Inside out, upside-down twisting beside myself,

Stop that now, cause you and I were never meant to be

I think you better leave; it's not safe in here,

I feel a weakness coming on

-Imogen Heap

Darkness dusted the world around him like a fog. Harry gazed around absently, his eyes straining to focus in the dimmed room. The quiet was harsh and complete, as if the room was made to keep silence—he couldn't even hear himself breathe. Then an angry hiss broke through the stillness, and Harry froze.

Somewhere across the room a door creaked opened, allowing a sharp stream light to flood in from the hall. Four figures strode in, all of which Harry immediately recognized. The first was Voldemort, and Harry felt his stomach give a violent jerk at the sight of the snake-like man. He was closely trailed by Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and finally Draco Malfoy. Harry stared at the four, thankful that he remained unseen, protected by dark shadows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn't real—two of the four were now dead—but his heart didn't seem to care. It pounded against his ribcage like a drum.

The younger Malfoy was standing close to his father, his eyes darting around nervously, looking anywhere but at Voldemort. He would occasionally bring his hand up to rub his neck—his long fingers arching against his hairline and trailing softly down along the curve of his throat—and as Harry's eyes adjusted he noticed that a strange mark stained Draco's pale skin.

"I still do not understand, Lucius," Voldemort hissed fiercely, "why your scouts keep failing to locate the boy."

Lucius bowed his head, his face a sickly yellow color. "I am sorry, my Lord, but he's been very careful about his movements, and his mudblood's concealment charms are…more advanced than we'd hoped. We'll find him soon."

Voldemort's brow creased, and his eyes flashed with an unspoken threat. "See to it that you do. Severus," he turned towards the greasy-haired man, whose dark eyes brightened at his master's address. "How are things progressing at Hogwarts? The staff is still cooperating?"

Snape nodded grimly. "Nothing of significance to report, my Lord. The staff trusts me completely."

Voldemort nodded, his thin lips curling into what might have once been considered a smile. "Good. Good." His eyes then fell on Draco, and Harry found he didn't like the sudden hungry gleam that flickered in those crimson depths. "And how are you making yourself useful to me, boy?" Voldemort ran a long clawed finger down the young boy's cheek. Harry could almost feel Draco's shiver.

"My Lord?" Draco said shakily. "I am your h-humble servant. I will do whatever you ask of me."

Voldemort clucked his tongue, running his finger under Draco's sharp chin and raising it upwards. "Indeed. And judging from this mark, you gave the same pledge to McNair last night." Harry dared to moved closer, and he could see that the strange mark on Draco's neck was, in fact, a bite mark. Tremors racked Harry's body, and a deep rage coiled in the pit of his stomach.

"Look up at me, boy." Voldemort ordered, and Draco hesitantly obeyed. They studied each other for a long moment that seemed suspended in time. "Do you fear me?"

"My Lord," Snape whispered, "he's just a child—"

"Children do not wear my mark," Voldemort hissed with a finality that resonated through the room. "Answer me."

Draco nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord's red gaze flickered brightly. "Severus," Voldemort whirled on the man, "I believe there is a certain potion in my collection that I have been saving for a special occasion. You know of the one I speak?"

Snape's black eyes flickered over Draco for but a second before returning to his master. "Yes, my Lord."

"I believe I still have a few doses left. Ready it for me."

Snape hesitated. "But, my Lord, wouldn't you rather save it for a more…pertinent occasion? That potion is a rare one—it would take another lifetime to duplicate."

"Ready it, Severus," the Dark Lord replied curtly. "Lucius, see to it that your son is seen to my private chamber at ten this evening. Understood?"

Draco paled and looked up at his father, not daring to speak in his own defense. But Lucius did not look down at his son. "As you wish, my Lord."

Harry's eyes flew open to the sound of an anguished cry, but for once the cry had not come from his own throat. He spun wildly, grabbing for his glasses and shoving them onto his face. His eyes fell on Malfoy, who was entangled in his sheets, his limbs thrashing about violently.

Harry threw himself off his bed and ran over to him. Malfoy face was crumpled with fear, and every movement seemed stiff and jolted, like he was struggling against something that was holding him down. His skin was covered with a sticky film of sweat, and his normally immaculate hair was plastered feverishly to his forehead.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered fervently. He reached out to take the other boy by the shoulders—to shake him back to consciousness—but the moment his hand touched the thin fabric of Malfoy's shirt he felt something akin to a hook grip his chest and jerk him forward into darkness.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. He stood in an elaborately decorated bedchamber, accented with deep greens and pungent blacks. A boy, slightly older than himself, stood in front of him; a boy he instantly knew as Voldemort's younger self. Tom Riddle. Harry's mind reeled. Where was this? When was this? He attempted to open his mouth to speak, only to find that he had no control over his limbs. He felt strangely weighted, as if somebody had changed the proportions of his body.

"Draco," Tom purred at Harry, stepping forward to close the gap between them. "I can smell the fear coursing through your veins." Harry choked as the connection clicked. He'd read about potions that could temporarily make a body appear younger—Snape had made several notes about it in his Advanced Potions book. But then if the boy standing in front of him really was Voldemort, altered by a potion, then did that mean…was he in Malfoy's body? Was he seeing what Malfoy saw?

"Forgive me, my Lord." Harry felt his mouth move without command, and Draco's shaken voice spill over his lips.

Tom peered down at him, lifting his hands to wrap around Harry's neck. His fingers were cold, and his nails bit into Harry's skin like shards of ice. "Do not apologize. Fear is one of the highest forms of respect." Tom gazed down at him with deep eyes that held no contrast between the pupil and the iris. Everything about him was sharp, dynamic, and Harry could not deny the shiver that was enticed by that piercing stare. "You do wish to please your master, don't you?"

Harry felt himself nod, feeling choked. There was something churning in Tom's eyes; something dark he couldn't quite escape. "Yes, my Lord."

"Then please me."

Then Tom dipped forward, capturing Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss. His tongue tore through Harry's mouth, and his teeth ripped through Harry's lips. He tasted of smoke, blood, and an oldness that did not match the youth of his body. Harry could feel Draco's nausea, his disgust, and his fear that he struggled desperately to control. And then he felt Draco respond, fiercely battling Tom with a feigned need. He responded because it was expected…because he knew he would be killed if he didn't.

Tom's hands traveled everywhere, tearing at clothing and discarding it onto the floor. There was no gentleness in Tom's touch; every movement was exacted with a hard purpose. Fingers wrapped around Harry's belt, making quick work of the fine leather, and a cold sharp hand thrust itself into his trousers. Harry gasped, breaking their heated kiss and choking back the bile that had found its way up his throat.

Tom shoved him back into a wall Harry hadn't realized was there. The back of his skull cracked painfully back against the marble, and Harry felt his consciousness jerk back into reality. He shook his head, clearing his vision. He felt himself tremble, though he couldn't tell whether the reaction came from his own body, or if it was still an extension of Malfoy's.

Malfoy jerked beneath him, a low tortured whimper escaping his throat. Harry shook the other boy furiously. "Malfoy! Malfoy wake up! Malfoy!" he yelled.

Malfoy's eyes flew open and in a heated blur he grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and flipped Harry underneath him.

"Malfoy it's me!" Harry bellowed as Malfoy fisted the collar of his shirt.

But it was too late. Malfoy descended upon him, crashing their lips together, and pushing him further down, clinging to him with an almost painful fervency. Harry's heart flew into his throat and he jolted beneath the blonde, attempting to buck him off. Then Malfoy let out a hot shuddering breath and nipped at his bottom lip, and Harry couldn't help but gasp at the shock that rocketed through him. And for the briefest of moments the surprise caused him to still and taste the warm smooth lips that covered his own. He had never tasted anything quite like it before—it was like tasting fire and ice at the same time.

Then with another jerk, Harry managed to get a grip on Malfoy's shoulders. He shoved up, hard.

"Malfoy, stop!"

Malfoy's eyes widened, and his body went rigid. "Potter?" his voice wavered. In a terrifyingly swift movement, Malfoy's hands grabbed Harry's wrists and pinned them to the bed, his eyes flashing wildly.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, somehow unable to breathe and not knowing why, "tell me he didn't…tell me what I saw wasn't real."

Malfoy's breath was ragged and labored and Harry saw a shadowed horror darken his face.

"Malfoy," Harry felt sick, more revolted than he had ever felt in his life. He could still feel the ghost of Tom's touch on his skin, his fingers like needles sidling under his veins. "Tell me that dream wasn't real."

Malfoy simply stared down at him, grey eyes cold as ice. "How do you know about my dream?"

"I..I don't know. I saw it somehow…and Voldemort, he—"

"You saw…you saw what he did to me?" And Harry saw it then—that same darkness he had seen in Tom's eyes echoed across the steel facade of Malfoy's gaze. But it was different somehow too, like it had been mirrored, and the darkness wasn't coming from within but instead hanging just over the surface. A low growl rumbled in Malfoy's throat and he dug his hands deeper into Harry's wrists. "How did you see?"

Harry blinked. "I—I don't know."

"You think I'm an idiot? Tell me how you saw!"

"I swear, I don't know! I touched you and—I just saw it somehow!"

Malfoy's expression flashed into a snarl and all of a sudden Harry was thrown off the bed and to the floor, toppling in a tangle of limbs. His world spun as Malfoy's fist connected with his jaw. Yet it wasn't nearly the hardest Malfoy had ever hit him—he could tell that the Slytherin had held back. Harry scrambled, attempting to grab Malfoy's flying arms. A sound kick to Malfoy's stomach left him gasping and, realizing his chance, Harry grabbed him and rolled, pinning him neatly to the hard floor.

"Stop it, Malfoy! Stop!" Harry thundered, silently thanking Merlin that he had maintained his habit of keeping silencing charms on his room while he slept. "I don't know how I saw! I didn't mean to see anything!"

Malfoy didn't even bother to struggle, but Harry could tell he was beyond livid. His neck was tense from his tightly clenched jaw, and his nose and cheeks were inflamed with a heady red. He stared up at Harry with a familiar untamed fury, and yet, there was pain there too, chained and carefully masked by the anger, but Harry saw it nevertheless.

"So I suppose you're just going to have a good laugh about it, aren't you."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Bet you think I got what was coming to me." His voice was a touch too sharp.

"Malfoy…I would never—"

"Don't lie to me!" Malfoy's breath hitched, and there was something cracking just beneath the surface of his steel gaze.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered ardently. "Did Voldemort…did he…" his words were lost.

Malfoy looked up at him through narrowed pained eyes. "Did he what, Potter? Did he fuck me? Is that what you want to ask?"

Harry swallowed against the dry lump in his throat.

"Come on. Ask."

"Did he?" He didn't want to say it. He couldn't even think about it.

"Did he what?" Malfoy baited, his grey eyes sharp. "I want to hear you say it."

Why? Why did he want to hear it? Harry pressed his eyes shut, telling himself that he didn't really want to know…because he didn't know what it would mean. But it was too late now. He needed to hear the answer, even though, deep down he already knew what that answer would be.

"Did he…fuck you?" An undeniable shudder took hold of Harry's body, but he didn't look away. Malfoy's gaze held him, hard and unforgiving.

Malfoy almost smiled, like he had won some small victory he had wanted. "Yes."

Harry's chest felt heavy, as if it were collapsing in on his lungs. "And was that…the only time?"

They sat in suspended silence, and something in Malfoy's expression changed ever so slightly. "No."

A hard stone dropped in Harry's stomach.

"Did he hurt you?"

Malfoy's hands curled into Harry's wrists, his nails scratching at the flesh beneath. "What is this, a therapy session? Let me up."

He had me tortured, Malfoy had said. He did other things to me too. Things that would make you sick…

Harry reluctantly eased his grip and allowed Malfoy to slide out from under him. There was a feeling welling up inside him that he couldn't describe. It was as if he was being split by two poles. Had it been anyone else sitting in front of him now, the emotions now scorching his veins would've been understandable. But this was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had made his life miserable at every turn. The boy who…who had spent an entire year with Voldemort since they'd last seen each other.

Something struck Harry then—something that he hadn't allowed himself to think about until now. He remembered the last time he had seen Malfoy at Malfoy Manor; hard hands pinning him down and screaming at Malfoy to identify him. It had seemed so insignificant at the time, but now… "That day at Malfoy Manor," Harry said slowly. "You knew it was me, didn't you. They wanted you to identify me, and you wouldn't."

Malfoy looked at him, his expression carefully blank. "Wouldn't is bit strong of a word. Your face was swollen up like a balloon after all."

"But you did know it was me."

One corner of Malfoy's lips pushed in, like he was rolling something around in his mouth. "I had an idea."

Harry let out a heavy breath as the realization hit him head on. His throat felt tight and constraining. "It was big risk, not identifying me when you knew."

"What can I say, Potter, I live on the edge," Malfoy replied with a sardonic sneer.

"Which means that you don't really owe me your life, since you've already saved mine."

For a moment, neither of them breathed. Malfoy scraped one of his nails against the floorboards and rolled his bottom lip beneath his teeth. "I'm not entirely sure what your point is, or how it has anything to do with you invading my head."

To be honest, Harry wasn't sure either. But this thought had gripped him tight now, and it wasn't letting go. "On the train, you said you were making me that offer because I'd saved your life."

"So?"

"So, you lied."

Malfoy looked like he'd just been struck. "What does it matter why I made the offer? You've been quite clear about your answer."

"It matters," Harry said.

"I'm not some moonstruck fan of yours, Potter. I'm not going to grovel for your approval. What I said on the train about wanting to start over was true—the why doesn't make a difference."

Harry huffed, scowling to himself. He could still feel remnants of Malfoy's dream jittering across his skin, darkening his thoughts. "Fine then, how about we just…talk?"

"Talk?" Malfoy's mouth twitched.

"Yes. It's that thing where I say some words and you listen, and then you say some words and I listen."

Malfoy very nearly smiled. "That has be the worst definition I've ever heard."

"Hey, I'm trying to extend an olive branch here. Do you want to take it or not?"

"And here I was beginning to think that never the twain shall meet."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Fine, yes," Malfoy simpered, running his hand along his neck on the exact spot Harry had seen McNair's bite mark. The memory made Harry's stomach roll. "We'll talk."