Disclaimer: I own nothing, which sucks.

(I know it's been ages since I wrote anything. Shit gets in the way and next thing you know it's been 2 years. Anyway, hope you like the next chapter, even though this is one of my stories no one reads…. )

Draco stared into his cup of tea the next morning with bloodshot and swollen eyes. Remus was still in bed. Well actually he had only just went to bed because when Draco had got up he had found Remus passed out, slumped over his desk with two empty bottles of Gin beside him. It had been a bit of a struggle but Draco had managed to half drag, half carry Remus to his bed and tuck him in. It was only just creeping past five in the morning by the time Draco sat down at the old kitchen table with the mug of steaming tea between his hands. He sat there, staring off into nothing, his mind shuttered and lost when he felt a chill up his spine. He twitched and tore his eyes away from the blank wall across from him to slowly look around. There was nothing there of course. He and Remus were the only ones in the house and Remus was so dead to the world it was unlikely he would be conscious until next week. Draco made a mental reminder to check him for alcohol poisoning later. The small round table with its two chairs were pushed against the back wall of the kitchen, with the kitchen cupboards and sink stretched along the side wall with the door across from it. It was a tiny kitchen with only one small window above the table. No one could have walked in without Draco seeing it. But still he felt a chill as if someone was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Merlin save him if he was going mad. Perfect fucking timing though. His lip quirked and he slumped back down. He needed a drink. When the chill didn't leaving his spine after a few minutes and the hairs on the back of his neck rose and refused to go down Draco stood up and went to the cupboard over the sink to rummage around until he found a bottle of scotch. He dumped a healthy sum into his tea and placed the bottle beside his cup, figuring Remus would be a complete hypocrite to get mad at him now. He took a gulp of tea and cringed when it burned down his throat sinking into a nauseas roiling puddle in his stomach. He took another huge drink and then let his head fall to the table. He realized he was crying again when his nose dragged a line of salty water along the table. He hiccupped a laugh which caught in his throat that then became a sob.

There was no winning was there? There was no equivalent exchange. There was no justice. There was only reality and reality fucking sucked. This isn't what was supposed to happen. Potter was supposed to survive, become a celebrity, marry the Ginger and pop out 2.5 kids and live until he was 150 and die quietly in his sleep. Because that was what he deserved, that was what he got in return for having to live with all the shit he got before. It was his damn reward. And Draco was suppose to have been punished and brought down, humbled, but still fulfill his Malfoy duties and marry and have his one child and die at a young age from being an alcoholic because that was what he deserved. There was no fucking justice in the world anymore. Draco began to laugh and then he couldn't stop. He sides ached and his head pounded but he couldn't get control of his body long enough to stop the laughter. He clutched at his sides and banged his head against the table and felt the tears burn down his face, his laughter ringing through the quiet kitchen.

Harry stared down at Malfoy's shaking shoulders and thought about leaving. When he had decided he would visit Remus and investigate if anyone else could see him he found that not everything was like the movies. He had hoped that, since his existence wasn't really real, then it was plausible that he would be able to think himself somewhere and there he would be there. He didn't remember how he got to the bar. One second he was at the house and the next he was standing in the bar with the waitress walking through his right elbow. But death didn't seem to work that way. He had to walk all the way to Hogsmead, the little town Remus had a house in. And it hadn't been easy because one second he would be walking up the train tracks that went from London to Hogwarts and the next he'd be standing in a Teashop in Cardiff. Thankfully after the Teashop, a back alley in Madrid and the middle of a snow covered farmer's field he found himself standing in the great hall of Hogwarts. It was deserted and he couldn't imagine anyone still being there during the summer holidays so he quickly jogged down to the village before he was yanked off to the Australian outback or something.

When he walked through the door and heard the kettle boiling over in the kitchen he had felt such relief swamp him that he honestly thought he would cry if it had been physically possible. But then he saw him, walking into the hall from the bedroom to head into the kitchen and take the kettle off the stove. His first though had been that the git had murdered Remus and was squatting in his house. Harry had been ready to tear Malfoy a new breathing hole when he saw the small cot beside the fireplace. Malfoy wouldn't sleep in that rickety old thing if the bedroom was free. He had standards. So Harry drifted through the bedroom door to see Remus asleep in his bed, tightly tucked in, with his shoes neatly placed at the foot of the bed; all the while he could hear Malfoy puttering around in the kitchen.

He felt lost. Remus was his only family left, had Remus found a new family now that Harry was gone? Did he even know what had happened? Had anyone found his body yet? How much time had passed? He walked into the kitchen to see Malfoy gazing at the wall across from him seated at the table with the cup of tea in his hands, with a look of utter despair glued to his face. Harry was stabbed with guilt. Malfoy had suffered just as much as him during the war, probably more seeing as how Harry had only had to kill Voldemort, not live with him for a year. Who knows what Malfoy had to see, do to survive, who he had lost. Harry was brought out of his thoughts when Malfoy tensed and looked around the kitchen nervously, like he could sense that Harry was there.

Harry was torn. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to get help, but Malfoy was possibly the last person on earth Harry wanted to get that help from. Also the likelihood that Malfoy would laugh in his face when he found out Harry had been killed by a muggle burglar wasn't overly appealing either. He took a step forward and then hesitated. Malfoy stood and when he walked towards Harry he could see that Malfoy's face was all puffy and his eyes were rimmed in red. His hair was mussed up and was looking kind of greasy and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. To be honest he looked like shit and just a little bit off his rocker. Malfoy's foot stepped through Harry's when he reached up into a cupboard and brought down a full bottle of scotch. He poured so much into his tea that Harry gagged. Malfoy dropped his head onto the table and Harry's resolve wore away. He sighed and walked over to sit down across from Malfoy and watched as he broke down. When Malfoy started to laugh uncontrollably while tears raged down his face Harry decided enough was enough.

"I always knew you'd be the first one to go mad, Malfoy."

Draco jerked to a stop, the laughter dying in his throat. Slowly he raised his head till he was staring at where the voice came from, the empty chair in front of him. He took several quick breaths, glancing around the room but always coming back to that empty chair.

"Hello?"

He said tentatively, hoping that he was just going insane and that he was only hearing the voices that all mad people heard. Please Merlin let him just be mad because that voice, that voice only came from one person that Draco knew.

"Hullo Malfoy." The voice said, still coming from the empty chair. Then he heard strained laughter, "of course it had to be you, someone out there has a hilarious sense of humor."

Draco started to hyperventilate then his hands gripping his tea cup so hard he spilled most of it onto the table.

"I'm going mad, I'm going mad!" he said to himself, or at least he hoped to himself, "Potter?!" He said throwing his arm out and waving it around above the chair. Frantically trying to see something, feel something.

"Stop that!" he heard and then the voice had moved to be beside him, "I didn't come here to get an arm through my skull. You're not going mad…. At least, I don't think you are." There was a pause, "maybe only mad people can see me… I suppose I could go see Lockheart and check…" The voice drifted towards the door and Draco stood up.

"No! Don't go!" The words were out before he was able to stop himself and he looked around the small kitchen, not knowing where to rest his eyes.

"Don't go," he repeated, "if that really is you Potter and not me going absolutely bonkers."

The voice seemed to be coming from the sink this time, "why would you be hearing my voice if you've gone round the bend Malfoy? "

Draco swallowed, "How are you here?" he asked, "Why are you here? How long have you been…." He waved his arm at the empty air, "like this?" his throat was dry and he ran his tongue over his chapped lips. He could feel the scotch wearing away at his fear and tense muscles till he felt almost sane again.

Potter didn't respond for a long while, making Draco think he had left when he heard Potters voice mere feet from him.

"I don't know," He said in a small hollow voice, "I just don't know."

Draco reached behind and grabbed his half spilled tea flavored Scotch and drank down the rest. He grimaced and a gagging sound could be heard from the sink. He was going to retort but was distracted by the sensation of the alcohol seeping pleasantly into his limbs and eyes and he paused to enjoy the warmth.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in Remus' flat Malfoy?"

Draco opened his eyes, realizing that he had closed them and cleared his throat.

"Looting all his valuables obviously," his fingers tightened on the empty mug and he was swamped with the overwhelming urge to hide in bed. The only problem was his bed was in the living room and that would not deter Potter in the slightest. "We bumped into each other recently and I…" he fought looking down to see if he had black dirt on his hands. His balance shifted and he found himself reaching out to the table. His eyes blinked slowly and he sighed.

"That Scotch is really hitting you, how long has it been since you ate? You look like Dobby… and your clothes aren't much better than his pillow case…" the words dragged out in Draco's head as the world tilted to the left and he felt for the wall so he could make it to his cot before he passed out.

"Seriously Malfoy, what happened to you?" the words were right in front of him and he as he passed through the doorway towards the living room he felt a warmth, like someone's breath, pass over him. He was asleep before his body hit the cot.

Harry stared down at Malfoy, sprawled across his cot before the fireplace; he had only just managed not to concuss himself on the bed frame before passing out.

He thought about snorting but derision seemed too much effort. Everyone was now asleep, or at least everyone that mattered. It would be hours before either of them would wake and as far as Harry could tell he did not require sleep. Harry sighed and sat down on the overstuffed armchair that barely fit in the cramped living room. Running his hand through his hair he looked out the window to the bleak morning light.

He knew he had options, but his desire to find out if others could see him was drowned out by engulfing fear. He didn't have much awareness of time but word of his death had to have been spread. Harry didn't want to be witness to that grief. Not from them.

He had just decided to wait out Malfoy's drunken sleep when he was sitting in a vacant chair in what appeared to be someone's office. He looked around and noticed the large engraved M on the wall. Rolling his eyes he watched as the ministry official, whose office he seemed to be in, opened the door and shut it firmly behind them. It was a tall man, slim with a dark blue suit and bowler hat. He looked like he had walked out of an episode of Tin Tin. The man was reading intensely from a folio making little noises of distress at intervals. Harry sprang from the chair as the man slid in and set the folio on his desk.

"What are they thinking?" the man muttered as he pulled out the drawers in his desk looking or something. Harry edged even farther away only to look over to find he was halfway through an Owl cage, with the occupant staring intently at him.

"Storing a body in a school, how are we supposed to keep this from the public?!"

Harry ignored the owl and leaned over to read over the man's shoulder. He caught the words Harry Potter, stasis and secret before the man leaned over the pages to sign on the bottom. Harry crept back over to the corner of the room to watch as the man pushed the folio away and rummaging around in his desk for something. He had just pulled out a bar of wax when someone walked into his office. Short, bald and shoulders like a footballer he stopped before the desk and set down a cup of tea. Ah, assistant then.

"Jenkins was asking for you Mr. Brodwell. And there is an urgent owl from Hogwarts.,. Again."

"Yes yes," Brodwell said waving the man away as he heated the wax and stamped the folio with a seal. He did not notice the assistants eyes flick back and forth as he read the folio upside down.

"Now I need this sent to the undersecretary as soon as possible, do you understand me?" Brodwell said as he magicked the folio into a black envelope and handed it to the assistant.

Harry looked back at the owl to find it still looking at him.

"Well that was suspicious." He said with a raised eyebrow.

Brodwell jumped and as he looked about his office Harry faded away…

…to find himself standing beside the Arc de Triomphe, with a pigeon in his right foot.

"Great."