The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

A brief foreword: Okay, this has been in the works a while. Basically, Draco is transported to an alternate reality where he and Harry have the sort of friendship and he has the sort of life that he's never wanted before. Realisations happen, romances happen too (it's none 'official' slash but if you want to read between the lines, I won't stop you) and generally a life-changing time has had by all. Draco POV.

Disclaimage: ce n'est pas la mienne, ce n'étais jamais la mienne. JK a les droits, n'est pas moi. D'accord?

I wrenched my sodden eyelids apart. They seemed to feel gluey and heavy as if they were made of the adhesive of a newly licked down stamp. Beneath me the floor was hard, prodding into the small of my back.

Then slowly, very slowly, the world seemed to blink into a dreary sort of focus, its main and only event being Harry Potter leaned over me, his eyes boring into mine with a startled intensity that did not belong there.

His hand was pressed down on my right shoulder and the weight felt oppressive somehow, as if he were pinioning me to the floor. Why he was leaning on me I didn't know. Memory of a potion exploding, the loud, banging noise that followed, and fast, sharp white lights coursing through my pupils seemed to come back to me, but I couldn't remember if that had been yesterday or today.

Perhaps it had only been a dream, I thought as I drifted around the fields of consciousness. Perhaps I was dreaming now.

There could have been other people around me in what seemed to be the potions dungeon, but Potter was blocking my view entirely. All I could see was his face and his hair, and a disarming halo around them from where he blocked out the ceiling lamp. The more things change, I suppose.

'Draco!' he said. I would have told him not to call me that, but the state of my health and my general overwhelming weariness towards him - towards anyone - forbade it. I just had the desire to go to sleep and never wake up. Everything in me and out of me felt bone-weary.

'Don't call me that, scar-head,' I eventually tried to say but my voice sounded fuzzy and weak. The volume seemed to have got lost somewhere along the way. Potter clasped his free hand to his mouth horrified and blinked down at me through the glass circles. He had a gargantuan spot with white in it, right on the top of his upturned little nose. I only noticed it then. It was completely repulsive.

'You sound awful,' he said decisively. 'I couldn't even hear you properly then. I'm getting Madame Pomfrey right now no matter what Snape says. Professor! Professor!'

'What's your problem?' I muttered exasperated, but my voice still sounded very weak, and I don't think Potter heard on account of this. I was so tired. It was worse than that time we went out on the hunt, Father and I that is. We scoured all night for Mudbloods or Muggle-lovers, traipsing through half the local countryside, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the usual isolated places and in the end we had to portkey home. Father was utterly furious and I felt extremely ill for several days afterwards and could not leave my room. This felt like that, except perhaps a little worse. 'Potter, what have you done? Get Pansy.'

'What? You're speaking so quietly,' he said, looking into my eyes with that still misplaced and frankly unsolicited concern and then looking away. 'Did you just call me Potter? You haven't done that since second year. I think you must have a concussion Draco.'

'I -' I tried to say, curving my tongue to form a refusal. Potter continued to look down on me hopefully, half smiling and half concerned, his hair sticking up on end. It was more than I could take. I gave into myself and allowed my eyes to close blissfully and my mind to free itself from daily concerns. The last thing I heard was Potter shouting my name.

C'est le fin. This was a teaser.