Chapter Text
Harry was warm.
So, so warm; wrapped in it, weighed down and comfortable. He sighed contentedly, sinking further into his bed, nuzzling his face into the covers. His sheets smelled so good. Citrusy and woody and fresh, like flying through an orchard. He couldn't recall them ever smelling this good before, and he vaguely wondered if the Hogwarts Elves had switched up the soap or whatever they used to wash the bedding, but he was too sleepy to care, already beginning to drift back off.
He was roused again, however, when something firm rumbled against his back, pressing closer to him. The blankets were wrapped around him like a hug, constricting his movements and shifting slightly against his back.
Harry frowned, confused. He wiggled, trying to untangle his arms, but the blankets seemed to tighten even more around him, making a discontented noise against the back of his neck.
What the fuck? Blankets didn't make noise like that. They rustled, maybe, but they certainly didn't groan. Or move on their own.
Harry cracked his eyes open, trying to blink the sleep away and figure out what was holding him down. He felt so heavy. He stiffened, however, when his eyes locked on an expanse of milky, pale skin.
An arm. There was an arm wrapped around him, bent at the elbow and draped over his bicep and bare chest, the large hand that was attached resting under his chin.
What the fuck?! Why was there an arm in his bed? He turned his head a bit, eyes struggling to focus without his glasses, but one thing he could definitely see was green. His duvet was green, not red. Why were his blankets green? They had definitely never been green before.
And who was touching him?
He was still trying to shake the sleep fog from his brain, and he tried to free himself, squirming with renewed vigor, until the object- no, person; there was, without a doubt, a whole person behind him- tightened their grip on him even more.
He froze when the large hand began smoothing its way down his chest, his very naked chest, rubbing soothing circles there before sliding over his shoulder and into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.
Harry shivered, panic the only thing preventing his body from reacting to the delicious touch.
"Go back to sleep, it's Saturday," a deep voice rumbled out behind him, lips brushing the skin of his shoulder. He felt goosebumps erupt along his skin as those lips began pressing slow, sleepy kisses to the back of his neck, covering his entire upper body and making his nipples tighten up. "Unless you'd rather give me a good reason to wake up at the arse-crack of dawn, that is."
That voice.
He recognized that voice.
No.
Harry made a strangled sound, finally managing to snap out of his confused, half-asleep haze and jolted away from those lips, turning over to see who the hell was behind him, needing visual proof of what he feared.
Harry nearly choked when his eyes landed on the white blonde hair splayed over his pillow, his pillow that was also inexplicably now a deep green instead of red. Tired, silver eyes glinted up at him, obnoxious smirk painted on his face, the pale skin of his annoyingly fit, matching bare chest proof that nothing other than his worst nightmare could have led to this moment.
"Malfoy?!"
Oh no.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no. What had he done?!
Draco Malfoy was in his bed.
How did this happen? Did he get blackout drunk last night and forget? He didn't even remember going to supper! The last thing he remembered was sitting in class, listening to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor drone on about some stupid spell they were supposed to be learning. He hadn't really been paying attention, but he definitely didn't remember leaving class.
Malfoy's lips quirked up, amusement lighting up his silver eyes.
"Playing that game, are we?"
He didn't look surprised to see Harry in the least, he looked comfortable, like he was supposed to be here, like waking up to a half-naked Harry Potter wasn't an earth shattering, revolting revelation.
Harry gaped at him, stunned. "What game? What are you doing in my bed?!"
Malfoy laughed at that, actually laughed. "This is my bed, you knob."
"What?!"
That would explain the green, but it didn't explain how Harry had apparently ended up in the Slytherin Dungeons, in Malfoy's bed, with no memory of how he'd gotten there.
He'd been enchanted. Cursed. Doused with some kind of memory-erasing Love Potion. That was the only explanation for it.
"Did all the green not give it away?" Malfoy asked amusedly, looking inexplicably... fond?
It was unnerving, seeing him like this, looking at Harry like he didn't hate him... not only like he didn't hate him, but like he actually liked him. His face was sleep soft and relaxed, a lazy smile stretching his lips, hair splayed around his head like a bloody halo. He looked pretty, and Harry hated himself for thinking that for even a moment.
"What are you doing? It’s early; come here."
Malfoy reached out for Harry, presumably to pull him back in, and Harry freaked out. He scrambled backwards away from that hand, legs tangling in the blankets that were apparently not his.
He yelped as he fell out of the bed, landing hard on his arse. He looked down in a panic, a furious blush working its way up his neck, but was relieved to see that he at least had pants on; black and tight and leaving... well, not much at all to the imagination. What the fuck.
"What the hell, are you alright?" Malfoy asked, sitting up to stare at him worriedly now, and it was more than he could bear. Harry scrambled to his knees, backing further away from the bed, eyes darting around wildly for his clothes as he tried to curl in on his exposed body.
"What the fuck is going on?" Harry finally demanded loudly.
"Shut up, Harry," someone across the room groaned out, and Harry managed to tear his eyes away from Malfoy's bewildered face to see who the hell from Slytherin was talking to him and calling him Harry.
Zabini and Nott were both glaring at him, Nott leaning up on one elbow, a mildly annoyed expression on his face. "It's arse o'clock in the morning. Go back to sleep or shut up; I don't want to hear your weird sexual role-playing bullshit."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Fuck you, Nott," he snapped angrily. He had to get out of here. Where were his clothes?!
Nott reared back, looking offended, and Zabini was sitting up in his bed now, looking flabbergasted.
"Hey, seriously, are you alright?" Malfoy asked, moving to stand up now and looking actually, genuinely concerned. He seemed to not care at all about his state of undress, too focused on Harry. "Did you have another nightmare?"
How the hell did Malfoy know he had nightmares? He didn't have a chance to respond before Malfoy was back in his space, far too tall and encompassing, one big hand cupping Harry's face while the other brushed his hair aside so it was out of his face, and he did it tenderly, like Harry was fragile, precious.
Harry was too stunned to move, and he just stared at Malfoy, who was ducking down to study Harry's face in concern. "You look terrible. I'm so sorry, I didn't even hear you last night. Was it a bad one?"
Harry made an aborted noise, finally pulling his face out of Malfoy's grasp. "Would you stop touching me like that?" he snapped.
Malfoy frowned, hands dropping helplessly to his sides as something that looked a lot like hurt flashed through his big, grey eyes. He didn't even try to hide it, that infuriating Malfoy mask he always wore nowhere in sight. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help. Why are you being so..."
Malfoy let the sentence hang there, dragging a hand through his hair, looking upset, while Harry fish-mouthed at him, guilt stabbing him in the chest for some unfathomable reason.
Why did he feel guilty? He hadn't done anything wrong!
"You're being an arsehole, mate," Zabini spoke up, and Harry whipped around to glare at him in annoyance.
"Fuck off," he gritted out. "I'm not your mate. Will someone please tell me where my clothes are?"
"Maybe you should take your cranky arse back to bed and wake back up on the right side of it," Nott told him, looking indignant. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You're never like this. Someone shit in your pumpkin juice this morning?"
Harry felt like screaming. What was happening? This didn't feel like a one-night stand gone awry. They were all acting like they knew him!
Fuck this.
"What are you doing? Harry-" Malfoy tried, but Harry glared at him and he snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide.
He marched over to what was obviously Malfoy's trunk and flipped it open, rummaging through it until he found a pair of grey joggers and a white t-shirt, holding them up triumphantly. The bastard had hidden his things in his trunk. What a dick!
He pulled them on quickly, but stared down at himself in confusion.
These... were not his. There was no way they were his. They were huge on him, and not in the way Dudley's had always been. These were just long. Really long. Were these Malfoy's clothes? When the fuck did he start wearing muggle clothes?
Malfoy didn't even stop him, just watched him with big, sad eyes as he hunted for his wand next, finding it on the bedside table next to Malfoy's bed.
Christ, leaving here was going to be a nightmare. He just wanted to get back to his dorm and forget this, whatever this was, had ever happened. At least he knew that if they'd fucked, he hadn't bottomed. There was no uncomfortable feeling in his lower regions at all; thank Merlin for small mercies.
Malfoy seemed to spur into action, however, when he turned and stalked towards the door, stumbling a bit over the too long pant legs.
"Harry, wait," Malfoy practically begged, his big hand grasping Harry's wrist, preventing him from going any further. "Please don't leave like this. What's wrong? Did something happen? Did I do something to upset you? Darling, I-"
Harry's brain short circuited.
Darling?
Did Malfoy just call him darling?
That was not something you called a one-night-stand, and certainly not something you called a mistake. Which was exactly what this was; whatever the hell this was. He still didn't know what had happened, but it was a huge bloody mistake.
Harry yanked his hand out of Malfoy's grasp, ignoring the look of pain that sliced across his stupidly pretty face.
"Don't call me that! What is wrong with you? What did you do to me, you sick fuck? Did you give me some sort of Love Potion? Did you spike my drink at supper last night? Why am I here?" he shouted, half hysterical.
Malfoy looked absolutely devastated for one agonizing moment before it shifted to anger, then utter bewilderment before landing on serious concern. Zabini and Nott didn't look angry anymore, either; they looked worried, too, exchanging confused glanced.
"Er..." Zabini said awkwardly.
"Mate-" Nott tried, but Malfoy gave him a sharp look, shaking his head slightly.
"Harry," Malfoy said quietly, taking a careful step towards Harry, hands out in front of him, like Harry was a frightened animal who was going to attack him. "You always come here on Friday nights, remember? Then we go to yours on Saturday? Did you get your days mixed up? Are you- are you feeling alright, sweetheart? You don't look well..."
You always come here.
Sweetheart.
Harry's heart was pounding rapidly, panic clawing at his throat. He couldn't breathe. He needed to leave. He whimpered, then lunged for the door, wand squeezed tightly in his hand.
"Wait! Harry!" Malfoy called after him, moving to block his path, but Harry dodged him, ducking under his outstretched arm, and bolted for the door, yanking it open and tearing through the common room. Thank fuck he remembered being here once before years ago, or he'd have no clue where the exit was.
He ignored the people shouting after him and didn't stop running. He ran until he had a stitch in his side, then ran some more, ran until he was safe in his own common room, his own dormitory, his own bed. His bed that did not smell like an orchard; like Malfoy. Why did he even smell like that? He had no right whatsoever smelling that good.
Harry noted that his dormmates were all there and accounted for, all sleeping in their beds, except Harry, who's bed was clearly unslept in, because he'd apparently spent the night in the Slytherin dorms.
He climbed in, spelling his curtains shut and burrowing under the blankets, trying to will himself back to sleep and out of this nightmare.
It took a long time. His mind wouldn't stop spinning wildly, trying to figure out what had happened. He took a deep breath, trying to quell his panic and confusion and just focus on what exactly had happened this morning.
He'd woken up with Malfoy. Mostly naked, but not entirely naked, so there was that, at least; he didn't think they'd had sex. He didn't smell like sex, and he wasn't achy anywhere.
He didn't think he could live with himself if he lost his virginity to Malfoy of all people. He was saving that, saving it for someone special, not for some fucked up one-night stand he couldn't even remember.
And what the fuck was wrong with Malfoy? He had acted not only like it was normal for Harry to be there, but a common occurrence.
You always come here on Friday nights, and then we go to yours on Saturday.
Malfoy had absolutely never been in Harry's room! Or his bed. Or anywhere near Gryffindor Tower at all. Harry had no idea what he was talking about. Why couldn't he remember anything?
Was this some kind of trick? Had he cast the Imperius Curse or something on Harry to get him down there? Erase his memory? And as horrifying as the possibility was, what if he was wrong and they did have sex? If they did, it was certainly not consensual!
Harry had an immediate urge to call the Aurors and report Malfoy, but what was he going to say? He wasn't the only one acting weird. Nott and Zabini acted like he was supposed to be there, too. They had all acted like Harry was the crazy one. They all called him Harry. Like they were friends. They were not friends, at all! Harry never spoke to any of the Slytherins. True, they no longer openly despised each other since the war ended, but there were certainly no fond feelings there. Malfoy rarely even looked at him these days.
Harry watched him, though; had been watching him all year, noting the changes he'd seen. The other boy had been working so hard to rebuild his name since they'd returned for Eighth Year, helping the professors and the younger students, taking on extra N.E.W.T. courses, spending his free time studying or with Zabini, Nott, and Parkinson, but he mostly just kept to himself. He hadn't caused any trouble all year, hadn't even retaliated when he'd get hexed in between classes. He'd been better, and Harry had been inexplicably proud of Malfoy for not letting the war destroy him.
Harry felt disappointment wash over him. He'd really thought Malfoy had changed, had grown and learned from the war. He still didn't really like the git, but he was at least glad that he was trying to move on and make up for his shitty actions. They were fine ignoring each other.
Had it all just been a ploy to drive attention away from himself when he enacted his revenge? His father was in Azkaban. Harry had spoken for Draco, him and his mother, at the trials, but he’d had no desire to speak for Lucius, who was the whole reason his family had been in that mess in the first place. He was where he belonged, and Harry didn't feel guilty about it.
Harry couldn't even begin to grasp what the revenge was, though. What was his end goal? To sleep with him? Why the fuck would Malfoy even want that? To humiliate him? He seemed worried about Harry, though, not taunting. Was he trying to make Harry think he was going mad? That seemed the most likely, honestly, but it still didn't make any sense to him. Just... why? The war was over, everyone was moving on, so why do this? And to drag his friends into it...
This had to be a dream, he decided. A very fucked up, scarily realistic dream. Nothing else made sense. He just had to wake up. He already felt awake, though. Maybe he had to fall asleep again to wake up properly again. Nott had told him to go back to sleep. He just needed to wake up properly, and this would all fade away.
He blinked his eyes rapidly, remembering Hermione telling him before that it was an easy way to tire out your eyes and fall asleep.
It's not real. It's just a dream. This isn't real. It's not real...
*
Harry blinked himself awake, he didn't know how much later, feeling much better, but memories of his horrifying dream flew back to him. Christ, what a nightmare that had been!
Harry needed to talk to someone about it, to try to figure out why his mind had even gone there in the first place, even subconsciously. He needed Hermione. And probably Ron. Ron definitely still disliked Malfoy; he'd be equally disturbed by the nature of Harry's dream.
Dream-Malfoy's devastated face flashed in his mind, unreasonable guilt bubbling up at the memory. He shook his head, trying to clear it. That hadn’t really happened, and there was nothing to feel guilty over.
Yes, Ron would definitely knock some sense back into him.
Harry climbed out of bed quickly, but was disappointed to find Ron's bed empty. Harry frowned. He hadn't even waited for Harry to wake up? What was even more odd was that Ron was even up at all before Harry. Harry was the early riser; Ron would sleep all day if Harry or Hermione allowed it.
Sighing, he turned and opened his trunk, digging for his map. After nearly emptying his trunk, he had to conclude that his map wasn't there. Ron must have taken it. He wanted to bang his head against a wall.
Harry grabbed a coat and left the dorm, giving a cursory glance around the common room to make sure Ron and Hermione weren't there, before he left to hunt them down.
It took him over an hour before he finally found them down by the lake. It was freezing, so he had no idea what they were doing out here, but he spotted them sitting under the giant tree, surrounded by little jars of blue flames to keep them warm.
At least the time it had taken to find them had given him a chance to reassure himself that it hadn't been real, to take the edge off from that stupid dream.
He just needed his friends right now, needed to have a nice, normal conversation, get himself back on track.
Ron spotted Harry first and did a double take, looking at him in confusion before he nudged Hermione, nodding in Harry's direction, and she frowned.
"Hey, mate. What are you doing here?" Ron asked him.
"Me? What are you doing here?" Harry asked him incredulously, flopping down on their blanket unceremoniously. "It's freezing out, in case you haven't noticed. I need to talk to you both. This morning was so fucked up. And thanks for taking my map, by the way, took me ages to find you."
"Er," Ron said, glancing at Hermione. "I didn't take your map."
"Then where is it?" Harry asked, equally confused.
"Probably with your boyfriend?" Ron told him, looking at Harry like he was dense.
Harry froze.
His what?
No. No, he'd simply misheard him. That was all.
Ron looked deadly serious, though, and a deep, nagging feeling of dread spread through Harry's chest. "I don't have a boyfriend..."
Ron and Hermione both stared at him until Ron cracked a smile.
"Hilarious, Harry. Merlin, you suck at jokes. Good thing you don't want to be a comedian," Ron said with a slight chuckle.
"Seriously, what are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend. You know I don't," Harry insisted, panic intensifying. "Why are you saying that?"
Oh no. He thought for sure his best friends would help return his day to normal, that they'd all have a good laugh over everything, but this wasn't normal at all! How did they even know about his dream?
Unless... unless it hadn't been a dream. But it had to be! It had to. He refused to believe he'd actually woken up in Malfoy's bed.
"Uh, yes you do? Blonde, unreasonably tall, practically attached to your hip since Fourth Year?" Ron interrupted his thoughts with a laugh, and Harry's brain short-circuited, gaping stupidly at them.
Wait. What did he just say?
Fourth. Year?
Did he really just imply that Harry had been dating Malfoy since Fourth Year?!
"Do you mean Malfoy? What the fuck, Ron, are you insane? I hate him!"
Hermione frowned, looking extremely disappointed in him. "That's not funny at all, Harry. That's actually really cruel to even joke about. If Draco heard you say that, he'd be devastated. Where is he, anyway?"
Did she- did she just call him Draco?
They both looked so serious, and- oh no. Please, no. But...
It- it hadn't been a dream at all. This wouldn't be happening if it was all in his head. That meant he really did wake up in Malfoy's bed.
"Why did you do that?" Harry demanded, sitting bolt upright before scrambling to his feet, every muscle in his body going taught with tension, ignoring her question. They were lying. They had to be. "Why did you just call him that? You never call him that."
"That's his name?" she said, looking even more confused now. "Why wouldn’t we call him that? Harry, are you alright?"
Harry stilled, panic rising. No, they didn't. They absolutely did not. They called him Malfoy, if they ever discussed him at all.
"No..." he muttered, shaking his head, his panic nearly choking him now, breathing going ragged, struggling to make sense of any of this.
"Harry... where is Draco?" Hermione asked slowly, looking more concerned than confused, now.
"Yeah, why aren't you with him?" Ron chimed in.
"Why the fuck would I be with him?!"
"Mate... because you're dating him," Ron said incredulously. "You spend every Saturday together. It’s your date day, you plonker."
"I am not dating Malfoy!" Harry screeched, angry tears gathering in the corners of his eyes now. He blinked them away in irritation. Why did they not believe him?
Hermione gasped, hands flying up to her mouth and even Ron looked shocked.
"What?! Did you break up? What the hell, Harry? What did you do? Are you okay?" Ron asked, looking horrified.
Harry gaped at them. This was... this was more than his brain could comprehend right now. Ron wasn't outraged at the implication that he was dating Malfoy at all! He was concerned that they'd broken up. And he thought Harry had been the one to ruin it?! What the fuck!
"We didn't- we didn't break up, Ron, we were never together! Why would I want to date Malfoy, of all people! You both sound just like him!"
"Harry, that's enough," Hermione said sternly. "This isn't funny."
"Yeah, mate, what the hell is wrong with you?"
His head was pounding, blood rushing through his ears as he tried to figure out why this was happening, why they seemed to think he was dating Malfoy. Obviously the dream theory was out, and it hadn't been a drunken hookup, either, not if they were claiming Harry and Malfoy had been a couple for four fucking years.
Nausea rolled in his stomach. It was one thing to have possibly been tricked into having a one-night stand, but this? Had he gotten to them, too, somehow? Imperuized them? They weren't acting like they were cursed, though, they didn't have that empty look to them. He didn't think he was, either, actually. He felt nothing like he felt when Barty Crouch Jr. had cast Imperius on him in Fourth Year.
So, what the fuck was this, then? Were they all just playing some kind of joke on him? Why would Ron and Hermione go along with that? They weren't even friends with Malfoy! This was really happening, and he had no idea, absolutely none, how or why.
Panic practically swallowed him whole. How was he supposed to fix this? Especially when everyone else apparently thought he was nuts! He had no idea how to handle this.
"What's wrong? What's wrong is that I woke up half naked in Malfoy's bed in the bloody Dungeons and I have no idea how I got there, and everyone is acting like I'm the crazy one!" Harry said hysterically. "Nott and Zabini called me Harry, fucking Malfoy is calling me darling and sweetheart, and I don't know what the hell is going on! I thought it was a bad dream, but my two best friends are acting like everything is normal when nothing is!"
They both stared at him for so long he began to think they didn't hear anything he'd just said.
"Harry, where is Draco?" Hermione asked him again, eerily calm, carefully keeping her face impassive, but her brown eyes were full of alarm.
"I don't know where he is! Who cares where he is? This isn't about him! Why are you all doing this to me? Did you team up with him to play some kind of horrible prank on me or something? How could you- why would you do that?"
Harry felt frustrated tears slipping down his cheeks now and he dashed them away furiously, standing up quickly. It hadn't been a dream, and his own friends were in on it. How could they?
"Harry, come with me-" Hermione tried, standing up, hand out to him.
He backed away from them, stumbling, before turning on his heel and taking off again in a run, ignoring both Ron and Hermione's desperate cries for him to come back.
Harry ended up in the Astronomy Tower this time. It was luckily deserted, it being a Saturday, and he paced furiously, tugging at his hair.
He wasn't crazy. He wasn't. He wasn't imagining this. He wasn't imagining his old life; no, his normal life. He had memories! Perfectly rational, crystal-clear memories, even from just yesterday.
But what if he had imagined it?
Something was wrong; very, very wrong. Everything looked the same, but it was all wrong. It was like he'd gone to bed and woken up in some weird alternate reality where he and Malfoy were- were a couple. More than that; they were in love, together for four fucking years! Did the war even happen?
Fear gripped him, almost suffocating him. Did he fight in the war? Was Voldemort still alive? Had he imagined the last four years of his life? Was he dead?
He whimpered when he tugged too harshly on his hair, but didn't let go. He couldn't have imagined it all. It was all so vivid in his mind, still; he could see Malfoy sat across the room from him in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the last class he remembered, studiously ignoring Harry, focused on his work.
He could still envision Malfoy's quill gliding over the parchment, could see the flash of pink when the tip of his tongue poked out when he was concentrating, could hear his quiet laugh when Nott had said something to him in the middle of class. He remembered. It wasn't a dream. Why was this happening to him?
He had no idea how long he was up there, but the sun was beginning to set in the sky, casting a soft pink glow over the room. He watched it numbly until he was startled from his internal struggle by a quiet rustling near the door, and his head snapped over to the source of the noise.
He tensed up when he saw Malfoy hovering near the ladder. He was wearing muggle clothes for some reason, and his hair was a disheveled mess, nothing like Harry had ever seen it before. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his full lips were pressed together, drawn down in a deep frown. He looked so incredibly sad, but even more than that, he looked worried.
"Would you leave me alone? How did you even find me?" Harry snapped, ignoring the pang of guilt he felt for making Malfoy look like that.
Malfoy flinched at Harry's harsh tone, but slowly held up his map. "You forgot this," he said quietly. "I saw you up here by yourself. I wanted to give you space, but I'm so- I needed to check on you," he said.
"How did you know how to use that?" Harry demanded, eyes narrowed, hand flying towards his wand. "Did you steal my map?"
Malfoy's eyes flickered down to Harry's hand as soon as he made to reach for it, and a look of pure devastation spread across his face, so open and painfully raw that Harry wanted to punch himself in the face.
"Harry..." he said desperately, voice cracking, "sweetheart, please."
Malfoy was quickly losing his composure. His silver eyes were filled with pain, looking like he was physically restraining himself from either crying or going over to Harry to... well, Harry didn't know what.
"Please talk to me. What did I do? I can't fix it if I don't know what I did wrong. I don't understand; everything was completely fine last night, and you woke up, and suddenly you're... you're not making any sense at all. I'm so worried about you. You're not okay, Harry."
"Of course I'm not okay!" Harry exploded. "One minute I'm sitting in class, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in your bloody bed and everyone is acting like I'm insane! But it's you! You're all insane! Ron and Hermione, my two best friends, tried to tell me that we're dating! We hate each other! I don't know what you're trying to do to me, but it's not going to work. You're not going to- to send me to Janus Thickey to get rid of me, or kill me, or whatever your fucked up plan is!"
"Kill you?!" Malfoy said incredulously, staring at Harry in astonishment before he set his jaw, eyes still filled with hurt, but mostly fear. "You're coming with me, right now," he said shakily. "I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing."
"No, I-" Harry tried to say, but Malfoy cut him off.
"Yes. You're coming, even if I have to get Hermione and Ron to come up here and help me physically drag you down there. Something is wrong with you, Harry, and I'm worried sick. We all are. Hermione thinks someone Obliviated you, or fucked with your memory somehow, and we're going to get Pomfrey to look at you, right now. I'll stun you and take you clear to St. Mungo's if I have to."
His voice was firm, but there was such an underlying tone of fear, of actual terror, that Harry just stared at him.
Maybe this would be a good thing, actually. Madam Pomfrey could check him and find out what Malfoy did to him. He frowned a bit, wondering why Malfoy would want him to get checked if he'd done something horrible to Harry. Wouldn't that just get him caught? Whatever. That wasn't Harry's problem.
"Fine," he said stubbornly. "She'll just find out what you did to me and fix it so you'll get kicked out of Hogwarts and everything can go back to normal."
Malfoy made a pained noise, closing his eyes briefly, but didn't say anything. He just held the trap door open for Harry to climb through, following him closely down the ladder. Ron and Hermione were waiting for them in the corridor, both looking highly worried, but he marched right past them, ignoring the furious whispers the three people behind him were exchanging.
He didn't stop until he reached the Hospital Wing. Annoyingly, but unsurprisingly, they all followed him in, and he sat on an empty bed, crossing his arms moodily. Ron and Hermione sat on the empty bed across from him, and Malfoy looked incredibly torn, like he wanted to sit next to Harry, but one glare had him slowly sitting down between Ron and Hermione instead, hands clenching anxiously.
Harry didn't speak to any of them, just cast glares their way every few moments while trying to ignore Malfoy's slumped, defeated shoulders and worried eyes.
Madam Pomfrey eventually bustled in, looking at the group in surprise. "None of you look ill. What's wrong, then?"
"Something is wrong with Harry," Malfoy said shakily.
"What's wrong with him?" she asked sharply, coming over to examine Harry, shining a light from the tip of her wand into his eyes and his mouth.
Harry pulled his face out of her grasp. "What's wrong is that he did something to me and now everyone thinks I'm dating him!" Harry said accusingly, pointing at Malfoy, whose face just crumpled even more, making that annoying, gnawing guilt grow stronger, and he suddenly was less certain about his accusation. He hesitated. "Either that, or they're all playing an elaborate prank on me to make me think I'm crazy, but it's not bloody funny."
"Prank?" Madam Pomfrey said, blinking in confusion, then her face turned incredibly stern, looking at Harry disapprovingly. "This is the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter. I'm not a Relationship Healer. I don't have time for silly games."
Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief, and he made an indignant noise in the back of his throat at her dismissal.
"No, Madam Pomfrey, it's not- he only thinks it's a prank! Or a dream, he said? I don't know what he thinks, but something is seriously wrong with his memory," Ron cut in frantically.
Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Explain."
"I did explain," Harry said frustratedly, but no one paid him any mind.
Malfoy looked at Hermione helplessly, and Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Ron patted his back and she squeezed his hand reassuringly before speaking up.
"He- well, we don't exactly know what's wrong," she said slowly. "He doesn't seem to remember who he is? I mean, he knows he's Harry, he remembers who we all are, but his memory is all wrong. Draco said he was perfectly fine last night, but woke up very... hostile. I thought someone must have Obliviated him, or slipped him something, like a Love or Memory Potion? Maybe a fan, who wanted to break them up?"
Pomfrey turned back to him. "What do you remember, Mr. Potter? Do you know who we all are? Did you fall, or have an injury where you hit your head?"
"I didn't hurt myself. I remember everything but yesterday evening," he replied truthfully. "I went to my classes like normal, but I don't remember leaving Defense class, or anything after it until I woke up this morning in his bed," he glared at Malfoy again.
She arched an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips. "And why would you be in his bed in the Slytherin dorms, when you reside in Gryffindor tower?"
Ron snorted quietly, and Malfoy's face turned bright red, but Harry just shrugged. "How should I know? I don't remember going there, and I would never go there willingly. We hate each other. You know this. Everyone knows this. I don’t understand why everyone suddenly seems to think otherwise!"
Malfoy whimpered, so quietly, Harry almost didn't hear it. When he glanced over, he saw that he had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, a single tear slipping down his pale cheek. His stomach twisted horribly again.
"Do you have any memories of Mr. Malfoy at all?" she asked.
"Of course I do. I know who he is, don't I?"
"Mr. Potter, I am trying to help you. Answer my questions, please. What are some recent memories you have of him?"
"I remember him being here all year. We never talk; he just focuses on school. We haven't spoken since the trials when I testified for him and gave him his wand back."
Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy all exchanged bewildered glances at that, and even Madam Pomfrey frowned.
"What do you mean, you testified for him?" she asked slowly.
"What do you mean, what do I mean? I spoke for him to keep him out of Azkaban, that's why he's even here," Harry explained, quickly losing patience. "He had to come back and pass his N.E.W.T.'s to be let off probation."
The three across from him looked shocked, and Madam Pomfrey frowned more deeply, actual concern filling her eyes now as she seemed to accept that he wasn't lying to her. "Lie back, Mr. Potter."
Fucking finally, he thought, laying back as she asked. She ran her wand over his body, scanning him for who knows what, focusing mainly around his head. Perfect, she'd find what was wrong and fix him quickly, and then they could all stop this and everything could go back to normal.
After what felt like forever, Madam Pomfrey pulled back, lips pursed. "There's nothing wrong with you," she said, voice clipped.
"What?!" Harry said, sitting bolt upright. That couldn't be possible!
"There is no curse, hex, enchantment, or potion interfering with your mental faculties, Mr. Potter. You've not been Obliviated. You mentioned a prank earlier; are you sure it's not you playing the prank? I don't find having my time wasted at all amusing."
Harry fish-mouthed at her in shock. He was about to argue with her, but Malfoy beat him to it.
"What?" Malfoy gasped, looking desperate. "No, no, listen to me. I'm telling you; something is wrong. There has to be. He doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember us. He would never, ever play a prank like this! He's not cruel. I know it, and you know it, too. You've known him for years, has he ever done anything like this? Has he ever hurt anyone on purpose?"
Malfoy's voice was growing in volume, and Hermione chimed in, agreeing. "He's right. You didn't see how upset he was. Harry wouldn't worry us like this as a joke."
Madam Pomfrey studied him for a long minute. "I can't fix a problem I can't find. I'm going to have to go get the Headmistress. Perhaps she'll have an idea. You will stay here until I return. Just know that if this turns out to be some kind of trick, you will all have severe consequences."
She hurried out of the room, leaving them alone. The tension was thick enough to slice it with a knife.
"Harry, what did you mean earlier, when you said you testified for Draco?" Hermione asked carefully.
"I meant what I said. I attended his trial in May, and I spoke on his behalf. His mum, too. He had to return for Eighth Year and pass his N.E.W.T.'s to stay out of Azkaban. It was all over the papers!"
"Er, what was he on trial for, exactly?" Ron asked, looking bewildered.
Harry stared at him. "For what he did during the war?"
The three of them didn't look any less confused. He threw his hands up in frustration. "He was a bloody Death Eater, Hermione! Do you really not remember? Voldemort lived in his house. We saw him there!"
Hermione gasped loudly, and Malfoy blanched, flinching violently.
"What?" Ron hissed. "What the fuck, Harry, why would you say that?"
"I'm not just saying that, Ron, it's what happened," he insisted.
An idea came to him, then, something that would provide indisputable proof that he wasn't the crazy one. He lunged at Malfoy, gripping his left arm, yanking his sleeve up to reveal his-
Bare skin?
There was no Dark Mark visible on him. That- that wasn't right. Harry knew, he knew that Malfoy still had his Mark. He hid it under long sleeves, even when the weather was too warm, but he'd caught the tiniest glimpse of it once during Potions, when he absent-mindedly pushed his sleeve up too far to prevent it from touching his potion.
But there was nothing. Nothing but smooth, pale, perfectly unblemished skin.
Malfoy was staring at him with enormous eyes, and Harry jerked away like the contact burned him. He scrambled backwards until he tripped over the too long legs of his joggers, falling to the ground with a grunt, his head hitting off of the floor, making him yelp.
"Harry!" Malfoy was up in an instant, trying to help him up. "Are you alright?" he asked, hands fluttering all over him, feeling the back of his head to make sure he wasn't injured.
"Stop touching me!" Harry spat, scooting further away from him, ignoring the pain in his eyes.
"Harry, you have to calm down," Hermione said sternly now, hauling him to his feet and casting Malfoy a sympathetic look. "McGonagall will be here soon. I know you're scared right now, but we all are; you don't need to act like this. You're hurting him," she added in a hushed tone, glancing meaningfully at where Malfoy was still slumped on the floor, cheeks red, picking at his cuticles until they bled, at least until Ron knelt down and stopped him, murmuring something to him too quietly for Harry to hear.
Harry immediately felt bad. He didn't understand what was going on, but clearly Malfoy thought they were... something, and Harry's harsh words were hurting him. He wasn't trying to be an arsehole; he was just terrified and confused.
The longer this went on, the less confident he was that anyone had actually done anything to him at all. They all seemed too upset. The mere mention that Malfoy had done this to him seemed to cause the other boy immense pain, and Ron and Hermione... they wouldn't do this to him. He knew it in his gut, and they certainly wouldn't take it this far, far enough to drag Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress into it. They just wouldn't.
But if it wasn't any of them, then what was happening to him? The thought was even more terrifying, not comforting at all. Something was wrong with him.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but the doors slammed open and Madam Pomfrey hurried back over to him, followed by McGonagall, Flitwick, and Professor Brindlemore, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
"On the bed, Mr. Potter, for Merlin's sake," Madam Pomfrey chastised him, forcing him back to the bed, while the rest of them took their own seats. Malfoy was gripping his left arm tightly, like he could feel a brand that wasn't even there.
"Poppy has briefly explained what's going on," Professor McGonagall said briskly. "Would you be so kind as to explain the events that led to this revelation."
Harry glanced at Malfoy's anxious face, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. McGonagall would fix this, and him freaking out wasn't helping get to the bottom of this.
"All I know is that I woke up this morning in the Dungeons with no memory of how I got there, and everyone seems to think that I'm dating Malfoy, when I absolutely know that I'm not. Nothing makes any sense. I have memories that apparently no one else remembers. I thought Malfoy had- had Cursed me or something, or that they all were playing some kind of fuc- er, messed up prank on me, but..." he trailed off uncertainly, looking at his friends' worried faces, "but, um. Maybe not? I don't know what's wrong with me."
Malfoy looked up in surprise, eyes rimmed with red, face splotchy, but his gaze was cautiously hopeful. Harry looked away.
"Interesting. You said you have memories? No gaps, no periods of time that are blank or unclear?" she asked, running her wand over him, doing her own scan, presumably.
He shook his head, then nodded. "Well. The only thing I can't remember is the second half of yesterday. I remember everything else."
"But they're not real memories!" Hermione burst out, unable to remain quiet anymore. "He thinks Draco was a Death Eater, professor. That's- he doesn't remember anything properly at all."
McGonagall frowned. "What is the last thing you remember before this morning?"
"Defense class," he answered promptly. "Professor Brindlemore was teaching something, and I, er. I wasn't really paying attention," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I do remember getting up to practice the spell with Ron. Then nothing until today."
"You don't remember the spell you were learning?" Professor Brindlemore asked.
He shook his head. "Some kind of hex, that's all I remember. I think I was supposed to put up Legilimency Shields, but I didn't get them up in time."
"I see," McGonagall said, pulling a tiny stone basin out of her robes, enlarging it, and setting it down on the bedside table nearest to them. "I'm going to need to check some of your memories, Potter, to make sure they haven't been falsely implanted or altered, and to hopefully view what happened yesterday during class. Do you know how to use the Pensieve?"
"I know how to view memories, but not how to extract them," he admitted.
"No matter, I can help with that. Pull forward your memory of class yesterday, and I'll remove it for you."
He closed his eyes, bringing forth the memory of class, tensing slightly when McGonagall's wand touched his temple. She murmured the incantation, and he shivered as he felt the memory being pulled out of him. It felt like a thread being pulled out of the center of his brain. Not very pleasant.
When she's deposited that memory in the Pensieve, she had him pull up a few different random memories of his choice, things he could already tell were different. He chose their time at Malfoy Manor, the trials, Sixth Year when Malfoy had broken his nose on the train, the Astronomy Tower when Snape had killed Dumbledore for Malfoy, and the final battle when he’d beaten Voldemort. At least those would explain why it was impossible for him to be dating Malfoy, and he might get a hint of a reaction from her, about whether or not Voldemort was gone.
"Do I need to go in with you?" Harry asked.
"If you'd like. I'd like Professor's Brindlemore and Flitwick to look as well, to see if they could offer any input, or figure out what happened during your Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
Hermione looked like she was dying to see, but she didn't ask, probably thinking that it would be too personal.
He didn't care to look at all of them with her, visiting the bad ones too often in his nightmares as it was, but he did want to see his last class again. She agreed to let him view it first, and he dipped his head into the bowl, tumbling down to the classroom and landing with a hard thud near the front of the room.
He watched himself doodling on his parchment as Professor Brindlemore described some spell he couldn't understand, her voice garbled unintelligibly, but he did see the wand movement she demonstrated. He watched as they were paired off into groups, Ron grabbing him and Hermione right away, and dragging them over to a secluded corner, volunteering to go first.
"Come on, Harry, let me cast on you first. You always get them right away. I need more practice for Auror training," he begged.
He watched himself shrug, easily agreeing, then taking the proper stance to ward off the spell, wand out.
"Don't forget your shields, Harry," Hermione told him. "That's the most important- Ronald, wait!" she screamed.
He saw Ron take aim and cast before he was ready, watched as he tried to throw up his shields too late, then everything went black. The memory started to fade into another, but he yanked himself out of the Pensieve, feeling more confused than before.
"Did you see anything?" McGonagall asked.
"Sort of? Some spell went wrong, hit me before I got my shields up. I don't know what it was, though, and I must have blacked out, because the memory cut off really abruptly."
McGonagall didn't press him further, just entered the Pensieve along with Brindlemore and Flitwick.
"What did you see, Harry?" Hermione asked, fidgeting. "What happened?"
"Just what I told McGonagall," he shrugged. "We were practicing a spell, and it went wrong. Ron cast it before I could get my shields up and it hit me. You screamed, then it went black."
"Ronald!" Hermione shrieked, smacking him on the back of the head.
"Ow! Hey! What did I do?" he asked, rubbing his head.
"This is all your fault!" she scolded. "If you would just pay more attention, you wouldn't have knocked him out!"
"What the hell, 'Mione, I didn't do anything! That never even happened, you know Harry always pairs up with Draco!"
The two kept bickering, but Malfoy was incredibly quiet, just watching Harry with careful eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. So quietly, Harry almost didn't hear him.
"What?" Harry asked him.
"Um. Are you hurt? You said you blacked out. You got hit with an unknown spell. Are you in any pain?"
"Oh. No," Harry replied, shaking his head. He felt fine, physically, at least. "I'm not hurt."
Malfoy nodded, relaxing the tiniest bit, but didn't say anything else, and Harry did his best to ignore the conversation across from him until the professors exited the Pensieve. When they finally pulled out, all three looked quite grim, and Harry's heart sank.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "What's wrong with me?"
"Mr. Potter, you suffered an accident while practicing the Confusion Hex," McGonagall said slowly. "Professor Brindlemore was able to recognize the wand movement you were learning. It is quite an advanced, complicated, and dangerous spell. Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley's spell was improperly cast, and you were unprepared to receive it."
"So, I just got hurt? Had some kind of head injury?" he asked. That would explain why he couldn't remember the rest of yesterday, but not why he seemed to have a different set of memories entirely.
"We can only assume so. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing exactly what went wrong, as we can't examine you for injuries your body doesn't seem to have."
"But my memories..."
"Are real memories," she grimaced.
"What?!" Malfoy gasped, looking shocked. "How- how can that be? Why do we all remember something else? There can't be something wrong with all of us!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I know it's confusing, but there is no indication that the events in Mr. Potter memories didn't happen. He did experience those things, in a different reality from this one."
"What the fuck does that even mean?" Harry asked desperately, not giving a single shit about his language right now. "I'm in an alternate universe? That can- how did that happen?"
What the fuck? Am I dead? Is my real body dead?
"Something like that, yes. The best we can do is theorize. You sustained an injury to your mind severe enough to leave you unconscious, possibly severe enough to send you into a coma. When a powerful and unstable enough version of yourself experiences a great trauma, the soul can seek out a more stable vessel until its original one is fit to return to, if it ever is. We have extremely limited information on such occurrences, but it has been recorded. I'll need to do more research before anything can be done. For now, Mr. Potter seems to be in good physical health."
"So... I, I mean my real body, could be dead?" Harry asked quietly, heart pounding.
"It’s unlikely. Your soul would have accepted death and moved on, or possibly become a ghost. My strongest guess would be a magical coma," she said bluntly.
Harry stared at his lap, trying to absorb that.
"But... can't you get his memories back? Isn't there something you can do?" Malfoy asked desperately, looking more distraught than Harry has ever seen a person look.
"His memories are not gone, Mr. Malfoy," she said regrettably. "There's nothing to retrieve. His mind is fine, he's simply lived a different life in a different world."
Malfoy looked stricken. "What, so he's just... not Harry? Not our Harry? A stranger? Will he ever come back?"
"I'm afraid I cannot say," she said calmly. "It's not a simple matter, and we don't have the ability to scour a thousand different realities to find our Harry. Even if we could, we would have no idea how to restore them to their proper selves. I'm afraid all we can do right now is wait, and hope something snaps him back."
Malfoy looked stricken, and even Hermione and Ron looked horrified.
"So, I'm from a different reality, or timeline or…? What am I meant to do, then? Just live normally when nothing is normal? I don't know anything about this world or this Harry's past!"
"There are no certainties, but that is our best guess as of now. For tonight, you will stay here. After that, we can see about you resuming classes and normal activity."
At his outraged look, she held her hand up. "We have no idea how long this might last, and there is no reason for you to take up space in the Hospital Wing while we work this out, or to fall behind in your classes. Neither version of you would appreciate failing your N.E.W.T.'s, I'm sure. You cannot just stop living, and you still have to consider your future, wherever that may be. We can adjust your classes to what you're used to, if necessary.
“I'm sorry, Potter," she said in a softer tone, looking genuinely sorry. "I have to discuss this with my colleagues, and we'll see where to go from here. But for now, all I can tell you is that we will try our best to find a solution. It's late, try to get some sleep. You could wake up in your own body at any time. I'll be back in the morning, hopefully with better news."
She and the remaining professors left quickly after that, all with sympathetic looks, and Madam Pomfrey informed him that visiting hours were almost over before handing him a vial of Calming Draught. He set it aside, not ready to relax.
He wanted to scream. How was he supposed to sleep, or live like this, in this world where he didn't belong? He had no idea what was real! He didn't know how much was different. They apparently weren't even learning the same spells in class.
Obviously, the war had happened, or he wouldn't be here for Eighth Year, but how different had it been? McGonagall hadn’t indicated that any of his memories surprised her. And if Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater, what had happened? What else was different? He had a million more questions and no answers.
He looked helplessly over to his friends and Malfoy, but they looked just as lost as he did.
"Harry?" Hermione asked timidly, coming over to sit by him, taking his hand. "Harry, I know you're scared, but well, we're still your best friends. We'll be here for you. At least that's one thing that's the same."
He blinked rapidly, tears springing to his eyes. She was right. At least he still had them. Everything was so fucked up, but at least he wasn't alone. At least he still knew them, or some version of them. They were still best friends, even in this world. He swallowed thickly and nodded, letting her know that he heard her and was grateful for that, at least.
"If you have any questions, you can ask us, mate, we'll try and clear it up for you," Ron added.
"And I'm going to do my own research as well," Hermione said. "I don't know much about the Confusion Hex, but maybe I can figure out what went wrong, maybe even find something about how this happened."
He had little hope, but he didn't tell her that. "Thanks, both of you," he rasped out, forcing a smile.
"Try and sleep, Harry. Maybe you'll wake up as yourself again," she said hopefully, fluffing up his pillows. "We'll be back tomorrow, alright?"
He nodded, and Ron and Hermione left reluctantly, whispering furiously, casting worried glances back at him.
Not only at him, though, he realized. Malfoy was still sitting on the bed, staring at his hands, which were clenched so tightly in his lap that his knuckles were white. He was shaking slightly, and Harry found himself actually feeling bad for him.
He wasn't the only one affected by this, he realized, and he was being incredibly selfish. He didn't know how to talk to Malfoy, though, especially not this Malfoy, but he had to say something; he couldn't just let him sit there and stew in his thoughts all night.
"Er. Are you alright?" Harry said hesitantly, trying to sound kinder than he had before.
Malfoy looked up at him, looking utterly heartbroken. "No," he said lowly, voice cracking. "No, I'm not alright." He swallowed heavily; eyes wet. "I haven't slept alone on a Saturday night in nearly four years. My Harry is gone, possibly forever, and I don't even know if he's safe, and you... you hate me," he said, choking on a sob, hands coming up to cover his face, shoulders shaking as he just sobbed, actually sobbed, great, heaving, gut-wrenching, painful sounding sobs that tore viciously from his throat.
It was probably the most heartbreaking sound he'd ever heard, and Harry's heart clenched painfully, the confusing urge to comfort him warring with mind numbing guilt. His distress made Harry feel like a monster, and he didn't even know why. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know this version of Malfoy, or that he wasn't in a relationship with his Malfoy.
It wasn't Malfoy's fault, either, though. None of this was, and Harry had been a giant prick to him, blaming him for all of this all day, saying horrible things to him that probably had felt like a knife stabbing his heart. He hadn't been lying about them being a couple, and Harry had accused him of- of drugging him and plotting to kill him. He'd basically accused him of rape.
He tried to imagine how he would have felt if Ginny had treated him like that back when they were still together. It would have been awful. even if he knew she wasn't herself and was just scared, it still would hurt to know that someone you loved could even think those things about you, let alone say them out loud.
He had to apologize; had to get him to stop crying like that so he could talk to the other boy. He had to figure out what the fuck to do here.
He swallowed, and took a hesitant step forward, then another, and another, until he was awkwardly standing next to the crying boy.
"Malfoy-" he started quietly, and Malfoy flinched, curling away like Harry had slapped him, like hearing his surname from Harry's mouth was causing him physical pain.
"Please don't cry," he tried again in a whisper, avoiding saying his surname but unable to call him Draco. "I'm sorry."
He raised a hand and patted Malfoy's shoulder awkwardly. Malfoy looked up at him with grief-stricken eyes, then suddenly he was being yanked into a tight embrace.
Harry gasped, the orchard scent from this morning engulfing him, and he melted into it without meaning to. It seemed to soothe something in Malfoy, though, because he just clung tighter, and after a few minutes, his cries quieted, and he released Harry reluctantly.
"I'm sorry," Malfoy rasped out miserably, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry I touched you like that. I know you don't like it, and that's not your fault. I didn't mean to shout and take all of this out on you; you're probably more scared than I am. I'm just- I'm so worried about you I feel sick. I'm terrified I'll never get you back, and I miss you."
He had no idea how to respond to that. He couldn't say he missed him too, because he didn't. He didn't even know his Malfoy well enough to miss him.
"I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be," Harry said softly.
Malfoy's red-rimmed eyes drifted up to his, but they were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey stopping back in to give him a set of pajamas and reminding him to drink the potion, also handing one to Malfoy, who took it silently.
Harry expected her to order him out, but she didn't, simply closing his curtains and disappearing back to her room. Harry looked at his pajamas, then back at Malfoy awkwardly.
"Er, do you mind...?" he asked, gesturing to the pajamas, asking for privacy to change.
Malfoy looked even more sad, hands twitching, but he obligingly stepped behind the curtain so Harry could change. Harry saw him downing the Calming Draught with trembling hands before he even got the curtain closed behind him.
He changed quickly, then sat back down on the bed, mind racing. He still felt so confused. He couldn't even think of a game plan right now; everything was too overwhelming.
"Harry?" Malfoy's soft voice questioned.
"I'm done," he called back, wondering why he wasn't demanding that Malfoy leave him alone. The curtain opened, and then Malfoy was there, looking slightly less upset than before. The potion must have helped.
"You should drink that," Malfoy told him, nodding towards the identical vial on his bedside table, like he could read Harry's mind. It was unsettling. "I'll leave you alone once you drink it," he said softly when Harry made no move towards the potion.
Harry quickly downed the potion, sighing as the horrible tension he'd been carrying all day seeped out of him. Malfoy was still looking at him with those big, sad eyes, and the guilt intensified. Harry should probably do something to make up for how much of a jerk he'd been all day.
"Er. You don't have to go," he blurted out awkwardly, mind flashing back to how he'd woken up earlier, how comfortable he'd been, but he quickly pushed it away. "I mean, not, like, sleep in my bed, but if you'd feel better staying to keep an eye on me or whatever, in case he comes back..." he trailed off, but Malfoy knew what he meant.
Malfoy gave him a tiny smile. "Thank you," he whispered.
Harry nodded, slipping under his blankets as Malfoy pulled a chair over, probably not wanting to get kicked out for taking up one of the beds. Or maybe he just wanted to be as close as possible. It was a miracle Pomfrey hadn't kicked him out as it was. She must have felt quite bad for him, too. Apparently, everyone knew about their relationship.
"Goodnight, Harry. Get some rest," he said, watching as Harry's eyelids began to droop. He was suddenly exhausted, the Calming Draught taking enough of the edge off for the day to catch up to him. He prayed to whatever God was up there that he'd wake up in his own body, in his own world, in his own life.
The last thing he heard before sleep pulled him under entirely was a quiet sniffling, and a thick voice whispering to him.
"I love you so much, my darling. Please come back to me."