Filthy blood traitor…She isn't…Be silent…crash…Disgrace…My life…Ungrateful…crack…My choice…Disloyal…Don't…Not come back…

Draco jerked upwards and for a moment wondered why he was breathing so hard. Then he remembered. He lay back down for a moment, frowned, and sat back up again. He glanced around the unfamiliar room and stood up from the couch he'd been lying on. He wobbled a bit and the previous day's events came flooding back to him. He sat down.

That didn't really happen, he thought. I didn't really sit on a – whatever the hell that was – and talk to Harry Potter.

A small tabby cat padded into the room. It was halfway across before it noticed him. It stopped to take stock of this strange person sitting on its couch. Draco stared back. The cat apparently regarded Draco as harmless because it continued past the couch and into the next room. Draco followed it. They passed through the dining area and Draco remembered Potter getting all excited about someplace he could stay. Didn't happen, Draco reminded himself.

Draco peered into the kitchen where a plump, middle-aged woman busied herself washing and putting away dishes, clearing food, and coo-cooing to her cat. Draco's hand instinctively went to his back pocket and was relieved to find his wand there. He moved closer and stubbed his toe on the wall. "Ow!"

"Oh!" The woman spun around and Draco backed away. "Relax dear, relax. My name's Arabella Figg." She took his arm and led him back into the dining room. "It's good to see you're up," she said. "You were in a right state when Harry brought you in last night. Didn't have time to explain anything either, late for dinner. Said he'd be back today. Would you like some breakfast, dear?"

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Eggs, pancakes, or waffles?" Mrs. Figg asked.

"Eggs?"

"Scrambled, boiled or fried?"

"Scrambled?"

"Excellent. You sit tight."

Mrs. Figg continued to ramble on about something in the kitchen, but Draco had stopped paying attention. He felt slightly sick. "Didn't happen," he muttered. "All I did was switch dreams."

Draco wandered back towards the living room and turned into the foyer. His trunk and broom sat against the wall. He fingered the bristles and the smooth black handle. 'Don't worry about it, I'll get it,' he'd said. Draco shook his head and went back to the dining room.

"Oh, there you are," Mrs. Figg said. "Here, have some orange juice. Eggs'll be another few minutes."

Draco sipped the juice and closed his eyes, savoring the cool tang as it flowed down his throat as if it was the first time he'd ever had orange juice. It was certainly the first time in a couple of days that he'd had anything.

"Here you are dear," Mrs. Figg said, coming back in. "Eat up."

Draco blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been a full plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. "Um, thank you," he said.

"Eat up, eat up," Mrs. Figg said as she went back into the kitchen. "You just let me know if you want more."

Th eggs were good. Really good. As hungry as he discovered he was though, Draco couldn't make himself eat quickly. It occurred to him to wonder how she'd made them, magically or…not. Of course not, not if she's a squib. Not that it mattered.

The front door opened and closed. "Hello?" a voice called out.

Harry poked his head into the dining room. "Oh," he said.

Harry and Draco stared at each other. Draco wondered if Harry had immediately written to Granger and Weasley about what had happened yesterday.

Harry shifted a bit to his left foot. "So…do you feel better?" he asked.

Draco nodded once.

"Well, good."

Harry's gaze floated around the room, but Draco continued to stare. He remembered every bit of yesterday's conversation. But it's like it wasn't me at all, he thought. Some other version of me, low on sleep, food, taking over while the regular me was slowly slipping away… His fork clattered onto the plate. He grabbed it and looked away.

"Oh, Harry, come in," Mrs. Figg said. "Would you like some juice?"

"Sure," Harry said.

"Would you like some eggs too? I made lots of extra."

"Please." Harry nodded.

"Toast and bacon?"

"That'd be great."

Mrs. Figg frowned. "You didn't eat breakfast again, did you?"

Harry shrugged. "Depends on how you define breakfast."

"In other words, you didn't eat breakfast. I'll be back."

'It depends on how you define good and bad. Definitions come from experience and what you're told growing up. Or, experience changes your definitions. As long as you have logical reasons for your definitions and your beliefs, it's hard for anyone to argue with you, even if they disagree.'

'That's pretty insightful for a thirteen-year-old.'

'Wish I could say it was mine, but it's not. It's my dad's.'

Draco's fork fell on his plate again.

He snatched it and glanced up. Harry was peering at him over the plate of scrambled eggs that had appeared in front of him. "What?" Draco said.

Harry shifted in his chair. "N-nothing." He pushed his eggs around a bit and took a bite.

Draco stared at the tablecloth. It was a floral pattern with lilacs and lilies and daisies. He decided he didn't like it. "Did you get in trouble last night?"

"Huh?"

"Last night, you know, for dinner…" Draco decided he hated silence more than he hated the floral tablecloth.

"Oh. Yeah. No big deal."

"Oh."

Harry shrugged. "Not like I care. Not like you could have really called it dinner anyway."

Draco looked at him and waited for more of an explanation.

Harry took a bite of bacon. "When Dudley's on a diet, everyone's on a diet." Harry snorted. "And Dudley really needs to be on a diet."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So you eat over here all the time?"

"No," Harry said. "Not all the time." He smiled. "Ron and Hermione mail me food. There's a loose floorboard in my room I can store it under."

"They mail you food?"

"Yup."

"That's crazy."

"Beats starving to death."

"I suppose it does." Draco finished off his toast. "So how'd my stuff get here? I'm assuming you're not allowed out at night."

"Sure." Harry smirked. "Doesn't mean I don't go out."

"Yeah, I guess you would be good at the whole sneaking out thing. If you can get out of school, then getting past a few Muggles wouldn't be too hard." Draco shook his head. "Everyone thinks you're the good one, but it's just a big lie, isn't it."

Harry shrugged. "You do what you gotta do."

"You'd have made an interesting Slytherin."

"Hat wanted to put me there," Harry said.

Draco looked up. "Really? Why didn't it?"

"No rule says you can't argue with the hat," Harry said.

"Argue?" Draco said. "You can't argue. Wait, you probably requested Gryffindor because you'd already met Weasley, right?"

"Not exactly," Harry said. "What I'd said was 'Not Slytherin,' because," Harry smiled, "I'd already met you."

Draco frowned. "Oh." He tapped the side of his orange juice glass with his fork.

Harry traced the tablecloth with his finger. "So…do you need anything?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno, like, anything, whatever…"

"Oh. No."

"Because," Harry said, "my aunt's making me help her weed the garden this morning, so I have to go back in a few minutes."

"Oh. No."

Harry got up to say goodbye to Mrs. Figg. Draco played with his fork. Would he let me do it? Might…

Harry came back in the dining room. He loitered by his chair for a moment. "So…I guess I'll see you later?" he said. Draco didn't say anything. Harry kicked the ground with his toe and was very interested for a moment in a dark spot on the wall. He kept walking.

Draco heard him walk through the living room and through the foyer. The front door opened. He jumped and ran. "Hey wait!" he said.

Harry was mostly out the door. "Yeah?"

Draco stood in the foyer feeling a bit stupid. "It – I – oh, nevermind," he said. "Nevermind, forget it." He turned back to the kitchen.

"No, what is it?" Harry said coming back into the house.

"It's nothing, forget it." Draco waved it off.

"It's not," Harry insisted. "What?"

Draco leaned against the doorframe, his back still to Harry. "I just – see I, I promised Alex," he turned around, "that I'd write her when I got home. Course, that was five days ago…" He shrugged.

"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, sure, I can send Hedwig over in a little while."

"Hedwig?"

"My snowy owl," Harry said. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "Um, thanks."

"Sure," Harry said. "But don't be too offended if she nips you. She, ah, probably won't be too happy about the job."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So, what, do you complain about me to your owl?"

Harry gave him a shrug and a sheepish smile.

Draco nodded. "I see. Well I, I'll um, try not to give her a hard time."

Harry smiled. "Great. I'll send her over later this afternoon."

"Sure."

"See you later."

"Yeah."

Harry closed the door behind him.

Draco stood inside a lower-floor sitting room of his house. His parents were there too, but they didn't seem to notice him. His father was reading the newspaper and his mother was sipping tea and reading a book. His brows knitted together and he stepped into the room. One usually creaky board remained silent. He could see through the door behind him; he saw himself on the other side.

Draco frowned. How could he be on both sides of a door? His other self opened the door and walked past him. The board creaked, but his parents still didn't seem to notice him. His other self stood staring into the room. I'm back, Draco thought. "I'm back," his other self said.

"The train came in over an hour ago," his father said without looking up from the newspaper. "Where have you been?"

Draco saw himself frown. "Mother usually meets me-"

"You're seventeen, aren't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"You can Apparate, can't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you've no excuse to be late."

His other self opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Not again, Draco thought. He shook himself. Not again.

"Doesn't matter," his father said. "I know where you've been."

Draco watched himself close his mouth and cock his head. "I've been at the train station," he said.

"Lie!"

His father stood up with such force that several items fell off the table in front of him. "You've been taking up with that mongrel Mudblood girl!" He strode forward and both Draco and his other self backed away.

"What?" his other self said.

"Do not play stupid with me, boy. I know all about this girl's filth."

Something seemed to click with his other self. "You don't understand," he said. "Her mother's a pureblood-"

"Blood traitor! Who has taken up with a filthy Muggle and had a mongrel child!"

"No!" his other self shouted. "She isn't-"

"Be silent when I speak to you boy!" He slammed his fist into the wall and a mirror crashed to the ground and shattered.

Draco whipped around and squeezed his eyes shut. A piece of the glass nicked his shoulder. Ow… He heard himself cry out, but the sound was faint. His shoulder still hurt. Then his brain caught up with him. How could I have caught any of the glass if I'm not really there…?

He opened his eyes and lifted his head off the desk he was sitting behind. He felt another nip of pain on his shoulder. He went to rub it and finally noticed the large white owl perched next to him. "Oh," he said. "You must be – what's your name? Hedwig?"

She ruffled herself.

Draco rubbed his shoulder and frowned at her. "That hurt, you know," he said.

She ruffled herself and turned her head lazily to look out the window.

"Cheeky, aren't you."

She hooted out the window.

He watched her follow the path of a squirrel in the tree. "Still," he said, "you are a beautiful bird. Potter's got good taste."

She turned back and puffed herself up.

Draco grinned. "And you've got an ego! "Like wizard, like bird, eh?" He reached out to stroke her feathers, but drew back when she made a half-hearted attempt to nip him again. "Okay, okay, I get it," he said. "You like him and you don't like me. Yeesh."

Draco stood up from the desk, decided he didn't really like standing at the moment, and sat on the bed. He felt his forehead. Warm, and he had a bit of a headache. He'd take it over feeling like he had yesterday though. He'd been too ill to realize how ill he was. Thinking back on it though…another few days and he may well have died in that park. That's morbid, he thought. Think about something else.

He ran his hand over the thick comforter of the double bed that was part of Mrs. Figg's spare bedroom. She'd shown him the room after a much-needed shower. He'd never showered without some kind of magical something before. All in all, it wasn't really as different as he thought it'd be. He wondered what Alex's shower was like, in a Muggle apartment with two witches and a Muggle. He wondered if she ever –

Nope. He forced himself to stop that line of thought before he made it all the way to imagining Alex in the shower. She was only fourteen.

He examined the matching, oversized pillows that sat at the head of the bed. Each one was plenty big enough. They looked firm but soft, comfortable and enticing. I bet if I laid down right now, he thought, I'd fall right asleep… He absently noted that his eyes were slowly closing.

His eyes shot open and he rubbed his face with his hands. "No, no, no." That was a line of thought he definitely didn't want to continue. He lived it once, he didn't need to see it again.

He forced himself to stand and felt a twinge of pain in his stomach. He sat down at the desk. He needed to finish his letter to Alex anyway. Hedwig was being so patient. Draco reached out and this time Hedwig let him pet her. She was still watching that squirrel. "Go get the squirrel," he said to her. "I'm not finished yet anyway." She hooted and launched out the window. Draco watched her swoop over the tree, dive bomb the squirrel, and carry it away.

Draco turned back to the letter and reread the last few paragraphs. He felt bad that he wasn't giving her a whole lot of detail, as he continued writing, but this thing was long enough as it was. He gave her the gist of what happened and why he hadn't written earlier, though nothing about what his father had actually said about her and her parents. He told her he was in Little Whinging staying somewhere safe, but he didn't say with whom, and he didn't say Harry Potter lived in the neighborhood. He wasn't sure what her opinion on Harry was. His first inclination was typical Slytherin, but Alex was hardly a typical Slytherin in her attitude. He decided to leave it out anyway. He assured her he was all right, told her that he probably wouldn't be able to meet her in Diagon Alley, and said he missed her like crazy. He spent a good couple of paragraphs on that one.

Hedwig came back as he was addressing the envelope. "Enjoy the squirrel?" he asked. She hooted and fluffed herself. Draco smiled.

He started to write the return address, but let his quill hover over the paper. A sudden wave of paranoia struck him. They wouldn't be intercepting owl posts looking for him, would they? He didn't want to get Alex in trouble. But why would they intercept Harry's owl looking for him? Because it's Harry Potter's owl, he thought. Unless they didn't know what Harry's owl looked like. Except they do, he thought, because I told my father five or six years ago he had a snowy owl.

He wondered, then, if he should send it by Muggle post. It was the same address, he supposed. But Hedwig was here, all ready to go. And his father knew her father was a Muggle so they could watch that too…

"Oh, knock it off," he said aloud. "Stop being so damned paranoid. If they actually wanted to find you, they'd have done it by now." He stroked Hedwig's breast feathers. "You're too smart to get caught by them anyway, aren't you." She cocked her head at him.

Draco settled for leaving off his name and just writing 'Number 8 Stonewall Road, Little Whinging, Surrey.' He gave Hedwig the envelope. "Alex Dingle," he said. "Apartment 424, 515 East Boulevard, London." She gave him a gentle nip on the sleeve and took off. He went and sat on the bed again, and this time he let himself fall asleep