A/N: Did I say April 1st? Surprise then!

Honestly I've been sitting on the chapter for WEEKS and we've written the next few chapters but I'm kinda stuck, so the loml, my beta suggested I post Chapter 8, because for some reason anytime I post it just gives me a boost of inspiration idk...

Anyway, here it is. I'll still post on April 1st though

Act II, Chapter 8

..

Draco woke with a sharp inhale, his mind snapping to awareness before his body could catch up. The room was dim, the scent of stale air and the lingering potion clinging to the back of his throat. His muscles were stiff, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he wasn't sure if he was still in the manor's cellar, the screams still echoing—

A faint vibration jolted him further awake.

His breath hitched, pulse spiking. His head darted up, eyes wild, scanning the dim flat for danger.

'What was that?'

He reached for his wand, instincts screaming, before logic caught up to him. The mirror.

His pulse slowed, but only slightly.

Tension still coiled in his gut as he reached for his satchel, fingers curling around the cool surface of the mirror. It seemed Harry had already taken the choice from him and called him.

Draco swallowed, exhaled, and turned it over.

The moment Harry's face appeared, laughter burst from the mirror.

Draco blinked. What?

Harry was giggling—shoulders shaking, green eyes alight with amusement.

"What?" Draco murmured, voice still low and rough with sleep.

Harry's laughter stuttered, caught on something. His face was already flushed from laughing, but the color deepened, creeping up his neck.

"Oh, you've got—" he started, then choked.

Draco frowned slightly, not missing the shift—that fraction of a second where Harry looked at him like he used to.

"What?" he asked again, softer this time.

Harry broke eye contact. He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Uh." He gestured vaguely to the corner of his own mouth, making a dramatic show of wiping at it.

Draco's frown deepened as he mirrored the motion, fingertips brushing against something—wet.

Sticky.

Drool.

Heat flared up the back of his neck.

Harry smirked. "Bit of a mess, Malfoy."

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, scowling. "Sod off."

Harry grinned wider. "No, no— you can't be embarrassed," he teased, eyes dancing. "I can't count how many times I've seen you drool after a nap, it's kind of cute."

Draco froze.

Harry realized it immediately, his expression flickering—grin faltering, pupils dilating the barest fraction before he scrambled to recover.

"I mean—not cute, but, uh—funny—"

Draco exhaled sharply. Not this. Not now.

"Right," he drawled, rolling his eyes, forcing his shoulders to ease. "If you called just to flirt, Potter, I'm hanging up."

Harry choked. "I wasn't—" He floundered for half a second, then scowled. "You're impossible."

Draco smirked, feeling a bit more like himself.

"I try."

Harry shot him a look but didn't argue, shaking his head. "Anyway. That's not why I called."

Draco arched an unimpressed brow. "Shame. I was just starting to enjoy myself."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face, and Draco—Draco let himself smile.

"Fine," Draco said, stretching lazily. "Say what you have to say."

"Its not that I have something to say, it's just… weren't we supposed to stay in contact? Update each other?"

He smirked "Miss me much?"

"Shut up, I don't know where you find the energy to be such a prick when you look like death warmed over"

Draco scoffed, then stifled a yawn.

Harry's brows furrowed with concern "...Have you been overworking yourself?" he paused, then asked more gently and cautiously "Or is it the nightmares again?"

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly in the strands. The nightmares. That was what Harry thought. Just nightmares. War trauma.

Which—wasn't untrue.

But it wasn't the whole truth either.

The weight behind his ribs wasn't just exhaustion. It was heavier than that, something cloying curling at the edges of his mind. The aftertaste of the potion still clung to his tongue, bitter and thick, but it had done its job—for now. The silence in his head wasn't peace; it was waiting.

He swallowed.

"I'm fine," he said, smoothing the words over as casually as he could.

Harry's expression didn't change.

Draco knew that look.

"I am," he insisted, shifting slightly under the scrutiny. His skin felt too tight, his breath just a little too short. He needed a distraction. Something else to focus on. Something to ground him.

But his mind—traitorous thing that it was—latched onto the one thing he'd been trying not to think about.

The ritual.

It hadn't hit him immediately.

Not when he first designed it, meticulously crafting each step, ensuring every variable was accounted for. Not when he and Harry stood within the circle, waiting for the pull of time to rip them apart and thread them back together in another century. Not even in the aftermath, when he was too preoccupied with surviving, with ensuring the magic had done its job.

But just then, something clicked.

The ritual he had used to imbue them, to stabilize them, to protect them as they wove themselves into time—

It was the same one.

Or rather, a modification of it.

His stomach twisted. How hadn't he realized it before?

The same ritual he had created years ago, back when he was young and desperate and thought he could cut away all the pieces of himself he didn't want. The one that had left him split, fractured in ways that could never be undone.

His fingers twitched against the mirror frame.

It had been a mistake, of course. An irreversible one. The potion, bottled neatly in a small purple vial—the one he took religiously, the only thing keeping him steady, contained, separate—was only a temporary fix. A cage, not a cure. He could still feel it. A flicker of something, an itch beneath his skin, a whisper at the edge of his thoughts. The same whisper that had consumed his nights.

And now—now those damned runes were inscribed under Harry's skin.

A cold weight settled in his chest.

He had altered the ritual, of course. Tweaked the incantations, adjusted the properties, made it safer—built on it so it could do what he needed, to ensure their survival out of their time.

But earlier today, as he pointed Elias' wand at him… as he cast that first curse…

He'd felt it.

That pressing, crawling presence beneath his skin.

The Other.

He didn't name it. Naming it would be claiming it.

His grip on the mirror tightened.

If the original ritual had left its mark on him, if it had warped something fundamental, something that could never be undone—what if it had already begun its work on Harry? What if it was too late?

His grip tightened.

The thought was intolerable. It couldn't be too late. He'd made sure of it. He had been so careful.

Hadn't he?

What if he hadn't been able to purge it of the unsavory elements that left him like this? What if he miscalculated? What if—

Draco forced himself to breathe, schooling his features, willing his shoulders to relax.

Harry was still watching him, head tilted slightly, brows drawn in concern.

Draco swallowed. Carefully, deliberately, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm.

"Well," he drawled, voice light, unconcerned. "What about you, then?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Hogwarts was one of your triggers," Draco went on. "Any flashbacks, panic attacks… strange dreams?"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing worth mentioning."

Draco's pulse didn't ease.

"Headaches?" he asked, tilting his head. "Odd sensations? Any—" he paused, "—lingering thoughts that don't sound like your own?"

Harry frowned slightly, considering. Then he shook his head. "No, Draco. Just the usual. No, actually—there is something."

Draco stilled. "Go on."

"When I'm Rigel, I can still think like me, remember things from my life, as opposed to the period of blankness when I'm not in control—like earlier."

Draco's fingers curled slightly against his palm, but he relaxed, relieved it hadn't to do with his…condition. "So it's getting easier to switch between the two?"

Harry shook his head. "Not easier. It's just—weird." His fingers drummed idly against the table. "It used to be a clean break. Either I was me, or I was him. But now… sometimes, when Rigel's been at the front too long, I'll be able to squeeze through. It hurts though, its also bloody confusing"

Draco hummed, noncommittal. His grip on the mirror didn't loosen. "That's not new is it?"

"Huh?"

Draco smirked. "I mean, most things tend to confuse you."

Harry huffed, unimpressed. He gave him a dry look but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "I'll let that slide because I know something's up with you."

Draco raised a brow, feigning disinterest. "Yeah? How'd you figure?"

"You've got that look about you." Harry tapped a finger against the glass, his expression turning serious. "Like you did before we started seeing Healer Gordon. Are you sure nothing happened? Remember, she said—"

"I've heard enough from her, thanks." Draco's tone sharpened, cutting clean through Harry's concern.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply as if biting back a retort. "Fine," he muttered, exasperated. "I'll drop it. For now." He leaned back slightly, watching Draco carefully. "How was your mission?"

Draco's expression shuttered. "I completed it." The words were clipped and precise. "I'm fairly sure I got promoted. And unless I'm assigned something new, I'll be in Britain soon—after I wrap up some loose ends here."

"Okay… well, regarding the mission, things on my side are nothing to write home about."

Draco snorted. "I don't believe that for a second. What did Riddle do when he—"

He stopped himself, frowning slightly. His own words rang strangely in his ears.

'When he what?'

Something was scratching at the edges of his mind. The Diale breaking. Harry's pain. The way the Other had resurfaced after weeks of quiet.

Harry tilted his head. "When he what?" he echoed.

Draco hesitated. His fingers tapped against the mirror frame. "I don't know."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

Draco frowned. The thought was there—right there—until something reached in and took it. Like a hand closing around a candle flame. Gone. A pressure pressed against his temple, as light at a further but with an absolute manner all the same. It didn't feel like he forget, rather like something deliberately unwrote his thought.

Draco exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "I mean, I had a thought, and then it disappeared. Like it—" He clicked his fingers once, irritated. "Like it was snatched from my hands."

Harry frowned. "That's… not normal."

Draco huffed. "No, Potter, it's not. But none of this is normal, is it?"

A beat.

Harry's lips pressed together, thoughtful. "You think it has something to do with the anomaly you mentioned the last time?"

"I know it does," Draco muttered. "The Diale broke, that wasn't just a magical object failing, that was a warning. I can tell."

Harry nodded slowly, looking down, his brows drawn in concentration. "But what caused it?"

Draco inhaled sharply. He didn't have an answer. But his instincts, the ones he had learned to trust over the years, were circling something. And yet it remained elusive as if something was preventing him from seeing it.

He exhaled through his nose, irritated. "I just want this done."

"Yeah…" Harry hesitated, then glanced back up at him. "Thank you, by the way. For helping me with this."

Draco stilled.

Harry's voice was softer now, quieter. "I know you didn't have to."

Draco swallowed. Something about the way he said it—the honesty of it, the weight—made his chest feel tight.

He scoffed, aiming for lightness. "Obviously. I could've let you figure it out on your own, but you'd probably end up rubbishing all I know to be true and possible. Honestly, how many times can one man almost die, actually die, come back to life, and find out he's the Master of Death?"

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't remind me"

Draco smirked, but as the laughter faded, the weight of everything settled back in. Something was wrong. Harry didn't feel it yet—didn't know what Draco had done, what could still be happening beneath his skin.

Draco wasn't sure, either.

But something was happening.

And he had a feeling it wouldn't stay quiet for long.

.

A/N: Howasthat? worth the wait? Hopefully things would start to make more sense in Act III / IV, Chekhov's gun and all that.

As always let me know what you think, I appreciate all the views, favorites and follows!

See you April 1st