Author's Note: All right, it's been about nine months since I last updated, but I really wrote myself into a corner with this, and I was working on something that I might actually get published some day. Sorry! But please review this one again! In the last chapter where I said Voldemort was using a crystal ball, the last thing on my mind was the one Trelawney uses, actually. I was thinking of the one in Lord of the Rings that Saruman used to talk to Sauron. I know, traitor me for reading Harry Potter's arch rival, but bite me. Harry is still my fave, but LotR is a close runner up. Anyway, on for the next chapter.

  Harry blearily opened one eye, wondering why the world was so out of focus. He suddenly realized he didn't have his glasses on and fumbled around for them, managing to knock them onto the floor. "For the love of…" Harry grumbled, and drawing every ounce of strength he had, reached down to feel for them on the floor. Strange. The bed seemed to have grown in the night and he leaned further over the edge. His fingertips barely brushed the floor and he gave up trying to remain in bed. He wanted his glasses so he could see; he threw himself half off the couch so he reach his cursed glasses and slid them on his nose.

The world suddenly sharpened and regained its normal contrast; and was upside down. Harry shook his head. No, he was upside down…on his head, half in, half out of the couch in the Weasley's living room. Ok, he thought to himself. Which of those statements just doesn't belong? All of them…no, wait, just the Weasley bit. And Malfoy sleeping in the chair. Malfoy? Weasleys? What the…? Harry pulled himself back up onto the couch and glanced around. He was in the Weasley's living room, on their couch, and Draco Malfoy was sleeping in what looked like a really uncomfortable position in the chair next to the fire.

Harry stopped for a moment, trying to remember what happened, and drew a blank. He couldn't have slept over at Ron's because he'd be in his tower room, not the couch. So how did he get here? And what the bloody hell was Malfoy doing here? To hell with this… he thought and swung his legs over the side of the couch and stretched his arms, noticing they were stiffer than was expected, as if he'd been in one of Wood's practice sessions. A couple bones in his back cracked and popped as he twisted, trying to get the kinks out. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy beginning to stir and watched as the pale gray eyes blinked open…and he screamed. Well, maybe scream wasn't right word; yelped in surprise fitted better.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling much more tired than he though possible. Just getting himself back onto the couch seemed more difficult than usual. He yawned before falling back against the couch back. "And what time is it?"

Draco tried to work his tongue around his mouth but only managed a garbled mutter that could have been a different language all together. "Umm…" he trailed off.

Harry sat before him with a serious case of bed hair, but other than that, perfectly fine. Not the slightest mark on him…and apparently a very poor memory. "You don't remember?" Malfoy finally asked.

"Remember what?" Harry replied. He yawned again. "I'm too tired to remember…remind me."

"You don't remember your Uncle? The cane, the cupboard, the Knight bus?" Draco tried again. 

Harry's face screwed up in concentration. "Vaguely…" he trailed off, as if searching for the exact memory. Ok, he thought to himself. Cane. Vernon. Knight Bus. I took the Knight Bus after blowing up Marge…but why would Malfoy care of even know about that? Vernon…well, duh, evil uncle who kept me under a cupboard. Malfoy shouldn't know or care about either of those things either. Cane…cane…Harry drew a blank. Vernon had a walking stick that he never used, but kept in the cupboard. Dudley whacked me upside the head with it once…Harry froze. Every memory came crashing down on him: the heat stroke, the resulting beatings that became like clockwork in the Dursleys' household, Draco coming in the middle of the night, the trip to the Weasleys'…and another blank. Harry assumed he'd been unconscious since then.

Malfoy watched the emotions flit across Potter's face from confusion, to thoughtful, to horrible understanding.

"Oh…" Potter whispered.

Oh no, Draco thought. If he has an emotional breakdown, I'm calling a Weasley.

Harry shook his head, as if clearing away the thoughts. "But then why are you here?"

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, caught off guard by the question. Potter just brushed off a beating like that as if it were nothing more than a spring shower he'd had the misfortune of getting caught in.

"Why are you here? Or at the Dursleys'?" Harry repeated the question slowly.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." Draco shrugged.

"Why couldn't you go home?" Harry asked, unable to dredge up a memory to explain Malfoy's presence, or why he was talking to him civilly.

Malfoy seemed to momentarily panic, but quickly regained his composure. "Family problems," he replied cryptically. "But…" he cleared his throat. "Um…how did you…you know…" he gestured at Harry, who quirked an eyebrow.

"How did I what?" he asked, rubbing his eye sleepily. "Heal?"

"Yeah! You looked like Death warmed over last night and now you're fine!" Draco protested.

"No idea," Harry answered. He allowed himself to slide to his left into the soft down pillow. He'd never been so tired in his life. It was all he could do to stay awake.

"What do you mean you don't know? Potter, wake up! You've been asleep all night!" Draco demanded angrily, swinging his feet to the floor. 

"Don't know: the answer given when someone doesn't know the answer to the question they've been asked. I don't know, I'm too tired to think." As if to emphasize his point he yawned again and buried himself deeper in the pillow.

"Wake up!" Draco repeated, shaking Harry's shoulder forcefully enough to knock his glasses askew.

"Go 'way…" Harry mumbled.

Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh forget it!" Harry was already fast asleep. Stupid git. Couldn't stay awake long enough to explain how he managed to heal himself better than Madam Pomfrey could ever hope to do. Draco sat back on his heels, studying the side of Potter's face that he could see. Last night he'd had a pretty healthy looking black eye and bruises across his jawbone, but now there was no trace of them; just slightly pink patches where the bruises were. A thought suddenly occurred to him and Malfoy leaned forwards for a better look at the pink splotches.

Now that he was about a nose away from Potter's face, he could see the pink edges slowly fading before his eyes. "Accelerated self-healing," he whispered to himself, smiling at the thought as he rocked backwards again. He remembered a book he'd read when he was younger, a book about healing herbs and such. The only reason it stood out against his memories was that was the first night his father had ever struck him. Draco rubbed absently at his cheek where his father's hand had connected. The book had contained a chapter that spoke specifically about wizards and witches with the power to heal themselves after receiving particularly vicious injuries. It was sort of a form of shock, if he remembered correctly, and the people were always tired after doing it. The practice was also fairly common, but mostly just in adults. Children usually didn't endure the circumstances to trigger the healing power within, but in Potter's case, Malfoy was slightly surprised it took as long as this to appear. At least he had his answer now.

Draco climbed to his feet and looked over his shoulder at the clock atop the mantle, noting it was only six in the morning. He hated mornings. On the other hand…he cracked the bones in his neck…he didn't like sleeping in the chair either. It was better than sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace, he had to admit, but still, not comfortable. Draco looked around the room again, and decided sleep was a waste of effort and grabbed an interesting looking book from off the shelf and began to read. Ironically enough, it was the same book he'd just been thinking about.

****

"STUPID BOY!" Voldemort screamed in frustration, hurling the crystal across the room. It shattered into a thousand pieces, falling like shards of light to the floor. His anger not yet quelled, the Dark Lord used his wand to ignite the nearest Death Eater. As the former minion screamed and writhed on the floor dying, Voldemort snatched a cowering Wormtail about the neck.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" he screamed. "HOW DID HE HEAL?"

"I-I d-don't know, M-master!" Wormtail whimpered, clutching at the hand around his throat.

Voldemort threw the useless man to the ground and began pacing back and forth. "To hell with foreplay. Send as many as it takes to bring Potter to me! Kill anyone that gets in your way! I don't care who it is, just get rid of them!" Voldemort stopped for a minute before adding, "and tell Lucius I found his son in the company of Muggle-lovers. He needs better discipline."

Wormtail waited for another command.

"GO BEFORE I KILL YOU AND FIND A MORE COMPETENT HELPER!" Voldemort waved his hand and sent Wormtail flying out of the room.

His servant's screams died as he flew further from the chamber. Voldemort was alone with his hatred and vengeance. "Soon, Potter, you'll be nothing more than a carbon stain on the flagstones…but not until I have what I want from you."

Author's Note: All right, this is the second posting of this chapter, and you have to admit, it needed to be replaced. I couldn't write anything from the last way I wrote it, so I had to go back and fix this one. Hopefully, it makes a little more sense this way. Thank you everyone who reviewed last time, I hope you do so again! Please review, criticism though, not flames. Next chapter: Malfoy meets Sirius, and everyone has a healthy dose of violence. Surprise, surprise. J Anyway, read and review! OOO! And I just saw the new movie! Ron is sooo my favorite character!

Lockhart: "My what a strange place."::turns to Ron:: "Do you live here?"

Ron: ::disgustedly:: NO! ::hits Lockhart with a rock and knocks him unconscious::