not to be blamed for that. At least we learnt that Lucius was not all bad, and you got this amulet, which I think is important. I don't know why, but something's gone wrong for them as well as for us. It will all work out soon."

Harry nodded mutely. "How do I get out of this coma?"

"It will take time," Dumbledore told him. "You will wake up when you're ready. Anything from ten minutes to ten months."

Harry had nothing to say to that and instead, stood up, unable to look at his form on the Hospital bed any longer. He turned to the young Draco sat next to him. "Can we go now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Draco said, standing up. "Goodbye, Professor." He reached for Harry's hand.

"Take care," Dumbledore said to them, looking incredibly weary. Then everything inverted and Harry could see no more.

***

"You don't understand! That's yours, yeah, but not this bit because I didn't bet it!" Draco put his arms protectively over his pile of chips. "You're terrible at poker..."

Harry looked confused, and scowled at Draco. "I'm sorry, I just... don't get it."

"I give up," the boy said dramatically, throwing the cards down. "You're hopeless. It would take a lifetime to teach you this game, and I've known it for years. Mind you, we might have a lifetime if you don't wake up soon."

He gathered all the chips up and put the cards together in a pile. The small Draco had compelled Harry to imagine them a games room, and had taken to teaching him poker. Harry did not enjoy poker.

"What happens to you when I wake up anyway?" Harry asked curiously.

"I'll probably poke around for a bit," Draco shrugged. "I think I'm pretty fixed in your head now." He leaned over and tapped Harry on the forehead. "You'd miss me, anyway."

"Not the annoying bratty side of you, though," Harry said with a grin, lifting his legs to put them on the table. "I think I need to wake up now," he said in a somewhat sleepy voice, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

"No!" Draco blurted, jumping forward and grabbing Harry's arm. "No, don't leave me!"

"But I need to wake up," Harry replied drowsily, his eyes slipping half closed. "I have to."

"Harry please!" Draco pleaded, gripping his arm tightly. "I don't want you to go..."

"I'm sorry, I have to wake up, Draco, I'll see you when I do," he mumbled, eyes finally slipping shut and chair wobbling off balance, tipping backwards until it fell.

Draco's wail of dismay echoed in the hospital wing as Harry sharply returned to reality.

He sat up suddenly, unable to see anything because he didn't have his glasses on. "Draco?" he asked tentatively, reaching his arms out. His voice cracked, his throat rough and sore, as if he hadn't used it in months which in reality, he hadn't.

"Harry!" Hermione's quiet voice was delighted. She put her arms around him gently. "I'm afraid that Draco's... not here."

"My-oh-nee," Harry croaked, recognising her voice immediately and burying his head in her hair.

Hermione started crying. "I was so worried about you," she sobbed, hugging him tightly. "I was so uncertain - I didn't know if you'd wake up or not!"

"Draco," Harry stated, pulling back to look at Hermione, though he couldn't see her all that well without his glasses.

"Draco's gone missing," Hermione said quietly. She saw that Harry was blinking fuzzily, and cast about her for his glasses. She slipped them on for him, wiping the lenses with her tie. "We're waiting for any news."

"I know he's missing," Harry replied, glancing around now he had his glasses on. "Dumbledore told me and Draco a while ago. What date is it?"

Hermione frowned, puzzled. "Uh... June the eleventh," she told him, not wanting to ask him too many questions.

It was not long before the question burst out of her. "Dumbledore told you and Draco that Draco had gone missing?"

"Yes," Harry replied simply, trying to move. His hand went to his throat where the amulet was supposed to be, only to find that it was not there. "Where Lucius's amulet? I promised I'd give it to Draco."

"Lucius' amulet?" Hermione frowned. "I don't know... I don't think you had one."

"I don't anymore. Lucius gave it to me, that's why he was killed," Harry explained hurriedly. "I promised I would give it to Draco once the fight was over, but I don't have it!"

"Maybe Draco took it," Hermione said, only intending to soothe him, not realising that she was in fact correct. "I don't think anyone else would have done..."

"Draco took it?" Harry asked suddenly, turning to look at her. "Then he's OK. I told Draco he'd be alright."

Hermione looked away, unable to tell him what they thought had happened. Just then, there was a loud crash in the corridor and Ron sprinted in.

"Hermione! Dumbledore just got an owl from Moody - they've found Draco's body in a ruined castle somewhere. He's dead..."

It was like the whole building had come crashing down on top of Harry, he couldn't breath, couldn't speak, couldn't think. Draco was dead, he was gone, and Harry hadn't been able to see him, he was gone.

He closed his eyes as tight as they would go, twisting his hands into the Hospital cover as a vision of the little Draco came back to him.

A choked sob escaped his lips, and he began pulling at the cover so much it began to rip. "No. No. NO! DRACO!" he yelled suddenly, kicking out violently at anything he could, screwing his eyes shut and trying to find some kind of release. Draco couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be.

"DRACO!" he bellowed again, opening his eyes and allowing the tears to fall. His throat felt like it was splitting as he carried on shouting, praying, hoping, wishing that it wasn't true.

"Oh God," Ron breathed, watching Harry with a look of horror. "Oh God."

Hermione broke down in tears, face down on the bed. "I can't believe he's dead..." she sobbed. "I can't believe it."

"No... No... He can't... he's not..." Harry's voice quietened again, till there was silence save for Hermione's sobs. With a horrible ripping sound, the hospital blanket tore into two halves in Harry's hands and he began trembling violently. "He can't be, he can't. Draco!" he shouted, voice getting so high that cracked and he jumped out of his bed, looking around, he needed a release, something, anything.

'Draco, you can't be dead. I love you.'

Harry began to shriek wildly again, random words and incantations. Slowly, he began to magic furniture to float, until there was a giant wall of moving furniture and items around him, moving like a twister.

"DRACO!" He yelled, jumping up and down as tears continued to fall and the frustrating anger built up in him again until finally, a bed flew away from him and smashed against the wall, breaking in two. "HE'S - NOT - DEAD!"

"Harry!" Dumbledore's voice was like a gunshot in the room. The furniture sank to the floor. "Harry, please calm yourself."

Harry turned bloodshot, tearstained eyes to Dumbledore. "HE'S - NOT - DEAD!" he shrieked wildly, pointing his wand out at anyone who dared oppose him.

"The Aurors were conducting searches of known Death Eater hideouts. When they reached the ruins of Caerwydd Castle, they found Draco Malfoy's body. It has not been moved yet, but it has not been Polyjuiced, because it has not changed back. I think, Harry, that you will just have to accept it. I warned you that it might come to this. Draco is dead."

"No. He's. Not."

"How are you so sure?" Dumbledore asked sadly.

"Because I am," Harry snarled, looking wild, confused, alone and lost all at once. "Don't say he's dead," he threatened, holding his wand out. "Just, don't."

"I am passing on what I have been told," Dumbledore told him. "I really cannot say for certain whether or not it is true. For now, I think we might have to accept that it is and try to move on." His blue eyes were filled with pain at having to subject Harry to this.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY IT!" Harry roared, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks as he shouted something whilst pointing his wand at Dumbledore, eyes widening as he saw the dark red light shoot from his wand.

He dropped it suddenly, as if it burned and curled into a ball on the floor, shivering.

Dumbledore swore, uncharacteristically, and deflected the curse hastily.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said quietly. "Floo St. Mungo's." His face was deeply saddened, lines of age and weariness accented by his shame in himself for what he had done, what he was doing. "Tell them there's a new patient, Harry James Potter."

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