A/N: The Harry/Ginny will be explained soon. . . don't worry though, this will be Draco/Harry ;)

CHAPTER TWO

Draco Malfoy fixed his former Professor, turned Headmistress of Howarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, with a quelling glare.

"No," he said firmly.

McGonagall's return glare was far sterner, and a fair bit less petulant than Draco's own. "Mr Malfoy," she began, voice firm. "You are the best, and perhaps only, choice for this job. You will do it."

Draco sneered. "I cannot comprehend where you got the impression that I would be the best choice for this particular job, but I suggest that you forget it. I am not going."

"You must, Malfoy, and you will," she told him. "When you joined the Order of the Phoenix, you agreed to do whatever was in your power to help with our cause. I am asking you to do so now."

"Headmistress," Draco's voice was politeness touched with ice. "I respect your position, and the fact that you deem this necessary, however, I do not agree with you. As much as I disliked, and truth be told, still dislike, Harry Potter, I do not believe that it is fair to him for you to do this. He has earned whatever rest you and yours have provided him with, and I do not think that it will benefit us to take that away from him. We do not need him for this."

"Mr Malfoy, I do not think you understand the gravity of our current situation. The Dementors are returning, as are many of the creatures we believed followed Voldemort. Something is happening, and while we do not yet know what it is, we do know that it is not good."

Draco snorted at that, and McGonagall paused in what she was saying to glare at him.

"I understand perfectly, Headmistress," he replied. "Yet that does not mean I agree with the course of action you wish to take. And even if I did, I would still not think I was the correct choice to complete this task. Potter and I have never had anything even remotely approaching a friendly relationship."

"I know, Malfoy," McGonagall suddenly looked tired. "But there is no one else who can do this. Anyone who might have had a chance is either dead, or missing. You are our only hope."

Draco allowed himself a small sigh, and crossed his arms, wiping the glare off his face and regarding McGonagall through resigned eyes. "Isn't there a way we can pull him out of this without having to send someone in there to get him?"

McGonagall shook her head. "He has to return of his own free will, that was part of the spell."

"And you expect him to want to return with me? He never liked me in reality, and I doubt that he will be any more likely to do so in his dreams, perfect that they are."

McGonagall removed her glasses from her face, and began to clean the lenses wearily. "Nonetheless, we need you to try. He is our only hope."

Draco closed his eyes, raising a hand to cover them briefly, before opening them again. "I'll try. I doubt that I will succeed, but I will try."

McGonagall sighed gratefully, and replaced her glasses on her face. "Thank you."

Draco Malfoy had killed his first man the day before his sixteenth birthday. He had watched, eyes cold, mind numb, as the man's body - a Muggle who had stumbled across some of his father's less savoury doings - had slowly turned cold in front of his eyes, body stiffening in death.

Three months later, he had killed his second man, a Death Eater friend of his father's. He had joined the Order of the Phoenix three days earlier.

That man's death had not been far slower than the first man, and Draco had watched as blue flames had licked their way up his body, had choked on the smell of burning flesh, his mouth dry with the taste of ashes.

The potion that would send him into Harry Potter's dream world tasted of death, and as he swallowed it, those first two men's faces flashed across his vision, and he thought briefly that what he was tasting was, in actuality, their death.

As the potion began to work its magic, and sleep started to overcome him, he could hear their screams ringing in his ears.

Draco woke to find himself laying on an exact replica of the bed he had had at Malfoy Manor, in a sparsely decorated bedroom. He blinked several times, trying to reconcile this with the fact that he was meant to be in Harry's dream world.

After allowing several moments for what had happened to sink in, he stood, and made his way out of the room.

He was in a tasteful, yet simple house, that looked as if it came straight from the pages of a Muggle interior design catalogue. It was, he was suprised to note, almost exactly what the sort of home he would have chosen to live in had he needed to stay in the Muggle world. He supposed that his own thoughts were molding Harry's world to suit his needs as well.

Half an hour later he had changed into Muggle clothing - black denim jeans, and a rich green turtleneck - and was walking slowly down a busy London street.

After he had changed, he had cast a quick location spell - thanking Merlin the whole time that he could still use his magic here - which had told him where Harry currently was. After consulting with a London street directory, he had narrowed Harry's location down to a movie theatre in central London.

Now all he had to do was somehow convince Harry that the world he had created wasn't actually real, and that he wanted to return with Draco to the wizarding world. He doubted it was going to be a particularly easy task.