Once Upon A Dream

by AmayaSora

Draco Malfoy rarely has nightmares. He used to love this, until a mysterious but lovable knight starts visiting. As the years pass, Draco realizes he just might be in love with his companion, but just who is he? HPDM, oneshot.

Hello there!

This fic is inspired by the movie "The Time Traveller's Wife," but I obviously edited that premise quite a bit to fit my own purposes.

This is a Harry/Draco slash fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I'd suggest hitting the back button.

Reviews are welcomed and encouraged; they make my day. :)

-AmayaSora

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any other part of JKR's wonderful Potter universe, or anything related to "The Time Traveller's Wife." I just write about it for my own amusement, not for any monetary gain.

Once Upon a Dream

The first time he appeared, Draco was seven. It was a summer's night, warm but rainy. Luckily, his mother's dinner guests had left before the storm hit and were snug in their mansions by now. But the little blond boy, although asleep, was far from comfortable. He was tossing and turning, mouth twitching into several different frowns and grimaces, just beginning to sweat and shiver. The youngest Malfoy was in the grip of a nightmare.

His parents were quite proud of the fact that he never had bad dreams; said it showed a steely nerve and strong mental discipline. Usually, Draco was pleased, too, but there was a slight flaw in that logic: he had no idea how to deal with them when they did arrive.

This one was probably the result of the unfamiliar spices in the roast tonight (Dobby would have to punish himself again) in combination with the storm outside. In his dream, Draco was running through a dark, creepy forest with hanging vines and scratching branches. He kept tripping over tree roots, too, and it hurt in that weird way things hurt in dreams- not that Draco recognized that; he didn't realize he was dreaming.

An ivy coil whipped out and wrapped around his wrist. He struggled to get loose as the chattering behind him grew louder and louder. With one mighty yank he wrenched his arm free, but the motion overbalanced him, sending him tumbling forward through a briar patch and into a clearing. But instead of relief he felt even more panic: the other end of the field was taken up by a high, forbidding cliff. There was no way he'd be able to climb that... he was trapped.

Panting, he whirled around. Always look your enemy in the face, his father had said. That intimidates them. Granted, it probably only worked when you weren't scared witless yourself, but it was the only course of action he could think of. Soon after, thoughts of any kind fled as the sinister chattering reached fever pitch and the Jarveys swarmed the meadow, eyes glinting evilly, little claws dripping with blood, teeth bared.

As one, the entire mass of tiny creatures leapt into the air towards him. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and shielded his face, bracing for the barrage. Only it never came. A flash of light blazed, visible even through closed lids, and the sudden silence told him the Jarveys were gone.

Cautiously, Draco opened his eyes, and the sight that greeted him made his jaw drop. A man sat astride a magnificent Abraxan, which was pure white with a crystalline horn spiralling elegantly from its forehead. He wore a full suit of armor, like the antique one in Draco's father's study, only much more form-fitting; Draco saw that the man looked a bit scrawny to be a proper knight. The helmet at least seemed realistic, with its red plume rising from the top, swaying in the breeze.

The man lowered his wand and turned to Draco. "It is a little much, isn't it?" he said, chuckling in response to Draco's expression and gesturing to the outfit. Oddly, his voice was crystal clear and warm, not the least bit muffled by the armor. "But I couldn't resist- how often do you get to make an entrance like that?"

"Who- who are you?" Draco stammered.

"Your knight in shining armor," said the man easily, and Draco suspected he was smirking beneath that armor. "No, not really, sorry. I'm just a friend. Or I'd like to be, at any rate."

"You saved my life; friendship is the least I could offer." The man was evidently so elated by this that he did a full-out backflip off of his horse.

"Excellent! I'm so pleased to meet you, Draco," he said, shaking hands vigorously. He'd somehow taken his glove off without the blond noticing.

"And you as- hey! How do you know my name?"

"Er..." He raised a hand, as if to rub his neck, but stopped halfway. "Lucky guess." Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to be commanding like his father. He wasn't buying that for a second. "Okay," the knight relented. "I know your name because I was deliberately trying to get here and help you."

That was about the strangest answer Draco had ever heard, and it wasn't even an answer at that, not really. But other questions were crowding the edges of Draco's mind; he'd ask them first, and then come back to this one, throw the man off-guard. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Some forest, dunno what it's called."

"You're not a very good knight, are you?" Draco commented idly.

"I saved you, didn't I? And the horse is trained alright."

Indeed, the animal was standing demurely where the knight had dismounted. Draco was astounded; not even his grandfather's best-trained palomino Abraxan (definitively the best kind) behaved that well. And she certainly didn't have a horn... perhaps this was a new breed.

"More than alright... may I pet your horse?" Draco asked, transfixed by the animal's green eyes.

"Sure. His name is Bellerophon." The knight settled himself on the grass, legs splayed out in front of him, looking utterly relaxed. He ran his fingers through the grass, which Draco could see because somehow the meadow was now bathed in brilliant sunlight.

Draco tentatively reached up to Bellerophon, moving slowly like he'd been taught to do around animals, and the horse immediately lowered its head to meet his hand. Draco smiled as he stroked his neck; Grandfather never let Draco touch his Abraxans, he thought with just a touch of petulance. Bellerophon nuzzled his cheek affectionately.

"He likes me!" Draco exclaimed. He was quite used to people treating him with respect- expected as much, really, because he was a Malfoy- but had no such guarantees with animals. And it felt very nice to have something like him on his own merit, not his father's.

"Of course he does," the knight said fondly, and now the meadow was filled with flowers and butterflies.

"Do you have any sugar? I'd like to feed him." A small bag of sugar cubes appeared in Draco's hand at the flick of the knight's wand. The horse took the treats right from his hand as Draco murmured to him softly.

After a few moments of silently watching, the knight rose gracefully and strode to Draco's side. "Do you want to ride him?"

"Really?" Draco squealed, and then abruptly remembered himself and blushed faintly. "I mean, yes, that would be delightful."

The knight laughed again. "You can just be yourself here; no need to worry. Your father will never find out. Anyway, here we are," he said, and a saddle appeared on Bellerophon's back. Draco hadn't even seen his wand move.

"You're not coming with me?" the boy asked, eyeing the small saddle almost warily. It looked tailor-made for him.

"That depends... do you want me to? This is your show."

Draco pretended to think about it. In reality, he would be very grateful for the company; he'd never ridden properly before. But it wouldn't do to seem too eager. "Yes, I suppose so," he said eventually.

A rainbow burst through the clouds (now white and puffy, utterly unthreatening) and the knight changed the saddle so it was larger. Reins appeared on Bellerophon, too, and the creature stood stock still as the knight boosted Draco up.

"Go on and grab the reins there," he instructed, and easily swung his leg over the horse so he was seated behind Draco.

"I- I don't know how to do this," the blond admitted.

"That's okay; Bel knows what he's doing. Just tug in the direction you want to go." He spoke gently and naturally, and it made Draco feel much more capable and liked than any of his tutors ever had. He smiled again, and, as he'd seen his grandfather do, tapped his heels to Bellerophon's side. The horse ran a few steps and then leapt into the air, beating his wings powerfully but smoothly, hardly jostling his riders at all.

"Very good!" the knight praised, and Draco smiled wider. The expression was practically glued to his face now, given all he was seeing. The forest stretched below him, shades of green merging and blending, now a swift river, azure blue slicing through it. Things were so colorful here, and it was lovely. Like being in Mother's garden, even if Father didn't like him staying there for too long.

"I wish I could see the ocean," he commented wistfully. The knight drummed his fingers on the saddle, and quite suddenly they were on a beach in what appeared to be France. The change had happened so abruptly as to be disorienting. Draco had never heard of a spell that could do that; Apparating was different, you spun for that.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean to do it that quickly!" the knight exclaimed, and everything was a bit muted now, some edges blending together, and Draco was confused, felt slightly sluggish.

Things righted themselves immediately when Draco looked down and saw an odd little bracelet on his wrist, pulsing slightly. A specialized Portkey, he realized, which had been how they'd gotten here.

"Did you invent this?" he asked the knight, who was looking oddly exhausted, given his body language.

"Yeah," he replied.

"It's very handy... where might I buy another one?"

"It's, uh, not in stores yet. Still a prototype... why don't you take us somewhere else now? So Bel can land."

"Alright," said Draco amicably, and envisioned the meadow again. He blinked and they were there. Bellerophon landed, lightly as a feather, and the knight slid off his back to give Draco a boost down.

"Have fun?" the knight inquired.

"Definitely," Draco said earnestly, patting Bellerophon's side. "Although... It's weird to know your horse's name, and not yours."

"Oh. You can call me whatever you'd like."

"Well, I'd like to call you by your name," said Draco, a bit sharply. He hadn't liked how the knight had sounded so dismissive, after they'd seemed to get on so well.

"But aren't nicknames more fun?"

"Maybe. But I'd still like your name."

There was a very long pause, and finally the knight spoke. "Look, I'm going to level with you. I can't tell you my real name, but I don't know if I could handle having you call me by a fake one. Sorry."

He really sounded it, too, as if it was very hard for him to upset Draco. He felt a rush of affection for the man; no adult had ever apologized to him like that. But that didn't mean he didn't want answers. "Why can't you tell me your real name?"

The knight shifted uneasily. "I can't tell you that either."

"Why not?" Draco whined.

"Because." If there was a response Draco hated more than any other it was that: because. One simple word that effectively cut off all conversation and made Draco infuriated. It meant that the person couldn't think of a good reason for denying Draco something but wouldn't admit it. He turned away in a huff.

"Draco, don't! I really wish I could tell you... here, why don't you ask me some more questions. I'll answer all those that I can, promise."

"How do I know you won't lie?"

"Because I know how it feels to be kept in the dark, and I don't want to do that to you." It was a shocking answer; grown-ups never spoke to Draco like that, as if he was important. And so Draco believed him.

"Alright. What's your favorite color?"

"Red," the knight responded, gesturing to his plumed helmet.

"You're not going to take that off, are you?"

"No. Again, I'm sorry." The knight had sat down on a log now, and Draco went to join him.

"How long have you had Bellerophon?" Draco inquired, watching the horse graze.

"I only recently got him, actually. A few weeks- about a month ago."

"Really? I would have sworn it was much longer, given how much he trusts you."

"He's just naturally trusting, I guess," the knight responded.

"How often do you go on knight missions?"

"This is my first one, actually," the knight admitted with a self-conscious chuckle. "Hopefully I'm doing okay."

"I'd have to say that you are," responded Draco with a smile. "I'm safe. And flying like that... it was one of the best things I've ever done. Thank you for allowing me to do it."

"That's what I'm here for," he said easily. "And on that note, I really should be heading off."

"What? No- don't go!"

"I have to, though... again, I'm sorry. Trust me, if I could I'd stay here much longer."

"Okay, I guess," said Draco grudgingly as the knight rose. He bit his lip, unsure of the appropriateness of the question, but he decided to go for it anyway. His father wouldn't find out, after all. "Will you come back to see me?"

The knight whistled for Bellerophon and the horse came trotting over. "Of course. I never could stay away from you." He hopped up on his steed's back and gave a little bow to Draco. "Until next time, then," he called, and with a tap of his feet he and Bellerophon were airborne. Just before they got out of sight the knight stood in the saddle, turned around and waved to Draco, who waved back unreservedly.

.&.&.&.&.&.

It was over four years before Draco saw him again. The date, specifically, was August 31, and the eleven-year-old had gone to bed with a churning stomach, but not from odd spices this time. No, now the cause was nerves, because Draco was leaving for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the morning.

He couldn't wait to arrive at the castle, so very alive with magic and people (he'd been there once before when his father was needed for a governors' meeting and no servant could be spared to watch him). And they would all love him, naturally, all bend over backwards to give him what he wanted. That was the homage due to the Malfoy name.

But now, no one was gazing at him reverently. Instead, every face had a look of disdain, even anger, like the one worn by the boy in the robe shop as he left. And the figures weren't blinking, either, which was very unnerving.

The Sorting Hat was shoved roughly on his head and immediately began constricting, squeezing tight, and Draco couldn't move from the chair even though he felt the throng of other students pressing nearer to him.

"Draco Malfoy..." the Hat said. "Where to put you..."

"Slytherin, obviously," said the boy, feigning assurance. But his voice shook and he felt the circle of people close around him, malevolent intentions evident in the murmurs and hisses.

"But you don't belong in Slytherin," the Hat whispered viciously, and Draco's blood ran cold. "Such a disappointment..."

"N-no! No, I'm not. I am a Slytherin, I know it!"

"You are wrong. And Slytherins are never wrong, never second-best... you are an outsider, Draco Malfoy; you don't belong here. And you know what happens to those who don't belong..." The crowd laughed evilly, and now they were poking and prodding him, pulling on his robes.

"There has to be a mistake! My family's always been in Slytherin... at least put me somewhere!" he pleaded desperately, tears prickling his eyes.

"Alas, I cannot. You are not suited for any of the Hogwarts Houses." The bodies pressed around him began moving in a slow circle like sharks stalking their prey, and Draco still couldn't move, and now couldn't stop crying either. He'd been waiting for this practically his whole life, and now he found it was all unattainable. His father would be so disappointed... if the mob doesn't kill me, Draco thought as a Stinging Hex grazed his arm.

"You are not suited for any of the Hogwarts Houses," the Hat repeated, but with a jolt Draco realized that its voice had changed, was now softer and warmer, yet more authoritative- the voice of the knight from the meadow! "Because none of them are worthy of you. No, from now on there shall be five Hogwarts Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Malfoy, the greatest of them all."

At once the Hat vanished from Draco's head and he found himself lifted onto the crowd's collective shoulders. They were cheering now, celebrating with him- for him. And the Hogwarts coat of arms expanded, now dominated by a shimmery pearl dragon- magnificent and strong- set against a deep purple background where stars shone as brightly as they did in the actual night sky.

"Are you a prince?" one little boy asked. "Purple is the color of royalty."

Draco smirked. He wasn't going to deny something like that, certainly, until he was positive it wasn't true. And he was bound to be so busy it would be months before he got around to checking...

The crowd had swept him up the stairs and to a magnificent gilded door with the dragon engraved in it. The creature bowed to him and the door swung open, revealing an opulently decorated lounge area, complete with roaring fireplaces, comfy armchairs, and Persian carpets. Draco smiled; he could certainly get used to this. He plopped himself down on the large couch and stretched luxuriously.

"Fancy some company?"

Draco turned his head and saw a figure clad in the usual Hogwarts uniform, except his pointed hat was red and cast a shadow so deep it completely obscured his face. But Draco would recognize that voice anywhere.

"No armor today?" he asked, blinking to assure himself he wasn't hallucinating.

"It wouldn't fit in. Or, they'd make me stand guard in some deserted corridor or something," the man said. "Er... may I sit down?"

"I'll consider it," said Draco. Now that he'd gotten over his initial shock, he was angry. The knight had said he'd come back, and it had been years since the meadow.

"What's wrong?" he asked earnestly.

"Only that you lied to me. You said you'd visit."

"I never said how long I'd be away, though. So technically, it's not lying."

"Such a Slytherin answer," Draco said approvingly. "Very well. You may sit."

The man did so, sinking gracefully down onto the cushions and propping his feet up on the table. Draco had never seen someone so utterly relaxed and comfortable.

"How did you get through the wards?" Draco wondered. The man looked too old to be a student, judging from his height.

"Magic," was the immediate answer, and once again Draco knew without being able to see that the man was smirking.

"Why do you always have something covering your face?"

The knight shifted uncomfortably. "Well, because I'm very, er, recognizable, and my enemies can't know where I am."

"I can protect you," said Draco at once. "Father has loads of contacts in all fields; he can make it look like you've disappeared, and then you won't have to be afraid."

"Thanks for the offer, but I can't accept it," the knight said.

"Why not?" the boy demanded at once.

"That's another one of those questions I can't answer without lying."

"How come you're so honest?" Draco blurted before he could stop himself.

"I'm not, really. It's just you I won't lie to. Because I want to be your friend, and friendships are built on trust," he added for free, anticipating the next question. Draco sat silently for a while, a warm glow building in his chest unexpectedly at the reminder of the knight's aim. After a while, the knight hesitantly spoke. "So, could I join your House?" He accompanied this with a wave of his hand, gesturing around the spacious quarters.

"Why are you asking me?"

"It's Malfoy House," the knight replied, humor evident in his voice. "You get to pick who's in it."

"Oh..." Draco said, smirk spreading on his face again. "Well, I suppose you can. But I get the bed by the window."

"Naturally," said the knight, and he sounded so thrilled Draco couldn't help but smile softly.

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Draco began fidgeting. "What is there to do in this place?" he asked.

"It is a school, you know, so studying would be in order." The knight held out for a full three seconds before giving in to his laughter. "Sorry, sorry, but the look on your face was priceless... Besides, I have no interest in studying whatsoever. Or doing work of any kind."

"Which still leaves the question of what we can do."

"Anything we want," the knight responded smoothly. "I know a few fun things we can try, if you're interested."

"Very well, then," Draco said nonchalantly as he rose, but his mind was brimful of excitement. The knight was obviously powerfully magical, and so he was bound to know all kinds of useful spells.

Yet what the knight had in mind were games, simple little games like Exploding Snap and Gobstones. They also ate copious amounts of junk food, which was delivered to them by eager house-elves. Then they moved on to pranks, apparently a Hogwarts tradition. His father never told him about it, of course, because he plainly wouldn't want his son participating in such activities, but Draco found it exhilarating. Throwing Dungbombs from banisters, jinxing people's shoelaces together, setting torches to change colors at random intervals when a professor was trying to work...

Early afternoon found them by the shores of the big lake on the grounds. The knight was teaching Draco how to skip rocks, another "Muggle" amusement but one that was quite fun and required a bit of skill. According to the knight, Draco had a real knack for it, though.

"Nice one!" he exclaimed as the stone Draco threw skipped eight times on the clear surface. Draco beamed.

"It was, wasn't it?" Draco agreed.

Oddly, the knight chuckled. "And now I'm wondering if this was such a good idea..."

"What? Why?" Draco demanded at once.

"Nothing, nothing... I should really keep my mouth shut, but like so many other things, that's hard to do when you're around."

"Father says that the Malfoy presence generally inspires awe in lesser mortals."

"Is that how you think of me?" the knight asked softly, wounded.

Draco realized that he honestly didn't. This knight was his friend- of his own accord- and he felt more comfortable with him than he ever had with Crabbe or Goyle. For the first time, he was seeing someone as his equal. "No, I don't think that at all."

Somehow, Draco could feel the knight's smile even if he couldn't see it. The man bent to retrieve a stone and skipped it, sending it in graceful arcs. "So I didn't do too much damage then."

"Damage?"

"Inflating your ego," the knight said. "There's still hope yet."

"You are very confusing, you know that?" Only five jumps that time; disappointing, Draco noted.

"Yes. And I really am sorry, Draco."

The blond was silent for a long time, skipping several rocks in quick succession. Finally, he ventured, "So, do I have to let other people into House Malfoy? Or can it just be the two of us?"

"It can be whatever you want it to be. But I will say I'm extremely flattered that that's what you want," the knight said, wild excitement audible even though he tried to keep his voice calm.

Draco smiled fondly to himself at the knight's enthusiasm. "Even with just the two of us we'll win every House competition: Quidditch, House Cup, even rock-skipping."

"There's no rock skipping contest at Hogwarts."

"Ah, but there will be. I shall initiate one. This is really quite fun."

"I'm glad you like it. And you can do it whenever you want; you don't have to wait for me to be here."

"Why would I have to- you're going to disappear again, aren't you?" Draco realized and dropped his rock angrily.

"Unfortunately. I want nothing more than to stay here with you, trust me, but it's not possible."

"Why isn't it possible? I've told you, my father can do anything within the Ministry, and-"

"It's not a Ministry matter... I appreciate the offer, I honestly do, but there's nothing you or anyone can do."

"When are you leaving me, then?" Draco asked petulantly.

"In a moment or two... but, in a way, I'm not leaving you at all." This time Draco heard a smirk in the knight's voice. "In fact, starting tomorrow, you're going to wish you were seeing quite a bit less of me."

"I could never think that," Draco said at once. "You're my best friend."

The knight abruptly froze and seemed to battle with himself for a moment before he spun and pulled Draco into a hug. The blond was quite taken aback; people didn't touch him, certainly not without an explicit invitation. But he didn't mind the knight doing it, somehow. He even tentatively hugged back.

"And on that note, I bid thee adieu," the knight said cheekily, bowing absurdly and with a ridiculous amount of flourish.

"I'll see you again tomorrow, though, right? You just said."

"Yes, you'll see me tomorrow. Just not in the way you're thinking. And I'll come back again, don't worry."

"You had better," Draco warned. Then, as the knight turned away, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Can I at least have your name? How else will I find you?"

"You manage alright," said the knight with a smile. "And I've explained about my name; that situation hasn't changed..." Seeing Draco's crestfallen expression, he sighed deeply. "Alright, fine. I'll compromise with you. I'll permit you to guess my name, and I promise not to lie about it if you get it right."

"'If,' please. I'll have it figured out in no time," said Draco confidently.

"I hope you do," the knight said sincerely. "Anyway, it's been really fun, Draco. Don't worry about classes; you'll be fine."

Draco nodded resolutely. Of course he would be. He was a Malfoy, he knew what he was doing. "Yes... well, this is good-bye for now, then, Sir... Percival?"

The knight laughed, a warm, rich sound that made Draco smile. "No 'sir,' please... Merlin that makes me feel old. And nope, not Percival, not even close. I do know a Percival, though, and he'd be quite upset if he heard that comparison. I'm far too irresponsible to share his name."

"Alright, I won't call you sir, then, Gregory."

"Nope."

"Bartholomew?"

"Getting colder," the knight said, amused.

"What?"

"Muggle expression... never mind. I really do have to be going now. Take care."

"And you as well. I look forward to our meeting tomorrow."

"I do, too- well, now, anyway. See you around, Draco." The knight waved and spun on his heel before running forward and jumping into the lake with a graceful and beautiful swan dive. There was a slight shimmer and an orange glow as he hit the surface, and he was gone.

.&.&.&.&.&.

Mazes should be illegal, Draco thought as he found himself in yet another dead end. This was the fifth in a row, and he had no idea how it was even possible to make that many wrong turns. He backtracked cautiously, ever-wary lest he be caught, and turned right. Happily, that worked this time, and he was able to progress further.

He paused to lean against the wall and recollect his wits, get his bearings. His pursuers were nowhere to be found; perhaps they too had gotten lost in the maze, Draco thought with a smirk. So much for the best assassins in the world... The triumphant expression was short-lived, however, because at that moment the wall he was leaning against simply vanished, and he stumbled backward into the deepest darkness, so black it was almost tangible, suffocating.

Draco muttered "Lumos" and lit his wand, but there was nothing to be seen except more darkness. Faint sounds, made by beings shuffling around him, caused Draco to think he'd been wrong to underestimate the skills of the assassins before. And it also made his heart beat fast; there were so many of them; he didn't know which way to face, or when an attack was coming. The suspense was always worse than the actual event.

And then, he heard a different sound, and his breath died in his throat, constricted by the tightening of his chest. It was a rattling sound, like a dying breath, and everything went as cold as a mid-winter's night. Draco's wandlight flickered and died, but he couldn't remember the spell anymore- couldn't think of anything, actually, through the fear. He was shaking like a leaf; him, a thirteen-year-old pureblooded wizard, literally quaking in his boots. What would Father say?

The next moment, he realized he'd never find out, because they were coming. Darker than even this pitch blackness, the huge, cloaked figures floated above the ground, advancing slowly, drawing out Draco's torture. He couldn't move, couldn't turn and run even though he so desperately wanted to, because he knew that if the dementors got near him he'd hear those voices again, the awful ones he'd heard on the train earlier that day, laughing at him, his mother crying over Grandfather's body...

He could hear only his own terrified gasps and the rattling of the dementors as they drew nearer and nearer... there must have been ten of them; Draco had never seen so many in one place before. He whimpered, pitifully, but he couldn't help it at the moment, begging for them to make it quick, at least. His vision was swimming as they came still closer.

And suddenly the dementors halted, stopped dead in their tracks, and a bright silver ball appeared in front of Draco and rolled towards them. It hit the first dementor head-on and sent it sprawling backwards, knocking into its fellows who had formed a triangle formation behind it. They fell to the floor, and suddenly weren't dementors anymore, but peculiar black objects shaped vaguely like butterbeer bottles.

There was color in the room now, and light. It was bright and coming from overhead, illuminating the warm oak-colored floors and a navy-blue carpet decorated with swirling patterns of random, neon colors. The space where the dementors were was covered by an overhang of greyish white material, and there was a weird hallway of some sort stretching from them to Draco, only it didn't have any walls and there were many of them on either side of this one.

A dark grey bar emerged from the side of the overhang and swept the former dementors away, and a brown something deposited ten more of the same objects in their place. Draco had never seen anything like this before, and so simply stood there, stunned. A word began flashing on a screen above the overhang: STRIKE.

"Er... hi," said a sheepish voice. "Are you okay?"

The knight had appeared at Draco's elbow, only his outfit was different. He had on black slacks and a red long-sleeved shirt with a hood that covered the entire top half of his head and shrouded his eyes in deep shadow. But this time Draco could see his jawline and his mouth, which was now pulled into a concerned frown.

"I think so," Draco huffed, and sank into a chair. "What is this place?"

"It's called a bowling alley. Bowling is a Muggle sport. You take these balls-" He gestured to a pile of heavy-looking silver balls of the same kind that had taken out the dementors. "-and roll them down the lane to knock down as many pins as possible. Strike means you got all of them in one go."

"I... but... the dementors..."

"Transfigured them," the knight said swiftly. "Er... this is probably a bit abrupt, isn't it? We can go somewhere else if you'd rather..."

"No," said Draco slowly, looking around. They were completely alone here, but somehow it didn't feel like it. The place gave off an impression of energy and excitement- fun even. He decided he'd quite like to observe it further.

And then it finally sank in that the knight was here, at last, and he sprung up immediately. "What the bloody hell do you mean by it?"

"Sorry? Mean by what?"

"You told me I'd meet you the next day last time, and here it's been two years to the day with nary a word! You swore you'd never lie!"

"I didn't lie; you did see me last time. And quite a few times afterwards, just not like this." Here he smirked, and this time Draco could see it and appreciate the expression. "And it's been two years and a day, not two years on the day."

"I- you've been counting the days?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"Something like that," the knight said airily. "You just finished your first day of your third year at Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes," said Draco, a bit breathlessly. For the knight to have been counting like that, he must really have missed Draco. It was very nice to feel so... appreciated. "I, ah, I've missed you, too. Julian?"

The knight shook his head, but he was beaming. It was radiant smile, warm and open and very disarming. Draco was rather thunderstuck by it. "You okay?" the knight asked.

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine. Afteraffects from the dementors," he said hurriedly.

The knight smiled again, in sympathy this time, and it was even more beautiful, if that was possible. "I know what you mean. They affect me pretty badly too... but onto cheerier topics. How are you enjoying school?"

"Quite well," said Draco dismissively. For once in his life, he didn't particularly want to talk about himself, but rather to listen and learn the knight's story. "And what of you? What adventures have you gotten up to since last we met?"

"Well, I was guarding a valuable treasure and foiled the theft of that... saved a damsel in distress... got in a duel."

"Did you win?"

"It was a draw, I guess you could say," said the knight, grinning. "What's your favorite subject in school?"

"Potions, closely followed by Transfiguration. Speaking of which, that was some impressive work you did with the dementors."

The knight smiled his brilliant smile again. "Thank you. My dad was really good at Transfiguration- my godfather too, actually."

"Was? What happened to them?"

"They died." He said it quite evenly, but Draco knew his friend well enough even though their acquaintance was short to be able to see he was deeply affected by it.

"I'm very sorry... and your mother?"

"Her as well... I've got a real nice surrogate family now, though, don't worry. I thought we were trying for cheerier topics?" he joked.

"Very well, then, Octavian." The knight shuddered at that one. "No, didn't really feel right to me, either... David?"

"Nope."

Draco sighed. He would think carefully before giving his next guess. "So why aren't there any Muggles in this... bowling alley, was it?"

"They must be all busy," the knight said awkwardly. "So, would you like to try your hand at it?"

"At- at bowling? I couldn't possibly."

"Come on, it'll be fun," the knight said, grinning widely. For some reason, Draco found himself nodding, and was rewarded with one of those radiant smiles he'd somehow gotten addicted to.

"Grab a ball then. See those three holes there? They're for your fingers." He demonstrated and then Draco copied the action. "Great. Now, you pull your arm back and let the ball go so it rolls down the lane towards the pins." He strode forward and let the ball fly. It spun in a perfect line right down the middle and toppled the pins with ease, rewarding the knight with another flashing "STRIKE" sign.

Draco, feeling rather self-conscious, shuffled forward. The ball was heavier than he was expecting, but he was quite pleased with himself when he was able to heave it forward and onto the lane. But decidedly less so when it immediately veered to the right and into one of the recesses on the side of the lane. None of the pins so much as wobbled.

"Gutter ball," the knight said. "Go on, try again, though."

Reluctantly, Draco obliged, but got the same result. He scowled; this was quite difficult, and now he wasn't sure he believed the knight's claims that Muggles regularly succeeded at it.

"I've spotted the problem now; you're curving your arm when you let it go, which curves the ball." The knight stepped forward holding a silver ball close to his chest and held it out to Draco, who took it. "Er, may I?" The knight asked.

Draco nodded, and the knight proceeded to gently adjust Draco's arm position. He glanced at Draco's face quickly before stepping around behind him and winding his arm around so he could guide Draco's. Deliberately, he raised both his and Draco's arms and then drew back. He flung their arms in an arc and Draco felt where his arm wanted to twitch away from the knight's, but he held it firm and this time when he released the ball it rolled straight and true towards the pins, felling seven of them.

"Excellent," the knight said softly, but Draco wasn't really paying attention to the praise because he was thinking about how he was much closer to the knight's height now, thanks to his growth spurt, and how warm and comfortable his body felt pressed against Draco's. He had been wondering for a while now if he was gay, but hadn't made any moves to test it one way or the other. But this was certainly an interesting development... he blushed fiercely.

Abruptly, the knight stepped away and cleared his throat. "Sorry, er... but, no, that was much better that time." Draco smiled distractedly. This apparently worried the knight, because he asked, "Are you sure you're okay? I can get you some chocolate, if you need it. Because of the dementors, you know."

"I don't think I need chocolate, but thank you," he said, after a quick shake of the head. "Besides, how would you get any? There's no one here to buy it from, and you can't very well conjure some without violating the Statute of-" Draco abruptly stopped. The Statue of Secrecy prevented witches and wizards from doing magic in front of Muggles, and yet the knight had done some fairly complicated Transfiguration in the middle of a Muggle hang-out. Draco still had the Trace on him, which meant the Ministry surely would have picked up the magic and came charging in by now, Obliviators at the ready. Yet there was nothing.

Of course, he reasoned, there aren't any Muggles here to reveal ourselves to. But that was odd too; it was the middle of the day; surely there should be some about, particularly to have the contraptions working as they were... And, how had he even gotten here? He had Side-Along Apparated before, of course, and this felt nothing like that. He just suddenly wasn't in the dark space anymore. And it wasn't a Portkey either, no jerk in the navel.

It was like the modified Portkey bracelet he'd had the first time the knight visited him. But he didn't have one now (he checked to make sure), nor had he ever had one because in spite of his patient waiting it had never appeared in any stores, and his father told him to stop asking about it because it never would. He'd suggested that it had been some childish fantasy he'd thought up, and he didn't approve of fantasies. At this point Draco was sorely tempted to tell his father all about the knight, but had refrained because then his father would know and Draco wouldn't be able to act like himself around the knight anymore.

Yet Draco was sure it had been real, when he was with the knight... and Hogwarts! Hogwarts was undeniably real, even Father knew- it was different! Draco realized suddenly. The Hogwarts castle he'd lived in for two years was different from the one he'd explored with the knight in many subtle ways- the locations of some classrooms, some stairwells and paintings- and a few major ones; house-elves wouldn't give you food, for one thing, and the Houses! He was a bona-fide Slytherin, not in a House of his own, no matter how cool it would have been.

Draco glanced over at the knight. He was undeniably real, was right here with Draco, and those things undeniably happened, because Draco remembered them so clearly... well, now, at any rate... but things were odd, very odd indeed... He trusted the knight implicitly, of course, but it was a little suspicious, all the secrecy, the incredible things he did; impossible, Draco would have said.

Suddenly he gasped, and the world began to fade a bit, grow slightly fuzzy, edges indistinct. "This is a dr-" The knight clapped a hand over Draco's mouth hurriedly. The teen watched as the knight's mouth moved frantically, silently forming long strings of words.

"Don't say the word!" the knight pleaded when he had finished, and cautiously removed his hand. "I've fixed it so even though you've realized, it won't wake you up unless you actually say the word."

Draco had never heard of anything like that before, and he was, for the second time that night (as it apparently was, although it seemed mid-day), stunned and overwhelmed. The knight led him to a chair.

"Er... that is to say, if you want to wake up, by all means, go ahead. I won't stop you- can't stop you, really, but wouldn't even if I could... and- and I won't bother you again, either, so you don't have to worry..."

"No."

"What?"

That was the only word Draco had been able to form at the moment, and he blurted it automatically. But now he tried to piece together a coherent sentence. "I mean, I don't want you to stop, ah, 'bothering me,' as you put it. Because it- it's not a bother, really... disconcerting, obviously, slightly creepy, but not bothersome."

"R-really?" The knight's voice was so incredibly hopeful that Draco almost smiled. Almost, because he wanted to feel angry, and use that to his advantage to get answers.

"Yes. But that isn't to excuse what is a tremendous invasion of privacy. Is it even legal?"

"Um... well, the Ministry hasn't passed a law against it. But that might be because they don't, er, know about it," he said sheepishly.

"How could they not know? Are you an Unspeakable?"

"No. No, I could never work for the Ministry- too many unpleasant experiences. I work at a shop, actually, and this is something I figured out in my own free time."

"What kind of person uses their free time to think up ways to invade other people's dreams?"

"It was an accident at first! I swear! Luckily I got my friend's head and not some stranger, or it would have been very bad... but she realized what was going on, and, um, let me keep coming in, you know, to get practice."

"And what kind of person volunteers for that?" Draco asked, with a less accusatory tone this time.

"One who's a little odd- er, okay, a lot odd, but brilliant and very open-minded. One of my closest friends."

"So, you practice... that means you can control what happens then?"

"To an extent. It has to be believable, or else you'll automatically realize I'm changing things and wake up- remember the first time, with the abrupt shift to the ocean? I did it too quickly and you realized it would only make sense in a dream, hence the hasty invention of the Portkey bracelet."

"I thought you looked exhausted..." Draco murmured. "Then why bring me here, of all places? It's pretty far-fetched."

"I hadn't planned to. I was in a bit of a rush, you see. Dementors affect me horribly, like I said, and I didn't want to experience that pain again. Normally I'd use a Patronus, but mine is too recognizable, and-"

"I don't get that!" Draco cried. "It's almost as if you don't want me to figure out your identity!"

The knight's face- the part he could see, anyway, looked very conflicted. "No, I do want you to know... but not until- god, this is hard... If I could reveal my identity, I would, in a heartbeat, Draco, but I can't. For so many complicated reasons, I just can't."

"I don't care that you're breaking the law," he said softly. "And strangely enough I don't care nearly as much as I should about you invading my mind, although I am curious about how you do it. Legilimency doesn't work from a distance."

"I'm... not sure, actually. I was never too good with theory stuff, more application. But I don't think it's Legilimency; I'm rubbish at that."

"How old are you?" Draco asked suddenly. It sounded as if the knight had tried to learn that skill, and it was something only attempted by older wizards.

"Eighteen," he replied. "The weird thing with... this, is I can almost go back in time, but not really since dreams somehow fall outside of the normal time-space continuum, or so L- my friend tells me, anyway. So I'm eighteen but you've been various ages when I've visited."

That blew Draco's mind considerably, that this man could travel through time. "So you can just, show up in my dreams, whenever you want? At any time?"

The knight smiled. "Ah, but I can't. You're a natural Occlumens, Draco- inherited from your mother, probably- which means you block people out of your mind even when you sleep. So I can't get in unless you have a nightmare, because then your shields go down. Almost like you want help..."

"That's why I always have to wait so long to see you! I almost never have nightmares." Draco had always liked that about himself, that he always knew he could have sleep as his refuge no matter what was going on around him, and because it was an unusual manifestation of protective magic. He tried to recall what he'd been doing when he had his other two nightmares... he'd eaten something odd, and he'd been nervous about school. And this one was most likely from the dementors on the train.

"I know what you're doing, Draco- don't. Don't go and try to force yourself to have nightmares so you can see me. I'll- I'll stop coming if you do."

"How would you know if I did?" Draco challenged, but the set of the knight's jaw showed he was very stubborn and not one to back down. The look was vaguely familiar, actually, but Draco couldn't place it. "Okay, fine, I won't do it. But why do you come and see me?"

"To help you," the knight said at once. "I make the nightmares go away; hopefully your sleep becomes peaceful afterwards?"

"Yes... and in the meantime, very enjoyable." That was an understatement; Draco rarely had so much fun as he did with the knight. "Why me, though? Or do you just hop along to anyone who needs you?" Draco didn't know why, but the thought of his knight visiting anyone else made him very jealous.

"Only you, Draco," the knight said softly, tenderly- no, not tenderly; Draco was reading too much into it because of his blasted hormones.

"Oh... well, you haven't addressed the first part of the question," he said, trying not to let his smile burst forth onto his face. He truly was his knight, and only his, and that thrilled Draco immensely. "Why did you choose me?"

The knight sucked in a breath. "Ah... that's difficult to answer. I think I told you the first time we met I wanted to be your friend. Well, I still do. And here, I can be."

"You obviously know me in real life," Draco insisted, scooting his chair closer to the knight's. "Are we not friends there?"

The knight smiled sadly. "Not currently. I'd like to be, but it's- there are so many barriers that I'm not sure it's possible."

"It's possible, believe me. You... I feel closer to you than I do to any of my other friends." That was really odd, if Draco thought about it. He'd only met this man two times before in his life, and already he felt as if he knew him intimately. Granted, he had been saving his life both times, in a manner of speaking, but that in and of itself shouldn't have been enough... but Draco filed the information away for later review (assuming he remembered this afterwards; he didn't always remember dreams).

The knight beamed, but his smile dimmed almost immediately. "Oh, Draco... you don't know what it means to hear that, but it's- it's really complicated." He sighed heavily. "I don't mean that as a brush-off; it's the honest truth."

"Look, if you just tell me who you are we can work on making things less complicated."

"I really wish I could... I don't know what would happen if I told you, and if you're as attached as you say you are I don't want to risk hurting you if I'm, er, not who you expect. But keep guessing, Draco... please, keep guessing."

"Someone I know... Theodore?"

"No."

Draco wracked his brains. "UGH! I know clearly who you're not, but I can't think of who you are... at this point, am I well acquainted with you?"

"In a way," said the knight slowly. "You know who I am, but I don't think you really know me."

That was no help at all; it could be any number of people. So Draco resorted to guessing names again. The knight wasn't called Carter, George, Timothy, Phineas (but that got a snort), Brett, Brandon, or Marcus.

"James?" said Draco randomly.

"I wouldn't hate it if you called me James," the knight said wistfully. "It's not right, but I wouldn't mind."

"No, I am not settling for anything less than your real name. But it's close to James, is it? John?"

"Not John. And the reason I don't mind James isn't because it's particularly close phonetically to my actual name."

"Then why?"

"That would be a give-away. Sorry," he said, and shrugged inelegantly.

"Are you always this difficult?" Draco asked, but his mouth was twitching towards a smile.

"Absolutely," the knight responded easily. "Ask anyone."

"And who in particular would you suggest?"

The knight laughed. "Snape would love to talk to you about me, for one. Probably McGonagall as well... any of my friends... and yes, I'm being purposefully vague," he added cheerily.

"Are you a Slytherin?" Draco demanded.

"Not officially. Almost was, though."

"I'm surprised you're not," Draco admitted. "So another House then. Why do I get the feeling this is another thing you won't elaborate on?"

"Because that's exactly right," said the knight delightedly. "You catch on quick."

"Well I am a Slytherin; what did you expect?"

"Good point," the knight admitted. Then he stood and stretched. "Well, I'd best be off. You have several dreams a night, you know, and me staying here holds up this one."

"I like this one!" Draco declared, rushing over to his friend's side. "I wouldn't mind staying here all night."

"That's sweet, Draco." The blond teen didn't even have time to react to the word, because the knight was already striding toward the door. "But it would mess up the entire sleep cycle, which is very bad. Especially with you being in school and needing your rest."

"What if I don't care?" Draco asked, and grabbed onto the knight's sleeve. That stopped him.

"I care, Draco. I'm here to help you, not cause any sort of discomfort or trouble. And- and I honestly haven't done this enough to be comfortable trying to prolong the dream past its normal bounds."

"Okay," Draco said unhappily. "I meant what I said, though, about feeling close to you. You should try to be my friend in the real world too."

"I will," the knight said, and Draco felt him squeeze his hand. "I promise I will, eventually. You just keep safe and happy, okay? No purposeful nightmares."

"Alright," Draco said. "Will I see you again?"

"Of course. Next time you have a nightmare. Don't know how long that will be, but... yeah. I'll come, if you want me to."

"I do," he said. He had rarely felt as sure of anything in his life. He wanted to see the knight again.

"And I look forward to it. Until next time, then." He smiled dazzlingly and stepped out the door. Draco was still feeling the warmth in his hand after the door stopped swinging.

.&.&.&.&.&.

For Draco, "next time" was far too long in coming. And he experienced many things in the interim, lots of them unpleasant, but none of them worse than that day during the summer he was sixteen, before his sixth year of school. He didn't know how he managed to get to his bedroom from the drawing room- maybe Mother levitated him, or some elves fetched him- but he was dimly aware of being on the familiar bed before the searing pain in his arm overcame him again, and he was force-fed pain potion. Eventually, he slipped into a fretful sleep plagued by nightmares.

He was back in the drawing room now, only it was smaller, much smaller, to seem almost claustrophobic. Draco was alone and wandless in the center of the room, which was dark except for a beam of light resting on him. Something warm and wet hit his forehead, and he looked up: blood was slowly dripping from the chandelier. He leapt back with a yelp and collided with a chair, overturning it with a sinister echo.

And then, the voice spoke. "Draco Malfoy," it hissed, softly, coldly, no trace of emotion in it. "Step forward."

That was the last thing Draco wanted to do, the very last thing, but he couldn't disobey; he was too terrified, and so he raised one leg, then the other, mechanical motions, until he was ordered to halt.

A fire roared to life in the hearth, and that made everything worse. The flames were a dark red, flickering menacingly, looking barely controlled. And it meant he could see- had to see- the figure who stood in front of it, ghostly skin shining in the light and seemingly drenched in blood. Inhuman face, slits for nostrils and horrible, horrible eyes, piercing red and just evil, no other way to describe them.

"Are you prepared, Draco Malfoy? Are you prepared to join your fellow wizards and fight for your blood, for your family, for glory and honor and power? Are you prepared to pledge yourself to me, as your Lord and Master, in exchange for this glory and power- power beyond your dreams? Are you prepared to follow in this path your father has always wished for you to take? Are you prepared, Draco Malfoy?"

No. No, Draco wasn't prepared, and he never would be because this wasn't right, this wasn't what he wanted. But when he tried to speak no sound emerged, not even a whisper or a whimper, and his silence was taken for assent because the Dark Lord lifted his wand and someone grabbed Draco's left arm, roughly yanking up the sleeve, and held it out, pushing Draco nearer to this monster. Draco's eyes went wide, his breathing sped up but he was unable to move away, and then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named spoke the spell and Draco couldn't feel anything except pain, brutal pain, cutting like a knife, agonizing, fire in his veins, burning, destroying everything within him.

The hand was gone now and he crumpled to the floor, curled into a ball clutching his arm, staring in horror at the black Mark writhing there. "No..." he finally managed to gasp. "No... no..."

"Yes," said the shadows around him. "Yes, Draco... yes. You are one of us now... one of us..." Figures were slowly circling him, human but masked and cloaked so they might as well not have been, moving closer and closer. And above it all Draco could hear the Dark Lord's laugh, mirthless and demented, a high cold sound that chilled him more than anything else.

"One of us... one of us..." the Death Eaters chanted, and they were closing in, bearing down on him. He shrank into himself, curling into a tighter ball and pressing close to the floor, and the figures- his fellows, now- had taken their wands out. They were all pointed at Draco, almost like the bars of a cage as the people loomed over him.

Quite suddenly the floor Draco was sitting on rose into the air like a dais, bringing him out of the circle of Death Eaters and into a clear night sky. It halted with a slight lurch on a rooftop garden with Flutterby bushes and orchids and all manner of wonderful plants. Slowly, Draco stood up and wiped his eyes- he'd been crying- and stepped onto the soft, cool earth, cradling his left arm.

"Draco." The knight stepped out from behind the branches of a Weeping Willow tree, whose leaves shone silver in the moonlight, and Draco gave up all pretense and flat-out sprinted over to him. He threw his arms around the knight's neck, but the movement shot a flare of immense pain into his left arm.

The knight took half a step backwards and took Draco's arm, softly turning it so he could see. Then he ran his palm over the forearm, and suddenly the pain was gone. Draco looked down and saw that his skin was clean, unblemished. It was too much for Draco, and he burst into tears again, delighted tears this time, tears of relief and gratitude.

The knight cautiously wrapped an arm around Draco's shoulders and squeezed. He had on a short-sleeved shirt this time, so Draco could see his arms- average-looking, perhaps even a bit thin- and his hands. There seemed to be a scar of some sort on one of them, but it was indistinct and Draco couldn't tell for sure.

A warm summer breeze picked up then, and Draco inhaled deeply, using the action to calm his nerves. He felt something tickling his cheek, and looked up. He had been leaning into the knight, and they were almost the same height now so that the knight's hair that brushed Draco's cheek. It was dark hair, medium length, and the wind was making it look quite messy. It was especially comical when it was viewed in conjunction with the mask the knight had on; that same bright red as always, but covering a much smaller area, from his forehead to his cheekbones.

"The mask ruins the look," Draco commented softly. "But I'm not really complaining; I love your hair."

"My- you can see my hair?" The knight abruptly removed his arm from Draco's shoulders and muttered a spell to himself. "Wh-what does it look like?" he asked breathlessly.

"Beautiful," Draco said idly, and reached up a hand to touch one of the strands. But the knight backed away. "It's a lovely dark color, and the wind is mussing it up something awful."

"How do you know it's the wind?" the knight asked, voice humming with excitement.

"I don't, I suppose. But no one voluntarily goes around looking so poorly-groomed."

"Oh... yeah, I guess not," the knight replied, somehow disappointed, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his Muggle pants. They were blue, and made from some fabric that Draco didn't think looked very expensive or comfortable. "Jeans," the knight said, in response to Draco's inquiring look.

"Ah. This is a very nice place," Draco admitted. "Did you invent it?"

"Yeah. Combined aspects from various parks I've been in and some particularly memorable pictures. I'm glad you like it; I wanted somewhere peaceful and quiet, after what just happened."

Draco couldn't have agreed more. He looked down at his left forearm again, and it was still as pale and smooth as before, not even the slightest bit pink.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to do that again," the knight admitted sadly. "It just happened, didn't it? In real life, I mean- you just got it. So your mind hasn't had time to get used to it yet. But once it does I can't take it away without alerting you to the dream. I'm so sorry, Draco."

"Don't be," he said tiredly, and, spotting a bench near the trunk of the tree, walked over to it and sat down. When the knight joined him, he continued, "I made the choice. The Dar- he said the exact same thing, word for word, and I just said 'yes.' No one had told me what it was really like, you see. Father couldn't; he's in Azkaban-"

"I know, and I'm really sorry about that too." The knight spoke so earnestly, as always, and Draco really wanted to lean over and rest his head on the man's shoulder. The strength of the desire, the naturalness of it, surprised him. Yet even though he hadn't seen him for almost three years, Draco felt closer to the knight than ever before. "Draco?" the knight prompted, and Draco snapped himself out of it.

"It's alright. It's not your fault... can we talk about something else now?" Draco asked softly, an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks.

"Of course," the knight said at once. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, what have you been doing since last I saw you?"

"Three rescue missions- one failed, unfortunately. And a lot of difficult tests of many kinds. I fought a dragon," he added smugly.

"Uh huh, sure," said Draco playfully, and shot a teasing look at his friend. "You can drop the knight act- what have you actually been doing?"

"Battling werewolves and merpeople and serial killers. Oh, and drinking tea. Lots of tea."

Draco rolled his eyes and chuckled fondly. "Let's talk about the tea, then, shall we, since that's the thing that actually happened."

"Do you doubt my commitment to telling the truth?" the knight questioned, mouth quirking into an adorable pouty smile.

"Not at all. I doubt your ability to speak plainly, without metaphors or riddles. You're a shopkeeper- probably the dragon was a particularly difficult customer, and rescue missions presumably involved acquiring merchandise."

"If that's what you want to believe," the knight said neutrally. He leaned back against the bench and looked up at the stars. "Hey, it's you!" he said, pointing to the Draco constellation.

"So it is... and might I find you up there?" Draco asked.

"Merlin, I hope they don't do that to me," the knight muttered, and Draco smiled softly at the answer; somehow, it was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear.

"So what do you sell in this shop of yours?"

"Firstly, it's not really mine. I'm an apprentice, I guess you could say. But we specialize in, um, traditional magic. What I mean by that is, the types of things ancient witches and wizards relied on before modern wand-making technology and potions standards and all."

"So, folklore and legend."

"Not really. Most of it is actually true on some level... it's a bit hard to explain without having the merchandise here to show you."

"Can't you conjure something?"

The knight laughed. "My boss would flay me alive for letting out her secrets to someone with no intention of buying anything. Actually, she'd probably murder me for even doing this in the first place."

"How can you be so nonchalant talking about murder and torture?" Draco demanded, standing abruptly.

"I'm sorry," the knight said sincerely. "I've been told many times that I'm not the best with words..." He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, which gave Draco the weirdest feeling of deja-vu, yet once again he couldn't place it. "People have been after me my entire life," the knight said heavily. "Growing up under that, it's just- you have to do something to escape the pressure."

Draco nodded and quietly sat back down, closer to the knight than before so their knees would just barely brush if either of them shifted the slightest bit. After a long silence, he whispered, "What's going to happen to me?"

The knight did shift, turning so he was sort of facing Draco. He grabbed Draco's hands, almost unconsciously it seemed, and spoke in a voice so soft it was barely audible. "Do you really want to know, Draco? Knowledge can be a dangerous thing."

Draco sighed heavily. He couldn't ask the knight to tell him about the future, not really. It probably violated some law somewhere, and more to the point the raw emotion in his voice as he'd asked gave Draco some of the answer he needed. Draco wasn't stupid; he knew he had taken the Mark and that things would be hard for him. It was probably for the best if he didn't know precisely how hard they would be. "Not really," he responded. "There's a full-blown war coming, I know that, and I know I'm in it now, whether I like it or not, because of this-" he jerked his arm, then remembered that the knight had healed the Dark Mark. "Or, the real one, anyway."

The knight smiled sadly but tenderly- and this time Draco was quite sure he hadn't read into it. "I wish I could do that out there, too. Just make it go away, make your life easier..."

"I'm not expecting an easy life," Draco answered, and almost dared to put his hand on the knight's knee. Almost, because he was still a bloody coward when it came down to it. But what he said was true; he'd always known, from a young age, that his life wouldn't be easy because of the Malfoy name and all that that entailed. "But I'm hoping I'll at least have a happy one. Realistically, one with moments of happiness."

"You've had some at school, haven't you?" the knight asked. "Not what you meant, I know, but it's something. Make sure you hold on to your happy memories from the past."

"I will," said Draco. Starting with this one right here, he decided, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imprint this memory into his mind forever.

The knight's laughter cut through the night air. "Sorry," he said. "But you just look so odd concentrating so hard- good odd, though. Endearing odd. Not used to seeing you so unguarded."

"Yeah, well, no one is," said Draco bitterly. Sometimes he wished he was more open about his emotions, like the knight was, or many of his classmates at school. They seemed to have a much easier time of it.

"You could change that, though, if you wanted to," said the knight casually, now playing with Draco's hands.

"I suppose so..." he said softly, enjoying how the knight's calluses felt against his skin. Probably from some sort of manual labor. "Do you play Quidditch?"

The knight beamed. "It's my favorite thing in the world. Flying is just... well, you know. You fly."

Draco nodded. Flying was freedom and excitement and control, which were often lacking in Draco's life. "What position do you play?"

The knight hesitated a fraction of a second. "Seeker," he said, and bit his lip. Draco thought that was quite adorable, and oddly enough wasn't the least bit surprised by the answer.

"I'm a Seeker too, although I'm betting you already knew that," he responded. "Are you any good?"

The knight smirked. "So I've been told."

"By whom? Because anyone looks good in comparison to a four-year-old."

"Not a two-year-old," said the knight reasonably, and then ruined it by sticking his tongue out at Draco.

"Acting like one does not actually make you a toddler," said Draco primly, but his eyes were sparkling with laughter.

"But wouldn't it be cool if it did?"

"Hardly. Half the Ministry would cease to function because its employees would be scribbling on the walls and drooling."

"More work than they get done now," the knight said cheekily. Draco laughed at that one, an actual laugh. When he stopped, the knight was beaming again. "I love your laugh. I don't hear it nearly enough."

Draco felt himself blush again, and hurriedly changed the subject. "So, who's your team?"

The knight shrugged. "I'm obligated to say the Cannons or my best mate will never forgive me. He's the biggest Cannons fan ever; one time he wore his entire collection of Cannons clothes down to breakfast and-" He abruptly stopped. "Anyway, not important. What about you?"

"Falmouth Falcons. I might like to play for them, if I get the chance."

"I'm sure you'll do brilliant, Draco," the knight said warmly. He moved to glance at his watch, which lead him to notice that he was practically fondling Draco's hands now- not that Draco minded- and he abruptly dropped them and scooted further down the bench, flushing. "Er. It's time for me to get going here... I'm glad you feel better. Hopefully you'll wake up feeling okay in the morning."

"If anything can make that happen, it's seeing you," Draco said honestly, and deliberately raised his eyes from his lap to lock gazes with the knight. But he couldn't see the knight's eyes; they were shadowed like always.

"I'm glad I'm some comfort at least... stay strong, Draco. I know you have it in you."

Getting a vote of confidence from the knight did much to elevate Draco's rapidly sinking spirits. "Thank you. For everything... will I get to see you again?"

"Probably," said the knight. "Like you said, there's a war coming."

Draco nodded. "There's a silver lining, then."

"Yeah... well, this is goodbye for now."

"Good night. Hector?"

"No," said the knight, rising and stretching.

"But your name does start with an H," Draco said with certainty.

"Yes it does," the knight said, and grinned goofily. He pulled a broomstick from behind his back. "Figured this would be the best way to make my grand exit, since you doubted by skills."

"By all means, let's see them," said Draco, and crossed his arms expectantly.

The knight swung his leg over the broom- which was an honest-to-goodness racing broom, a Firebolt- and looked over his shoulder to shoot another grin at Draco. Then he was off like a shot, doing flips and loops and dives and just generally showing off.

When he finally disappeared over the horizon, Draco had to admit that the knight hadn't been lying- he was extraordinarily talented.

.&.&.&.&.&.

Not even a year passed before Draco saw the knight again. He rather suspected that it would have happened even sooner than that, had he been sleeping properly, but that was impossible given his situation. It was a wonder he was even asleep now, if he was honest; he had failed in his task, Snape had had to do it for him, and now he was jeered at and disrespected by all the Death Eaters, shamed. And he still felt the constant fear for his life, for his family's lives...

He stood at the top of the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, just like he had so many hours before. Dumbledore was leaning against the rampart in front of him, wandless and alone, and Draco couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to speak the incantation. He just talked mindlessly, bragging about his plan, drinking in the praise, improbable though it was, that the headmaster was giving him- his first praise in years, and from a man doomed to die.

And he was pleading, somehow, trying to make the old man see it wasn't his fault, wasn't his choice. He was trying to protect his family... And then the offer, word-for-word as it was given. "Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban… when the time comes we can protect him too…"

Why not take the offer? It made sense, logically... and the headmaster's next words convinced him. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." Draco began to lower his wand, but it was too late; the other Death Eaters arrived, and he had to watch as they taunted and teased Dumbledore. And then Snape arrived- Draco thought he knew Snape, but he did not know this man at the top of the Tower.

The spell was spoken, a blinding flash of green, and all Draco could see was the body of his headmaster falling out of sight, dead. Dead like Draco's last hope for redemption, for safety.

Someone grabbed him, like before, but this time something was different, the touch gentle, affectionate, instead of rough and hasty. The knight was guiding him to the door, Draco realized. He saw the knight's hand come up- Draco's vision was tunnel-like at the moment- and push on the door, and he got a glimpse of blue sky and the sounds of the chaos around him suddenly warped and muted, and the world began to swim before his eyes.

"No!" he cried, and yanked the door closed. "Don't you dare wake me up!"

"I wasn't trying to," the knight said softly. "But this nightmare... it's too much like real life; I can't change anything without your subconscious realizing you're asleep. There's no way around it."

"Yes there is!" snapped Draco, and whirled to face the knight. His hair was as unruly as it had been the last time, but slightly darker than before, and the red mask had shrunk so it allowed Draco to see the knight's nose. They were so close together that Draco could count five faint freckles on it, and judged it to be the cutest nose he had ever seen. But then he had to stop staring and say what he had to say. "There is a way around it; just don't make changes."

"But- but, that's- Draco, I'm trying to help you; I can't do that if I don't change things."

"The simple fact that you're here helps, more than you know," said Draco, quietly intense. "Besides, the scary part is over now, see? We're just standing on top of the tower. Could just be a normal day at school."

The knight drew in a shaky breath. "Alright, fine. It seems to have righted itself... are you okay?"

"Right now, yes. Absolutely. In general, not even close, and I haven't been for some time." Draco felt the desire to open up to the knight like a physical need and held nothing back. "I failed in my task, and now he'll punish me, punish my family... possibly he'll kill us. But I'm still stuck with him, no matter what I do I won't be able to get out. I almost died a few weeks ago- hit by a bad curse-" Draco dimly noted the knight flinching at that but thought nothing of it "-and would you believe it was the best thing I'd felt the entire year, that hazy bliss of nothingness?"

"Draco, listen, I- that curse... I was almost hoping I'd get to see you right after it happened, but apparently I didn't so- I'm so, so sorry about that, you've no idea-"

"Why are you sorry? It wasn't your fault," said Draco tiredly.

The knight shifted slightly closer. "Well... maybe-"

Cold water hit Draco in the face, and he woke up to see his Aunt Bellatrix towering over him. "Get up," she snapped. "Your Master wants to see you."

Trembling, Draco rose from his bed and followed his aunt to the drawing room. What ever happened down there would surely fuel his nightmares for a week, and oddly enough that thought was what kept him going.

.&.&.&.&.&.

He was right about the nightmares; they just kept coming and coming, ever more frequent as the war progressed, as the Dark Lord's power grew, as Draco was made to do more- horrible things, disgusting tasks, but he couldn't get away. There was no way out of it.

Even returning to school didn't help much; the Carrows hated him for his weakness on the Tower, and had no qualms about showing it. They seemed hell-bent on curing him of it, too, making him participate in the torturing far more than others in his House. He was losing control of Crabbe and Goyle, too, now that his father was publicly disgraced in all circles. Draco was terrified, all the time.

Except in his dreams- there, he could actually breathe, there he was permitted to smile. It was astonishing how quickly his dream habits reversed themselves; he rarely had pleasant dreams anymore, just nightmares. And they were the hyper-realistic kind that the knight couldn't change, though he so desperately wanted to.

He was there through it all, each and every dream, without fail. His hair had settled into a black color, although messy as ever, and the more often he came the smaller the red mask got, so that eventually Draco could see patches of forehead through his bangs. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of something there, some blemish or imperfection, but he never got a close enough look. The scars on the knight's hand became more distinct, too, and they almost formed words sometimes.

But his mouth (Draco's gaze was always inexorably drawn to his mouth since he still couldn't see the knight's eyes through the mask) was hardly ever set in anything other than a tight frown, sorrowful and even angry at times. The knight rarely said anything, either, because that wasn't what Draco needed. He just needed the knight to be there.

After many, many nightmares (Draco stopped counting; it was too depressing), Draco found himself in the grip of a particularly bad one, although a frequent repeat: having to watch the Dark Lord killing that professor. It never got any easier, no matter how many times he was forced to relive it, and once again he found himself retching and shaking.

The knight bent down to grip his shoulders tightly and make Draco raise his eyes to look at his face. He focused on the freckly nose because it always made things even the tiniest bit brighter. "Draco... I can't stand this. Just wake up! Just say the word and it'll be over... you won't have to suffer like this... please..."

"No," Draco said with conviction. "No, I won't do it."

"Why?"

"Because- because when I'm here I have you, but out there I'm all alone, always alone!" And Draco gave in to his loneliness and fell forward, into the knight's chest, and just cried, wrapping his arms around the knight's waist and squeezing as if his life depended on it. The knight drew his own arms up around Draco's body, one rubbing soothing circles on his back, the other softly stroking his hair, until the dream faded to nothingness.

After that, Draco spent basically every nightmare in the knight's warm embrace. The terror continued around them, sometimes to Draco, as if the knight didn't exist, but Draco knew he did, because he would squeeze tighter and try to shield him. A few times Draco caught the knight crying softly, and then it was his turn to comfort, to radiate warmth and affection. He had memorized the knight's smell, too, from being buried in his shirt so often; it too was familiar from the real world, reminding Draco vaguely of Potions class and Quidditch, but like so much else he couldn't place it, couldn't make the connection.

He made it through the first term that way, then Christmas (although that holiday turned out to be anything but, and made his nightmares worse), now second term... he was surviving seventh year, if only just. Slowly, the days ticked by, and now it was Easter holidays, he had to return home. Luckily, the Dark Lord had vacated the Manor, but he hadn't taken the nightmares with him.

And then he was captured. Potter, brought to the Manor, bound up, wand taken from him and face swollen something horrible. Draco couldn't stand it, seeing him like that, couldn't bring himself to look. Certainly couldn't be the one to give the final verdict, sign his death warrant, because a part of him desperately wanted Potter to live, to get out of this and fight on and then win. He always won everything, and this was the most important contest of all.

That night while he slept, he saw Potter again- Granger and Weasley too- just as they had looked then, but mostly Potter. The conversation kept going on around him, building up to the climactic skirmish, and the knight didn't appear. Draco was getting frantic now, his anxiety over that compounding the nightmare, making it slow down, drag him deeper into the emotions. Potter was thrown into the cellar, no escape, and wild panic gripped him. Why wasn't the knight here yet? He always came, always within the first few moments...

But it wasn't until Dobby had Apparated Potter away, until his aunt slipped into that temporary insanity with which he was now all-too familiar, that the knight appeared. His clothes, dark grey today, were ripped and rumpled, though, and some blood caked his hair, he had stubble along his jaw, but he was here, he had made it. Draco had been so sure he wasn't going to make it, that something awful was going to happen to him, that he sprinted over the ruins of the chandelier to the spot where he stood- just where Potter had disappeared- and crashed his lips to the knight's in a fierce kiss, desperate and fearful but so full of passion it left him breathless.

And the knight kissed back almost immediately, opening his mouth to let Draco's tongue inside and winding his arms around to rove Draco's back. Draco raised one of his hands to fist in the knight's black hair. It always looked as if he'd been thoroughly snogged; well, now Draco was going to give it a reason to be so disordered.

Draco's thumb brushed the edge of the knight's mask, and abruptly his eyes snapped open. The mask was tiny now, only circling his eyes enough to shade them from Draco's sight. Once again he thought he saw what appeared to be a cut on the knight's forehead, and he lifted his hand to brush the locks away and see what it was, why the knight was hurt-

He jumped backward, so abruptly that Draco nearly lost his balance, he had been leaning against the knight so fully. He was breathing heavily, painfully aroused and more than a little hurt at the knight's action. To judge from his posture, the knight had quite enjoyed the kiss too, so Draco couldn't see why he'd just stop like that. He brazenly took another step forward, but the knight just backed up.

"Draco, stop. This- this isn't right, we can't-"

"Why not? Why can't we? It obviously didn't trigger my mind to wake up-" (probably because Draco had been daydreaming about kissing him for quite a while now, but he didn't say that)- "you want to do it, I want to-"

"No you don't," the knight said, anguished. "Or you wouldn't, if you knew who I am."

"I don't care! You could be Dumbledore's long-lost son and it wouldn't matter to me, wouldn't make me want you any less! Please, tell me who you are, so I can put your worries to rest!"

"I can't," croaked the knight wretchedly. "I can't, I can't... not after you told me how much you need me here, you- I couldn't take away this comfort from you." The knight seemed to be waging war against himself, with part of him aching to tell Draco the truth, but the other part equally desperate that he not know. It was a difficult situation, Draco conceded briefly, but one he considered easily remedied.

"Well, hiding yourself from me isn't comforting at all! I thought you were moving past that, but you're not, you're still just as determined as ever not to open up-"

"It has to be this way, Draco! You'd understand, if you knew... it's- I hate it, I really do, but there's no other way."

"Says who? You? Well, I say that-" The whole Manor shook then, with the force of a shockwave, and Draco knew that the Dark Lord had finished with those in the small room and he wasn't happy... it was his turn next. "He's coming," he whispered, argument forgotten. "He's coming, oh god, I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, just please, please don't leave, not now. It was bad enough the first time; I don't think I can take it a second time without you here."

Immediately Draco was enveloped into the knight's warm arms, and he squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the scent which was like cinnamon and sandalwood and broomstick polish, for whatever reason. It allowed him to drown out the Dark Lord's voice- not entirely; it was still a faint echo, but it was enough- until the pain came. Draco gasped and writhed, but the knight held firm, sinking to the floor as Draco did, squeezing his hand. He began murmuring things into Draco's ear, but that was at the height of the cursing so Draco couldn't really make it out; he strained his ears and caught snippets: "sorry... brave...beautiful... strong... sorry... Draco, I l-" Draco screamed loudly, the tenth Cruciatus was the worst, but it would be over soon and then he could hear what the knight had to say.

But when the Dark Lord swept from the room, leaving Draco twitching, the knight seemed unable to speak; Draco could feel his ribcage thudding against his side- he was silently sobbing.

Then Draco's mother was there, helping him up off the floor. Her face was tear-stained, too, but he didn't want to see it, he wanted to see the knight's face. He planted a soft kiss on Draco's forehead and gave him a little shove towards his mother, smiling sadly. For a split second his mask seemed to flicker, change color, a shade of green, but it had changed back before Draco registered precisely which shade it was. He flung his hand out to pull the knight along with him, but then Bellatrix appeared in the doorway, eyes glinting evilly even through her own horrendous injuries, and he knew what was coming. This time, though, he woke himself up with his scream.

The next month passed by in a blur. He took his mother's wand, Potter having stolen his proper one, and returned to school to worse treatment than ever. The Carrows were taking out their frustration over the disappearance of a large number of troublesome students- Longbottom's devotees- out on new targets, like him. Snape assigned him detention often, too, but the manual labor just made his sore muscles ache even more. He was failing most of his classes; he had absolutely no interest in them anymore, and all of his friends had deserted him.

At least he still had his knight. Some days only the thought of falling asleep and seeing the man's face- what he could of it, anyway- kept him going. Without fail, the nightmares plagued him, and without fail the knight appeared. He had the one about Potter and the Manor with disturbing frequency, but he never repeated the kiss; he was too afraid that the knight would leave if he did. Instead he just relaxed into the man's arms, let the feeling of peace and joy fill him up. He didn't really say anything, either; sometimes murmured contentedly or whispered half-incoherent "Thank you"s but otherwise kept silent. He didn't venture any more guesses as the knight's name, either. He continually felt as if it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just barely couldn't reach it.

Suddenly, it was all over. Potter showed up at school, the Dark Lord attacked, and Potter won. Draco was alive, his parents were alive, and he was free. Free from the torture and pain and misery, free from coercion and fear- but also deprived of the knight's touch. Because that first night after the Battle, and for several nights thereafter, his mother had forced him to take a Dreamless Sleep potion in spite of his vehement protest. Afterwards, Father had purchased several woven objects he called "dream catchers," which primitive wizards in North America had developed to ward off bad dreams. They worked, too, Draco noticed, staring up at the one above his bed with its hawthorne wood frame and woven red strings and pearly-white beads. He could take it down, of course, and in so doing be able to see the knight again, but he would wake up screaming and his parents would know and disapprove- they'd never understand.

The Battle of Hogwarts took place in May of 1998, and in June of 1999 Draco and his parents had a trial for their Death Eater activities. His parents were tried together, and they went first. It was a long and drawn-out affair; the prosecutors presented evidence against them, and they admitted to many of the lesser charges, stressing the fact that they had reformed and now saw the error of their ways. Mother spoke passionately about her tribulations under the Dark Lord's reign, how badly she had wanted to get out even then.

And then Harry Potter took the stand. The Golden Boy himself, the Chosen One. He looked awful, bags under his eyes as if he'd not slept properly for weeks, very thin and drained. But he took the stand and spoke, earnestly and with compassion, on behalf of Draco's mother, detailing her vital importance to his victory. He told of how Draco's father cared for his son far more than Voldemort's cause by the end of the war, how he didn't fire a single spell in the final battle. It was as generous as Harry could have been without lying. Yet it did the trick, and the Wizengamot voted to pardon his parents with a fairly comfortable margin.

Then it was Draco's turn. His trial was in the afternoon, early evening really, after the court took a very long lunch break. Things proceeded in much the same way: the testimonies, him defending himself, refutations of his points. Astoundingly, Potter came to his defense as well, stressing the fact that Draco acted out of a fierce love for his family (again, Potter was being overly generous; Draco knew it was cowardice more than anything else that motivated him), how he didn't really have a choice in the matter; it was obey or die, how Draco had tried to dissuade his friends from killing him (Draco flushed at that one).

The deliberations took a very long time, almost two hours. Draco kept glancing over at Potter, who was fighting to stay awake and alert, and losing the battle. Draco himself was far too anxious to so much as relax; he had been afraid that the court would want to make an example out of him, given that he was so young, to discourage other impressionable teens from joining the covert neo-Death Eater factions that probably existed somewhere; Draco had less than no desire to find them. But, miraculously, he too was pardoned, although by a very slim margin.

As everyone left the courtroom gossiping amongst themselves, Draco saw Potter wearily rise from his chair and run a hand through his hair, making it look even worse than usual. He stifled a yawn and began to slowly make his way down the aisle, past where Draco was sitting. The blond felt that he should say something to Potter, anything, to express his gratitude for everything he had done for him.

"Potter," he called as the man passed, and he turned immediately at the sound of Draco's voice, stopping in his tracks and looking up almost hopefully. Draco steeled himself and then looked him full in the face. "Thank you."

It was all he could do, that was how far he could swallow his pride. Two words that were not nearly big enough to convey everything Draco wanted to express. But Potter seemed to understand anyway, because he softly replied, "You're welcome," and smiled timidly.

There was something oddly familiar about that smile, but Draco couldn't figure out what it was. Probably he'd seen Potter direct it at Granger or one of the Weasleys, but it was still somehow alluring. "Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "I guess this is good-bye then, Potter."

"Guess so..." he echoed sadly. "Have a great life, Malfoy." And with that he stuck his hands in his pockets and began to shuffle away slowly. Draco couldn't stop watching him.

That night, Draco stayed in the Leaky Cauldron. He was feeling exhausted from his emotionally trying day and didn't feel up to Apparation or even Flooing. That was what he told his parents, anyway, but secretly he wanted to go to sleep naturally, without dream catchers or potions, and see if he could see the knight again. His parents agreed, a bit reluctantly, and his father sent one of the house-elves along with Draco's pajamas- and his dream catcher, but he left that on the bedside table when he settled in for the night.

He was right in assuming he'd have a nightmare, and it was a doozy. He was running, running, running, as fast as he could while dragging Goyle along behind him, but he wasn't anywhere near fast enough to avoid the leaping flames. A fiery dog snapped its jaws at him and he felt a harpy beak just barely miss his neck- the heat probably singed some of his hair, though.

Refuge- a tall stack of desks. Draco scrambled up them, heaving Goyle up alongside. But the Fiend Fyre was devouring the desks, slowly but surely. A tiny wyvern was at the head, meandering up the stack in a trail of fiery destruction.

Draco couldn't breathe, the smoke and heat were suffocating him, he could barely see but he could feel the creatures circling, coming closer and closer. He was going to die, he knew it, and he had no idea where Potter had gotten to either; Potter was going to die too and with him the hopes of the world. Draco screamed, loudly, desperately, even though he knew it would do no good.

But, somehow, it did! Help was coming, swooping out of the sky. Potter on his broomstick, but Draco's hand slipped out of Potter's immediately and the boy swooped away. Now Weasley and Granger were there, lugging Goyle onto a broomstick of their own and taking off into the sky.

A broom stood ready for Draco, too, with someone on it, and he flung his leg over without question and grabbed hold of the person in front of him, squeezing tight. And the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood filled his nose, which was how Draco knew that this was the knight, come back to him like Draco had always hoped he would.

The knight controlled the broom expertly, just as well as he'd done years ago on the roof. Draco felt the hairpin swerves around lunging creatures but he knew he was perfectly safe and protected, and he allowed himself to open his eyes and sit up slightly. The knight was right there, in front of him, Draco's chest pressed against his back. Under cover of another turn, Draco leaned to the left and caught a glimpse of his face- no mask this time! If only the knight would turn his head the slightest bit, Draco could finally see his eyes after all these years.

He did turn, and his eyes were beautiful. Draco blurted, "I love you!" He didn't regret it in the slightest, even if he hadn't been intending to say it, because now that it was out Draco realized how true it was, how true it had always been.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Draco was standing now, simply standing on a pure white plain, empty save for a swirling mist. It was an abrupt change, jarring, and because the dream was just a scene pulled out from reality Draco knew it was going to wake him up even in the split second before the sound muffled and the fog became even more nebulous.

"I'm sorry," the knight said. "I'm so sorry, Draco... I'm an idiot. I let myself get too invested in this, I should've realized before. But I was selfish, Draco, I wanted you so badly... but not like this."

"But I love you! Please, please, don't go!" Draco tried his hardest to hold onto the dream, put all of his willpower into it, but it wasn't going to be enough. Things were rapidly slipping away.

"I love you, too... and I also love you out there, which is why I can't- this isn't real, and I can't keep pretending it is. I'm so sorry."

"No... no... please..."

"Goodbye, Draco."

"No! No, you can't!" Draco reached out, blind in the darkness, for the knight's arm or hand, some part of him that he could grasp to stop the man from leaving him. But all he felt was air. "No! Come back! Please come back! NO!"

He awoke with a start, panting and sweating. He had shot bolt upright in bed, and Draco raised a shaking hand to run through his hair. Draco realized that he was crying at this point, but he didn't care. He was allowed, dammit! The knight- his knight- had left, was gone for good... he wouldn't be coming back, ever again, no matter how terrible Draco's dreams became.

That dream was the worst of them all, he reflected. Because he was alone in it at the end... Draco ripped the covers off and sprang to his feet, hastily lighting his wand. He stumble-dashed over to the bedside table and seized the dream catcher; he would need it now, because he was absolutely certain he could never live the knight's departure over again.

The light from his wand caught the bottom of the dream catcher, and Draco stopped dead. Two perfect eagle feathers extended down from a short bit of string, held together and onto the string by a single large bead. It was a gorgeous emerald color, dancing and sparkling in the wandlight.

And suddenly, Draco could remember what color the knight's eyes had been.

.&.&.&.&.&.

The next morning, Draco stood nervously in front of Amalthea's Mystic Ornaments. He took a moment to fix his hair, not smoothing it down but letting it fall loose around his face like he always did in his dreams. And then he took a deep breath, and another, and another, until he had been standing there fidgeting so long that passers-by began to look at him oddly. So he marched into the shop without giving himself any more time to overthink.

It was a cozy place, if a bit musty, and was full of all sorts of interesting trinkets, like miniature oak trees, animal-shaped medallions, and even a few horseshoes. But what most caught his eye was the wall of dream catchers displayed behind the counter.

A bell had dinged at his entry, and presently a tall but rather plump woman emerged from a door to the left of the counter. "Hello, sir. Is there something I can help you with today?"

Draco tried to smile, but he was so nervous that it probably looked rather strained, because the lady frowned almost imperceptibly. "Good morning. And yes, I do believe that you can help me. I require a word with your assistant."

Immediately her countenance darkened. "Did he mess up your order? I swear, that boy just can't get anything right these past few months... almost makes me regret taking him on... POTTER! GET OUT HERE!" She bellowed that last bit over her shoulder, towards a navy curtain that had been hung up.

Draco winced at her tone. "No, no, it's nothing like that, I-" Draco stopped abruptly, because Harry poked his head out from behind the curtain, and the bags under his eyes were even worse than a mere day ago and now his dejected appearance was exacerbated by red rims under his eyes, frown lines around his mouth, and tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"There's a customer here requesting a word."

Harry took a deep breath. "Look, I'm very sorry for whatever mistake you discovered in your order, and if you'd give me your name I will gladly issue- Malfoy?" He had finally broken trough his practiced speech long enough to register who Draco was. "What are you doing here?"

"Manners, Mr. Potter! My word, that is no way to talk to a customer; you're on thin ice as-"

"Excuse me for interrupting, but I have rather urgent business to attend to. If you would be so kind as to give us a moment alone?" Draco said politely, while his stomach squirmed with butterflies.

"Absolutely, absolutely," said Amalthea winningly. "I'll be just in back there if you require any other assistance." She turned to go and looked meaningfully at Harry, who hadn't moved from his spot, causing him to hurriedly circle around the desk and stop in front of Draco.

"Er... what can I help you with?" Harry asked nervously. "Are the dream catchers your father ordered working alright? I'll fix them, I swear, just please don't tell my boss. I've had enough complaints as it is, and I-"

"Harry."

He stopped abruptly at that and snapped his eyes up to Draco's face, searching for something, Draco didn't know what. "Y-yes?"

"I love you," Draco said, and leaned forward to kiss him, softly and tenderly this time. He tasted just like Draco remembered. When he pulled back, he saw bright tears sparkling in Harry's eyes.

"I love you, too," he whispered. "B-but how- what- why-"

Draco chuckled breathlessly at Harry's stammering. "You were always there for me when I needed you the most. You are the reason I got through the war with any semblance of sanity intact. You are my best friend, my confidant- my knight in shining armor."

"You- you knew?"

"I only realized last night when I saw your eyes."

"My eyes? But I was doing a masking charm, you shouldn't have been able to see any of my features."

"Ahem," said a soft voice behind Harry, and he whirled to find his boss leaning on the counter, looking at him with her eyebrow quirked. "Did I just hear you admitting to going dream diving, Mr. Potter? After I explicitly told you not to do so?"

"Er... well, yes, ma'am, and I'm sorry, but you've got to understand, it was-"

"He did it for me," said Draco quietly, stepping around Harry. "He knew I needed comforting in my nightmares, so he provided it. And I'm grateful for it; I'm not pressing charges or alerting the Ministry or anything of the sort."

"If Harry here wanted to comfort you so badly, why not go over to your place and do so?" Draco noted the use of Harry's first name and figured he was probably mostly out of hot water.

"We haven't exactly gotten along, at all, at any point in our lives."

"It's true," Harry cut in. "I couldn't be there for him in real life at the time, so I had to do it the only way I could. I am sorry, though, Mrs. Singler."

"How long has this been going on?" she asked, in a much gentler tone.

"Er... well, I told you about the first time, and for about three weeks after that I did it sporadically with another friend, to practice. But with Draco, it's been four months. He- he doesn't have a lot of nightmares, you see- or he didn't, until-" Harry stopped and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, well."

"Four months straight... no wonder you've been so tired. I take it you've perfected the technique?" Amalthea inquired.

"It's not perfect, obviously. Draco just said he was able to see past my masking charms so that part's-"

"Draco, is it?" the witch turned to address him. "Tell me, how long have you known Harry?"

"We met at Madam Malkin's when we were eleven," Draco answered.

"Ah... so you went to Hogwarts together... and you saw a lot of each other there?"

"Yes," said Draco. "We were, at that time, rivals, and we'd always run into each other and get in little fights."

"And you never went looking for him, looking for the fights?"

That made Draco pause, and he wracked his brains. But when he thought about it, yes, he had sought Harry out at times, and increasingly frequently too, since third year.

Amalthea smirked knowingly. "I see..." she said, even though Draco hadn't told her anything. "Well then, Harry, you'll be happy to know there's nothing wrong with your masking charm."

"Nothing wrong... then how come he figured out who I am?"

"You're not actually upset by that, are you, dear?" she commented idly. "No... But, I'm willing to bet that Draco has been seeing more and more of your face, gradually seeing the disguises slip- what was it, by the way?"

"A mask, most of the time," said Draco promptly, and Harry flushed.

"I didn't intend for a mask! It was supposed to be that Hogwarts hat the whole time, I don't know why-"

"Draco's subconscious was figuring out who you were long before last night, Harry. It melded his conscious memories of you with the persona you adopted in the dream, and the more sure he became the more he was able to see."

"Wait, you actually knew it was me all along?"

"Apparently so..." Draco said, a bit bewildered. He had subconsciously known it was Harry in his dreams... perhaps that would explain how much he had found his thoughts dwelling on the boy during his waking hours as well.

"So... so that means, when you said you loved me, you actually did mean me? Me me and not the dream me?"

"Are they different?"

"No," said Harry. "Personality-wise we're the same; I'm rubbish at acting. I can't do some of the things I did in the dreams though- backflips and swan dives and bowling."

"Well," said Draco decisively. "I can assure you that I did indeed fall in love with you you and not dream you."

"Really?"

"Without a doubt," Draco said, and kissed Harry again, not really caring that his boss was right there. This time it was a deeper kiss, more passionate, and Harry responded eagerly. They only broke apart when the bell rang.

"Oh, hello, Draco," said Luna Lovegood dreamily. "See, Harry, I told you it would work out."

"You must be the illustrious friend who helped him practice," Draco guessed.

"Yes," she said simply. "He didn't really need it so much as he needed encouragement; he couldn't tell that you liked him, see."

"Oh, I think we're well past the point of mere liking," said Draco mildly, taking Harry's hand in his. The man beamed, and Draco's heart skipped a beat at seeing the expression in real life.

"Hello, Luna. What can we do for you today?" Amalthea asked.

"I just came to check on Harry; all that dream-diving was rough on him. You look awful, by the way, Harry," she commented, as one might talk about the weather. "Happy, but awful."

"She's right, dear," Amalthea said softly. "Maybe you had better take some time off, regain your strength."

"Can his vacation start today?" Draco asked hopefully.

"I daresay it can," Amalthea answered with a smirk. "On the condition that he remains with you- he's a stubborn thing, and I'm not convinced he'll be resting properly if left to his own devices." Harry blushed sheepishly.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of letting him out of my sight." Ever, he silently added.

"Harry would like that very much," said Luna confidently.

"I know he would," Draco whispered, but it was directed at Harry, who squeezed his hand and shifted closer, so his side was touching Draco's. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have business to attend to."

"Go easy on him, will you?" Amalthea joked. "I'm expecting him back bright and early next Tuesday."

"A week? What am I supposed to do with an entire week off?" Harry asked, eyes comically wide.

"I'm sure we'll think of something..." said Draco seductively, and Harry's face turned even redder.

"Out, out, come on now, you'll scare the customers away," Amalthea ordered good-naturedly. Grinning absurdly, Draco obliged, tugging Harry out onto the busy cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. Immediately he flung his arms around Harry's neck and kissed him again, so long and deep that both of them began to sway on the spot from lack of oxygen before they parted.

"That's even better in real life," Harry sighed happily.

"Yes it is," Draco agreed, admiring the faint freckles on Harry's nose.

"So... now what?" Harry wondered.

"Now, I am taking you somewhere where you can sleep. Do you know how dangerous it is to go four whole months without adequate rest?"

"Sorry," Harry said, and leaned into Draco so he was resting his head on his shoulder as they began to wind their way through the crowd, ignoring the shocked gasps and incredulous stares. "But I think the end result is more than worth it."

Draco couldn't have agreed more.