Oscillate Wildly

Draco stood in the doorway for a second before growing visibly impatient. "Well, Potter?" he sneered. "Care to tell me why you're so keen on keeping me here?"

"I heard about your father." Harry sighed and shifted a bit on the bed.

Malfoy snapped, "You and every other person in the universe. Don't tell me you're going to offer a heartfelt apology, too."

Harry shrugged. "I'd be lying if I said I thought your father's death was a big loss for me. When a person tries to kill me, they're usually right off the 'Harry's Favourite People' list." Ignoring Malfoy's murderous look, he nonchalantly continued, "I do think that it's a big loss for you, though, and I'm sorry that you lost a parent. I know what that's like, at least."

"Everything always comes back to Potter, doesn't it? Think you're centre of the universe and that every event revolves around you."

"Not usually," Harry said. "But the last few days have been a little weird." He shrugged again and hastily continued, "Never mind that, though. Can I ask you a question?"

Draco scoffed, "When has Precious Potter ever asked permission for anything?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a yes. Is what The Daily Prophet published true? They're not exactly known for their impartial journalism, after all."

Looking annoyed, Draco spat, "My father is indeed dead, Potter. Not that I want to discuss my affairs with you."

"No, not about that. Did Voldemort kill him? Hermione thought that it was possible that it was a Ministry cover-up for an Auror or a prison guard."

"What Granger knows can fit on the head of a pin. No one knows for sure. It's not as though I was at Azkaban and the Dark Lord didn't exactly feel it necessary to sit me down for a heart-to-heart chat about Father's death." Malfoy gave a shiver so small Harry doubted he even realised he'd done it. In a voice barely above a whisper, he added, "Mother seems to think the Dark Lord is responsible, though."

"Why?"

"Because a Dementor was destroyed. Consider the Ministry for a moment. Have you ever heard of them destroying a Dementor?"

Harry shook his head.

"That's because the dunderheads have no idea how to do it. Only someone with a firm grasp of the Dark Arts would be able to wield that much power."

Harry nodded. That did make sense. "And who has a better grasp on the Dark Arts than Voldemort?" At the name, Draco gave another little shiver. "Come on, Malfoy. You work for him now. Try to show a little bravery when you hear his name."

"Foolish bravery is a Gryffindor trait. I may be one of his followers, but I know enough to respectfully fear him," Draco said petulantly.

Harry pushed down the little flare of anger that curled in his belly. "Do you think your father was simply caught in the crossfire or Voldemort really meant to kill him? Getting rid of dead weight or someone he thought may be a threat?" He paused. "Maybe you're next." Draco's face coloured and Harry knew he was getting angry, but Harry didn't care. He thought even Malfoy should be aware of the things Voldemort would do to anyone in his way – including a loyal follower.

In a low, vaguely threatening voice, Malfoy retorted, "I'm not privy to the Dark Lord's private schemes. If he killed my father for a reason, I certainly don't know it. And even if I did, what makes you think I'd tell you?" Harry was uncomfortably reminded of Lucius or Snape. He wondered if quiet threats were something they taught in Death Eater school.

This was getting Harry nowhere. He decided to change tactics and quietly asked, "Malfoy, do you miss your father?"

"What business is it of yours?" Draco's typically haughty look reappeared.

"Oh, just answer the question, Malfoy." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "You've been watching me sleep, you're a minion of the Dark Lord, yet you've made no moves to kill me in all that time. Also," he added pointedly, "you've been talking with me somewhat civilly for fifteen minutes. You may hate me, but something's going on with you and I suspect it has something to do with your father. So, do you miss your father or not?"

Draco looked very slightly taken aback, yet still maintained his aristocratic stance. He slowly replied, carefully emphasising each word, "Never forget that I hate you, Potter."

Harry winced slightly, trying to squash his memories of Draco from the night before. Not the same person, he reminded himself. "Yes, I'm aware of that, Malfoy."

"Perhaps I've been assigned to spy on you as my first mission."

"Hell of a job you're doing," retorted Harry. "I've caught you in the act twice, found out you took the Dark Mark and had a pleasant conversation with you."

"Maybe I'm here to kill you, then."

"Go ahead, Malfoy." Harry spread his arms out wide. "Hit me with your best shot."

Automatically, Malfoy raised his wand and pointed, his hand shaking slightly. Harry cringed and looked away, momentarily thinking his hunch was wrong. After a second, Draco lowered his wand. "I hate you," he said, still shaking. After a moment, he quietly added, "And yes, I miss my father." Looking defeated, he sank back into the chair at Harry's side and unconsciously rubbed at his forearm.

Harry gestured towards the place where the hidden mark lay. "Does it hurt much?"

"What?" Draco looked down. "Oh. Sometimes. Not really."

"What does it feel like when you're around Voldemort?" Off Draco's look, he corrected himself, "You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord, Lord Thingy, whatever. Whenever I'm around him this burns." He gestured at his scar. "Sometimes it hurts so much I want to pass out. I always wondered if it did the same thing for his followers."

Draco shook his head and glanced at his arm. "Burns? No, it doesn't burn. I suppose he could make us hurt through it, but it's not as though he doesn't have a thousand different ways of distributing pain. I can feel his presence through the Mark more clearly the closer he is to me, though."

"No offence, Malfoy, but you don't seem like the most enthusiastic Death Eater. Why did you even bother getting the Dark Mark? When did it happen?"

Draco shot Harry a scathing look. "I received the Dark Mark over the summer. I chose our Lord because of you. Because you put my father in prison and I wanted revenge. Because I hate every bone in your body. Because I wanted my father to be proud of me and I knew this is what he wanted. He wanted his heir to follow in his footsteps and serve the Dark Lord."

"And now your Dark Lord has killed the man you were trying to make proud. Seems a little worse than putting him into prison when you think about it."

Draco said nothing.

Harry decided now was as good a time as any to drop the subject of Voldemort. After all, he now knew where some of Draco's more interesting moles were, so he felt strange making the other boy uncomfortable, despite the fact that Malfoy had been trying to make his life miserable since he was eleven. He cleared his throat.

"What is it, Potter? Have some more righteous pontificating for me?"

"Not really. Just thought one embarrassingly personal turn deserves another."

"What are you prattling on about?"

"Well, don't you want to know what goes on when the rest of the world thinks I'm in a coma?"

Draco snorted. "Why would I care about what goes on in your perverse little head?"

"Why must you answer every question with another question? Did you learn that in Death Eater school, too?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Draco leaned on the armrest, propping his face up with his hand. "Fine, Potter." He sighed melodramatically. "Tell me what it's like inside you."

Harry opened and closed his mouth, trying to ignore the implications of that last sentence. He briefly considered performing a Memory Charm on himself due to his extreme attraction towards Draco's unusually relaxed stance. God, I'm messed up.

"You know, while your impression of a large-mouthed bass is quite accurate, this isn't exactly the scintillating type of story to which a Malfoy is accustomed." Draco looked peeved.

Pulling himself together, Harry managed a hateful glare for Draco. "Fine. Voldemort has set up shop within my head," he said bitterly. "Every time I pass out, I find myself in the Muggle world and have no idea how to get back here. My parents are still alive, I'm in a mental institution and you're my only friend. We sleep right next to each other!" And with each other, he silently added.

For once, Draco had no reply.

"Other than the fact that I have no memory of that life, it's everything I ever wanted. No evil lord wants to kill me and I have my family. I don't have a mortal enemy or even lesser enemies that would love to see my head on a silver platter. There are just a bunch of people who want me to get well."

"That's some dream you're having, Potter," said Malfoy.

"Oh, but here's the catch, Malfoy. This might not even be all in my dreams. Sure, that's what I've been told, but things I see happening in that world keep happening in this one. I feel like I might actually be shaping this world, but I have the same feeling about the other one. Hell, maybe neither of them is real and I'm stuck on some other plane of existence. It's all very existential, don't you think?

"Anyway, when I'm unresponsive there, I'm awake here and when I'm unconscious here, I'm awake there. It's possible that I'll never be able to wake here again and Voldemort will have taken out one of his nemeses without ever laying a finger on me. I'm totally vulnerable when I'm passed out."

Draco just stared at Harry, probably disbelievingly.

"You know what that means, don't you?" Harry continued. "That means if you really want to kill me, you'll have every opportunity to do so. Next time you sneak into the infirmary, you won't even need me to give you a clear shot. Feel free to throttle me in my sleep."

Aghast, Draco replied, "Why am I there? Is anyone else there?"

"Other than dead people and my enemies? No. Not that I can tell, at least. Ron and Hermione aren't there. Dumbledore isn't there."

"Sounds pretty perfect to me."

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry in a scathing tone. Yet, a small smile still crawled onto his lips. "Dra- Malfoy," he corrected himself, "can I ask you a question?"

"Not like if I said no you'd control yourself."

"Fine. I'll ask, you decide if you want to answer, okay?"

Draco shrugged.

"Do you think you're going to keep following Voldemort? There are always alternative routes, you know."

"You mean switching sides? Working for Dumbledore and your little band of goody-two-shoes?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "Maybe that. There's always just staying neutral."

"Little too late for that," retorted Draco, gesturing at his arm. "Besides, Malfoys don't do neutrality very well." Harry thought he was probably right about that. Potters probably didn't do neutrality very well, either.

Almost reluctantly, Harry said, "Just one more thing...."

"Yes?" asked Draco.

"Malfoy, do you think you're evil?"

Draco seemed deep in thought. Finally, he answered, "I don't know."

The two boys sat together in silence for a time. When Draco finally got up and left, he didn't say a word and Harry didn't stop him.

Alone, Harry contemplated the recent developments his life had found.

Fuck. My life just can't be easy, can it?

Another voice joined the first. Suck it up, Potter. Stop your whining already!

Harry was struck by how much the second voice sounded like Malfoy. It was unfair, really. Not only did he have Malfoy here at Hogwarts and in the hospital, but now he had to put up with him in the back of his head, too. St. Mungo's might be relaxing, he mused. With or without Voldemort's interference, Harry was pretty messed up.

Sighing as he snuggled up to his pillows once again, he looked around for a distraction, but found none. He highly doubted Madam Pomfrey would allow him out of the infirmary so he could find Hermione or Ron. Besides, he wasn't even sure what he would tell them. It wasn't as though either would want to hear the graphic detail of what had happened outside the night before and they probably would be aghast that he sat here having a somewhat civil conversation with Malfoy.

That'd be a fun conversation. Hi, Hermione and Ron! You'll never guess what happened last night! You know that dream world where Malfoy is nice? Well, now I've seen him starkers! It was really great and I think it's possible that I'm gay. Or maybe bisexual, I haven't given things a lot of thought. Oh, and then I woke up here and Malfoy was staring at me and he's a Death Eater! I told him he could kill me in my sleep! Smashing couple of days, all in all. Harry rolled his eyes.

He briefly wondered if messing about with a boy in a possibly made-up universe counted. All he knew is it was nothing like any dream he ever had, which tended to be more like a swirl of vague images and feelings. This one was real. He'd felt teeth, after all. Dream people don't act awkward. And Harry had definitely felt awkward. Dream people didn't sheepishly confess their lack of experience and they didn't wear shiny pink coats. Harry knew he could never remember the feeling of hot breath on his neck or fingers entwining his hair when he woke up the next morning. Whatever it was, it had certainly been different. He closed his eyes, relishing the memory.

Frighteningly, Harry realised that there were more and more things calling him back to the other world. He honestly knew he couldn't refer to it as a dream world, whether or not it was fake. It felt as real as the Wizarding World felt and he was quickly adapting to life at St. George's. Surveillance footage aside, Harry's life there felt almost normal. He thought about his father's laughing eyes and his mother's kind smile. He could hear Sirius's boisterous laughter.

His thoughts then shifted to the Weasleys and how they had taken him into his family. How Ron was the first friend he'd ever had. Hermione's words about how they needed him here echoed in his head. If Voldemort can successfully trap me within my head, they'll all die. I'll die, too. It's just a fact.

I wonder if I can live in both worlds.

The thought struck Harry so violently that he had to blink a couple of times, trying to comprehend. If he could live in both worlds, he'd have everything. His parents. Ron and Hermione. His godfather. Magic. A Draco who isn't a Death Eater.

I could pretend it's all stopped. Just have to get around the passing out thing.

Harry was unsure about that part. However, he couldn't dwell on this, as Dumbledore entered the hospital wing, successfully shaking Harry from his trance.

Coming up along Harry's bedside, Dumbledore regarded him carefully. Harry was unsure why the old man seemed so wary of him. Perhaps he thought Voldemort was using him like a telescope and could see right through Harry's eyes. Presently, Harry couldn't sense Voldemort's presence, but it was possible that the bastard had simply become craftier. He couldn't blame Dumbledore for being careful, though he did resent any suspicion being put on him.

"Hello Harry," said Dumbledore, voice void of suspicion or distrust. "I must say I'm quite relieved to see you awake today." The twinkle was firmly in place in his watery blue eyes.

Harry returned the greeting with a serene smile of his own. Two could play the Cover Up Your Emotions game. "Hullo, Headmaster," he returned equally cheerfully. "I'm quite glad to be with you this morning." He wasn't, actually.

"Miss Granger and I have been discussing your...situation. We've devised a plan that may assist in getting you back to us in whole once again. But we will need your help."

Naturally, thought Harry spitefully. A bland smile plastered on his face, he nodded at Professor Dumbledore, encouraging him to continue.

"If you are willing, I believe an Occlumency lesson could provide valuable information with regards to the cause of this separate reality."

Harry appreciated the Headmaster not calling the alternate reality a "dream world". "Would you be giving me the lesson?" he wondered, fully expecting the answer to be no.

Indeed it was. "No, I'm afraid not. I believe since the pathway was opened while you attended your lesson with Professor Snape, we should try to recreate as much of the original scenario as possible."

Fantastic. More Snape. Putting on his most innocent face, Harry asked, "But if this truly is a conduit directly from me to Voldemort, wouldn't trying this put Professor Snape in danger?"

For one of the only times Harry could remember, Dumbledore looked a bit taken aback. "I ask you not to concern yourself with Severus. He and I know what we are doing and he is well-aware of the risks involved."

"I'll do it. When will Snape be here?"

"Professor Snape, Harry. If you feel up to it, I would prefer you have the lesson in his office tomorrow evening, at your usual time. It will be Monday night again, after all," Dumbledore added for Harry's benefit.

We'll do it if I'm not unconscious, you mean. But Harry merely nodded. "Thank you, Professor. I want to figure out what's causing this, too." That much, at least, was true.

Professor Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder and said, "Of course you do, Harry. This will all be over soon. Good-bye." He then exited the hospital wing, Harry still mulling over the the conversation. If tomorrow was Monday, this ordeal had been going on for two weeks in Hogwarts time. In St. George's, who knew? Less, maybe, but he wasn't positive.

Harry thought about the reason for Dumbledore's message. Another Occlumency lesson. I'd rather eat glass. Harry willed himself to think of the reasons to save his sanity. We're both means used to achieve Dumbledore's ends, aren't we, Snape?

He wasn't looking forward to the next day at all.