Note:
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (UK Ed.) ch23, p370-371
This acts chiefly as the reference, and inspiration, for our story's conclusion. However, I've slightly changed the sequence of events to suit my plot and tie in with my personal interpretation.
Kindly imagine, if you will, that Draco lies asleep upstairs (rather than sat in the drawing room) when Harry arrives at Malfoy Manor, and that he is summoned to identify him by Bellatrix.
--
Tonight's dream was a good one.
He walked lightly down the wide steps of the castle, making his way onto the rippling grass.
Clouds were frozen in a sky of summer twilight. The Forbidden Forest stood motionless beneath them.
No time passed here. Draco liked that, because time passed too quickly in the real world.
He relished in the quiet as he walked. Solitude was a rare gift when you lived at Malfoy Manor - when what you thought, as well as what you said, was under constant scrutiny.
Grey eyes moved slowly beneath white-blond hair, as if Draco wanted to burn every detail into memory. It had been months since his flight from these grounds, fleeing a scene which had haunted many dreams before this one.
But it had been years since he'd strolled this old route with a light heart. The dying sunlight on his face made him smile - it seemed more real now than it ever had on those many troubled evenings in his sixth year.
He reached an ancient tree near the lakeside. The memories here were almost palpable.
Shadows retreated with a strange fluidity as the scene changed before his eyes. He watched a younger Draco Malfoy hold up a slender hand and talk quietly to a small beetle held in his palm. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered at either side of him.
Draco smiled again as he watched.
He missed those times - he could admit that here, in the safety of a dream.
How easy it used to be when your enemies were classmates, your weapons petty hexes and practical jokes. When the two sides were easily defined, the goal satisfying yet never really dangerous. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Students versus teachers.
Draco versus Harry.
It had seemed so serious then, when it was happening. It didn't anymore.
Because now the enemies were cruel men, their weapons the Unforgivable Curses. They wore the faces of friend and of foe. They stood on both sides of the war.
Draco's lip curled, the smile dissolving. He clenched his fists, furious with himself for ruining what had promised to be a very good dream. He spent every waking hour dwelling on fears and threats, why do so now in the sanctuary of sleep? Why waste these few precious hours?
He turned sharply, ignoring the continued guffaws of Crabbe and Goyle and the soft drone of his own voice giving Rita Skeeter her latest story. This would not turn into a nightmare, he was determined of that.
The lake spread outwards to his left like glass. Gold glinted from motionless ripples as he strode along the bank.
There was a noise like the falling of small stones over rock behind him. Draco wheeled about to find that the three boys had been replaced by something white and monstrous, a great marble block that shone stark in the evening light.
He had never seen Dumbledore's tomb - he couldn't help wondering whether his mind was doing an accurate job of portraying it.
Amycus Carrow had called it an eyesore - Draco remembered him discussing it with his father months ago. They'd tried everything possible to destroy it, but to no effect.
The marble was icily cold despite the sun, and as Draco traced the smooth edges with his fingers he felt that Amycus could not be more wrong.
The tomb seemed just as much a part of the grounds as the lake or the forest or the castle itself, as if it had always been there. Draco liked its simplicity and its power.
His eyes fell upon a small silver plaque, nestled amidst the marble.
It bore Dumbledore's name, along with the dates of his birth and death. Draco stared at those last numbers for a very long time, knowing that it had been in his power to change them.
...But had it really?
It was Snape who had killed him, Snape who had etched those dates into history.
But you made it possible, said a small voice in his head, You didn't kill him but without you he wouldn't have died.
Draco's lip trembled as he clenched his teeth, glaring at the plaque unblinkingly.
But then, suddenly, he was running. The castle hurtled forwards to meet him.
The noise inside the tomb had been minute, barely audible. A soft scuffling sound, like a person rolling over in their sleep.
Draco knew the castle was safe as soon as he crossed the threshold. The terror melted away but he kept running. Corridors flashed past. Stairs glided beneath him like liquid. His legs were carrying him somewhere in particular, but his mind seemed happy to allow this without enquiry.
He stopped, finally, somewhere on the seventh floor. Windows lined the wall to his left. Paintings and locked doors lined the right.
He moved forwards to press both hands against the glass, staring down into the grounds. It was midday now, not twilight. The sun hung like a pendant overhead, its reflection winking upwards from the lake. The tomb had gone.
"You like it here, don't you?"
Draco whipped round, his eyes narrowing as he watched Harry approach.
Harry's black hair, woefully untidy as it always had been, was slightly longer than in their Hogwarts days. He walked slowly, an odd smile playing on his lips. Draco had never seen Harry look at him like that.
They were facing one another, six feet apart.
Draco hitched a sneer onto his face, relishing in the familiarity of it.
"What are you doing here Potter?" he said, in a plausible attempt at his old biting swagger.
He wondered why he was dreaming about Harry at all. It hadn't happened before.
Harry continued to smile.
"What is it you want Draco?"
Draco snorted.
"I want you to get out of here Potter, you're ruining my dream."
But his confidence was slipping. He was perplexed by Harry's complete lack of animosity.
Harry seemed not to have heard him. He raised his wand, not threateningly, but as if to cast a spell into the space between them.
"Is it this?" he whispered.
Something silver cascaded from the wands' tip like smoke, coiling upwards and gaining substance as it rose. Colours exploded within as it took shape.
The girl that emerged looked older than Draco, but not by much. She was tall and poised - silver hair rippling as she walked towards him, lips parted in a smile and blue eyes narrowed seductively.
She was so close now. A soft hand was pressed to Draco's chest, moving slowly upwards to gently grip the back of his head. He saw his own reflection in the Veela's eyes. He looked scared.
"No..." he murmured, lips moving inches from hers.
He took a step backwards, raising an arm as if for protection.
Harry was watching the exchange with a smile, his expression eager - almost hungry.
"Or this?"
The girl was smoke again, though not entirely. Her shape contorted, retreated, reformed.
Albus Dumbledore stood resplendant in the sunlight from outside, his half-moon glasses glinting as he inclined his head towards Draco in greeting.
The words drifted from his mouth in a whispered echo
"...so very proud-"
Dumbledores face became Lucius', beaming at his son in a way Draco had never seen
"-of you..."
"Stop it Potter!" Draco snarled.
"Or maybe this?" came the maddening reply.
Smoke again. Shifting into four columns and rising once more.
For the second time that night, Draco watched his own effigy standing between Crabbe and Goyle, this time accompanied by Pansy Parkinson. He must have said something funny, because Pansy had thrown back her head to shriek with laughter. But her sleek black hair was growing bushy, expanding outwards as the sound escaped.
It was Hermione Granger now. Draco joined her in laughing, as did Ron and Harry on either side of him. Ron thumped him on the back appreciatively, congratulating him on the joke. They were striding slowly towards the real Draco - four inseparable friends caught up in happy abandon.
Draco's eyes were wide as he stared, transfixed, at the scene.
As they neared him they lost substance, fading again to smoke. It didn't reform this time, but remained, masking the corridor in silver-grey.
Harry walked through it, his wand now at his side, his eyes on Draco.
He came closer than even the Veela had dared to.
"Or this."
The kiss took Draco completely by surprise. He tried to recoil, but found his lips glued to Harry's. Tried to push him away, but found his own hands pulling Harry tighter.
Tried to resist, but found his eyes closing in submission.
A second passed, maybe two, before the dream faded.
--
Bellatrix's voice was low, her words tumbling over one another with fanatic urgency
"Wake up Draco. We think we have him! At last...Redemption will be ours, the Dark Lord will forgive all. We think we have Harry Potter!"
Draco watched her, silhouetted against the light in the hallway. He did not move.
"Come. He is disguised - a spell of some sort. Your father wants you to identify him, we must be sure it's Potter before the call is sent. Come Draco!"
She turned, sweeping from the room.
He lay staring, the haziness of sleep still upon him.
("-father wants you to-" "-think we have Harry-")
("-want-" "you" "Harry Potter")
("You want Harry Potter.")
He stood, eventually, to dress in the dark.
You want Harry Potter.
The bedroom door made no sound as he closed it.
--end--