I wanted to upload this much earlier, but after much editing, my laptop crapped out and I lost all the changes I made so I had to start from scratch.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! I'll update this story in a few days, I hope. Keep your fingers crossed.

That night was the first night in a long time that Harry's dream consisted of nothing but happy scenes. Yes, he still dreamt of Dumbledore, Sirius and his parents, but in his dream, they weren't dead; they were alive and well, and they were beckoning for him to join them. They were standing in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by rolling hills and colourful, blooming flowers.

"Darling, come and join us!" his mother called out to him, while his father beckoned to him from behind her. Both their faces were spread out in smiles of happiness and welcome, and looking at them made Harry feel happier than he'd ever been in years.

He scanned the clearing, and his eyes met Sirius' grey ones. He waved cheerily at Harry as well, and hollered, "Come and say hello to Buckbeak, Harry!" Harry's shocked gaze turned to the hippogriff standing by Sirius' side. I could've sworn he wasn't there a moment ago, he thought wonderingly. Buckbeak lowered his head in a small bow, and Harry automatically lowered his in turn.

Then he turned his head towards the last figure in the clearing; an old man, with a long white beard. He smiled at Harry as he used to so often before. However, unlike the others, he did not bid Harry to come closer.

"Don't fight it, Harry," Dumbledore said so softly that Harry had a hard time deciphering what he'd said. "Don't question it."

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "Don't fight what, sir? Don't question what?" he asked.

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "My dear boy, I'm sure you know," he answered, looking at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "When have I ever told you something you don't already know?"

"But I don't know, sir," he protested.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow. "Think carefully, Harry; you do know," he insisted gently. Then he gestured at his head then pointed at Harry. "Everything you need to know is in there."

Harry tapped at his head once. "You mean in here?" he asked, confused still.

Dumbledore didn't say anything, but merely nodded. He looked expectantly at Harry then, his eyes twinkling as they used to so often before, as if he'd just told Harry everything he needed to know and more.

Harry felt like tearing his hair out by the roots; Dumbledore was driving him mad. He had absolutely no idea what he meant, and Dumbledore wasn't being much help at all. Giving up trying to figure out what he meant, Harry searched through his own mind, to find out what Dumbledore was talking about.

Nothing at all stood out to him; he found nothing that he was fighting against, nor did he find anything that he was succumbing to. He shook his head angrily. "I still have no idea what you mean!" he cried in frustration.

He was just about to go on a rant, when he noticed that the edges of the clearing were starting to blur. He looked around in panic at his parents, Sirius and Buckbeak. They, too, were starting to blur and fade out of focus. The only person who was still clear as day was Dumbledore, and even he was fading. For some reason, he felt that finding out what Dumbledore meant was absolutely crucial. Why it was, he didn't know; he just knew that it was important.

"Sir, please," he begged, "before you go, tell me. Please."

Dumbledore gave him a look of utmost disappointment. "Why, Harry," he sighed, his voice getting quieter and quieter, "haven't I already said that you know it? Just because you're not aware of it doesn't mean it's not there." Softer and softer, his voice went, until finally Dumbledore's being faded away completely, and Harry was left utterly alone in the blurry clearing. Then, with a jolt, Harry woke up.

He sat up in bed groggily, and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It read fifteen minutes past seven in the morning. He groaned and collapsed back onto the bed. He covered his face with his pillow, not wanting to get up.

Minutes passed, and still Harry could not go back to sleep. He groaned again, this time in frustration, and tossed aside his pillow. He sat up again and leaned against his headboard. He thought about the dream he'd just had and while he was confused about what Dumbledore had said, he was also, for the most part, angry.

Yes, he was happy to see the people he loved most, but what made him angry was the fact that they were taken away from him in the cruellest ways possible before he'd ever had the chance to really get to know any of them, and his dream reminded him of that painful reality.

What was it that Dumbledore had once said? 'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?' Harry glared at Phineas' portrait, which hung on the wall right in front of his bed, as if the former headmaster was to blame for Dumbledore's cryptic answers.

Things that happen in our head aren't bloody real! he thought angrily. It's these things he said that make me wonder how he had managed to stay out of St Mungo's. He rolled his eyes and again ran Dumbledore's words through his mind.

At the time Dumbledore had uttered the words, Harry had found that it made sense, but now that reality was crushing down on him, it just made him angry; he'd barely even been with his parents, or with Dumbledore or Sirius, before they were taken away from him. Now that he was fully awake, Harry felt even angrier than before. They're all gone, and all I've got is fragmented memories of half-forgotten dreams, he thought bitterly. It happened in my head, but that didn't make it any more real, despite what Dumbledore said.

He looked across the room to where Malfoy's bed was, and saw that he was still asleep. The vague shape of his body was laying quite still, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, so as not to wake Malfoy. But just as he was about to put his hand on the doorknob, he heard a voice behind him, asking groggily, "Where are you going?"

He sighed inwardly, but then plastered a fake smile on his face. Turning around, he saw that Malfoy was sitting up, his sheets thrown off his body, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Then he patted the side of his bed, indicating that Harry should come and sit next to him.

Thinking it rude not to, Harry reluctantly joined him. Malfoy yawned loudly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at him blearily. "Lose the smile, Potter," he mumbled, still sounding half-asleep, now sitting cross-legged. "I know when you're faking it, remember?"

He shook his head slightly, trying to wake himself up a bit more. "So what happened?" he asked, now looking at Harry properly, though his eyes were still a little unfocused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What I meant to ask was," Malfoy began impatiently, looking a little more awake, "why were you working so hard to hide what you were feeling from me? We're friends, aren't we? I've told you things I never thought I would; the least you could do is return the favour."

Harry looked down at the bedspread and started picking on a loose thread. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, working at the thread. Then he looked up at Malfoy. "Would you like to have something to eat? I could ask Kreacher to prepare something for us."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No, I do not want any breakfast," he replied exasperatedly. "What I do want is to know what you're trying so hard to hide; so either you tell me right now, or I shall put the Imperius Curse on you and force you to tell me."

Harry sighed, looking away. I guess I should just tell him the truth, he decided finally. No point in pretending, if he's going to sniff out my lies like a ruddy bloodhound. So, with that, he told Malfoy his dream, and about how he'd felt when he woke up. Well, minus the part about what Dumbledore said; that, somehow, felt too personal to talk about.

After he was done relating his dream, he saw that Malfoy was resting his chin in his hand, and his eyes were half-lidded. "Look," he said quickly, before Malfoy could drawl out something sarcastic, "it was just a dream, I get that— and a really good one, at that— but that's just it; a dream."

He sighed heavily, and looked straight out the window, at what little of London he could see. "It didn't mean anything, and I'm sorry I wasted your time telling you about it." Harry made to get up, but was stopped when he felt a gentle but firm hand on his arm.

"It wasn't a waste of time, you silly, daft blighter," Malfoy growled quietly, tightening his grip before letting go. "Dumbledore was right, you know; just because dreams are in our heads, that doesn't mean they aren't real. The fact that dreams occur means that they are, in some way, real; maybe not in the sense that you could touch them, but still real nonetheless.

"Your parents, Dumbledore, Sirius… they're not gone; not totally. They're still in here," Malfoy continued, tapping Harry's forehead. "They're memories, yes, but they're memories of actual people. They lived, once, and they will continue to do so, in your memories, and also in your dreams."

Then Malfoy surprised him even more by reaching out and hugging him, briefly, before letting go. "Thanks, Malfoy," he said, blushing, trying to ignore the warm tingles coursing along the places that had come into contact with Malfoy.

"After all that's been said and done," he sneered, "you still want to call me by my surname? And you're welcome by the way, Harry." Harry smiled, looking at Malfoy in the eyes, seeing a mischievous twinkle in their depths, along with something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Thanks, Draco," he repeated, feeling a delicious shiver of pleasure at using his first name. Draco's lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh, but he supressed it.

"I can't believe we've known each other for seven years, and this is the first time we've ever used each other's names without threatening to kill each other," Malfoy— or was it Draco, now? — snorted disbelievingly. "Let's break that habit together, shall we?" Harry chuckled, and readily agreed.

They then spent the rest of the morning looking through old books filled with dark magic— which they didn't dare try— going through the secret store they found filled with ingredients for potions and practicing spells for transfiguration and charms.

"Ugh," Draco groaned for the hundredth time. "I can't seem to do this blasted charm just right! I can do other charms just fine, but, I swear, this one is harder than the Protean Charm." Harry had been trying his best to teach Draco the Undetectable Extension Charm, but to no avail.

"C'mon, just once more," Harry said, trying his best to encourage him. But just as Draco was about to cast the charm on his duffel bag, they heard a familiar tapping on the window. Both boys turned towards the sound and saw a barn owl waiting outside with a letter tied to its leg. The owl was not unlike the one Hogwarts had used to send him his letter.

True enough, it was a letter from McGonagall, summoning him to her house in Aldersbrook.

Potter,

Please come by immediately, and bring Malfoy, if he is with you. There have been some special arrangements made for the both of you at Hogwarts. I'll explain why when you arrive. Send me your answer by owl.

Minerva McGonagall

Below, she'd also written her address. Draco was reading the letter over his shoulder. "The both of us?" he asked, straightening up. "Why? And how does she know we might be together?"

Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer to any of his questions, folding the letter into its envelope again. He looked around for spare parchment and a quill, and then wrote back that he would, indeed, be coming by and with Draco as well.

When they Apparated into a secluded corner not too far from Professor McGonagall's house, they were surprised to see that there weren't many houses around, either because the tenants had big yards, or because there weren't many houses in Aldersbrook; Harry felt it was the former.

Harry looked towards the house in front of him, and couldn't believe that McGonagall lived by herself in such a big house.

It was two storeys high, with steeply sloped front-facing gable ends. The walls, which were dotted with sash windows, were made up of cream-painted brick, and smooth wooden panels framed them and the gables.

As soon as Draco and Harry got to the porch, the door was thrown open, which caused both boys to jump back in shock. Before them stood the stern-looking McGonagall, in her usual dark green robes, lined in black. She invited them in and they stepped into a long corridor, with highly-polished wooden floors and panelled walls.

She then ushered them into her front parlour, which was through the first door to their left. Stepping through the doorway after Draco and Professor McGonagall, Harry felt his jaw unhinge. Against the wall was a French provincial sofa set, all in black and a rather long black marble top coffee table in front of it, with gilt edges, laden with tea and pastries.

The curtains covering the windows looked as if they were made from velvet, and the undercurtains made of intricately-patterned lace. Then Harry looked across the room, and saw a swan chaise lounge, also in black, wingback chairs, and a console table against the wall with an ornate-looking mirror hanging above it.

Stepping further into the room, he felt his clad feet come into contact not with the wooden floor, as he'd expected, but with thick Aubusson carpet. Looking down, it looked as if his feet were sinking into the obscenely soft rug.

Trying his best not to look too awestruck, he followed Draco, who had a look of nonchalance on his face, to the sofa. No surprise there, he thought. His house was filled to the brim with antique furniture. Harry shuddered slightly, trying to block out the memories of his time at Malfoy Manor.

Sitting across from them, McGonagall gestured to the pastries in front of her. "Please help yourself," she invited. "Would you like some tea?" They both nodded, and then helped themselves to some cake, as well.

"Professor, your house is absolutely gorgeous," Harry breathed, who'd just noticed that the wallpapers were deeply embossed with flowers. "Is that lincrusta?" I guess it pays off sometimes to listen to Hermione go on and on about this sort of stuff, he thought.

McGonagall beamed, pleased that Harry liked her home. "Why, Potter, yes, it is. Dumbledore quite liked it. He helped me pick it out, you know," she said, now a small fond smile on her face, as she thought of Dumbledore. "And thank you, by the way, Potter; it's nice to know you appreciate my home."

"It's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed truthfully. "But I could've sworn you lived in the castle, Professor."

"Ah, yes, well, ever since the Battle, I've had to live here. This was my late husband's house."

But before they could go on talking about the house, or the surprising news that McGonagall had been married, Draco spoke up. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, not looking sorry at all, "but could you tell us why you called us here?"

McGonagall looked into Draco's eyes, green staring into grey. After a tense second, she regarded them both. "I apologise for asking you to come here without explaining further," she started. "We must discuss your accommodations for when you go back to Hogwarts."

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Is Hogwarts still… in desperate need of repair?"

McGonagall shook her head. "It took a few days, but the other professors and I are quite sure that we managed to fix everything. So, about your new accommodations…"

"What about our dorm rooms?" Draco interjected, asking for the both of them.

"As you both know, you should have graduated last year," she replied, looking at them both. "But due to certain circumstances, that did not come to pass. So, this year, to make way for first years, I have been forced to reopen new wings for the few students who will be coming back for their seventh year."

"What do you mean 'few students'? Almost every seventh year Slytherin went back home before the war even started," Draco said, looking confused. "I saw them leave, myself! I mean, I stayed back but…" He trailed off, not wanting to voice his involvement, or lack thereof, in the war.

"Ah, Malfoy," she said in a voice filled with what sounded like pity. "The seventh year Slytherins who went back were your friends Parkinson, Zabini and a number of others. The rest chose to stay and fight with us."

Draco looked shocked. Harry could see his mind racing a mile a minute, and even a flash of worry crossed his face, but he covered it up quickly as he asked, "Then what about the others?"

At this, McGonagall looked pained, as she answered, "They were the first to be killed by the Death Eaters. We… we tried our best to protect them, but…"

"Why the first?"

"You didn't know?" she asked him looking a bit surprised. "Did you not keep in touch with anyone after the war? To make sure your friends were okay?"

"No. I… had to keep a low profile for a while," he answered a little sheepishly, and then quickly changed the subject. "So why were they the first, Professor?"

McGonagall cast her eyes downwards. "Alecto and Amycus Carrow carried out their threats," she replied simply, heaving a sigh. "They were given orders to kill any and every traitorous Slytherin above everyone else. I'm sure you must recall them saying something along those lines; they said it often enough."

"They… they were serious about that?" he asked, his eyes widening. "I thought that they just said that to keep us in line." His voice cracked on the last word, and Harry felt so sorry for him, that he reached over and squeezed his knee reassuringly.

McGonagall looked up at him, and she didn't say anything. She didn't have to; her eyes said it all.

Draco now looked like he was about to cry, but hope crept into his voice when he asked, "W—what about Daphne? Daphne Greengrass?"

McGonagall looked at Draco pityingly. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy; she was one of the many we found dead," she said softly. "But do not despair, Draco; she is without pain now. Despair for the living, for we feel the pain of the deceased's absence every day."

After a few long seconds, Draco started crying, noiselessly, his tears streaming down his cheeks and down his chin. Harry couldn't take much more of seeing him like that, so he gathered him into his arms, hugging him close, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Harry wasn't too sure when, but when he looked up, he realised that McGonagall had left the room, presumably to let Draco grieve without her looking on at him. His shoulders heaving as he continued to sob, Draco clutched at Harry, as if his life depended on it. Harry leaned his head on top of Draco's and whispered soothingly into his hair.

Draco buried his head deeper into Harry's shirt and tightened his arms around him even more. He tried to say something, but Harry shushed him, and said that whatever he needed to say could wait until he felt better.

Eventually, his sobs died away, and his death grip on Harry loosened. "Are you okay?" Harry asked softly, tilting Draco's head up so that he could look into his watery grey eyes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco let a few more stray tears slip down his cheeks.

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, opening his eyes. "She was one of my best friends, you know." He sniffled loudly, leaning his head back into Harry's chest.

Not being able to think of anything else, Harry just said, "I know."

Harry pulled him closer again, as Draco buried his head deeper. Using the hand that wasn't wrapped around Draco's back, he carefully combed through his soft, blond hair, hoping that it would comfort him. It seemed that it did, as his grip on Harry loosened even further.

"Ahem," someone coughed behind them. They split apart immediately, blushing furiously, and McGonagall swept into the room and sat back in the chair she'd vacated. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr Malfoy—" Draco's face scrunched up in pain again "— but we must get on. You and Potter are the last two I'll need to inform about the change in accommodations."

"Where will our new dorm rooms be, Professor?" Harry asked, assuming that Draco would still be too distraught to speak.

"Phoenix Tower," she answered simply. "It was created in secret by Godric Gryffindor, to be used as his private study. He passed the knowledge of the secret on to Hogwarts' then headmaster, right before he died. He said that it was only to be used in emergencies, and this, I think, is considered a bit of an emergency."

"With all due respect, Professor, but how do you know about the tower?" Draco piped up suddenly, his voice sounding a little hoarse from crying.

"The secret of the tower is passed down from Headmaster to Headmaster, so that, in cases of an emergency, we may use the tower, if need be."

"So I'm guessing this was never mentioned in Hogwarts, A History?" Harry joked. McGonagall raised her eyebrows, but smiled slightly. "Anyway, where's the Phoenix Tower?"

"Very good question, Potter. Where, indeed," she answered cryptically, her smile widening a fraction. "Care to guess? I'm sure you would be able to find the answer soon enough."

Harry paused to think, but couldn't figure out what McGonagall was getting at. I'm supposed to know what she's talking about? he thought, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. A secret location that no one but the headmasters and headmistresses know about. Thinking back on it, Harry never actually saw a room he didn't know on the Marauder's Map. And, suddenly, he knew what McGonagall meant.

"The Fidelius Charm," he said at last, knowing that he was right. "That would make it unplottable."

"Excellent, Potter," she beamed at him. "Fortunately, or unfortunately if you so choose to look at it that way, you and Mr Malfoy will be the only ones to use it. The other spare rooms have already been filled with the others, including some of your friends from Gryffindor.

"Now, remember," she continued, "you two will be the only ones to be able to go into the tower, so you are quite safe. If you want to have visitors, do let me know; I am the Secret-Keeper."

"Where is it?" Harry asked again.

"The entrance to the Phoenix Tower is on the Third Floor, not too far away from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom," she told both Harry and Draco, who'd stopped snivelling. "Once you step through the door, you'll have to climb a few flights of stairs—" which Harry thought would be no problem, as his original dorm room had been quite high up in Gryffindor Tower, as well "— and then when you reach the top, you will see three doors in front of you, each leading off to a different room. Each room is more than big enough for the both of you together; so you have a choice. You can either stay together, like other students do in the dormitory, or you can choose to live in separate rooms."

"So now that you've told us where it is," Harry began, "will we be able to find it on our own?"

McGonagall snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "Godric Gryffindor changed the spell a little, so not only would you have to know the location, you would have to be shown it, as well."

"Oh."

"Will our doors need passwords?" Draco asked. Harry was glad that his voice didn't sound so hoarse now.

"There is no need for any passwords, dear boy; the Fidelius Charm is quite effective in keeping others out," she answered, looking like she was trying her best not to laugh at Draco.

Then Draco asked, "What about beds? Bathrooms?"

"The Phoenix Tower, much like the Room of Requirement, transforms itself into whatever you desire," she explained patiently. "Godric Gryffindor charmed it so, to suit his own needs as and when he used the private chambers. But unlike the Room of Requirement, you won't need to pace in front of your rooms every time you wish to enter. Once transformed, it won't change again, not unless you want it to."

Draco and Harry turned towards each other and smiled widely, Harry's bright and cheery and Draco's still a little bit watery, then turned back to McGonagall. "Cool!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"But what about owls? Will they be able to find us?" Harry asked, as the thought just occurred to him.

"Yes, they will."

"Just one more thing, Professor; how did you know Draco would be with me?"

"Miss Granger might have mentioned it," she said with a smile. "She and a few others from your year were here with me this morning, discussing their own special accommodations.

"Well," she continued, standing up, "that will be all, boys. I shall see the both of you in September."

Oh and thanks to the new followers and to those who faved! :-D Just wanted to let you know that you guys are awesome!