Harry slept for a very long time after that, his mind unusually dark and still. There must have been a potion in that water, Draco realised, attempting to distract himself from thinking about what his father had just done. There was really no help for it, though. He had to face it – his father had thrown him away like a broken cup. And why? Draco hadn't been given any grand assignments from either his father or the Dark – Voldemort. So how could he have failed?

Lucius had told Voldemort that Draco would succeed where Blaise failed. That seemed to indicate he'd known about the potion from the beginning. Had Blaise told Draco about it on purpose, then? Or had Lucius just counted on him letting something slip? And why hadn't Lucius told Draco what he wanted him to do?

It wasn't as though it wasn't obvious, though. Find Harry and kill him.

But Harry was Draco's. And Draco wanted him alive, especially now, when he knew Harry reciprocated his interest. Also, Harry was clearly a much better person than Voldemort, or even Lucius. In all their fights, Harry had never cast Cruciatus at Draco, and Draco didn't fool himself that he didn't have the power. Not now that he'd felt that huge uprush of it himself whenever Harry even thought about magic.

He spared a few moments wondering what made Harry suppress his power whenever it rose up like that. Probably some deep psychological reason boiling down to fear, he decided. Harry could crack mountains with what he had, Draco was sure.

Voldemort Cucio'ed people who were on his own side, which struck Draco as a very bad management practise. He couldn't imagine what kept people loyal to the hideous thing. He wasn't even human! Could he really be that powerful? Or did he just talk a good game?

Well, he did talk a good game. Eliminate the Muggle threat to wizards, elevate the Purebloods to their rightful exalted place – but then he made Purebloods crawl before him and kiss the hem of his robe and submit to Cruciatus. With that example of Voldemort's veracity before him, could Draco believe without question what he said about Muggles, either?

Bigoted crap, Harry had called it.

Draco had to admit, there were few more skilled witches than Hermione Granger. He ought to know, coming in second to her every blasted year of school. He'd never actually met any Muggles – well, he'd "met" Harry's relatives, but then there had been the woman who wanted to help Harry as well, when she didn't know him, or even know of him. To her, he'd just been a scrawny kid getting beaten up by a bigger one; she'd had no idea that Harry had the power to reduce his cousin to component bits with a thought.

Voldemort would do that. Harry never would, though, Draco realised. He would never use that power against people who didn't have it. Or even, really, against people who did have it, like Draco himself. He had offered Draco sanctuary, and as far as he knew Draco would try to kill him the moment he laid eyes on him.

So he's a decent person, he's incrediby powerful, he's sexy, and he's apparently interested in me, Draco listed to himself. He might also have some good points about Voldemort and his beliefs. He's still a foolhardy Gryffindor.

MY foolhardy Gryffindor.

And damn it, when is he going to wake up? I want to know what's going on!

With Harry asleep, Draco was reduced to getting his information solely through what he could hear, which wasn't much, as naturally everyone was trying to be quiet and let Harry rest. Time marched on, and Draco became more and more agitated.

"It'll be okay," said Harry suddenly – and there he was, in front of Draco, still in his horrible pyjamas and looking very solemn.

Draco squawked, "Harry?"

Harry smiled a little. "Draco," he said. "Since we're apparently on a first name basis suddenly. Yes, it's me."

"Oh, Merlin," said Draco, still staring.

Harry frowned a little. "It's really you, isn't it?" he said. "Not a dream."

"Not a dream," Draco echoed. In all the scenarios he'd entertained about when Harry found him, this had never happened. Harry seemed quite calm and unsurprised.

Harry was starting to look uneasy, though. "Why are we on a first name basis?" A sudden wave of mortification suffused his mind – the very atmosphere around them blushed. "How long have you been here? Did – did we -?" He took a step backward.

Recklessly, Draco stepped forward, seized Harry around the waist, and kissed him hard. They were both gasping when he lifted his head. "That answer your question?" he replied, smirking.

"Oh, God," Harry muttered, but then laced his fingers behind Draco's neck and dragged his mouth back to his. Draco kissed back with enthusiasm. This was getting better and better!

After a minute Harry pulled away, but he didn't step very far back, only studied Draco with an unreadable expression. Then he smiled slightly. "So, it seems like you didn't object too much," he observed.

"Definitely not," said Draco. "Although you owe me a shag."

Harry raised a brow. "I owe you? Let's leave that for the moment and come speeding back to 'what are you doing in my head, M - Draco?'"

Draco swallowed. Harry was starting to look a bit angry. "What do you think I'm doing here?" he asked, trying to stall for time.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's see. Pinpoint my location for Voldemort, maybe? Sabotage my Quidditch game? Just drive me mad?"

Draco grinned in spite of his worry. "I'm not here for Voldemort, I can tell you that, Harry."

"Really."

Okay, he couldn't have expected Harry to just believe him, right? "Really I suppose I just wanted to drive you mad," he confessed suddenly, tired of fencing. Harry had made sure someone would rescue him from being sacrificed to Voldemort, had offered him a place to stay. He supposed he owed him the truth for that.

Harry nodded. "But you didn't do it," he said.

Draco smiled ruefully. "Don't give me too much credit," he said. "I couldn't make you notice me. I couldn't even get into your head until you hit it at the playground."

Harry's hand came up to rub the back of his head, and a look of enlightenment crossed his face. "You cast the Stinging Hexes," he said, and Draco nodded. Then Harry scowled. "So what did you think of my idyllic home life?" he asked sarcastically.

"I wanted to hex those Muggles into jelly," said Draco, before he thought. Harry turned white. "But I didn't!" Draco cried, stepping forward and catching the other boy in his arms again. "I wouldn't really. I wouldn't!"

Harry didn't pull away, but he didn't respond, either. They stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Draco cast about for a change of subject.

"So who's the Weaselette interested in?" he asked.

Harry pulled back and looked up at him. "Don't call her that," he said shortly. "No more Weasel remarks from you."

Draco said nothing, not exactly ready to apologise or acknowledge any right on Harry's part to tell him what to do, but sorry he'd mentioned it anyway.

"What did you think of the Death Eaters?" Harry asked him quietly.

Draco scowled. "They disgust me. Crawling before that hideous – "

"Half-blood," Harry put in with a little smile.

"What?"

"Oh, yes. His father – whom he's named after, by the way – was a Muggle," said Harry. "Tom Riddle, Senior."

"Tom Riddle?" Draco echoed. "Wait, wasn't he a Slytherin Head Boy fifty years ago?"

"That was Tom Riddle, Junior – Lord Voldemort," said Harry. "That would be when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and got Myrtle killed. And framed Hagrid for it."

Draco sat down suddenly. "How do you know all this?"

"I saw that stuff in his diary," said Harry, sitting down across from him. "The one your Dad slipped to Ginny Weasley."

Draco turned his face away. "Don't talk about my Dad."

"Whatever," said Harry.

They sat in silence for awhile. Then Harry said, "So how were you able to be there to get into my head in the first place? And why are you still here?"

"I got stuck," said Draco sourly. Harry grinned suddenly. "Behind those outstanding Occlumency shields. As to how I got here, I was out of my body. Blaise made this potion – "

"Blaise?" And Draco could see the suspicion rising in Harry's expression. Subtle, he was not.

"I wasn't in on his little plan," he snapped. "I think he was using me, actually. I'll be sure and make him pay for that, too."

"I don't think you'll need to bother," said Harry dryly, and Draco's stomach dropped; he had forgotten the condition Blaise had been in when Voldemort released his curse.

"He made a potion," he said in more subdued tones. "It was supposed to combine Imperius and Legilimency, but he got it wrong. He told me it was for a project, so I was working with him on it. The version I took – well, it changed my blood."

Harry looked rather creeped out at that. "How?"

"The way the potion works, you go out of your body and into the mind of your target. You experience through their senses, see their thoughts and dreams, everything. You can plant suggestions that work with the force of Imperius." At Harry's look of horror, he added, "Except on you, apparently. You throw off Imperius too well, I guess. But I used it on my father."

"Really?" Harry looked intrigued. "What did you make him do?"

"Eat raspberries." At Harry's look, he clarified, "He hates raspberries. I never get to have them at home."

"Okay then," said Harry.

"So it stays in your body for two days, then cycles out and leaves you with the worst headache you've ever had." Harry raised a brow. Draco said, "I guess you know what that's like. I can do all that without taking the potion and thus, without the headache. I don't think I can cast Legilimens the normal way anymore.

"When I went after you, your shield kept bouncing me back until you hit your head. Then I got in, but your shield went back up, and I was stuck behind it," Draco concluded.

"So you've just been watching my life? My…dreams?" Harry asked, looking disturbed.

"No choice, Harry, so yes." Hoping to lighten the mood, he waggled his eyebrows. "Some of those dreams were quite interesting."

Harry blushed. "I bet."

"Come on, Harry," said Draco. "Why do you think I was after you in the first place? Glad to see we had similar ideas."

Harry brightened. "Yeah? Why don't you show me some of your ideas, then?"

Draco crawled towards him. Just before reaching for Harry, though, he said, "I thought you'd be angrier."

Harry shrugged. "I am angry. I'm furious. But I can see your mind now as clearly as you see mine." Well, that was disturbing, but Draco forced that aside. "I know you haven't harmed me, nor mean to. And I'm – glad you got to see what Voldemort's really like before it was too late. The rest can wait."

"Yeah," said Draco soberly. Put that way, he really had had a narrow escape. From Voldemort, anyway.

"About those ideas?" Harry reminded him, with a grin. Draco grinned back and threw himself on top of the smaller boy.

Harry still tasted deliciously of chocolate. Kissing him when they were both aware of each other was even better than their previous shared fantasies. Harry was again more aggressive than he'd been in Draco's imagination, but Draco found he didn't mind. He definitely didn't mind Harry's roaming hands, and made sure to give as good as he got.

Harry's fingers had just closed around Draco's cock when he disappeared and there was a disorienting rush. Seconds later Harry opened his eyes and there was the Weas - Ron Weasley hovering over him, hand still on his shoulder, which he'd obviously shaken.

"Ron?" Harry said, rubbing his eyes.

"Are you all right" Ron asked, handing him his glasses. "Only you were moaning in your sleep."

"Dammit, of course he was moaning!" Draco shouted, seething with frustration and reawakened fear.

"I'm okay," Harry said, swinging his legs out of bed. "Remind me to have a word with Professor Lupin about slipping me potions, though. What's going on?"

"Well, Snape is back," said Ron, following Harry out the door and down the stairs. "He's a little banged up. You know, it didn't occur to me last night, but he wasn't at the Death Eater meeting. He was here."

"That's right!" Harry exclaimed, stopping dead at the foot of the stairs. Ron almost bowled him over. "Why?"

"I dunno, you'll have to ask him," said Ron indifferently. "He didn't get Malfoy, though."

Harry stopped again. "Voldemort got him?" Sheer horror suffused his mind. Draco was gratified.

"Nah," said Ron, urging Harry forward again. "Tonks and Shacklebolt got him when they visited Malfoy Manor. Rescued Snape, too, he was trying to get Malfoy away from his Dad at the time. But there's something wrong with Malfoy."

"Where is he?" Harry demanded.

"In here," said Ron, steering him into a small sitting room on the first floor. Moments later Draco was once again gazing down at his own body.

He was wearing a robe, but his hair was tangled and lank, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Except for the very faint rise of his breath, he looked dead.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, looking up from where he was holding Draco's body's wrist, presumably checking his pulse. "He's alive, but – "

"Let me see him!" Professor Snape snarled from the doorway, and shoved Harry aside to fall to his knees beside Draco's body. He laid his forehead against Draco's and muttered "Legilimens."

"He's gone," Dumbledore murmured, as Professor Snape jerked back. Draco was surprised and rather touched at his favourite Professor's devastated expression.

"Too late," Professor Snape whispered. "I was too late."

"We think we was Kissed by a Dementor, Harry," said Lupin. Then, "Harry?"

Harry had approached Draco's body and knelt down. Now he put his forehead against Draco's body's forehead, and took a deep breath.

"Harry?" said Draco.

"Ready?" said Harry. "Off you go, then." And he dropped his shield.

Draco's mind surged back into his body, which shuddered all over. He struggled to open his eyes, hearing the amazed shouts of the other people in the room and feeling Harry's grip on his hand.

At long last, he got his eyes open. Professor Snape was looking stunned, Ron Weasley resigned, Professor Dumbledore delighted.

"Welcome, Mr Malfoy," the old man said.

"Thanks," Draco croaked. Harry Potter smiled down at him and squeezed his hand. Draco returned the smile and the squeeze. He was safe.

Finis