Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I would like to dedicate this chapter to my drug addiction, which I have been struggling to kick in recent months – with mixed results. May you rest in peace and plague me no longer! If any of my readers are curious as to what an addiction feels like, the behavior and mindset of both my protagonists are good indications.

Dear Readers: Sorry it took so long to update, will try to be morel timely with the next chapter. Thanks for reviewing! To those who have written wanting to know what changes in the past result in different Malfoys, have patience! All will be revealed in time!

Chapter 5: Day Two, Part Two: Who Are You, And What Have You Done With Malfoy?

The last class of the day finally crept to its end, and Harry itched to make some progress on his 'mission'. In the hours of class, he had had plenty of time to think about rectifying the timeline, and he had managed to work himself up a militaristic drive. And if Malfoy was a lead, then his mission led to Malfoy.

As joint-captain Ron dragged him to Quidditch tryouts after class, much to his frustration and irritation. A ridiculous number of Gryffindor youngsters were trying their novice hands at flying and hitting and scoring, and random students from all houses – save Slytherin – were sitting around on the bleachers watching. Indeed, fifteen minutes in Harry noticed that Malfoy was there too, laying across three of the highest bleacher rows. From Harry's vantage point up on his broom, it appeared that Malfoy was sun-bathing, just sprawled out motionlessly and pale, with eyes closed.

It was difficult to pay attention to the tryouts after that, as Harry's eyes kept darting back to the still figure. It was more than Malfoy's presence on the field that was bothering him, it was Malfoy's sudden perpetual presence in his mind. Harry didn't think he had given as much thought to the ferret in the last five years as he had in the last two days. Something was humming in the background of his thoughts, and at first he had chalked it up to being out of sync with the timeline, but it was becoming increasingly clear that whatever it was had more to do with Malfoy. The mental fuzz would actually change slightly, yet noticeably, with Harry's proximity to the other boy.

When Malfoy finally stirred forty minutes later, Harry almost fell off his broom. Malfoy was sitting up, getting up, and leaving; Harry lunged single-mindedly for the opportunity, landing his broom near Ron, who looked tired but excited. The number of contenders had been significantly whittled down, and a few of the remaining Gryffindors actually showed some promise.

"Ron, I have to go do something," Harry said bluntly, not willing or bothered to come up with an excuse.

Ron voice, though hushed, was halfway between whining and anger. "What! Harry, I can't do this without you!"

Harry was remotely pleased to discover that this whole 'mission' thing came fully equipped with a sense of entitled priority. Harry slapped Ron on the back as he turned away from his friend. "Yes you can, mate!"

And with that, Ron was left sputtering as Harry headed towards the Hogwarts, where he could see a platinum-topped shape approaching the door. Harry hurried after, and was surprised to see Malfoy pass by the doors and continue around an outcrop the castle to disappear from view.

A minute later Harry too rounded the outcrop and followed Malfoy as he took a winding route towards a particularly rocky segment of the lake's shore. Grass turned to sandstone, then Harry was climbing over rocky shelving to find where Malfoy was camped. A few moments yielded results, for there was the blond, gazing at Harry from where he sat on the sandy ground of a stone crater, elbows resting on casually raised knees and his wand hanging limply from his hand.

His eyes were a little unfocused and droopy, and he commented emotionlessly, "You might want to work on stealth, Potter. You were pretty noisy on those rocks."

Harry responded with the first thing that came to mind. "Well, you shouldn't be spying on our tryouts!" Uh, maybe not the best response.

A faint smile of amusement tugged at Malfoy's thin lips, and the lanky youth tilted his head back, again as if basking in the sun. "Why would I do that? No one cares about anything I have to say about Quidditch."

Of course, this Draco Malfoy probably didn't play Quidditch, his body certainly lacked an athlete's muscles. Harry tried to search the enigmatic face for bitterness or deception, but there was nothing. As if yesterday's game face had become a real face.

Harry jumped down into the crater. "I don't know, I think you'd make a good seeker," he said, almost smiling at his words.

Malfoy didn't smile, didn't even open his eyes. "Do you say that to all the girls, or only the ones you knocked off a broom second year?"

Harry frowned at his words. "Only you. . ." Merlin, this whole exchange was bizarre in the extreme. Surely he wasn't flirting with Malfoy? And what was this about MALFOY being the one who had been knocked off his broom second year!

Malfoy sighed and sat up a little straighter, finally actually looking at Harry. "So what can I do for you, Mr. Potter? Is this business, pleasure, or practice?" Harry could barely believe it, but Malfoy almost sounded eager. "Not that there isn't a strong dose of all three in each." And then Malfoy actually grunted in amusement! It was the most life Harry had seen the effete Slytherin show all day.

But he was lost as to what the conversation had become, and he tried to pace a little in the confined area available. "I dunno. What do you propose we practice?" Practice seemed like the safest bet.

Malfoy actually grinned! It lit up his emaciated face and Harry had a rush of foreboding before the other boy jumped up and quickly pulled his robe over his head leaving. . . thin, rumbled clothes clinging teasingly to a body shivering slightly in the chilly air, and a predatory look burrowing into him. "Anything you want, Harry."

Then Malfoy was advancing upon him; and even though some remote nether region may have experienced a vague sense of arousal, distress overwhelmed Harry so that he stumbled backwards. The last thing he wanted was physical contact with this creepy, unnatural version of Malfoy – model's looks or not!

The blond beauty halted his progress and studied Harry detachedly: the famously scarred Gryffindor was definitely behaving strangely. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the usual arrogance was missing, and in its place was hesitance. It was odd, almost as if he was feeling some new connection with Potter that he had never felt with him before. But that was impossible, Draco was incapable of having connections with anyone.

As for Harry, a shiver ran through him, and he forced himself to gather his wits before Malfoy grew suspicious. "I'm open to ideas," he choked out.

The elfin boy arched an eyebrow at Harry, then smirked, and for a moment he almost looked like the old Malfoy that Harry had reluctantly grown up with; and this was strangely encouraging. "Well," Malfoy purred. "I think your hand is already telling us where you want to start."

Only then did Harry notice where his hand had rested for most of their exchange – on his belt, where his wand was secured. He swallowed nervously, and dared himself to brandish his wand, which he promptly did. He couldn't believe what was happening!

"A duel then," he heard himself say. Merlin, he couldn't believe what. . . he was participating in! A duel, in this tiny natural confine, with freaky Malfoy! It was a recipe for disaster, Harry knew, but he was like a train on a track – there was only one way forward, come hell or high water.

Malfoy stood back and took up a lax dueling stance, his wand held forward loosely but unwaveringly. After a long moment of waiting for Harry to cast first, he flicked his wrist. "Nudeo."

It was a relatively weak hex, and Harry instinctively dodged, but he found himself suddenly minus his school robe and his button down shirt. It was cold outside with only an undershirt and pants, especially with the sun beginning to set.

Harry was shocked, but his instincts were good. He shot back an incantation that had ropes materializing from his wand, shooting towards Malfoy. The Slytherin managed to duck sufficiently not to be bound, but still fell to the ground in a heap of ropes. He awkwardly scrambled out, his hair attractively mussed, and a shameless look of excitement on his face. "Subo!" It was a favorite spell of Malfoy's, despite (or maybe because of) the fact that it often incited emotion instability along with its intended effects.

At such a close distance, it was practically impossible to completely avoid the hexes the boys were throwing at each other; so it is of little surprise that Harry was again the brunt of a partial – but much more forceful – hit. Yet, the effects were not immediately apparent, and it was not a hex with which Harry was familiar. But he was beginning to feel warm and a little queasy, and this realization caused a rush of panic. "Expelliramus! Confundus!"

Malfoy's wand shot out of his hand to smacked straight into a bolder. Malfoy himself teetered for a moment before half-sitting, half-falling falling on his ass. He glanced around at the ropes strewn on the ground before gazeing up at Harry with a lost and confused expression. "What're you doing here, Potter?"

Harry lowered his wand, but in looking at the disheveled blond he became increasingly aware of just what Malfoy's curse had done to him. He wasn't just warm, he was hot. Blood was quickly making its way to his face and crotch, while his heart rate and breath picked up. But none of this was as disturbing as just how appealing Malfoy had suddenly become. He was. . . stunning. His big blue eyes were even bigger on a thinner face; his lips were thinner too, less petulant. His hair and skin were rare and magnificent hues of light, while long legs stretched up to only hint at all the sexuality that surely lay underneath.

Harry swallowed loudly. The curse didn't seem to care that he was straight.

"Where's my wand," Malfoy asked, sounding puzzled, but unconcerned. Harry hadn't realized it at the time, but a Confundus charm was really not the most effective spell to use against someone who already lived most of their days in a magic-induced hazed.

Harry's eyes flicked to where Malfoy's wand had fallen, before returning to stare at the attractive creature before him. Malfoy craned his neck to make sure that he wand was, in fact, over where Harry had glanced, then turned his attention back to the toned Gryffindor.

Potter was really staring at him, eyes wandering his body and mouth slightly ajar. Ah, yes, and there was the telltale licking of the lips. . . Draco had been on the receiving end of so many looks that he might as well have been able to read Potter's mind. He didn't need to know what was going on to be able to play along.

Malfoy smiled mischievously, seductively; and Harry watched, lustfully and warily, as he stood gracefully and sauntered over to where his wand lay. Malfoy purposely bent at the waist to give Harry an eyeful of his delectable ass.

Harry choked a little, but he was powerless to act. He was torn between knowledge that it was just a curse and the desire that was suddenly raging through him so fiercely that it was threatening to make him ill. He found himself beginning to think that he didn't really care that it was a curse. He was in some fucked up timeline where apparently Malfoy was a slut, and it seemed pretty obvious that getting it on with Malfoy would be exceedingly hot. Even when the curse wore off and his hatred of Malfoy returned, Harry would still have the memory of great sex, which seemed almost worth it to his teenage, virgin, lust-riddled mind. Besides, once he changed time back, no one needed to know, not that anyone would even believe him. . . What was the Hell was the freak doing now!

Malfoy had stood again, back to Harry and was muttering quietly – though in their limited confines, it was still loud enough to hear. "Sedo. . . Placidus Mundus. . . Stolidus. . ."

A bizarre and inexplicable empathy allowed Harry to sense a sudden shift in Malfoy's aura, almost as if the sudden calmness and quiet from the other's mind was leaking into his own.

When the Slytherin turned back around, the wand in his hand made it obvious what he had been doing, and Harry wasn't so far gone as to not have his curiosity piqued. He recognized the last spell – it slowed the mind and dulled the wits – courtesy of Ron. Apparently the spell was a favorite of Bill's, now that he was too 'mature' (read: too cool) for more flamboyant hexes.

"What do, uh, those spells do?"

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy seemed to be having difficulty getting his response together. His eyes were drooped half-closed, and his whole body was so slack that Harry was surprised that he still stood. His mouth opened slightly a couple times, as though it wanted to reply even if the mental power wasn't there.

Malfoy's shaky legs lowered him to the ground, where he sprawled out on his back. Harry stepped forward out of – what? Concern? Or lust? Even laying there, unhealthily thin, unnaturally calm, looking like an addict, he was still beautiful, and Harry still felt a demanding, if damning, arousal. The whole situation was beginning to make him feel pervy, so he used his remaining will power and logical reasoning to back away from the still figure. His gut knew that whatever was happening here was not good.

He only managed a couple steps and was about to climb out of the crater, trying to figure how he would transform himself a new shirt, when he was called back by a slurred voice. "Where yuh goin'?"

Harry turned around slowly, a little afraid of the outcome of prolonging this interaction with Malfoy. "I'm leaving," he answered, displeased at how unconvinced he sounded.

Malfoy stretched tantalizingly from where he lay, yawning then mumbling weakly, "Lets fuck instea'."

Lust flared up, and Harry's resolve weakened. This must be what it is like to be Malfoy, to have an addiction – to know exactly what you should not do, but to be powerless to stop yourself from doing it. Then again, Malfoy wasn't giving any indication of caring about what he should or should not do. So surely a bit of kissing wouldn't hurt?

Feeling conflicted and torn up inside, filled with self-loathing, Harry found himself moving back towards the blond, kneeling next to his prostrate form, and touching him. . . He trailed reluctant fingers along the soft skin of Malfoy's jaw, his own face frowning intensely. Malfoy's eyes fluttered open, revealing cloudy, amazingly-colored eyes. They were hypnotic, and Harry forgot his apprehensions as a hand laced into his thick hair and pulled his face towards pale pink lips.

Harry was only hesitant for a moment, then he was passionately kissing Malfoy. The Slytherin's lips were cool and indifferent, but Harry had already resigned himself to his actions, immersed himself in the sensory experience, and abandoned the reasoning that would have cared much about Malfoy's participation. Neurons were firing excitedly, stimulating the brain's pleasure center, and Harry felt a rush of dopamine and adrenaline.

He shifted quickly so that he was laying on top of his beautiful nemesis, eagerly kissing him and pawing at the clothed body. Malfoy lay motionless for long moments, allowing the frantic groping, before finally showing life by arching up his hips to grind them against the bigger boy. Harry pulled away to gasp for air. Breathing heavily, he looked down at the delicate creature beneath him: eyes closed, face slack and passive, lips swollen. . . he was barely recognizable as the Draco Malfoy he had known for five years.

"You're exquisite," he said unthinkingly, hungrily.

Malfoy lazily cracked his eyelids, finally displaying some emotion with an expression of mild annoyance. "Yuh alwayz say dat before we fuck. I wish yuh wouldn't."

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL! Panic stabbed at Harry. He had neither the time nor the intellectual inclination to determine exactly why Malfoy's words alarmed his so; indeed, he barely realized the comment's implications before he impulsively catapulting himself into a reaction.

His hands tightened painfully around Malfoy's thin arms, but the blond seemed completely unaffected by the sudden shift in Harry's emotions. Anger and fear flooded into him, mixing with the panic and lust, and amplifying all his feelings. Half-reasoned thoughts raced through his mind:

Malfoy was manipulating him! Using him! Raping him! Like in the muggle world, but with magic instead of drugs! Or maybe Malfoy was lying to him! There is no way in Hell that Harry had, even in this timeline, taken this conniving prick as a fuckbuddy! Addicted to magic or not, Malfoy was evil, and was somehow up to something; maybe this timeline's Harry had been fooled by Malfoy's slut act, but HE knew what the real Malfoy was capable of!

Harry's grip tightened even more, so that Malfoy finally winced, though he made no objection. The lack of reaction only spiked Harry's already erratic emotions, and he acted impulsively. "Legimens!"

His plunge into Malfoy's mind met no resistance, but the reality of what he was doing was like falling into freezing water. Malfoy's reaction was almost instantaneous, and it was most certainly the reaction of someone who had been on the receiving end of Legimency many times. Harry was bombarded with image flashes, so quick that it took a moment for him to orient himself to what he was seeing – brutal, mean, dirty, ugly sex.

A tanned bint straddling a pale torso, a frantic tangle of near-black and snow-colored limbs, white on white smeared with dark red, a flushed teenage body pumping into a pale one, and more and more. Draco Malfoy in every position imaginable, with uncountable different partner, sometimes writhing in pain or pleasure, sometimes as motionless and unparticipating as a corpse. As emotionally volatile as Harry had been moments before, shock made him suddenly numb and unreacting; had this not all been in his head, his mouth would've been hanging open.

Why in Merlin's name was Malfoy showing this too him? Was it supposed to turn him on? Horrify him? Both possibilities seemed equally likely. Gradually, growing nausea forced Harry's mind into action. He was in the other boy's mind for a reason, he was looking for evidence of his relationship with Maloy in this timeline.

Almost as if Malfoy could read his thoughts (which he probably could, under the circumstances), the barrage of unsettling images slowed, then finally stopped, settling on . . .

Potter, standing relaxed, twirling his wand in his fingers. He was clad only in his boxers, pacing back and forth slowly.

"You can practice other spells on me, too, if you want." That was Draco, sounding coherent and placing definite emphasis on the word 'other'. He was lying on a stone floor, probably somewhere in the Hogwarts dungeons, and he was looking up at the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

Potter looked like he had a pretty good idea what Draco was hinting at, but he asked anyway. "Like what?"

Draco gave Potter a calculating look, then spoke as a matter of negotiation. "Don't be coy, it doesn't suit you. If you're going to kill Voldemort, you're going to have to practice on someone. The Unforgivables are all pretty similar, casting wise. Practice the killing curse on animals, and the other two on me, then you should be ready when the time comes."

Potter's pacing slowed even more, and he was distinctly uncomfortable, to the point that he seemed to be stalling for time. "What do you get out of it?"

Draco felt a vague sense of irritation, but his emotions had long ago severed themselves from his actions and from any bodily manifestations. He could give a shit who won this war, his lot was the same either way – sex, pain, magic. Nothing else was real, not Potter, not the war, not even his father.

His voice responded as evenly as before. "Fuck you. You know what I get out of it."

And Potter did – Draco's magic addiction was notorious, though this offer certainly stretched beyond anything Potter had imagined. "Each time we do this, you prove to me that you're even more messed up than I previously thought. You're a natural born sick fuck, Malfoy. A real lost cause."

Again, emotion flared in some detached inner place – anger this time – but it was nothing that mattered to Draco. There were very few feelings that he was actually able to feel. "Aren't you lucky then, 'cause you won't get a better offer, not one that will let you off so guilt-free anyway."

Potter finally stopped pacing and looked thoughtfully at Draco, though his features clearly displayed an element of disgust at the idea.

Draco seized on this disgust, and exploited the low opinion so many held him in. A whorish expression took up residence on his face, and his voice became sickly sugary. "Come on, I know you're tempted. You need practice and training to save the world. You know that I want it, that you want to give it to me. In fact, I deserve it, for being such a stain on Hogwarts. It can't hurt, you said it yourself, I'm a lost cause. At least the Death Eater kids have dignity and goals, however misled. Me, I will sleep with both sides, betray both sides without a care, then die in a filthy bed of my own making. What am I? I am a scorpion. I'll sting the brave Gryffindor that is taking me across the river on his back, drowning us both, simply because it's my nature. I'm Peter Pettigrew's incarnation – "

That was all the goading it took, Potter's hot-tempered personality took care of the rest. "Crucio!"

Excruciating pain instantly coursed through Draco's naked body, contorting his face and sharply arching his back – the way he looked when he was really getting fucked really hard –

Harry forcefully wrenched himself out of Malfoy's mind, physically reeling from the experience so that he was thrown from on top of Malfoy, landing on the rocky surface nearby. He was gasping and gagging, but a glance at Malfoy revealed that he was inhumanly unperturbed, motionlessly watching Harry through those distant eyes. The words of his other self came back to him, You're a natural born sick bastard, Malfoy. A real lost cause.

But, of course, he wasn't, since Malfoy hadn't been a sick bastard in Harry's timeline, not that kind of sick bastard anyway. Which meant that Malfoy probably wasn't naturally evil either. Some intellectual strain within Harry was beginning to grasp the idea that, from a certain point of view, his experience was actually an intriguing lesson in sociology and socialization.

Still, disturbed horror was still squarely planted at the forefront of his mind. A split second decision had him grabbing his wand and bolting for the castle.