"Here."

Draco looked at the cup in front of him and shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Drink it." Ellen said, prodding him gently. Draco wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic, still not bringing it to his lips. The liquid swirled in his unsteady grip and spilled generously down one side. He could feel the wet heat on his skin, uncomfortable in that negligible way that small things always seemed to be when you had bigger fish to fry.

"So… Magic, uh?" She repeated, for what was maybe the twentieth time. There wasn't much else to say. "I've always had the feeling there was some odd connection between the two of you."

"Right." He replied dully, an itch scratching his throat that he didn't seem able to clear away. Like it hadn't been three days and a conversation they had had over and over again.

Magic. It all came down to it, at the end of the day.

Magic was Draco's entire essence and he had never had to explain it before. It just was, like the colour of the sky on a stormy day or the taste of sugar on the tongue. Magic born with and inside him. His birthright.

And Harry's, even if he had forgotten.

It was morning, when Draco had finally stopped watching him shake and thrash in sleep, his own lids drooping dangerously close to shut. Around 3 am Harry had woken again, gaze glassy and feverish upon Draco's features as he had tried weakly to get them in focus. It had hurt, to hear him calling out for a name that had never been Draco's and then stop, confused, before his eyes had rolled upwards and he was gone again. Draco had seen it then, in that split second of consciousness, Harry's dawning realisation that the Dean he had been asking for was nothing but a lie.

And that was when the magic had started. Draco had barely managed to cast a protego as the bedside lamp soared towards him, crashing against his shield and falling to the floor, bulb shattering and all. Harry had twitched at the noise, head shaking as if trying to get rid of an invisible bug nagging him. Draco had felt helpless and a little frustrated, the next object catching him by surprise and hitting him square on the face. He hadn't bothered healing the bruise under his left eye, now fading to a sickly yellow. It wasn't like Harry could see it, anyway. Three days on and he hadn't given any more signs of waking.

Draco's frustration was turning into fear. Harry's lips were starting to crack and his breathing, agitated and frantic for the first two days, had slowed and calmed so much that Draco had had to rest his ear on the other boy's chest more than once, just to reassure himself with the steady beat of Harry's heart.

He wasn't sure what had made him do it, talking about magic with the same people he had always believed unworthy of sharing such knowledge. Perhaps the kindness they had shown him during the month he had spent in their world, where everything felt so alien and new to him. Probably the concern he had clearly seen written across their faces when Harry didn't show up for work and Draco had to answer the phone in his stead, his voice breaking. Scott and Ellen had made it to the flat within minutes.

Maybe he had had no choice, seeing as his belongings were floating across the room a mere hour before and there was no telling when the next burst of accidental magic would come.

Most likely, a combination of all three.

Deep down, though, Draco knew it was the aching sense of loneliness he had come to know so well in the last year, what truly prompted his confession. He just couldn't keep everything in anymore.

He just couldn't.

He had expected fear, maybe even repulsion. Incredulity, at least. And that was, indeed, their first reaction. It had been easily fixed, just one flick of his wand and flowers had bloomed from every single plant in the living room. A second flick and all the cushions from the sofa had raised about 3 feet in the air and floated placidly around them. He had gotten pretty good at non verbal spells and, to a Muggle, those simple, first year charms must have looked impressive.

And they had. At the signs of awe in their eyes, spilling the truth had come easy enough. Or, at least, the partial truth, because some things he could not say, not even to them. Or, perhaps, especially to them.

So he began telling them about Harry, about the other boy's own magic and history. How he had forgotten, after what Draco made sound like was an accident. How they used to know each other at school and, now that Draco had finally found him, he had done everything he could to help Harry remember. How Harry's abusive relatives were real, but such were also so many people that missed him and needed him back. How Harry had seen Draco doing magic the night before and his memories had suddenly resurfaced, overwhelming him. And, finally, how he had fallen unconscious and Draco was starting to get worried.

All that, had come easy.

The little lies he had woven in between, those were the moments his voice had wavered. Struggled, stilted. His relationship with Harry and why he cared, for all the right reasons a true friend would. Why Harry had forgotten and why it was the right thing for him to go back, or at least to have the choice. Why Draco himself had been the one tasked with bringing him home.

A huge house of cards that Draco was praying would not collapse, once Harry had woken. Because he had to wake up, sooner or later. Sleeping Beauty, Draco would greet him then, maybe his last chance at friendly teasing.

One thing he was certain of was what reaction to expect when Harry would finally recognise him.

He wasn't an idiot and, as incredibly forgiving Lupin had said Harry could be, Draco was well aware that their last interaction had ended with a broken nose. The most recent memories of Draco Harry had were the ones from their fifth year, during Umbridge's reign of terror. The same year that had left Harry with scars so vicious even the Muggles had recognised them as an extremely sick form of punishment, without even knowing the full extent of it. Scars Draco had even laughed at, once upon a time, as a power hungry member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Scars that, now, made him so nauseated he could barely look at the other boy's hand without recoiling, in guilt and disgust.

This change, this fundamental change in who he was, Harry had not seen happening.

Draco knew their shared past didn't exactly paint him in a flattering light, so much so that he would be lucky if Harry's awakening didn't culminate in another broken nose, this time his own. Still, he couldn't help wishing for the other boy to just hurry and open his eyes, no matter the consequences.

"Don't go in there without me." He said, somewhat apathetic, watching Ellen looking longingly at the bedroom door. "He can't help what his magic does." He had been guarding the room like a dog for what felt like weeks, only allowing them inside to check on Harry quickly from behind his shields. Seeing the thin blanket hovering several inches above Harry's sleeping form during one of these visits, though, had been the final proof they had needed to fully accept his words. All in all their reactions had been far more positive than Draco had expected. But, three days in and they, too, were getting increasingly worried.

"He might need a hospital soon, Draco." She pressed tentatively, not for the first time either.

"He is getting dehydrated, slower than expected but we can't risk it much longer."

"I know." Draco sighed. "But we can't explain it, what his magic is doing. It's too unpredictable and in a Mug- non magical I mean, hospital he is going to raise an alarm. People can't know, not so many at least." Words might reach the wrong ears, he added mentally.

"A magical one, then?" Ellen suggested, her voice firmer, urgency clear in her tone. "There must be one close by, you said people like you have communities all around the world."

Draco knew they could not risk Harry being recognised by other wizards, even so far from England as they were. Not before everything was ready, not when the information could be passed to the wrong people. He wanted to say no, resolutely no, but Harry was looking so pale when he had last checked. "Yeah, maybe. I will look for one. If he is not awake by tonight it might be our only option."

He needed to write Lupin again. His former professor had reassured him it would be normal for Harry to sleep a while, his memories needing all his energy to heal and restore. But, even so, it was taking far too long. Draco had been tempted to pour some water into the other boy's mouth but, with no reflexes, Harry wouldn't have been able to swallow and risked choking. Draco's medical training was basic at best and, although Ellen had offered her Muggle knowledge, they lacked the tools to properly take care of someone unresponsive.

Merlin. Fucking. Damn it.

"Go home." He told Ellen, tiredly. She didn't look any less exhausted than he was feeling. "I will call if anything changes. Get some rest. Alberta will get here in less than an hour and, then, I'll go out to check the area and see what I can find."

He peered inside the room, feeling her presence just behind him. The flickering lightbulb was the only sign that Harry was still alive, but even that seemed to be weakening. As Ellen sobbed loudly, it flashed one last time before going off completely. Draco glanced at Harry but, to his surprise, the other boy's cheeks had gained a little colour and his chest was moving slowly, but steadily.

"You should take a nap." She said, after noticing Harry's livelier complexion. "He looks better and there is no need to exhaust yourself while you are waiting. Allie has the keys, she'll let herself in."

Draco grunted, in neither acceptance nor refusal. With one last, gentle pat on his arm, she left, closing the door silently behind her.

"You weren't bullshitting." Allie told him, a while later. She had found him gnawing on his fingernails, telly left on static and buzzing in the background. Her intelligent brown eyes reached places inside of him that he wanted so badly to keep hidden. "About your father and that… that Dark Lord you talked about."

"No." Draco said, staring resolutely at his own bare feet with the same intensity Allie had focused on his bare soul. "I really wasn't."

"And what does Eva- I mean, Harry- have to do with it?" She didn't sound accusing, exactly, but Draco thought he could read it in between the lines.

"Everything." He replied, words falling from his lips with a vulnerability he knew his eyes were already betraying. She let out a breath and he turned away, shielding. It was easier to talk, facing the wall.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, still looking down to where his toes were digging into the carpet. His hand clenched. Once, twice. Three spasms. Where had he left his wand? His magic itched to be released. Against what, he wasn't sure, but something had to give. He wondered if Harry would miss his potted plants, if he were to blast a couple.

"For what, exactly?" Allie said. It wasn't a question, really, there wasn't blame veiled in her words. She, too, sounded sorry. He wasn't sure which one he preferred, anger or pity.

He guessed what she was about to do before her hand even reached his arm in an attempt to comfort him, and he shrugged her off. She was always too good at reading him and he had never liked to be an open book.

"Is Harry a… powerful wizard?" She asked, tentatively, and damn she really was good. "Is he, ehm, in some way… important against this… this man?"

He almost laughed at that. The only wizard powerful enough to face the Dark Lord had been Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was. He was…

"He is 17." He said, and she flinched. They hadn't talked about that yet, not that it mattered anyway. They were all kids, at the end of the day, but it made it sound more urgent that Harry's birth year had been changed. As if there had been no time for him to turn of age before leaving. Draco had told them that, with his memory loss, people that loved Harry thought it better for him to start afresh, somewhere new and far from the chaos. If he couldn't remember his magic, sending him away was the safest option. Only too late did they realise how wrong they were, how much they missed him. That Harry deserved to know who he was.

"Don't tell him I've said it," He tried to joke, his voice falling flat. "But he is good. Not extraordinarily talented, no, but he can hold his own. He used to be a bit of a reckless fool, mind you, but hopefully your lovely seaside breeze has cooled him down." He swallowed, aware that he could not tell her the whole truth. So, he opted for the parts he didn't have to hide. "He, the Dark Lord I mean… he is the one responsible for the Potter's death. Harry's parents. His life truly has been as miserable as he remembers, he just forgot the bits about magic. He was 11 when he found out he was a wizard, having lived with Muggles, and we… We think the accident erased the last few years of his life and his mind filled in the gaps with false memories."

He turned to face her and couldn't help cringing, knowing how far-fetched it all sounded. Surprisingly, she merely nodded, looking aghast but with no traces of suspicion in her wide eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't born with it that made it so easy for her to believe it. For Draco, though, magic was such an integral part of himself that it was ridiculous to even think a wizard or a witch could forget it without unbalancing their whole identity. Unless it was the specific target of a powerful spell, as it was in Harry's case, but she didn't need to know about Lupin or the motivations behind what he did.

Taking a long breath, he continued, sure that she trusted him fully. "It wasn't really fair for him not to know, after all of that. Sure, he was happy here, he had a good life, we knew that. But this… man killed his parents, he… he had the right to know. He would have wanted to know."

"Yeah." She agreed, still nodding. "Yeah."

She chewed on her lip and Draco had the impression she was struggling whether to say something or not. He could see the exact moment she made up her mind because she locked eyes with him and asked, her face determined, "Did you love him before?

Draco spluttered. "Wha- No! What?"

She stared.

"No. I really didn't. I don't love him now. I mean, I didn't then."

"Okay." Allie said, cracking a tiny smile.

He glared. "To be perfectly honest, we weren't exactly friends. I don't know how he is going to react when… to… you know. It wouldn't have been me coming here, if we had others to spare. If you get what I mean…" He trailed off.

"You are friends now." She observed, like it was really that easy. "Or more, if we are to believe Scott."

"That- that rat!" Draco hissed, sulkily. "Well, that hardly matters, doesn't it? I knew perfectly well who he was and what I was getting into, but does it count if he believed I was someone else all along? He - he did all that with a guy named Dean, not with me."

"Kissing, Draco. You kissed. Actually, he kissed you, so you technically didn't take advantage of anything. Why did you change your name, by the way?"

"Draco is hardly a Muggle name, is it?" He replied, parroting Lupin's words.

She seemed to ponder on this. "Well, you'd be surprised what people actually name their kids. Is Draco really so different from Dean?"

For a moment, he didn't really understand what she was asking. He was ready to defend the regality of his given name when the true meaning behind her words hit him. "Dean was me, I wasn't acting. But I have changed, yes. A great deal."

"And do you think Ev-Harry might as well? That you are not the only one who has changed? That, maybe, whatever reasons he had not to like you have gone?"

"Who said he was the one not liking me?" He said in annoyance. She gave him the look.

"I've certainly found out things about him that I wouldn't have otherwise. It has helped me understand him better. I can only hope he has done the same." If he was lucky, Harry would be able to see beyond their past to the moments they had shared in the last month and what they had led to. The potential, what they could have been, given different circumstances. At least enough to listen to Draco's side of the story, his journey from the boy Harry had known to the young man he now was.

Silence fell, both lost to their own thoughts. So, when she finally spoke, Draco was startled out of pretty fleshed-out mental drafting of what exactly he wanted to tell Lupin in his letter, given that he had not already been killed by Weasley and his stupid temper. The last time they had spoken, his former professor had confessed the Ginger menace had not taken it kindly to his scheming.

"Promise me," She said, in a voice that left no room for disagreement. "that, if he decides to go back with you to whatever it's happening over there… Promise me that you will never leave his side."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes but immediately giving his back to hide the fact he was struggling to swallow the knot in his throat that made it so difficult to breathe. Regardless, he thought she understood the yes he could not say.

"He is awake." Allie greeted him, a couple of hours later, as soon as he had stepped inside the flat. She looked happy and relieved, but there was no time for questions. He pushed past her and opened the door to his room, almost slamming it against the opposite wall.

The bed was empty.

Draco spun around wildly, hundreds of different scenarios, all picturing Harry leaving before he had to confront him, pervading his mind. Allie laughed and he noticed, with embarrassment, that there was a third person leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, a white towel around his shoulders and a toothbrush still dangling from his mouth.

Draco scolded his own features to look calm and collected, his mouth fighting a sneer almost as a reflex.

Harry stared back in puzzlement, wet hair dripping onto the lenses of his glasses. His mouth hung open unattractively, toothpaste foam dribbling slowly down his chin. Only when his toothbrush fell from his lips he seemed to realise he had frozen. Catching it in mid hair in a move that made Draco scowl, he gave his former nemesis a final, disbelieving look before retreating into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

"Well." Allie announced loudly. "I am leaving!"

And, before Draco could do anything to stop her, she winked at him and left.

Draco had paced around the lounge for what felt way longer than five minutes when a voice from behind him piped up. "So, you were not homeschooled after all."

Fucking. Damn it.

Resigning to the fact that, whichever way it went, this was gonna end up in some sort of embarrassment for himself, Draco turned.

"Malfoy." Harry greeted, tipping his invisible hat. He was wearing clothes, Merlin blessed.

"Po- Harry." Draco gritted through clenched teeth. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly on the defensive, but there was something about the way Harry was looking at him that brought him right back to their Hogwarts days. He knew he shouldn't revert to his past self, but gone was the friendliness and curiosity from Evan James' gaze, leaving behind the familiar distrust Harry Potter had always regarded him with.

Harry's eyes widened slightly at being called by his given name and, to Draco's amazement, his shoulders sagged and he seemed to deflate. Looking younger and lost he said, in a tentative voice. "You told them… you told the Muggles about us."

"Well, yeah. You have been levitating things around the room for days, it would have been a bit difficult to hide." He replied, perplexed as to where Harry was going with this.

"No, I mean. You could have taken me anywhere else. You could have confounded them… Obliviated them. It's not like…" He trailed off awkwardly, an unsure frown upon his lips.

It's not like you would care, Draco understood anyway. Harry had a point but he didn't feel like he had the patience for it right then.

"Listen, Potter. They are your friends, Merlin knows why because you are insuffer-" He stopped midword at Harry's unimpressed look and, to his dismay, felt his cheeks growing warm. "Okay, I know why they- It doesn't matter. They were worried about you and I- I feel like you are asking the wrong questions here!"

"What do you mean?" Harry said, his uncertain little pout dragging Draco's attention back to his mouth.

Ugh!

"I don't fucking know Potter. Let me think…" He yelled, making them both jump. Because he was feeling extremely petty he started counting off his fingers. "Why am I here? Why are you here? Why me? What happened in the last year? You know, questions a normal person would be curious about."

"I was!" Harry yelled back. "I was going to ask all of that, but then you walked in and you looked… concerned and… the last thing I remembered of you from… from before was on the train and then Lupin and then I was here, living someone else's life. And we kissed, Goddamn it Malfoy! I kissed you and you kissed me back. I slept with my head in your lap. How did we come to this? Because, whatever your secret agenda might be, people don't kiss other people for evil purposes."

Oh, they were going to acknowledge what had happened then. Draco should have known that the Gryffindor in Potter wouldn't be able to leave the whole matter alone. "They might." He said, without much conviction. Nevertheless, it was imperative that he somehow contradicted the other boy.

Harry stared, mouth agape. "Seriously? Is this how it's going to be?"

Draco mumbled something intelligible that was meant to be a no, and Harry sighed. "Listen, Malfoy. I want to know what happened. But, first of all, I want to know what happened to you!"

He came closer and for a moment Draco was wildly hopeful that he was going to grab his hand. Feeling like a dunce, he aborted whatever motion his body had instinctively started towards the other boy, settling for scratching the nape of his neck instead. His skin felt warm and flushed and, Draco was sure, it looked red.

"Your hair!" Harry observed, and Draco met his eyes for the first time. He was really close now.

"W-what?" He stammered, trying to catch his reflection to see if there was something wrong with his hair. Harry looked amused, the prat.

"Nothing. It's different."

"Yeah, well, I have cut it myself." He said, more defensively that he had intended.

"Yeah, I can tell." Harry replied, and he was clearly smiling now.

"Thanks." He said, sarcastically, unsure of what Harry was hinting at. "It has been like this for months, by the way."

"Yeah." Harry agreed again. "I meant it's different from before." He made sure to put enough emphasis on the last words, like Draco was dim or something.

"Oh."

"It makes you look less like a ponce."

"Ha. Ha. Well, whatever. You ask the weirdest questions. Merlin!" Harry snorted and Draco really hated the idiot.

"Do sit down, Potter." He ordered, feeling flustered and stupid. "And I'll tell you all about my downfall and why I had to resort to cutting my own hair. It's a funny story, really, so you might want to grab some tea and a snack. You haven't eaten in days. Actually, let me-". And, with one last look at the boy he had just snogged mere days before, he retreated to the kitchen. Safely behind the closed door, he sagged against it, breathing heavily and thinking how much easier it had been when he was pretending to be Dean Mallory.

Never before in his life he had wished to be someone else as much as he was at that very minute.

Somewhere in the flat Harry sat, waiting for a boy Draco was no longer sure would ever be the right one.