Disclaimer: Harry Potter & Co. are the property of JK Rowling, who I am not.

Reviewers: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I was getting pretty depressed about the lack of feedback, but my last chappy got lots of reviews! Thank you so much! I am inspired again! On goes the story! Soon I will be on X-mas vacation, so hopefully I will be able to update quicker. Don't get lazy now, review this chapter too!

Chapter 19: Day 10, Part I: Snap Back to Reality, Oops There Goes Gravity

Harry's eyes fluttered open, mindlessly taking in a blurry white ceiling. He reflexively yawned, but it triggered a violent coughing fit; he shot up in bed but his muscles felt so weak and stiff that he lay back down as soon as coughs stopped racking his body.

Finally he was able to look around, immediately identifying the white of the Infirmary (not to mention the infernal Infirmary gowns!) even without his glasses – which he quickly located on the table stand next to his bed. Once the world was in focus, he was greeted by confines he recognized as one of the small patient rooms attached to the main hall of the Infirmary. Regretably, he had been here a couple times before, just not with Malfoy.

Sure enough, the few meters away a thin figure lay motionless under a white sheet, and Harry felt a wave a relief at recognizing Malfoy's pale face. As the realization sunk in, the feeling quickly drowned by frantic exhilaration that forced its way to the surgace through hysterical laughter. He'd done it! They'd done it! They were back in their own timeline!

Of course, he couldn't be sure, but he was anyway. For the first time in a week and a half, he felt normal! No bizarre connection with Malfoy, no sense of displacement! He actually yelled in liberation, "YEEEAAAH," because nothing he had ever encountered could possibly be as terrifying as being lost in mind-fucking alternate realities. Voldemort would never be as frightening ever again. Now that he was finally back, he had no doubt that it was far better to die in his own universe than live anywhere else. This was home, and there was no denying it.

Apparently his laughing and yelling had not gone unnoticed, for Madam Pomfrey suddenly opened the door, asking, "What's going on in here?"

Harry smiled widely at her, and as she gawked at him a split second.

"Harry, you're awake! Oh, sweet Merlin, thank you!" Madam Pomfrey rushed him far faster than such a rotund middle-aged lady had any right to, and he was pulled into an almost-crushing hug.

When she did not immediately let go, he felt the need to reassure her, "It's okay, Madam Pomfrey. I'm fine!"

The kindly lady pulled away, tears twinkling in her eyes and a small, pitiful smile on her lips. "Oh, Harry. I'm so relieved that you're awake, no one thought you would make it back. Here, let me check you out."

Her training kicked in and she began to check Harry's condition: measuring his temperature, breathing, and pulse. . .

"So, everyone was able to figure out what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey was now asking him to look this way and that, but she hummed in affirmation. "Professor Snape came to the correct conclusion almost immediately. It wasn't too hard considering that you were found lying in the potion."

"Is Dr- . . . Is Malfoy going to be okay?" Harry's eyes flicked nervously towards the still figure on the nearby bed.

Pomfrey looked over at the corner, a frown materializing on her face. "I don't know. Not much is known about the effects of the Quaero Tempus, many don't even think it is possible to brew. And you two consumed it so bizarrely anyway, so who knows? No one thought you'd wake up at all, but if I had to guess, I'd say his best chance for waking up would be today, with you. If you were traveling together, anyway."

Harry was beginning to feel slightly queasy at the possibility of Draco not waking up, of him being trapped in one of those horrific worlds he had been dragged through. "We were. Traveling together, I mean."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Well, you get some rest. I need to check on Mr. Malfoy and let the Headmaster know that you have woken. He will be. . . very relieved."

Harry caught the pause at the end of her sentence, and his spider-sense knew that it meant something was wrong; something beyond him and Malfoy and the bloody awful Quaero Tempus. Still, for the moment he allowed himself not to worry about it, and his attention followed the kindly mediwitch to the other bed, where she used her wand to cast a couple of spells on the unconscious Slytherin. She looked puzzled at the results.

"Is he okay?" Harry called out anxiously.

Madam Pomfrey look over at him, a little surprised at his obvious concern. Then again, she supposed that it was only inevitable after having been through what they had together. "I don't know, Harry. His readings are normal for the first time since you two were found unawares. In fact, there is no reason he shouldn't be awake, except that he obviously isn't. . . " She trailed off pensively for a moment, then took off towards the door to the Infirmary. "I must let the Headmaster know. You should lay back down, Harry."

But as soon as she was gone, Harry was out of his bed. For a second he stood unsteadily on his feet, his muscles weak from nine days of disuse, then he grabbed his wand and walked over to the motionless blonde. Harry stood over him, comforted by a Draco Malfoy that finally looked exactly as he should: human, beatific, perfect. His hand reached out of its own volition to lightly stroke a strand of fair hair that lay splayed upon the pillow.

"Why does everything always have to be so complicated with you?" Harry asked in a voice laced with both resignation and affection. Still basking in the afterglow of his relief and exhilaration, he smiled faintly, feeling sappy. "I'm one to talk. My life is always so bloody complicated. We're a match made in Heaven. Or Hell. Either way, it was destined."

Unconsciously, his mind reached out, as though trying to travel along the connection they had once had. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled back suddenly and reflexively; though on second thought, it wasn't such a bad idea. He had shared a connection to the other teen's mind, maybe he could use that draw him out.

Never one to pass on his instincts, Harry raised his wand and, leaning over the bed, whispered, "Legimens."

He reached out, lightly brushing against the periphery of Draco's mind.

"What the fuck, Potter!" Draco demanded, awaking abruptly to Harry Potter brandishing a wand in his face. He reacted immediately by grabbing the Gryffindor's arm and yanking it across his body, tipping Harry's poor balance so that he collapsed onto the bed with an "Omph!"

Only then did Draco realize how much it had hurt to do that; he felt terrible! He tried to kick Harry off his legs, but he wasn't able to muster much force. "Get off me, Potter! I feel like was trampled by a Hungarian Horntail."

A muffled laugh escaped before Harry managed to stand up, then prop himself against the bed. "Yeah, I know, so do I. It's because we've been bedridden for nine days."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, and his skin blanched unfetchingly, making him look as though he had suddenly remembered seeing a ghost. Memories rushed him like an avalanche, raising cold bumps on his skin and speeding up his breath. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he croaked.

Then he rolled over, away from Potter, and dry heaved over the side of the bed. Having been fed magically for the last week and a half, there was nothing in his stomach to throw up, but gags racked his body anyway. He felt Potter's hand on his back, but he didn't have the energy to buck it off; then, when his breathing even out, he heard Potter's voice soothe, "It's okay, Malfoy. We're back home."

Still leaning off the side of the bed, Draco closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Home. He wasn't even there what that meant anymore. "What a mess," he muttered despondently to himself.

"Yeah. . .," Harry had to agree, at a loss as to how to communicate his support and his genuine desire to help in a way that wouldn't be rejected. "We'll figure it out, won't we? After all, we're very resourceful," he joked awkwardly.

Mind racing, Draco gathered his strength for a moment, before turning over and sitting himself up so he could face the Gryffindor. He made sure his expression betrayed nothing. "We?"

They held each other's gaze, and it burned with the intensity of many things unsaid, a look conveying more than words ever had. After a long, heavy silence, Harry breathily asked, "I promised I'd help, didn't I?"

His recollection was a little hazy, but Draco vaguely remembered this fact. Potter had said it more than once in the past nine days, hadn't he? Draco frowned and glanced down at the ground as he sorted through the confusing jumble of memories. Nausea and all, Harry still thought the blonde looked good enough to eat.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy!"

Madam Pomphrey was again rushing Harry's way, this time followed by a noticeably haggard Albus Dumbledore. "He woke up," Harry explained pathetically.

"So I can see," she retorted, shooing Harry away from the bed. She began to determine his condition over his protests, but it wasn't until she lifted up his shirt to check his breathing that he snapped.

"Get away from me, you old bag! I don't need you poking me, I'm fine."

Harry's jaw dropped in surprise, still startled by Draco's rude treatment of adults despite having witnessed it numerous times; Madam Pomfrey, however, just took it in stride. Over the years she had seen almost as much of the Malfoy heir as she had seen of the Boy-Who-Lived, and certainly enough to understand that the Slytherin used his hostility to manipulate everyone around him – to keep them from getting too close, from asking the wrong questions, from learning too much. Making people back off was precisely Draco's goal, but Madam Pomfrey was not one easily manipulated; after all, she had been privy to almost every situation imaginable during her decades as Hogwart's mediwitch, and she had long ago learned that her own judgment and training truly knew best when it came to students' health. "Oh, shush up. You'd think you were fine if you woke up to four missing limbs."

Dumbledore chuckled slightly, tiredly, prompting Harry to crack a wide smile – a grin so genuine and affectionate that it killed Draco's abrasive retort on his lips. Never one to hold his tongue for anyone save himself, Draco found himself calculating which answer would please Potter. Sure, the smile brought striking energy and an attractive optimism to the Gryffindor's usually drab features, but he was more concerned that Potter's offer to help would only last as long as he wasn't pissed with him. He really did need the other boy's help if he was going to pull this off. . . In the end, he forgot about saying anything more as his thoughts grasped at the future.

Dumbledore finally turned his attention to Harry, and only then did Harry notice just how. . . faded the old man looked. "Harry. . ."

Fuck.

Harry berated himself for not suspecting immediately, he had been too preoccupied with the resolution of his own adventure to pick up on any cues or to ask the right questions. Something was terribly wrong, and now he was going to find out exactly what.

"There was an attack on the school, the day before yesterday."

Even though he knew it was coming, Harry gasped. Next to him, Draco's head jerked up to stare tensely at the Headmaster.

"It wasn't a full committal of troops, just a task force of Death Eaters, so we were able to fight them off with the help of the wards. But there were a number of injured, including students." Dumbledore nodded towards the door leading to the main hall of the Infirmary, where most of the beds were located. "We tried to keep your incapacitation under raps, Harry, but someone eventually managed to send the message to Voldemort, despite our vigilance. Since the attack, the school has been in emergency lockdown, but that will have to change soon. The Minister of Magic has been demanding that we open our doors, as many parents want their children to come home. The war is clearly escalating and Hogwarts is no longer considered safe."

There was a long, heavy silence as the old wizard's words sunk in. Draco knew that at soon as the lockdown lifted, he and most of his Slytherin housemates were to be shipped directly to Voldemort's ranks. He felt hopeless, and guilty that it was his actions had provided the Dark Lord with the opportunity to attack. "This is my fault," he stated bluntly, embarrassed that his own weakness should have set in motion such a horrible sequence of events.

"No!" Harry returned adamantly, swamped suddenly by his own indefatigable guilt. "You just wanted to bugger off, I was the one who interrupted and dragged you back here! If anything, it's my fault! I can't even begin to understand what the hell we've been doing for the last however many days! It was some scary-ass shite, but I got myself into it, I know that! Don't you remember me tackling you?"

"Mr. Potter! You really must calm down! You are straining yourself and Mr. Malfoy here," Madam Pomfrey scolded, clearly getting annoyed at her patients' complete inability to take it easy. Indeed, Draco's whole body was tense, and the effort was making him faint; but he managed to nod slightly in affirmation to Harry's question. A part of him was eager to point out that it had been the Gryffindor's interfering ways that had made such a mess out of his escape attempt.

"We have a day, tops, before the Ministry sends Aurors to make us open up." Dumbledore lifted his gaze from Harry to stare searchingly into Draco's eyes. "Everyone who wants, will of course be permitted to return home. Those who do not want to leave – well, those would be our primary concern."

Of course. Those who wanted to fight by Potter and Dumbledore, and those would didn't want to be forced to fight by Voldemort: these were going to be the people that would win, or lose, this war. Draco broke eye contact with the wizened headmaster to glance over at Potter; again, an unjustifiable degree of understanding passed between them. It was as two warriors meeting before battle: sad and regrettable that there must be any fighting at all, but relief that someone stood next to them on the edge of this great abyss . . .

Madam Pomfrey appeared to be finished checking up on Draco, who promptly scooted off the bed in a frail attempt at standing. Harry's reflexes were good and he caught Draco's elbow just as his legs buckled underneath him.

"Did I say you could get out of bed," Pomfrey demanded shrilly, virtually manhandling Draco out of Harry's grasp and back onto the bed.

Draco's objections were much more vocal than previously. "Don't touch me like that," he bellowed, so loudly and harshly that Harry and Pomfrey both jumped back reflexively, and even Dumbledore was a little taken aback. Harry worried briefly that he was going to have some sort of episode (having lost all sense of predictability when in came to the Slytherin), but Draco had not qualms whatsoever about his behavior, and promptly tried to stand again – this time on the side of the bed opposite the other three.

No one dared to say anything, watching carefully as Draco cautiously released his grip on the bed, this time managing to stay upright, then turned his sharp eyes back to Dumbledore. Though his expression was once again unreadable, his voice betrayed the strain, "I need to talk to my housemates. Any who leave Hogwarts are likely to find themselves under the Dark Lord's dominion within days."

Harry's face showed his surprise as he finally realized the extent of the other teen's plans: Draco wanted to save the Slytherins right now. Dumbledore, however, nodded wisely. "I agree. Harry should go with you, he'll likely be able to help."

Wait a second! Just how did Dumbledore think he could help talk to Slytherins?

Madam Pomfrey tutted noisily to express her disapproval at the flow of events. "Well, since absolutely no one seems to care what the sound medical course would be, I'll be getting back to the patients that actually want to heal."

And just like that, the mediwitch was back out the door, leaving Harry unable to formulate any response beyond, "Uhhh. . . are you sure that this is a good idea?"

Draco glanced at Harry for a second before carefully making his way towards the closet where presumably their close hung, and it was enough to communicate Draco's sentiments: he couldn't care less whether or not it was a good idea. With the spectacular failure of the Quaero Tempus, the prospect of a happy ended was practically nonexistent, so all that was left was to do as much as possible until the situation imploded in maelstrom of blood, pain, and death.

It was Dumbledore who chose to answer Harry's question, "It may not be a good idea, Harry, but we don't have time for anything else. We need to recruit who we can, and hope we don't meet the ones we can't in the battlefield. When you and Mr. Malfoy are done with the Slytherins, I'm going to ask you to say a few worlds to everyone in the Great Hall."

Bloody bleeding motherfucking hell, Harry berated. The war had finally begun in earnest, and now the spotlight really was on him. How had everything managed to sneak up on him like this?

! END OF CHAPTER !

PLEASE REVIEW! I will motivate me to get my next chapter out quicker. (Note: Title comes from Eminem's 'Lose Yourself'.) Sorry no good stuff, I'll try to incorporate some kissy kissy next chapter, though it may take a while simply because I find myself caught smack in the middle of a war.