Disclaimer: No, still not mine.

Your readership is appreciated. You reviews are even more appreciated. SORRY it took so long to post, I am super busy with school, school work, and 2 jobs. Add in sleeping, a bit of socializing, and a little tickle with the bf, and there really isn't much time for anything else. Anyway, the reward for your patience is an extra-long chappy!

Chapter 16: Day Eight: Who Are You, and What Have You Done with Harry Potter?

For Harry, the last two days had been worse than the five previous – at least then he had had something to do. Racing around stressed, meeting with Snape and Dumbledore, plotting with Ron and Hermione. . . it was better than just waiting, trying and itching to connect with a distant Draco, fearing for the Slytherin's life while attending unbearable classes, and hoping that tomorrow he would wake up a day closer to home. He was eagerly looking forward to being in a universe where he could talk and interact (he tried to keep his mind out of the gutter) with Draco, and was awake thinking, trying to sense the him, long before the alarm went off.

Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep. BEEEP!

"YAAAWAAAGHHH!" Bloody Finnegan, Harry thought fondly; he was in a good mood, and was anticipating the day. He bounded out of bed a second ahead of Seamus and was on his way to the bathroom for a shower in time to hear Ron's half-hearted, "Die, Irish swine, die. . ."

A quick shower, then he dressed and went down to the common room, where he convinced Hermione to leave for the Great Hall without their redhead friend. They conversed idly over breakfast, and Harry tried to pretend he was the other Harry, which was easier the second time around – at least he was aware of this reality's basic facts. He'd figured out over the last two days that his friends remembered the interactions they had had with him when he had infiltrated their timeline. When he'd left, the other Harry Potters had returned without any memory of the lost day; then when he had came through on the way back, the other Hermiones and Rons helped him figure this out. This time, however, he was going to try passing off as his other self. Over the last two days of worry, he had had plenty of time to curiously dwell upon his other manifestations. His other self had sex with Malfoy too! More than once, in fact, and in more than one timeline! It was completely out of character, and yet he felt the attraction; and, even worse, the feelings

Uh oh, Hermione was slyly evaluating him; it would not be easy to keep up the act when confronted with her scrutiny. Harry smiled with affection, then glanced habitually at Malfoy's seat at the Slytherin table: it was empty, as it had been the last eight times he had checked. So he went back to his meal, and eventually Ron, Neville, and Ginny showed up to eat and gab.

When they left for Tuesday's double Advance Potions, he remembered his last visit to this timeline, when Malfoy's late-night 'activities' and morning 'medications' prevented him from showing his anorexic face in public until late second period. Irritation, jealousy, and sympathy warred for the walk to class, but then everything was sucked into the misery that was Potions.

! BREAK !

Draco grazed consciousness, stretching slightly and snuggling a pillow – this was the best feeling in the world, knowing you are asleep, and enjoying it, and not having to be awake. His body ached in a delectable way, and he inhaled the sent of the pillow deeply. It smelt like him, and a little like Pansy, and it was comforting. In this in-between state his drowsy mind drifted through other, fanciful lives in which he was someone else entirely. . .

Eventually dreams faded away into oblivion, to be forgotten completely, and he roused himself, sitting up and observing the twisted sheets and the empty dorm room. Again, he'd been left to oversleep and show up to class hours late, not that he cared. Besides, he desperately needed the Zs. And now, moments after waking, there was something else he needed, something he was already craving, something unidentifiable –

Unidentifiable?

He was an addict, how could his habit suddenly seem so foreign and disgusting?

Draco struggled to his feet and rushed to the bathrooms. A quick shower, and a few minutes with the tooth and hair brushes finally allowed him to confront the day. He tried out a few faces in the mirror, but he saw nothing that pleased him: he knew he was attractive, but that didn't stop him from hating his fuck-me eyes and his blow-job lips and his bloody girly looks. He knew it was his scant weight that made him so appear so feminine – well, that and the blond hair that fell to his shoulders – but he had long ago ceased to tailor himself to his own wants.

"Woe be to me," the mirror started androgynously. "That I am not beloved of Aphrodite. None are so loverly as thee. Whether a he or she, methinks she does like me."

Draco quickly tugged his hair back and harshly tied it, scowling at the mirror. He was not in a good mood anyway, and his need was grating on his nerves; the last thing he wanted was to be hit on by Andy the Mirror's bad poetry. "Fuck off, you cunt."

He left the bathroom and half-heartedly gathered a few items for class, but when he started for the door he immediately stopped. What was wrong with him today? Did he honestly think he could make it through the morning without anything? He knew he couldn't, and he had long ago stopped trying to fight it.

Relief and resignation flowed through him, and he raised the wand towards his jaw to utter the familiar ritual, "Placidus Mundus. . . Stolidus . . . Corroboro."

The high enveloped him and it was perfect. The world slowed down, his body picked up, memory blanked, and his senses became more aware. Feeling stilled and everything just relaxed. . .

! BREAK !

It was a miracle that he made it to class as early as 11 AM, just in time to be late to for Advanced Runes. Draco showed up looking immaculate, if effete, and was immediately confronted by the stares of his already seated classmates and his displeased professor. "I apologize, sir," he said reflexively. "I'll just go take a seat."

The professor nodded curtly; no one approved of Draco Malfoy's behavior, but no one could do anything about it. Pity and, before he was imprisoned, a fear of Lucius Malfoy allowed him to stay at Hogwarts, but the sad fact of the matter was that there was no recovering from a childhood magic addiction. It shaped the physiology of the brain as much as it did the psyche, with magical barriers and mechanisms in the place of natural mental barriers and mechanisms.

Draco floated through the period on a wondering imagination, eyes dully skirting over his classmates, vaguely pondering who the hell the charades that sat around him as if all was right with the world. Pansy, Boot, Blaise, the Patil twins, so many others. . . Potter; and, if he really wanted to dig through his secrets, Father. Who were these people and who did they pretend to be? Then, after a while, he didn't think about anything, but stared vacantly at Snape, a clouded mind easily to fading into vacancy.

After Ad Runes, he trailed after this Slytherin housemates to lunch in the Great Hall. No one really talked to him, but no one really excluded them either – after all, he was the house whore, someone few were willing to estrange. The chicken on his plate wasn't too appetizing, and Nott's hand on his thigh was definitelydisagreeable: he was never that desperate until some time after midnight. He shoved Theodore's hand away and capriciously glanced over at the Gryffindor table.

Harry Potter was looking straight at him!

The Gryffindor's expression was urgent and meaningful, and his gaze prompted Draco's stomach to clench nauseously. He forced himself to turn his attention to his food, but as usual the spells had completely drained him of his appetite. He just wanted to get through the rest of his classes so that he would be released to find whatever peace there was to be found.

After lunch was Charms, and as he performed his usual poor attempts, he could feel Harry Potter's eyes on him. The other boy should have been easier to ignore, but a foreign nervousness tinkled though his body and made it difficult to achieve his customary state of disconnection. It was almost as if he had forgotten exactly how to be himself, and he irritably sneaked another glance.

Now Potter was frowning at him! What was with that cunt anyway? Acting all weird and running away last week, then pretending nothing happened and shagging the very next day, and now the sudden interest?

Then, in double Ad Trans, the Golden Boy purposely took the seat next him during double Ad Trans – his posse didn't seem to pleased, but there were hardly any other seats by the time they walked in. Draco sat, frozen immobile, and stared unwaveringly at the professor.

Sitting in the back was a better opportunity to whisper undetected, even in McGonagall's class, and Harry soon took advantage of that fact. "Draco."

Draco's gaze didn't falter and his expression remained impassive, but curiosity begged some response, "What?"

"How're you holding up?"

Draco's eyes flickered over to catch Potter's concerned frown, certainly not expecting chitchat from him. "Just peachy."

There was a pause in which Draco managed to tune back into McGonagall's lecture for about half a minute before Potter pestered him again. "How was Azkaban?"

This time Draco jerked his head around to glare at Potter. " What the fuck? Is that supposed to be some sick joke about my father?" he hissed.

Potter was taken aback somewhat, but he quickly changed tactics and whispered, "You don't remember, I'm sorry. I just- just need to talk to you after class."

Draco was growing irritated, and he didn't try to deny it. All he wanted for this nightmare to end so he could find some relief in oblivion; instead, he was still at his desk, jittery as hell, and Harry fucking Potter wanted to keep him away even longer! "Bugger off, Potter. I'm not doing anything with you after class."

But Potter just looked at him appraisingly, with a mysterious, almost tender expression on his face, as if he saw through all of Draco's masks and walls. Then the bastard leaned in close onto blonde's desk, uncomfortably far into his personal space. "It's okay, Draco," he soothed. "I know what you're going to do, and, well, uh, you don't have to hide it from me. I just. . . really need to talk to you, and you really need to listen to me."

Draco was dumbfounded: Harry Potter was completely off his rocker! Draco had never seen him like this, not even that evening days ago. Still, his interest was piqued. He wondered what Potter so desperately had to say to him; no one ever really wanted to talk to Draco, as there tended to be little need for conversation during his encounters with the other students. . . Besides, maybe Potter was up for more than just words – a little magic, pain, and/or sex was always a welcome diversion.

"Fine," he whispered at last, promptly turning his eyes to where McGonagall was demonstrating the transfiguration of a quill into a garden snake. Potter leaned back into his own space and didn't bother Draco for the rest of the class, though Draco noticed the Gryffindor's gaze and attention drift his way several times. Then Draco found it difficult to focus on anything other than the familiar vibrating headache that always developed when class kept him away from self-medicating for too long. With trembling hands he packed up his bag before McGonagall even dismissed them, then he shot out of his seat when she finally did.

Draco hurried out of the classroom, with Potter on his trail (much to the confusion of Ron and Hermione) – through two corridors, navigating the student throngs, then up several flights of stairs towards the Astronomy Tower. On the Hogwart's highest turret, Draco entered one of the observation rooms, all of which were usually empty at this time, being that classes had just ended and the horny teens tended not to come until later. Potter followed him, briefly glancing around the bare room before resting his eyes on the Slytherin's taunt back.

"Lock the door," Draco directed clearly.

Potter muttered a quick spell then turned back: Draco had turned around and was watching him with a faint smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow. Now that he was seconds away from relief, urgency faded and gave way to a distinctly pleased calm. He was finally free to cast spells on himself until his wand fell from his fingers, and a little company in the form of the Boy-Who-Lived could be just the right seasoning!

"Would you like to do the honors?" Draco teased. Potter appeared confused for a moment, but caught on immediately when Draco glanced pointedly at his wand.

"Uh. I don't really know any spells that you'd like," Potter stuttered uneasily. It was almost cute, except that it completely out of character and a daft thing to say anyway!

Draco just rolled his eyes, but was smiling seductively as he began to get into the whole situation. "It doesn't take a genius, almost anything will do. What spell do you want to use? I'll show you how," he purred.

Potter frowned ambivalently and shuffled on his feet for a moment, his watch never leaving Draco's face. The Gryffindor was wrestling with maelstrom of feelings that suggested and forbade every course of action. Finally, he nodded uncertainly. "Okay. . . what spells are there?"

Draco slowly started crossing the room towards his companion, twirling the wand in his fingers. "Well, Corroboro is always a favorite, whatever can give the energy to get through the day right?"

Potter didn't respond, but Draco didn't need one – just talking about the spells was fulfilling some primal aspect of his addiction. "Placidus Mundus. That's an excellent one. It make the whole world peaceful, like it slows down, you know? It's the easiest to cast, just flick your hand like your doing Accio. And then there's Subo, that makes you feel all sexy and horny-"

"Yes, I recognize that last one from a week ago when you cast it on me," Potter interrupted forcefully.

Very close now, Draco just shrugged and whispered huskily. "Yeah, well, why don't you return the favor then?"

Malfoy's face grew near, warm breath caressing Harry's cheek and causing him to pull away slightly. Sure, he wanted to kiss the waiflike boy; but he also abhorred the idea, because of all the Draco Malfoys that he had met, this one was the least recognizable as the nemesis he had grown up with. What happened to him that he had become this?

Irritation crept onto Draco's face, prompting Potter to pick his response and run with it. He raised his wand to the Slytherin, who immediately backed away. Draco sunk to his knees, eyes closed and head bowed to receive the spell as though it were a blessing. Harry observed him sadly for a moment before flicking his wand perfectly and articulating, "Placidus Mundus."

Draco sighed deeply and Harry watched the tension drain from his muscles and his body sag into relaxation. After a long still moment, Draco's doe eyes opened wide and dilated pupils lingered on the Gryffindor's solid form. Once overwhelming peripheral stimuli waned so all that was left were glaring testaments of observation. "Potter. . ."

"Draco," the Boy-Who-Lived returned hesitantly.

Draco unsteadily got to his feet and stood comfortably, head slightly tilted back to look down at the other boy, pondering the evidence before him. "You've changed," he said finally. "You've been acting strange recently."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"By all means then, explain yourself," Draco agreed, purposely putting Potter on the spot.

Potter looked at him poignantly, as though trying to communicate some indecipherable meaning. "Well, it's kind of hard to explain. You probably wouldn't believe me unless I showed you."

With those words, Draco regretfully recognized a familiar pattern in the 'changed' Potter, and he feared the response when he asked, "What do you want to show me?"

Harry heard the ice in the other boy's voice, but he couldn't let this moment slip away, so he stepped closer. When Draco showed no reaction at all, Harry wrapped an arm around his wasted and pulled him close, his other hand brushing a pale cheek. The blonde tensed, but Harry continued, "I want to show you that things are not supposed to be like this, how they're supposed to be. I think, when you see it, you'll be glad. Just let me use Legimancy, you'll see –"

"Like you did last week?" Draco accused, pulling away from Harry; but he did not move far, and waited for a response. Ultimately, there was little behavior Draco would characterize as unacceptable. Even if Potter wanted to rip open his brain and fuck his gray matter, Draco probably wouldn't have objected for more than a few seconds.

"Uh, yeah, I'm sorry about that. A lot of strange things were happening at the time and I was acting out. But if you let me show you, you'll understand."

It was an intriguing proposition, especially considering that Draco was rather partial to unpleasant magic encounters that messed with the mind. Still, little more would be possible without. . .

"Fine," Draco started abruptly. "But nothing can get done until I get a least one more hit."

Briefly startled, Harry nodded, but Draco had turned his back on him and muttered, 'Stolidus,' figuring that a dulling spell was probably the safest bet considering the planned activity. He was still for a long moment as his mind processed events, then he slowly turned with unbalanced steps and blinked owlishly at the Boy-Who-Lived. "I'm ready," he drawled strangely.

Harry found the entire affair extremely troubling, and this Malfoy particularly distressing, but he had never been one to retreat when the going got muddy and course bog-like. In his experience, if one can just keep moving long enough, the desired destination can usually be reached (sure, they're might be other easier ways, but headlong perseverance does generally pay off). And so Harry raised his wand just high enough to aim at the waifish creature; he steadied his mind for his endeavor, just so, so that he could skim the surface of the other's mind and feed him the necessary scenes.

"Legimens."

In his mind's eye, Draco rushed towards him and then everything changed –

! BREAK !

Grey, cool light pervaded everything. Distantly, the world outside appeared faded and bleak, while the claustrophobic world inside slow and empty, and relieved to be that way. The atmosphere was deeply, deliberately numb, as though once the site of some unforgettable atrocity. The blood had been washed away, but the invisible stains and emotional scars endured, and took up their own roles in the person that was Draco Malfoy.

A metaphysical shiver caressed Harry, who was concerned that Draco's psychic landscape wasn't providing any directional queues. Well, expect for the elephant in the room – the obvious pull, like a black whole, a point of oblivion that constantly tempted the heart and soul.

'Draco? Are you ready?'

For a brief beat there was no response, but then a warm breeze seemed to pass through and in his gut Harry felt the affirmative. He tried to gather his own thoughts and wits from his precarious position on the periphery of Draco's mind; then, when he was ready, he purposely recalled the memories that would explain what needed to be understood.

There was an aggravating conversation with Snape and Dumbledore, then a desperate sprint to the dungeons to find Malfoy standing over a cauldron, then memory abruptly cut off. . .

When Malfoy's mind gave no apparent or immediate response, Harry barreled on and called forth another conversation with Dumbledore, one resulting in a mission and a further strange set of events that led to a shocking, but delicious sexual encounter. . .

But still Harry detected no sign of recognition or reaction from the psychic environment, though he sensed a mounting tension that could not end well. The strain of the effort was beginning to wear him down, but he intrepidly continued on to a time and place where he met a bold racer who lived as a muggle and convinced him to save the world. Then Ron got the potion ingredients, and Dragon Maloy took the potion –

STOP!

The tension exploded and Draco violently threw Potter out of his mind before his other self had even drained the vial. It had been easy to be detached from the other memories, they were more unreal and meaningless than even everyday life; but this Dragon Maloy was too happy, too whole, and altogether too much, and Draco's normal deadened daze was poorly equipped to withstand the overwhelming onslaught of confused and conflicting emotions. At some point during the ordeal, he had sunk to his knees, but he was on his feet again in an instant, glaring at where Potter was still recovering his bearings.

"What the hell was that supposed to be!" he choked, voice breaking with panic, head spinning. Angerhatehopeenvydespairdesire. . . the emotionss zipped through him like a crazed wasp until the aggregate was unidentifiable from hysteria.

Then he wasn't even looking at Potter, his face was contorted wildly and he was keening and yanking at his hair, beating at his skull, again on his knees; fuck, anything to make it stop. His weak emotional tracks were overpowered with all the input, and all that remained was an all-consuming AGONY.

Harry scrambled towards him without hesitation, trying anxiously to get a grip on his arms to prevent Draco from hurting himself, but the other boy was completely oblivious (not to mention quite a bit stronger than was obvious from his rail-thin form). When Draco's behavior failed to subside, Harry's own panic flared and he acted on instinct – pulling away and grappling for his wand.

"Stolidus stolidus stolidus!" he said frantically, so desperate to end Draco's fit that he didn't register until after the fact that he had cast the hex three times. Then he watched with bated breath as the Slytherin's movements quickly stilled, then gradually relaxed. Draco lowered his hands, studying them as though confounded as to what they had been doing atop his head.

"Are you okay?" Harry ventured nervously.

Draco reluctantly tore his eyes away from his thin fingers and turned blankly to where Harry sat a meter away. He showed no recognition for a long moment, but Harry fancied that he could almost see the subdued cerebral cogs slowly turning.

"Bloody 'ell," he slurred.

Potter cracked a weak, relieved smile. "Yeah, that's about right. Are you okay?"

This time the question elicited a struggling frown and another long pause (delayed reaction time was a hallmark of the Stolidus hex after all). Eventually, Draco nodded, though he was unsure if it was true.

"Do you remember the memories I showed you?" Potter asked against his better judgment.

The frown returned, deeper this time, melancholy and a little disturbed. Draco raised his hands again to rub at his eyes, then turned away from the Gryffindor's intense gaze and lay down on the cool stone floor. Thinking just seemed like too much of an effort, and the idea of thinking about 'the memories' was positively draining. All he wanted was to close his eyes and make the world go away.

Affection forced Harry to take pity and not push the matter, though he knew he would have to try again before the day was up. If he couldn't convince this Malfoy to want to go back, then both of them would end up staying in this crappy universe for at least another day, but potentially forever.

Figuring that the blonde was too out of it (and possibly asleep), he crawled over to Draco's foetal form, spooned up to him, and wrapped an arm around the slender waist. Draco sighed and snuggled back into the warmth, then drifted off to sleep; but Harry had no relief from worry, and lay wakefully next to Draco's comforting form, focusing on anything other than the feelings that he secretly knew he harbored.

! BREAK !

"Harry?"

The voice was soft and fragile, and a little muffled, but it was enough to rouse Harry out of his light doze a couple hours later. "Hmm? Whah?" he grunted as his mind tried to pick up speed.

"Did those things really happen?"

Harry blinked widely a couple times before finally feeling like his normal self. When he spoke, he tried to sound soothing, but it came out more defeated. "Yeah."

". . . so you're not the same Potter from yesterday. But that was you acting odd last week?"

Harry blushed at the memory. "Yeah." Then, when Draco didn't respond, he continued, "I thought you would have remembered. . . In the other worlds, after you had taken the potion, it wasn't too difficult to get you to remember. All you needed was a bit of prodding. I was hoping that if I showed you, you'd get in touch with some inner you or inner sight or something. You know, recognize the hidden reality. I don't pretend to now how this whole Quaero Tempus thing works. It hasn't been very predictable."

Draco snorted slightly. "Inner sight? Don't make me laugh, I can't see what's right in front of my face. I mean, I am scarcely aware of the right now, and I barely remember yesterday, so how am I supposed to remember something that never actually happened?"

His voice was bitter and it bit a little at Harry's heart so that he found himself stroking long, silky hair. "The real question is, can you believe in a world you don't remember?"

Draco turned his head slightly so that Harry could finally see his face – he really was beautiful. "That last memory. . . was that really me?"

"Yeah, that was you after you ran away, when you were around nine or ten I guess. You turned out pretty impressive," Harry said truthfully. "I'm, uh, sorry, Draco. Sorry that I had to take you away from a good life. You deserved it."

Draco lay silent and still in his arms for a long time while Harry watched him intently. Finally his thoughts forced the sorrowful question, "How did you get like this?"

Draco turned his head away again, and his body shivered violently, though the stone floor had long ago warmed under their body heat, and Harry moved his had to reassuringly rub the thin shoulders. The Slytherin was silent for so long that Harry begun to think that he wasn't going to answer.

"I don't know. . . I just got lost along the way, but I can't. . . remember," he whispered finally. "I think. . . I used to be somebody else, somebody strong I think. Pig-headed and contrary I guess, that is what Father says. He says that I defied him, but I don't remember much from then. . . I was stupid, I should have known better, I should have fought him on the sly or something, maybe stabbed him in his sleep. . . Father is a monster, and I was too young to take him on like I did. . . It tipped him off that I would never be what he wanted me to be. So he fucked me all up. He says that weakness is better than defiance. I don't know what he did exactly, or even how long it took. I have nightmare about it sometimes, but I don't really remember. . . Then for years he cast spells on me to make me this way and that. After a while, it was me who cast the magic. . . it feels sometimes like Father. . . broke me."

He trailed off pathetically, and Harry wanted to deny his words, for both their sakes, but he couldn't help but agree.

! CHAPTER END !

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