A/N: Hey guys! I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving Break. I know that other people from different countries don't celebrate Thanksgiving ((AMEEEERICAAAAA HOW I LOVE THEE AND PILGRIMS AND NATIVE AMERICANSSSSS. SHARE THE TURKEYYYY)) so I hope that you had a great weekend. I was in Williamsburg, VA for the break. If anyone else went there message me hi. Maybe I saw you. Oh. And if any of you lost a phone at Williamsburg with a colorful kiddy-styled blue iPhone case ((it was very dark)) I saw it. And if you're lucky, it may still be there. ^^;

So after hearing my parents plot my demise if we ever visit Epcot, telling a preacher that I'm atheist ((I'm not)) because he said that everyone is adopted from the hands of God ((I'm adopted dammit! It's obvious that I'm not American! I'm Chinese! You don't have to ask me I'm the fruit from their loins!)), listening to a politically incorrect song, being potentially stalked ((if you're a guy...maybe you stalked me. Lol jk ;) ...please don't stalk me. I might just accidentally kill you. :) )), and sitting through an hour delayed flight, I'm back with your chapter 6! XD

I've gotten some great questions from my readers to which I am happy to answer. If you have any question, just ask me and I'll answer them in my next update. Thank you guys for all of your reviews! XD

Dragonkiller12012: Yes. I agree...somebody should stab Ginny. But words cut deeper than wounds *wink* ((spoiller alert!)). And Draco isn't exactly a sociopath. There's...a weird line between him and a sociopath. He's a Contractor, so he does have the attributes of a sociopath ((because they were definitely not born that way ^^;)). As to the fact of love, there's no definite answer on love for sociopaths. It's widely said that they can't love, but I don't believe that. They do have aspirations like us, as well as disappointments, and as to whether or not they can't love, they can. It's just that to us, their form of love is twisted. And as to the feeling in Harry's chest...well, it'll take like a few chapters for him to realize that feeling in his chest is love. Remember, he was deprived of love since he was little, and the world he grew up in frowned deeply on love between two guys. ^^; But he'll eventually realize it. Don't you worry.

And thank you dearest for the previous comment! That brought joy to my heart!

Joey Bermuda Ketail: Yes. I too hate Ginny. She's a bloody, insufferable bint who needs to die in a fiery pit of hell...that is unless she's shipped with Blaise or is lesbian. Other than that, I don't like her. Lol XD.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor Darker than Black. They go to their respective owners.

Future needed information: /Flashes/


"How did it come to this?

How did I know it was you?

It was a bad dream, asphyxiated,

Watch me bleed.
-Sell Your Soul, Hollywood Undead


Draco eyes the door in suspicion, hearing over the choking sound beyond the door. Harry's leaning the white porcelain toilet, feeling the rancid taste of bile rise to his throat. He has been retching his guts out for two days, only to find out that it's not the flu. It's the stupid unfamiliarity of the food contents and chemicals.

It's absolutely horrible, and the fact that they'll be going to the Gate in three days isn't helpful at all.

Draco has been highly amused since. It's quite comforting to know that his amusement in Harry's misfortune hasn't dwindled and died.

Harry wants to throttle him.

So, Draco has been containing any emotion of glee and satisfaction from the Gryffindor, wary that he might be hexed with some kind of morbid curse. Of course, he could always keep Protego up, but it would just take too much energy. And it's ridiculous to go through such lengths to contain himself.

As he said before, Contractors don't show their emotions. They're not incapable of having emotions, but emotions are a hindrance when they're facing situations that involve them having to inevitably kill someone. It's not like he's complaining: it's easier this way; however, ever since Harry arrived, it has become increasingly difficult to control himself—his past self always trying to break through the Contractor barrier.

The brunet is infuriating. He wanted—nee, demanded—Draco to take him to a muggle hospital. As if he'd do that. One: it's a muggle hospital. Two: he hates hospitals. Three: It's muggle.

Of course, Harry invariably argued that they're staying in a rather, upscale muggle hotel. Draco, of course, used his intellect to come up with an intelligent rebuttal that Harry, in no way, could deny.

He didn't want to risk illegal emigration from England to be discovered, and he couldn't risk taking the poor sap to St. Mungo's lest they be discovered. No, it wouldn't do. It might be vindictive of him, but he's not swayed in the least.

"How the bloody hell are you not puking?" Harry stumbles out of the bathroom, his face a puce green as he leans against the wall for support.

Draco sniffs. "I took precautionary measures. Do you want me to give you the shots?" Harry's face twists in confusion. "Preventatives—post-ventatives," he amends, eyeing the bathroom disdainfully.

"Wait. You had something to prevent me from throwing up and never told me about it?" He feels a wave of nausea and dizziness.

Draco waves it off in indifference. "Just had to make sure that this is the issue. And anyway, what idiot doesn't take shots before leaving the continent?...then again, you weren't thinking. You never think things through," he chastises, ignoring Harry's insulted look.

"Just give it to me!" Harry snaps in annoyance.

The Slytherin's perfect eyebrows raise, making the latter flush in frustration.

Just give me the damn shot, Harry thinks.

"So demanding," he drawls slowly. "Fine, fine." He goes to the bedroom and rummages through his bag immunity potion that he brewed. "Potion," he corrects from the room, as if reading Harry's mind.

When he comes back in view, he's holding two shots—one filled with an icy-blue liquid and the other with a bubbling, neon-green glow. Harry's thanking whoever's out there that the needle isn't that long.

There's a malicious glint in the blonde's eyes as he walks towards the brunet.

"Put out your arm," he says.

Harry eyes it warily before sticking out his left arm—like hell he'd let the guy put a needle through his dominant arm.

The needle sinks into his skin, sending a ping of pain into his arm. Artic blue liquid seeps into his veins like cool ice, sending shivers through his body. He resists the urge to pull away as it starts to burn, searing pain coursing up his arm and down his body. He watches in morbid interest as the skin around his veins turn snow white, then back to his normal skin tone.

Draco doesn't blink.

He slides it out with ease, careful not to draw blood. He inserts the other needle, making Harry pale in anticipation.

He breathes out in relief, stretching his now numb arm after the injection, feeling the pain ebb away.

"Was it supposed to hurt," he asks.

Draco snorts at this. "Of course not. But due to idiotic antics, the potion will make your body feel like it's burning. It's trying to fix your stupidness. If you're still stupid in an hour, then I'll know that it can't be cured."

Harry frowns at this aspersion. He always points out that he's stupid in some way, and he's kind of getting sick of it, but he brushes it off either way.

Whatever was in the potion works: he feels better already; his head is clearing up, the tremors in his stomach has stopped, and he feels the acid in his stomach stay down. Yes, there's a light burning feeling in his stomach—the potion doesn't extend to that point…he guesses. However, there's no doubt that it's working.

Draco has prevented him from sending missives to his friends. Ron is probably panicking and saying that someone—a Death Eater—probably kidnapped him out of vehemence while Hermione would be trying to find out where he went and who'd take him—"The Ferret, 'Mione! He's a Death Eater!" He has a feeling that Parkinson and Zabini are having similar reactions.

A knot twists uncomfortably in his stomach as he realises that today is Monday. He's misses classes and the teachers would have noticed by now and would have searched for them frantically. It's unsettling.

"Hey, it's Monday," he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can as they sit down in an extravagant restaurant for lunch.

"Yes, it is," the blond replies, eyes focused on the spell-translated menu.

"The teachers are probably freaking out," he prompts.

"Probably," he says blandly, as if what they're talking about is completely normal like the weather. His ear twitches at the exasperated groan from the brunet. "What?"

"You're not worried?" Harry asks, alarmed.

"Worried about what?"

"That they might find us," he says in frustration, wanting to rip out his hair.

Why can't Malfoy understand the tribulation? How much trouble they'll be in when they're found?

"You're worried about that?" A waitress comes and they order drinks before resuming, "We're out of their vicinity. You're also of legal age so they can't track your wand, and it's harder for us to be found because we're out of the country. And there's no reason to make a fuss with country relations for one boy—even if it's Wonder Boy."

"Two," he corrects.

"One. They could care less about me. I'll be executed or confined in Azkaban for taking their precious Golden Boy," he says with mirth and bitterness in his voice.

Harry opens his mouth to object, but closes it, confirming the Slytherin's assumptions.

"So we're untrackable?"

"Untraceable," he confirms, thanking the waitress when she comes with their drinks.

Harry doesn't miss the way she blushes when Draco thanks her. Her blatant flirting sends a strange and uncomfortable vibe through him, his stomach furling in discomfort, his chest clenching.

"Thanks," he sneers. She flinches and he feels guilty. "This is good," he says in gentler voice, taking a drink.

She smiles in relief before taking their orders, sending another flirtatious smile at the blond.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're jealous," Draco drawls, watching the man scowl. Of course he's joking, but the Gryffindor doesn't have to know…yet.

"I'm not!" His voice rises in pitch.

Draco just shrugs. He doesn't miss the flash of expectancy in those verdant eyes. Yeah. That's right. If he weren't a Contractor they'd be in a verbal match—a flustered, furious Gryffindor and an arrogant, vindictive, pompous Slytherin.

They fall into silence until the waitress comes back with an annoying grin that Harry wants to wipe off her face.

"Thank you, it looks delicious," Harry simpers.

She flushes, completely missing the dismissal in his voice.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asks, fluttering her eyelashes at Malfoy, the second meaning as blatant as the first.

Draco looks up at her with a small frown.

"No."

Harry watches with satisfaction as she turns and leaves, disappointment evident on her face.

Finally.

Waitresses are supposed to be nice and complaisant, but not pushy. What's with the management these days? It's simply unseemly and disgraceful the way she behaved, pushing them with unnecessary conversation. Draco never forgets anything, and for her to even question anything he does…well. He'll talk to the manager later if it happens again.

Harry starts to eat, subconsciously aware that Draco's watching him. The food is good—he'll give them that, but they have terrible choices in waitresses. He freezes.

Wait.

Why does he care if she flirts with Draco?

It's not his problem.

The bloody Slytherin can handle his own.

He doesn't care.

Pfffft.

Fuck no.

But that….that irrational feeling that's gnawing at his stomach is quite irksome.

His eyes flashes to the girl who's talking to other customers. No, he decides, it wouldn't do any good to hex the bint. No matter how much he wants to.

He could arrange some muggle accident. It wouldn't be melodramatic to do away the competition. He snorts. What competition? Draco wouldn't even think of dating a mud—Damn. He sounds like the prat now. Hermione would slap him all the way to Netherland if he said that.

Again, why does he care if she blatantly flirts with the pompous git? It's not his problem. He can bloody jump off a bloody damned cliff.

Hmmm….not a bad idea…No. He shakes his head. Godric. Now the prat is looking at him. Oh, his lips are moist. Maybe if he were to…

"Potter. As much as it pleases me"—did he just say that Harry's staring pleases him?—"that you're staring a me"—yup. Yes he did—"however, you're food is getting cold and your face might freeze that way."

Oh.

Harry scowls into his food. "I'm not staring," he mumbles.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Mhmmmm. And I figure your food is going to warm up for you by itself."

He sticks his tongue out in retaliation, not caring that it's childish. "At least I'm not—"

"Enjoying your meal?" Harry sends a loathsome glare at the person that interrupted their meal. The girl smiles innocently, her eyes focused on the blond.

"Yes. We're ready for the check," Draco says smoothly, not catching the deflated look in her eyes before it disappeared.

"You sure? You don't want dessert?"

"No," Harry clips impatiently.

The smile wavers a bit and she turns back to Draco. "Are you sure? The special is simply delightful. Only—"

"I'm sure."

"I insist. It's very good and I—"

"He bloody said no," Draco says with a glare.

She flinches and bobs her head to get the receipt. Harry blinks at him in surprise.

"You do know that she was talking to you," Harry says.

Draco harrumphs impatiently. "It was obvious that I'm full—my plate was empty, but you said no to the dessert already and the fact that she tried to force you to buy a dessert is uncouth. I hope she's not expecting a large tip." He notices the brunet smile. "Why are you smiling?"

"Hmmm?" Harry didn't know he is smiling. "Why not? It means you're happy."

"Why are you happy?" He asks blankly.

It's then Harry realises the barrier between them. It's quite frightening. The change really altered the Slytherin.

The girl comes back with the check at Draco quickly signs it. She bobs her head without a single babble and goes to ring the receipt. Watching her walk away, Draco notices how shiny and silky her hair is and wonders if it looks good in a different style.

Her hair turns into a different colour and he tells Harry to wait a moment before they leave. He ignores the enquiring look from the Gryffindor and counts down in his head one she turns to the bathroom.

3…2…1..

"EEEEEEK!"

Harry looks at him with wide eyes. She comes out with confused tears trailing down her face; her hair is a pixie-cut pink mixed with unappealing green tips.

It's absolutely horrible, Harry thinks.

Pfffft.

Who the hell is he kidding? The bint deserves it.

He snickers when they walk out of the restaurant. A pleased smirk is on the blonde's face, contented in the fact that the waitress is being punished for her frivolousness and dismal incline to not work efficiently.


Yes, there is something strange afoot, Professor Flitwick thinks, staring at the crowd of students. Something's not right but what is it? He starts to call names from his roster, finally landing on Harry Potter.

"Here," squeaks a male voice, sounding a bit off.

Adjusting his spectacles, he looks over the rims. Doing this does not help his vision, but it amplifies the "no foolishness" policy.

"Are you well, Mr Potter?" he asks, squinting into the blurred direction.

"I'm"—he coughs—"I'm fine, professor."

"You sure? If you are not well, you can go to Professor Pomfrey for—"

"No! I'm fine," Harry quickly interrupts. "Just a small cough." He lets out a rough sounding cough.

"Okay Mr Potter. Just leave if you need to," he says, going back to the lesson plan.

Oh what was it again? He blinks at the board. Oh yes. The history of Magical Appliances. Little did he know that once he turned his back to the board, a red head let out a large sigh of air.

"Oh my God," Ron huffs out, wiping his forehead. "Thank Godric he didn't suspect anything, eh Harry?"

"Oh yes. Simply brilliant Ron. You are the smartest wizard in the world—most talented. I wish I could be as awesome as you," he says.

"Thank you so much. I know I am—Ow! 'Mione! What was that for?" He clutches his sore head, whimpering.

"Stop that, Ron," she hisses.

Ron has the decency to look downtrodden. When her vision turns, he hisses, "Oh look. Now you've done it." He glares at Harry. "Will you say something—Ow! Okay okay Hermione!"

She lets go of his ear. "If you're done playing with the plastic puppet, will you pay attention?"

"Look at what you've done," he scowls at the faux pas Harry. "She's mad at me now!" It droops its head. "Goddammit Hermione! Fine! I'll stop!"

It's to be said that meanwhile in their banter they didn't notice a dark glint in the plastic Harry's rubber eyes.


"Is something the matter?"

Draco doesn't glance towards Harry, his attention focused on the water under the bridge. In a days time, they'll be on their way inside the gate; however, this doesn't take away the chance that they might be tracked by a Medium. He's been careful, making sure that he won't make any movement or tells that might draw attention to him. Astronomics is already a pain in the arse.

Harry has told him everything he knows about the Gate and Contractors in the span of time they've spent together. He's seen Contractors, but due to his lack of characteristics that pertain to Contractors, he's unable to see the eerie glow of Mediums that scour the city.

He has tried to convince Draco to show him or at least point them out, but the git remained obstinate. He knows better than to push him—worse thing could happen is that Draco would ditch him in the middle of the night, taking their wands and anything magical with him. He'd have no way how to find Draco other than going to the Gate on foot, which doesn't seem that appealing.

Draco has been rather focused as the hours clicked closer, as if waiting for something to happen. It's unnerving, once he thinks about it. He hasn't even gave Harry the reason for going inside of the Gate. It's dangerous, and the fact that the blond won't speak to him about the interior is making him a bit too anxious for his own good.

"Nothing," Draco says after a moment. "Just a fish…probably."

He doesn't want to tell Harry they're being tracked. It's been going on for a while, and the fact that there are two on his heels makes it worse.

They suddenly stop, hearing an ear-splitting scream in the air. They follow the noise to stop in front of a girl with a small, easy smile.

"That was easy," she says, making them freeze.

"Shit," Draco curses, fumbling for something in his pocket.

Harry watches her eyes, in morbid fascination, slowly glow red. He suddenly sees his vision obscured by blond hair and the touch of softness against his mouth.

It's only a moment later he realises that Draco has stopped moving and a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. Looking around, he notices that everything is silent and still.

An explosion sounds behind him, bowling him over on top of Draco. He looks up and sees the girl with a small child by her side, his mismatched eyes glowing the familiar red colour.

The child flicks his nose again, echoing another loud boom near them. His Quidditch reflex saves them from being crushed by a branch.

"How are you awake?" She asks, sounding very curious y the fact that he's not frozen in time. "Are you a Contractor?"

He blinks and then looks at Draco, realisation dawning on him. There's a small bit of potion in a phial on the ground, red contents slushing. He dives for it, saving the glass from being broken by the girl's foot. He takes as much left from the bottle and presses his mouth against Draco's with force, willing him to swallow.

Now, the kiss left much to be desired. Two hours later he'll probably look back on it and frown, wondering what a real one with the Slytherin would be like, but all he can focus on right now is to not be killed and the possibility of being sued with sexual harassment charges against him.

He draws out his wand and his opponents focus on it with mild curiosity. She stops him and the boy makes a small whine, but listens to her instructions. There's brief hesitation before he backs up, closer to Draco, to protect him from the impending battle.

"Who are you?" She finally asks, the boy scowling to her right.

Think, Harry. Think. His eyes flash with panic and confusion on how to respond.

Prat. Does she not know proper etiquette? One must introduce oneself before asking another, scoffs a voice in his head. There's a pompous air to it that reminds him of someone, but who?

Is he schizophrenic?

Oh well, he'll go with it anyway.

"It's proper etiquette to introduce yourself before asking one's name," he says, ignoring the comment about him being an inane copycat.

She smiles unexpectantly. "My name is Amber. This is Maki. And yours?"

Make up one. Telling her the truth is idiocy and weakness.

"Harry," he says, ignoring the belligerent gasp from the voice.

Bloody honest Gryffindor, it growls, disapprovingly. You might as well be serving our heads on a platter.

"What do you want," he asks, mirroring her movements. Wake up Malfoy! Do you want to be killed?!

She just cocks her head and whispers something to the boy. He takes out an acorn and throws it towards them. Harry jumps back from its landing point in front of him.

"Protego," he mutters, covering the Slytherin from the explosion. The shield holds against it though he feels the strength of the explosion.

Spontaneous, it says appraisingly with unnatural glee in its tone. Harry resists the urge to snap at it. Hmmm. His hands seem really agile, it speculates.

No one cares about his hands, Harry growls irritably, putting up another shield charm from an incoming acorn. Where the bloody hell does he get these acorns?! It bounces off and he hears a groan from behind him.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

I don't know, he admits. Damn. He avoids another acorn. What to do? What to do?

Are you a wizard or not?!

What do you want me to do?! Apparate us to the hotel?!

And risk you splinching someone? Hell no! I'm not suicidal! Just—GODDAMMIT!

Suddenly one bursts into flames, falling before it hits the shield.

"I swear, Potter, how the hell did you kill the Dark Lord?" Hisses a low voice behind him in evident agitation. Harry gulps and feels hands push him down as another bloody nut soars over their heads. "And don't you dare think about Apparating. Time is frozen, so I can't tell you the outcome."

Harry feels a flash of pain down his back when he tries to turn around. Draco's silver coined eyes are outlined in neon red, punctuating the traces of Contractorswith bright obviousness. Draco grinds his teeth as he looks for an escape route. He raises his right hand and pushes it forward, sending flames of blue from the palm, letting it spark in the discoloured air.

A flame barrier resembling the one that was between harry and the philosopher's stone in first year separates the two groups. Harry looks around. His eyes catch a glowing hand right beside them, on the stone rail. He looks to his left and sees an identical hand.

"M-Malfoy," he says shakily.

Draco looks at the direction he's pointing at, his blank eyes dilating. He opens his mouth when they blast back from the bridge.

Harry's head spins and all he can see is the black smoke billowing around them. His hands fumble for his wand, grappling for smooth wood. Finding it, he mutters a spell. The smoke dissipates quickly and he finds a ball of heat simmering around them. It blazes out with a hiss.

Next to him, Draco lies, pale as death, his face beaded with sweat.

"M-Malfoy?" He asks, cautious, eyeing the two nearing figures.

"Potter. Shut up. You're too loud," the boy whines, burying his head into the crooks of his arms, as if it would protect his ears from the Gryffindor's obscene loudness.

"They're nearing—"

Draco cuts him off and grabs his wand. "You're so annoying," he says with a frown. His grey eyes pass Harry's form, focusing on Amber and Maki. An acorn flies by their heads. "Correction," he growls, "they're annoying." He freezes. "We need to get out of here."

"Well, duh. No shit Sherlock. I could have told you—ahhh!" His snarky comments get caught in his throat as he finds himself whisked into a blurring scenery. "I feel sick," he finally says, his head dizzy and his stomach woozy. He's abruptly shoved into the ground.

"Don't you dare think about it Pott—" He cuts off. Harry looks up at him, scrambling to turn around. Draco's clutching his head, his eyes wide and glazed over.

/Fire burning, licking his neck, his hair, burning books and wood around him in hungry amber flames. A scream barely reaches his ears, the glass breaking sound, shrouded in terror. Sparks of gold./

"Malfoy?" Harry stares at the prone figure.

/White faces, black cloaks. Bloody red eyes, a mouth twisting in a pleasured sneer. Screams for mercy erupts all around him, throttling his eardrums with high terror. The room is dark, cold and moist. He's not supposed to be here. The blue hazed colour of the room is narrow./

"Malfoy?!"

Why won't it stop? Why won't it stop?!

/A shrill cackle, bright green flashes of light. His body is burning. Why are they smiling? The pins are going further in. He can feel it. Must not break. His father. White, long hair and eyes scathing, a contemptuous expectation raised from tortured pain. He can hear a wail.

It's a female voice.

The light is bright. Green grasses and cold white tiles. His father, with an unrecognisable look in his eyes, twitches his hand before him. The chair beneath him feels unfamiliar, the air alien. He can hear sobs from the other sides of the dark, ornamented door behind the man.

"Draco," his father says, voice desolate, with cold abandon.

He feels himself look up at him with bright, clear grey eyes, a pool of light and innocent trust.

"Yes daddy?" He asks, his small hands playing with the folds of his shirt, the soft cotton comforting.

"Draco."

He stills and breathes out with mournful realisation. He schools his face, purity and love abandoning his features. "Yes father," he finally says with shocking seriousness for a six year old.

"The Lord is coming back. You are to serve him to the best of your ability. In this, you will undergo things has gone through."

A flash of puzzlement and eagerness shimmers in his eyes, only to be swallowed in the depths of his mind. "Like Magic?"

His father hesitates. He doesn't understand why his father is acting like this. Did something happen?

"Did something happen?"

"You've heard about Voldemort?" Lucius asks, not answering his son's question.

Of course he heard about him! He learned about him ever since he was born. His mother told him about him. "Of course daddy! He's a bad wizard." He cocks his head. "But you said he's coming back—but he can't be! Harry defeated him!" His eyes glitter in adoration at the boy's name.

He doesn't respond. After a moment, he finally says, "Of course Draco…Draco?"

The boy quirks his head. "Yes daddy?"

"I'm sorry."

A bright light flashes from a wand pointed at him.

It burns. Fire and ice spreading along his skin in needles and knives, wanting blood. His vision bleeds red. Coals scalding his skin and fire whipping alternatively with ice against his flesh, pelting it in raw power. Acid runs down his throat, burning away his lungs.

A choking sob and a scream from somewhere rings out. He wants to die. It hurts. It hurts. Why won't he die? Where's daddy?

Mommy? Mommy? Mom—

The house is empty. The elves have taken the groceries out of his hand.

"Mother?" He says loudly.

There's silence. His eyes narrow./

Ngh…no. Please no.

/The room shifts. There's dark, red blood on his hands. Taste of metal and horror in his mouth. Painting the ground red, red splattered against white roses. Red roses. Blood red roses dripping thorns of blood in pools./

"Malfoy!"

/"Serves him right"

"To think that…"

"So young…"

"Deserves it."

"Death Eaters."

"They should die."

"Just die."

DIE./

"Draco!"

His head jerks up, colliding with something. He blinks and turns around to see harry clutching his head.

Did I do that? He tentatively reaches out but stops, faltering. He probably doesn't want to speak to me. I did hurt him and risked Splinching him. He bites his lip, giving Harry a look filled with sadness and guilt.

It would be better for him to leave, that way Harry can go back to the people he actually cares about. After all, he's just a charity case. Yeh. That's why. Why else would he help Draco Sodding Malfoy.

It hurts to see the other's cowering pose, trying to shake the pain away. He's horrible, dragging Harry here, away from his friends. Because after all of this, it wouldn't matter. Harry would go back to the people he loves and the people that love him in return. Draco doesn't have anyone left. His father is in Azkaban, suffering from humiliation and bouts of insanity; while his mother is alone at the manor with no one but the house elves to keep her company.

Harry should go back.

"…Draco? Are you…okay?" The brunet asks with hesitation after watching the blond have a minor battle within himself.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," he says wryly, staring at his hands, transfixed.

Harry stares intently at Draco. "We should go," he purses.

Draco nods in a desolate manner, pain in his clear-water eyes. It's horrible. Harry feels sick in happiness that the Slytherin has life in his eyes. He's suffering and all harry can think of is that he's relieved that the boy seems almost human.

They walk out room the small enclosing into the lively city of Japan. Draco feels a twinge of jealousy of their naivety, how they don't know that they're building their own demise. The green feeling buries itself in a small hole in the back of his mind, locking itself away.

Break them. Break them all, a small voice whispers in the back of his mind, sounding like his father. They're not needed. Unnecessary.

He shakes his head in horror at the thought, taunting him with tantalising words. He can't kill them.

You're right. That's why you're a Contractor, it amends. But it doesn't matter. You're choice is already made.

He ignores it and focuses on the path before him. That's right. He already made his decision and he can't go back now. Everything's at stake and he knows what he wants in the end.

Do you? It asks with curiosity before fading away, its presence disappearing without a sound.

His bites his lower lip, worrying it a bit. Does he? He's sure. There's nothing left.

"Hey, Malfoy?" Harry shifts on his feet uncomfortably when Draco moves his eyes to him. "Do you know who they were?"

They? Oh. He's referring to… "No. I've never met them before." A pause. "Let's just worry about it tomorrow."

Harry nods in slow agreement, another thought pulling at his mind.

That's right. Tomorrow they'll go into the Gate. He shouldn't be nervous, right? But…why is he?

What does Draco want from the Gate? What does he gain?

Why would he risk possible insanity for something?

He sighs with a shake of his head. Whatever it is, he'll eventually find out.


"Where's the love we once had?

Is it all a lie?

And I still wonder

Why Heaven has died

The skies are falling

I'm breathing but why?

In the silence I hold on to

You and I.

Let Fire burn the Ice"

-Fire and Ice, Within Temptation