The body lying crumpled in the middle of the floor was moving. Barely. The chest rose and fell swiftly and the breaths were loud and hollow. Oxygen was not making it to his lungs fast enough. This boy was dying.

The other boy was unconscious, but in a much better way. He was slumped against the wall, his black robes sprayed out around him, blond locks falling gently over his eyes. His shirt was torn to pieces and the remnants of a green and silver-grey tie hung loosely around his neck. He came to and opened his eyes slowly. They were grey, like a winter's morning and reflected the shattered fragments of the glass from a pair of round spectacles lying before him on the ground. Draco concentrated on the frames, trying to work out where he was and why he was in so much pain. Suddenly the eyes cleared and the head rose. Slowly. As if afraid of the sight that would meet his eyes when it did. The strands of hair that had flopped forward bent back slightly at the movement sticking on the right side to a cut that ran deeply from the corner of the boy's eye to his upper lip. The blood streaked down his face, and he raised a hand, not bothering to recoil with the pain. He pulled back the hand and gazed at the crimson liquid that covered his fingers. His eyes suddenly focused on something beyond his fingers, however. The other boy. The one who wasn't going to make it.

Scrambling to his knees, only slightly aware that this made him feel like his insides were being torn out, he crawled as fast as his broken body would allow him. He stopped at the other boy's side, and fell, one arm propping him up and the other soothing the hair back of the boy's face. Draco stared with horror at the blood now streaked across the raven-haired boy's cheek before realising that he had brushed away his hair with a hand already stained with his own blood. For some reason, it was strangely comforting to know that the blood was his. For the first time in his life, perhaps, Draco Malfoy felt happy that he was suffering, not someone else. The sentiment was new, and he didn't quite know how to deal with it, so he put it to the back of his mind and decided to work on it later.

"Harry," He whispered, "Harry!"

No reply. Worry crossed the grey eyes before Draco reached out with a pale hand and gently shook the boy. Then a little harder.

"Harry, " He said, getting louder, "HARRY!"

Still no reply. Draco felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one. He checked for breathing. He couldn't feel any. He looked for colour. There was none. Harry was almost as pale as he was. That was not normal. Suddenly, the pale boy realised. He stared at the body beneath him, the tears starting to fall. To begin with, he didn't notice them. He was Draco. A Malfoy. Malfoy's don't get sentimental. The salt in the tears was beginning to hurt his cut. Suddenly he screamed out "NO!" and clutched the body of his fallen comrade to himself, crying. "No…"

Racking sobs grasped his body, and so he failed to notice the breath, faint but real, on his neck. He failed to notice any sign of life until a small and fading voice retorted,

"Christ Malfoy, I never knew you cared"

Draco almost dropped the body in surprise. He let Harry fall gently to the ground.

"But you were… I…there wasn't a…"

"I'm not quite dead, Draco. But I soon will be, so if you plan to sit there and jabber away like a complete squib in my last few moments, please feel free to continue."

It would have been scathing, were it not for the fact that the voice saying the words was soft and almost lost to the wind. Draco leaned forward to hear Harry, and looked down at his face. White blond hair lying on top of raven black. Some things are that straightforward Draco thought some things do come in black and white. And it was then that he realised the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a Malfoy no less, watching The Boy Who Lived die. He. Who had nothing to live for, and even less than nothing if Harry died, was watching the boy who had every reason to live die. He laughed gently.

"What is it Draco? Decided to find my death funny now, have you?" Weak beyond imagining.

"No," Draco replied, "I'm just contemplating the fact that youhave friends, somewhere to live, people who love you and everything to live for and you're dying. I, on the other hand, have a name that induces most wizards to spit at me if I'm lucky, a manor that the ministry is probably requisitioning and a mother who will be executed as soon as it comes out that you've killed Voldermort and yet I'm the one that is living. Absurd, isn't it."

"Draco…" Harry begins. But what can he say? Draco really does have nothing to live for. If Harry had lived he would have seen to it that Draco was treated with respect, but no one would bother to do that any more. If Harry died, Draco really did have no one.

Draco's eyes, which were slightly clouded with tears, suddenly cleared completely. He had obviously decided on his path, and he was well on his way to walking it.

"Harry." He said, "Once, long ago, when my father really believed that one day I would willingly take the Dark Mark, he taught me a piece of dark magic. The ministry forbids it, but you see, they never have to know." His eyes are on fire. Harry is worried. "It was learnt by all the Death Eaters, so that if The Dark Lord was ever to loose his life, we could save him. In doing so, however, we would make the ultimate sacrifice. Our life for his. My life for yours. You're far to weak to stop me. I'm giving you my life Harry, but you still have your own, so I only ask that you use it wisely. I'm giving you the chance nobody could ever give me. I can't live happily Harry. So you have to live really happily t make up for me. You have to live for us both."

And with that, Draco took Harry's hands and kissed his forehead. The word "no" was forming on Harry's lips when Draco's life force began to enter him and he swooned. It was like pure magic. It was pure magic. Direct from one of the purest bloodline there was. Harry could feel the Malfoy awakening in him. He could feel Draco pulsing through his body. He could feel the body the real Draco slumped against his chest. Their chest. They shared everything now.

When Harry came to, Ron and Hermione were standing a short way away looking confused and slightly apprehensive. Dumbledore was on his knees, holding Draco's hand.

"I'm sorry, " he said, "Another fatality Minerva. The last, I hope, although I fear the Death Eaters will not allow the passing of their Lord to go by quietly. Ah, Harry, " Said the elderly wizard, turning to greet him, "I trust you are not too badly hurt?" numbly, Harry shook his head. "Right, well then, no, do not sit up. I have to explain something to you first. You must know that what Mr Malfoy did was both very brave and highly illegal. It must never go further than those gathered her at this moment. I must also warn you that the life curse used had an, unexpected effect." Harry sat up, ignoring Dumbledore's advice, watching Minerva McGonagall help Snape magically lift Draco's body and move away towards the castle with him. Harry began to cry, and his head bent down. It was then that he realised what this unexpected effect was. The hair that fell in front of his eyes was not raven black. It was blonde. White blonde. It was Draco's Hair. No wonder Hermione and Ron looked shocked.

"Oh, I assure you Harry," began Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, "Nothing else had changed. It's only his hair that you have adopted. And maybe one or two characteristics." He added, and Harry's lips curled into a sneer in a distinctly Malfoy like way, trying to hide his tears.

In a more Harry-esque manor, he smiled through his tears and looked up at the sky.

I'll live for you Draco; he thought I'll live for both of us.