Draco Malfoy stood in front of the plain looking, wooden doors. The doors only looked plain. They were, in fact, quite special, not only for their unusual properties, but for what waited behind them, too.

These plain looking doors held so many wards that they shimmered and glowed and pulsed and caused the skin to tingle. These wards were created not only to protect whatever was held behind them, they were created to protect those outside too.

The heavily warded doors didn't make Draco nervous. What made him nervous was the person he knew was on the other side: Harry. He was warned that the Harry he would find when he entered the room wasn't same Harry he knew and had fallen in love with. This Harry was damaged and unresponsive and likely not to recognize him at all.

Draco was scared. He stood there in his light blue robes, clutching the feather-portkey that hung around his neck. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want to go in there, Severus. I don't want to see him in there. I don't want this to be real."

"I know. And I know you will go."

"Yes. I will. It's him after all." He answered resigned.

xxxxxx

He entered. The room didn't look frightening or foreboding. Actually, it looked quite pleasant. It was spacious and bright, large windows showing charmed, sunny landscapes on every wall. There was a thick, white carpet under his feet and a faint butterfly pattern graced crème colored walls. The whole room was further illuminated by branches spelled with Gubraithian fire.

The room was void of any furniture except for a single bed placed in a corner, and on that bed was a lone figure. Upon seeing the figure, Draco wished to exit and tell them they had sent him to the wrong room. But door silently closed behind him, and he was already in. Malfoys were never cowards, so he stayed and willed himself to face the challenge before him—the person before him.

Harry was sitting on the bed, his back to the corner and his arms hugging his knees. He wore no clothes on his skinny body, except for white boxer shorts. His skin was pale, bruised and scarred. In some places it looked burned and missing, and muscles could be seen. His dark mane was gone, his head as well as the rest of his body completely hairless. Wide green eyes stared somewhere into the distance.

Draco called him, his voice only a bit more than a whisper. "Harry."

Harry turned, his whole body shivering violently, his eyes-- lifeless, unseeing and dull-- meeting Draco's. There was no trace of recognition in those eyes. Draco realized that the reason he turned was not because he was called, but because he heard the sound.

The person that once was Harry Potter scurried further into his corner, making himself almost impossibly small. He trembled, and Draco was sure nerve damage was only part of the cause. The other part was fear.

"You are scared of me, aren't you?" he asked with sadness in his voice. "You, who were not afraid to face Voldemort year after year. You, who were not afraid to kiss me first and then confess it to Weasley. You, who went against all odds and saved me and Severus from certain death. I've never met anyone as brave as you, Harry Potter. It shatters me to see you like this. This is not who you are."

He approached the bed, his steps slow, his eyes suspiciously shiny. He reached to touch the pale face. For a moment everything was still, and then Harry flinched, and Draco jumped away and fled the room.