Harry eyes Cedric.

"On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

Their hands land on the gold cup. For Gryffindor, Harry thinks.

There is a yank somewhere along his middle and before he can fully grasp what is going on, they're gone. Harry lands in a pile with Cedric half on him. Before they even get up, they know something is wrong. It’s the quiet; it’s way too quiet.

"Where are we?" Cedric asks.

It's a cemetery, dark and something prickles in the back of Harry's mind. He's seen this before.

"We have to get out of here,” Harry says.

Cedric looks at him. "You don't suppose this is another test, do you?"

"Not a test."

There is a figure in the distance. Harry is the first to notice it. It looks like a man carrying a bundle of some sort. The scar on Harry's head burns, searing his forehead and he's on the floor because of the pain.

"Harry,” Cedric says.

There is movement, words from the distance. Harry doesn't know what is going on. He doesn't even know where he is, not really. He turns, eyes catching the gold cup. His fingers make to move towards it, to grab it. He thinks portkey and then everything goes black.

-

Draco woke up cold and shaking. He's had that dream more times than he can count and he doesn't need to keep sleeping to know how that dream ends. He was there. He saw what happened. He's been haunted by that dream ever since Cedric Diggory walked out of that maze.

-

Draco is sitting next to Crabbe and Goyle trying to figure out why he bet that Potter would win the bloody tournament. It was fucking stupid on his part and if someone finds out, he's not going to hear the end of it.

"Draco,” Zabini hisses into his ear. "I heard you bet Potter would win."

Draco turns to tell Zabini off, but he never gets to do it. There is a rushing wave of applause, yells and everyone is standing. Draco shoves the girl in front of him and he is one of the first to see Potter.

"He's dead,” Goyle says.

"Don't be stupid,” Draco snaps. "He's not dead."

But Potter isn't moving. Diggory is shaking from head to foot, his eyes closed. Draco leans forward as the headmaster motions everyone back.

"He's dead."

People scream.

Draco doesn't believe it. He pushes his way forward shoving the people in front of him. He sees Weasley and Granger fighting the crowd on his left. The Hufflepuffs are yelling and Draco doesn't care. He has to get to Potter. He has to because Potter can't possibly be dead. He is the Boy Who Lived. He is Potter, the boy that Draco hates, the boy that Draco wants to destroy, to crush, to overpower, to control. To have.

Potter can't die.

Except then, with the help of Zabini, Draco pushes forward and he sees him. Potter is floating next to Dumbledore. He looks pale, broken, his eyes closed, a determined expression on the face that won't ever glare at Draco again.

It's like being plunged into ice water. He's numb, let's himself be pushed back by the crowd. He sees Granger and Weasley running after Dumbledore. McGonagall let's them, but everyone else is kept back. Draco doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s fallen asleep to thoughts about just this, but now that it’s happened he can’t bring himself to feel.

"Draco," Pansy whispers next to him, "Draco, is he...is he really dead?"

"I don't know." Draco whispers back at her.

"He's dead," Blaise tells them. "Didn't you see his eyes?"

"And Diggory?"

"Alive."

Draco hears them but his brain won't process it. Potter can't be dead.

The headmaster announces it in the Great Hall. There are tears from the tables around Slytherin. Draco can hear the Weasley’s and Granger, loud above the rest of the noise. He knows who they are because he’s heard them ever since the day Potter was taken away by Dumbledore. Even, Snape is staring ahead, eyes unfocused, but face set like he’s angry at something.

Draco doesn’t know what to feel or even if he should feel. He doesn’t let himself think about it, and it goes away, background noise. Life goes on.

-

Draco sat up in bed. He’d had that same dream for the past two years, never more than one night in a row, but it was there. When he least expected it would come to him. Like tonight.

Ever since Potter’s fall, things hadn’t gone well. Diggory had talked about a figure carrying a bundle, a ritual, blood. Everyone believed him, but no one spoke of it. If Dumbledore knew what happened then he hadn’t told anyone. No one made a move to report the impossible, because Draco knew what had happened that night. He heard the story from his father who was there, from Crabbe whose father told him. The circle of Death Eaters knew.

That night the Dark Lord had killed Harry Potter.

It had been two years since then and nothing was happening in the Wizarding World, but inside things had never stopped moving. Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic. Death Eaters in Hogwarts. When the Dark Lord made his move, the whole world would be on its knees. They were all waiting. Draco most of all. In the morning it was his turn. He would speak to the Dark Lord.

He didn’t sleep more that night, just sat in bed until the sun rose. He was in the study, head bent over a book when his mother called.

“He’s here.”

Draco got up, face set, robes clean. His father was important. Their family was important. Whatever this was, Draco knew he had to do well.

The Dark Lord was waiting in the sitting room next to the dining room. Tall like Draco remembered him to be from last time, eyes slits on his face, pupils like a cat. He was paler than usual, probably from the time he spent up north, doing what things he had to do. Draco didn’t know this man more than his father knew Dumbledore, but he was here to serve.

“My Lord,” Draco said, head bowed.

He didn’t know where his father was, but his mother’s hand on his shoulder guided him as he straightened again.

“It’s good to see you, Draco. I have thought much about you while I was traveling.”
The voice was like the man or what had once been a man. It was cold, devoid of the emotion that should have filled it.

“It is an honor,” Draco answered. Words rehearsed were easy to remember.

“It’s always an honor,” The Dark Lord said. He sounded bored, his eyes surveying the room, set on the tapestries. “But, I expect it. It should be an honor Draco. Lord Voldemort doesn’t recognize many people and here I am, recognizing you.”

“We are honored,” Draco’s mother said, bowing again.

“I know, Narcissa, but I am talking to Draco. Tell me, Draco, what would you do for the betterment of the Wizarding World?”

Draco saw the eyes. He knew the face. He’s heard this speech more times than he heard anything else. The betterment of the Wizarding World, the extermination of dirty blood. He wanted it just as much as his father had wanted recognition.

“Anything, My Lord.”

Narcissa’s face gave away nothing, but the hand she had on Draco’s shoulder tightened.
Voldemort turned to Draco, the eyes unreadable. Draco stared back, knowing that there were dangerous thoughts in his head. His dreams, the things he’d felt years before. Potter. Years later there was still Potter. He didn’t look away, his grey eyes looking into the red eyes of the man who would kill without a second thought.

“I want you to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

---

Draco was in the train to Hogwarts, his feet up on his seat, head against the window. Pansy was sitting next to Blaise who was telling some story about his summer in Italy. Crabbe and Goyle were in another corner of the compartment talking to each other.

”I want you to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

The words had replaced his dream about Potter ever since he’d agreed to them. There was nothing else he could have said, but Narcissa seemed to think there was. She hadn’t spoken to him since the Dark Lord went to their house. Draco didn’t know what he was supposed to have said, what he should have done. He didn’t know how he was going to do what the Dark Lord had asked of him. All he knew was that he had to do it, had to find a way to kill Albus Dumbledore, because the Dark Lord did not accept failure.
He had worked all summer, finding a way to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He’d gone to Borgin and Burkes, linked the vanishing cabinets in his head. He had ideas, plans that he didn’t know were going to work. Nothing was certain and he wasn’t even allowed to show how much it was cutting into him. Dumbledore had never done anything to him, had never been anything but respected.

No one with him now understood what he was going through. Crabbe thought he would be able to do it no problem, as if it was that easy. Goyle at least had kept his mouth shut. Pansy didn’t know and Draco didn’t plan on telling her. Blaise was Blaise, wouldn’t care if Draco ever decided to tell him, would walk away with distaste.

“What about you, Draco?” Pansy said to him. “What did you do this summer?”
Draco said nothing.

“Probably with his little Death Eater friends all summer,” Blaise answered.

“Better that then floating on a little boat in a lake,” Draco said.

He stretched as Blaise rolled his eyes. They were dressed when the train stopped, all of them climbing down the train and into the dark street. Granger and Weasley were standing next to Longbottom and Lovegood. The little freaks had banned together ever since Potter’s death, as if by being together it would all be okay. Draco didn’t like them. He felt no pity for the look on their faces. Two years now and they still mourned him; The Great Harry Potter.

“Come, Draco,” Pansy said to him.

He followed her and the rest of them into a carriage. Draco had time, no matter how fast it was running away from him, he still had it. He could do it. He told himself over and over that he could, but when he sat down at the Slytherin table and Dumbledore stood, he felt sick. Dumbledore stood at the front of the Great Hall, silver beard tucked into his belt like always. Those hands holding the cup looked older than Draco remembered, weren’t as steady as he had once seen them. And then Dumbledore looked at him and Draco was looking into bright blue eyes.

“I’m going,” Draco said standing before Pansy could even finish asking him what was wrong.

He left the Great Hall just as it burst into applause. It was probably something stupid like the celebration of Potter’s death. Draco hated Potter, hated him for dying because if Potter were still alive then Draco wouldn’t be where he was now. If Potter had lived then the Dark Lord wouldn’t be back and Draco’s father wouldn’t be lost in the Austrian wilderness. Draco’s mother wouldn’t look so pale and fragile and he, Draco, wouldn’t be walking the corridors planning ways to kill a man he knew he would never hurt.

“Fucking Potter. It’s always about him even after he’s dead.”

“Talking to yourself, Malfoy?”

“Stuff it, Zabini,” Draco snapped not bothering to look at the other boy.

“You don’t have to do it, you know. Whatever he’s telling you to do, you don’t have to. Listen, I could give a fuck about what you do or what anyone else does for that matter, but you don’t have to do it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the feast stuffing your face?”

“The food here is not up to my standards,” Blaise said looking at his nails as he leaned against the hallway wall. “And as much as you like to flatter yourself that only you are important and that no one can possibly know what you are going through because you’re a Malfoy and Malfoy men are so fucking superhuman, you’re wrong. It’s written all over your face Malfoy. You don’t want to do whatever it is they asked you to.”

“I don’t need your pity, compassion, whatever this is. I can deal with things on my own, Zabini.”

Blaise looked at him and Draco knew his face was giving everything away, but he’d be damned if he told anyone. He was going to find a way to do this, cost him whatever it cost him.

“Good night, Blaise.”

“Good night, Draco.”

Draco left him standing there, Blaise’s eyes focused on his hand as Draco walked away. They weren’t friends, not the kind that told each other things, and Draco didn’t know what to make of Blaise.

He was at the foot of the stairs when he looked back only to find Blaise’s brown eyes looking back at him. They weren’t friends, but at that moment Draco knew Blaise could read him well. He turned his back on the other boy and walked down the stairs, the dark of the corridors calming him as he recited the password to the common room. It was empty there, and Draco was glad there was no one to talk to him as he climbed into bed, bedclothes thrown on at the last minute.

That night he dreamt of Potter.

-

”You don’t have to do it, Malfoy.”

Draco opened his eyes. He was in the second floor bathroom. He recognized it from the leaking sinks and the ghost sitting in the corner, crying as she looked at them. He could vaguely remember someone speaking to him, but when he looked around there was no one there.

“You don’t have to do it.”

The voice again and this time Draco knew where it was coming from. He walked over to one of the sinks, the ghost of the girl going silent as she watched him. Draco didn’t know her name, but he’d heard of her.

“I’m Myrtle,” she told him. “He went in there once. I thought he was dead. But, he never dies.”

Draco looked back at the sink. He could see the faint marking on one of the faucets.

“Open,” he said to it.

Nothing happened.

“Not like that,” came the voice again. “You have to speak to it in its language.”

There was a hiss, words flowing over skin, like a snake crawling in grass. There was a faint click after that and then the sinks were moving, sinking down into the floor as the mirror in front of Draco split open down the middle. He could see a tunnel faint through the darkness but there was no end to it.

“You have to go,” Myrtle said. “He went.”

Draco knew how he was. “Potter,” he said. “Potter what’s down there?”

“The Chamber of Secrets.”

Draco turned, but there was no one there. “What’s in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“You answer.”

-

Draco woke the next morning with a headache and a desire to punch Zabini across the face when he realized why he was awake.

“What do you want?” Draco asked rolling on his side and pulling the covers over his head again.

“I thought maybe you needed help. I brought you a book.”

“I don’t need your help,” Draco answered, but Zabini was already up and out of the room.

Draco cursed under his breath, but got dressed since he was up. He sat through classes, listened to mundane words that didn’t register. Classes didn’t matter anymore and he didn’t even blink when Snape told him off for adding the wrong ingredient into his potion. Draco was too far into his thoughts to care. He had a plan. The first part of many plans that he’d been working on all summer.

“You’re going to fail class,” Pansy told him as Draco packed his things after Potions.
Draco shrugged eager to get out of class. Snape was looking at him and he wasn’t in the mood to sit through a lecture about how he was making his house look bad. He was the first to leave class, shoving people out of the way as he walked out into the grounds.

---

Winter passed by, each failed attempt Draco made at completing his task driving him more desperate. He spent his nights in the second floor bathroom, tearing his hair out because each day that Dumbledore was alive was another day that Draco’s mother might not be. Or his father.

He was passing the Infirmary in hopes of catching news of Katie Bell. Dumbledore hadn’t touched the necklace. Filch had stopped her right before she made it into the castle and from what Draco had heard in the Great Hall, Katie had touched the necklace. It was cursed. Draco himself had picked it out from Borgin and Burkes.

“She isn’t here.”

Draco didn’t even flinch. “Where did they take her?”

“To St Mungo’s,” Snape answered. “Pretty clever giving her the necklace. What did you think was going to happen? You thought she would be able to get in without anyone noticing her?”

“It’s none of your business,” Draco snapped.

“Let me help you,” Snape whispered.

“I don’t need help.”

“You do. You know you can’t do this alone. You know your weaknesses Draco. I know mine. I can do what you won’t ever be able to do.”

Draco turned his back on Snape. He knew what he had to do and he didn’t need anyone telling him what he couldn’t do, especially not the Dark Lord’s pet.

---

Draco lost it December 12th at midnight when the parcel Slughorn was supposed to deliver exploded in the middle of the Great Hall. Thirteen students were taken to St Mungo’s and Dumbledore was nowhere near dead.

“You can’t do this to yourself anymore.”

Draco was in the second floor bathroom again. Myrtle was sitting next to him on the floor, her hand resting millimeters above his shoulder.
Draco didn’t answer her, just pulled his fingers through his hair. He was getting nowhere, further each time he tried something. He could see it in Goyle’s eyes, the ridicule. He was nothing, not even sly enough to do this. One man, one old man and he couldn’t kill him.

“I hate this.”

“I know,” Myrtle whispered. “I know.”

---

He was awake that night, his body tense as he stared at his ceiling. Draco had been going over the options in his head. He knew that there was only one thing he could do now, one way to make this better. He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to go see Dumbledore, end it all tonight.

He slipped out of bed, fully dressed. The walk to Dumbledore’s office was too fast. Before he had even worked out what he was going to do, he was standing in front of the gargoyle.

“I’d like to speak with the Headmaster,” he told it.

The thing looked him up and down, but turned. Draco waited his fist tightening over his wand. When the door opened he stepped inside, his heart thumping like it was going to fall out. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, dressed too.

“Good evening, Mr Malfoy. You wish to speak to me?”

“Yes,” Draco said lifting his wand hand. “I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand. You mean to cast a spell against me?”

“Yes,” Draco answered his eyes glued to Dumbledore. His hand was shaking, his jaw hurt from the way he had it set.

“Mr Malfoy, I am aware of this task that has been given to you. I am aware that your mother is in danger. I am also aware that you think this is the only thing that will save her and yourself.”

Draco grimaced. “Are you going to tell me there’s another way?”

Dumbledore sighed. He seemed older now as he sat back into his chair, his hands shook as he reached for the wand at his desk. “I don’t think there is another way, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco gaped. “What do you mean? There has to be another way. That’s why I came here.”

Dumbledore shook his head, his long hair tucked behind his ears. “There is nothing I can do. Voldemort is strong. We are not. Even now he’s moving underground, placing Death Eaters in Hogwarts. There is nothing I can do. The Order of the Phoenix is nothing now. We’ve lost our only hope.”

“Potter,” spat Draco. “It all comes back to bloody Harry fucking Potter.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “there is a prophecy, Mr Malfoy. One that no one is aware of, This prophecy says that Harry Potter must be the one to defeat Voldemort. One of them must die for the other to live. Harry is dead. Voldemort can now live. I can try, Mr Malfoy. I can try to keep you safe. I can lie to those who follow me and tell them that there is hope, but it won’t take me or them far.”

“There has to be a way to bring him back.” Draco said grasping at what he could. “If the Dark Lord can come back why can’t we bring back Potter?”

“We can’t. The spells to bring back the dead are one of the oldest and darkest forms of magic. Things can go wrong,” Dumbledore answered his blue eyes looking away from Draco. “They shouldn’t even be considered.”

“But you have,” Draco said. “You’ve considered them. You want him back too. You know there’s another way.”

“No, Mr Malfoy. There is no other way. I will not argue that I would like to see Harry back, but it cannot happen. We must accept that there is no way to bring him back.”

“What about the Order of the Phoenix? What about all the people you are lying to? What about my mother? My father? Are you just going to let them die?”

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said. “There is nothing I can do.”

“There must be something in the school books,” Draco said. “There has to be something.”

“If there is,” Dumbledore said getting up and showing Draco to the door, “then I would not recommend that you look for it.”

---

Draco held his breath as he walked into the library, the shadows from the tables and chairs making him shrink against the wall. It was colder now as he walked past the rows of books. He could hear soft sounds from around him, like the books were whispering things to him, but he ignored them. His eyes were searching for one book in the back, past the rope marking the restricted section of the library.

Here, the voices whispered to him.

The books were speaking to him, each trying to tell him the stories that lay within their pages. Draco listened to them, each story worse than the next, all wanting him to hold them, flip through their pages and learn their secrets.

“Dark Arts Revived,” he whispered to the dark.

The voices stopped, only one whispering now. Draco followed it, moving through the rows. The book was near the bottom of the last row, partially hidden behind another book. It was like dusty, damp when Draco pulled it out. It fell into his hands like it was meant to be there, the whispering gone now as he ran his fingers over the cover. It was black, designs carved into the sides, the pages yellowed, jagged cuts along each of them.
Draco clutched the book to his chest as he made his way out of the library. He took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the second floor bathroom. The door slid open and he slipped inside. He put the book down on one of the sinks and stared at it, afraid to touch it now.

”There are spells, Mr Malfoy, spells to bring back the dead, but they require sacrifices, things far beyond what even I can give.”

Draco could see Dumbledore shaking his head at him. He heard all the warnings again, but it didn’t matter. Potter was there, in the book. He could open it, read the words, gather the ingredients. Draco could bring Harry Potter back from the dead.

He exhaled, loud in the empty bathroom. Draco’s fingers were cold, his hand shaking as he opened the book. There was a soft sigh as Draco turned the pages, his fingers tracing the words he saw. Old Magic, but it was still Dark Magic.

The spell he needed was near the back. When he saw it Draco knew he would be able to do this. The ingredients required were things he had, things he could get from what he deduced of the Old English the book was written in.

The spell to bring back the dead requires personal sacrifices made for the dead. Blood is required from a person who desires to bring life back to the dead. Desire and obsession are the two most powerful emotions, strong enough to resurrect the dead. If it is a man to be reawakened, seed from the enemy is needed, obsession must surround this enemy. The third ingredient needed are tears of sorrow from the undead, a link to the world that the dead will, and must, reside in after the spell is performed.

It is essential to brew the potion in a room where the dead have resided, a space of terror and danger. The further underground this place is, the stronger the dead will be once they have come back. The three key ingredients must be added at the last second, the caster of the spell must have in his mind, the image of the one he wishes to resurrect, the name must be chanted until the potion has disappeared from the cauldron.

“Blood from desire,” Draco murmured to himself. “Seed of obsession.”

The words didn’t always make sense to him, but there was something in him that was telling Draco he had to do this. He had to bring Potter back, to see him, be able to touch him. He wasn’t even sure what this was anymore, deep rooted obsession or just madness. He might have lost all sense of sanity, cracked under the pressure. Draco didn’t know further than that he had to have Potter back, needed someone to take the burden away from him. If Potter came back then Draco wouldn’t have to kill Dumbledore. He could go into hiding, everything would be fine. He just needed Potter.

“Draco,” came a voice from right in front of him.

Draco gasped, his hand slipping on the edge of the book, the edges slicing open the skin of his hand.

“Myrtle.” He groaned, fisting his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to know what you were doing?” she said.

Draco looked at her, his eyes focusing on hers. She was a ghost. His mind went over the ingredients he needed; ghost tears, blood born from desire, seed given from obsession. Three ingredients that needed to be added just as the spell was to be completed.

“Myrtle,” Draco said. “If I needed your help, would you help me?”

“Yes,” she told him. “Anything.”

Draco nodded at her. “I need you to come to the Chamber of Secrets with me.”

---

Draco had the ingredients he needed for the potion tucked under his robes as he made his way to the bathroom the next night. It had been simple to sneak into Snape’s private storeroom and take what he needed. No one was watching him anymore, not after his talk with Dumbledore, not after things broke apart for him.
He closed the bathroom door behind him and walked over to the sink. Myrtle was waiting for him as he set the things down. He counted everything again and then turned to her.

“How did he get in?” Draco asked.

“Words,” Myrtle answered. “He spoke in Parseltongue. Told it to open.”

“Can you do it?”

Myrtle said nothing, but Draco knew she could. He looked at her through the mirrors on the sink as she floated down to stand next to him. He could feel her hand on his shoulder, ice cold, her breath freezing as it recited words Draco didn’t understand. There was a flash of something dark in his head, but then the sink was moving, splitting down the middle to reveal the tunnel.

Draco saw darkness and no end, but he picked up the ingredients again and with one last look at Myrtle he slide down. It was faster than he had anticipated, the landing harder than he had prepared for, but the room was everything he hoped it would be. There was stone blocking the path up ahead, but Draco didn’t need to go further than this.

Draco’s breath was coming out in small burst as he laid out the ingredients around the floor. He pulled out his wand to light the fire and spell water into the cauldron. Myrtle was next to him. Draco could feel her body pressed close to him as he started mixing things, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on Potter’s name. The liquid inside the cauldron was clear like the water Draco had spelled into it. The fumes drifted up into the chamber, spirals forming out of the smoke.

“You first, Myrtle,” Draco whispered.

He felt her, more than saw her as the room filled up with smoke. She moved away from him, Draco’s body suppressing a shiver as she walked through him. He could hear her gasps of breath, but nothing more as the potion hissed as the smoke turned black.
Draco stepped forward, his body trembling in excitement and fear as he stood next to the cauldron. Desire and obsession. Blaise had always told him he was obsessed with Potter. Pansy had told him more than once that it wasn’t normal.

“Harry Potter,” Draco said, his whisper hoarse as his left hand raised the knife he has brought with him.

“Harry Potter.” He gasped as the knife slid over his skin, the pain dampened by the adrenaline pumping through him.

“Harry Potter,” Draco said, his words picking up speed as he unbuttoned his trousers and wrapped his hand around himself.

He could see Potter’s face in his mind, the green eyes that held so much dislike. Draco could remember every insult they ever threw at each other, the ways those eyes spoke, calling Draco to the other boy. There had been something thick and undeniable between them, there whenever they talked to each other. Draco called it to him now, Harry’s name falling from his lips as his hand ran up and down the length of his cock, the blood from his palm letting his hand glide over himself.

“Harry Potter.” Draco shuddered, blood pounding in his ears he pictured the way Harry looked the night he entered the maze, the determination on that face.

He came with Harry’s name on his lips, his whole body shaking as the potion in front of him gurgled and sputtered. The smoke from that rose over the chamber was red, blood red for an instant before it turned black again. Draco moved back until his back hit the wall. He slid down and sat, waiting as everything around him turned dark. He could still hear the potion bubbling away, but he couldn’t see. His whole mind was focused on Potter, on the green eyes and the messy, jet black hair.

He fell asleep there, his back against the chamber wall, the smoke filling everything, but smelling like nothing. When Draco woke the potion had stopped bubbling. The fire had gone out from underneath the cauldron, the smoke vanished. Myrtle was staring at him.

“You’re awake?”

Draco nodded, sitting up, his back stiff from sitting all night. “Is it all gone?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Draco answered as he stood. He swept his wand around the room and the leftover ingredients and cauldron vanished. “What time is it?”

“It’s morning,” Myrtle told him, her eyes watching him like she was afraid he would collapse.

“What is it?”

“It worked,” she whispered. “He’s here. I saw him in the corridors, walking like he belonged there.”

Draco froze, his wand held in the air, the levitation spell he had been about to cast gone. “What do you mean he’s here?”

“He was walking in the corridors. I think he was looking for you.” Myrtle said, her voice low, the tears in her eyes more prominent as she looked at Draco. “It’s not him.”

“Of course it’s him,” Draco answered.

He waved his wand again and then he was shooting up the tunnel. If Potter was alive then he had to see him. He had to know if it had worked. “Where was he?” he asked Myrtle.

“In the dungeons.”

“Did anyone see him?”

Myrtle shook her head. “I don’t think they can.”

Draco nodded and ran out of the bathroom, the book with the spells left on the sink of Myrtle’s bathroom. He kept his head down as he ran down the corridors. But, when he got to the dungeons there was nothing, no one waiting for him to open the door to the common room. No one was there, watching him from a corner. Draco’s heart slowed in his chest as he turned to give the portrait the password.

He climbed into his room ignoring Pansy when she called for him. Draco didn’t know what to think as he stepped into the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the mirror and gasped when he saw how bad he looked. There was blood on the side of his face, stuck to his ice blond hair. His eyes were red rimmed and his robes were a mess. Draco sighed under his breath as he stepped into the shower, the water hitting his sore muscles.
He relaxed in it, his head wrapping around images of Harry from the night before. The shower took longer than Draco intended, but he felt calmer when he dressed. He went to classes, ignoring the looks he was getting from Pansy or the way Zabini wouldn’t stop watching him.

“You look like someone died. What happened last night?” Blaise whispered to him in Potions.

“None of your business,” Draco snapped.

“Draco,” Pansy said, placing her hand on Draco’s arm, “you need to tell me what’s wrong. Something has been bothering you since we came back to the school. And you didn’t come back last night, what happened? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” Draco said through his teeth. “There is nothing. Now leave me alone.”
“Draco.”

“I said leave me alone,” Draco said, realizing too late how loud it sounded in the Potions room.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?”

“No Professor,” Draco answered.

“Then, go back to your book and do try to keep quiet.”

Draco nodded and stuck his head into his book. He didn’t know what they were supposed to be learning, but he was glad that Snape was walking around the room because Pansy didn’t say anything else. When the class ended Draco made sure he was the first one out the door. He took the stairs to the library and lost himself along the rows of books. He found a table in the back away from everyone else and he sat there, staring at the books in front of him. He wasn’t planning on studying, but Draco reached for a book anyway, flipping through the pages.

The words didn’t register in his head, but Draco stayed there until he was sure it was dark outside. He packed his things back into his bag and left the library. The corridors were empty, the lights flickering on the wall as Draco walked past them. He ignored it, his head wrapped around what Snape or Dumbledore would say if Draco told them what he’d done. It wasn’t that he felt any closeness to Dumbledore, but he had admitted to himself that he could never intentionally harm the man and as much as he disliked it, Draco had a certain respect for Dumbledore.

“Draco.”

The voice was soft like a whisper carried across a field, floating on the wind. Draco turned, his eyes searching in the darkness for the source of the voice. He could almost recognize it, but he wasn’t sure from where. It sounded thick, like the speaker had a cold.

“Hello?” Draco called, his hand falling to the pocket of his robe. His fingers curled around his wand.

“Draco.”

He spun around. The voice was in front of him now. Draco’s hand tightened on his wand as he pulled it out of his robes. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me Draco,” the voice whispered. “I’m here.”

“Lumos.”

The tip of Draco’s wand lit up, the corridor glowed pale green from the light. There was no one there.

“Draco!”

Draco spun around, his wand raised. Pansy stood in back of him, her hair pulled away from her face, her eyes round as she looked at him.

“What’s wrong Pansy?”

“He’s here,” she gasped. “I saw him. I was in your room looking for you and I saw him Draco. I heard his voice and saw his face in the bathroom mirror. It’s him.”

“Who?” Draco asked his heart thrumming in his chest.

“It’s Potter.”

Draco stomach clenched, his wand hand going limp. He dragged his eyes over Pansy’s shoulder and then he was running. He sped down the stairs, his hand holding onto his wand again. Potter was alive. The spell had worked. He shoved people out of his way as he ran down the dungeons. He was a corridor away from the entrance to the common room when he heard the voice again.

“Draco,” it said.

He froze. It sounded closer now, like someone was standing behind him whispering his name. Draco could almost feel the breath across the nape of his neck. He swore there were fingers sweeping down his arm.

“Potter?” his voice was low, skeptical as he said it.

“I’m here.”

Draco turned and there he was, standing at the far end of the corridor. It was Potter, his jet black hair standing on his head, the face turned away from Draco. He was there, but not like Draco remembered. Potter was taller, his limbs lankier and there was something wrong, something about the man standing at the far end that made Draco shudder. Potter turned and those green eyes were looking at Draco. Empty.

“Please,” the thing at the end of the hall said, lips curled into a smirk, “call me Harry.”
Draco stood there, his breath falling from his lips harsh and loud in his ears. He couldn’t move away as he watched Potter get closer, each step revealing something that made Draco want to run. The eyes were darker, a glint of madness there like Potter wanted nothing more than get his hands around Draco’s throat. The hair too black, the nails on Potter’s hand perfect. He seemed to shimmer as he made his way over to Draco.
And then, just as Potter stepped into the light of the last lamp, he was gone. Draco exhaled, his whole body shuddering as he felt a wisp of something pass over his shoulder. He turned, his eyes searching the corridor for a sign that Potter had been there, but there was only Pansy running to him.

“Draco,” she said when she saw him. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Draco looked at her. “Pansy. I saw him.”

---

“Repeat that one more time,” Blaise said for the tenth time.

“I said,” Draco answered his patience worn thin by all the questions from Pansy, “I found a book in the Forbidden Section of the library, took it off the shelf and found a spell to bring back the dead.”

“And you decided to bring back Potter? Bloody Harry Potter?”

“I had to,” Draco said. “You wouldn’t understand why.”

“Of fucking course we wouldn’t understand why,” Blaise snapped. “It’s not like you tell us anything. We have to bloody guess at what you’re thinking, Malfoy. For all we know the Dark Lord threatened to kill your mother if you didn’t kill Dumbledore and we wouldn’t know.”

Draco flinched before he could stop himself. Pansy gasped and Blaise exhaled.

“Fucking hell,” Blaise whispered. “That’s exactly what happened isn’t it?”

Draco looked at them. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is,” Pansy answered. “Of course it is our bloody business. We’re supposed to be friends, Draco.”

“And what were you supposed to do?” Draco asked. “What could you have possibly done that would have made anything better? I talked to Dumbledore. I told him everything. He knows and he said there is nothing I can do, nothing he can do to stop this. By the end of this year I would have to kill him or die myself. He told me there was no way to win this, to beat the Dark Lord because fucking Harry Potter was dead.”

Draco turned away from Pansy’s eyes. They were in his and Blaise’s room, the window tinted green from the water of the lake. Draco had spelled the door shut and Pansy had cast a charm to keep others away. Blaise was pacing by the side of the room; Pansy was sitting next to Draco on his bed. None of them said anything for a while. There was nothing to say.

“There has to be a way to stop this,” Pansy said finally.

Draco looked at her. They were both trained to be proper, to follow the rules set forth by their Pure Blood parents. The Dark Lord was part of their education. They were taught to believe like he did, to want to rid the world of dirty blood.

“You’re not a murder,” Pansy whispered. “Not even he can make you into one. There has to be a way to stop this.”

Draco nodded. “Potter.”

“But, that couldn’t have possibly been the only way,” Blaise said. “There had to be something else.”

“There wasn’t. Dumbledore said the war was lost without Potter.”

“So, you brought him back and now you have no idea where he is. He could be out there murdering people for all we know.”

“Potter wouldn’t,” Pansy said. “He was always so good it was sickening.”

“He’s a ghost.”

“No,” Draco said, “he’s human. He can touch things. He was supposed to come back as a wizard with all his powers.”

“You brought back a dead man with all of his powers?” Blaise asked shaking his head. “Have you gone insane? Did you even read what the warnings were in that spell you used?”

“No.”

Blaise growled something under his breath. “Draco,” he said, his voice softer as he sat on Draco’s other side, “you have to be careful. Whatever you used to bring him back had to be personal. He’s going to be attached to you.”

“How do you know so much Blaise?” Pansy asked.

Draco looked at her, but she was staring at Blaise, her eyes narrowed.

“My mother tried it once on one of her husbands that hadn’t signed his money over to her. He came back the next day. He looked the same, acted the same, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. He followed her, was violent when anyone came near her. Mother had to use another spell to put him back into his grave.” Blaise turned to Draco. “That’s what we have to do with Potter. We have to put him back where he came from before he hurts somebody.”

“You can’t,” Draco said. “We need him.”

“Draco,” Pansy said reaching up to touch Draco’s cheek. “you have to get over him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Yes you do,” Blaise said. “You’ve been obsessed with Potter ever since you met him. You’re as bad as that Weasley girl. Grow up Draco. He’s dead.”

Draco bit back his retort and Blaise shook his head at him before walking out of the room, the door banging behind him.

“He’s right,” Pansy said. “You have gotten as bad as the Weasley.”

Her fingers traced Draco’s jaw. He looked at her and Pansy smiled. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

Draco nodded at her and Pansy stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Draco sighed and fell back onto his bed. It hadn’t been long since he had seen Potter. He knew Blaise was right to some extent, but Draco refused to send Potter back. They needed Potter. Draco needed Potter. He’d gone through too much trouble to let him go now.

“Draco.”

The voice was by his ear, breath ghosting against Draco’s cheek. He closed his eyes imagining the darkness in those green eyes. “Are you really here?”

There was a hand on Draco’s arm and his heart skipped a beat. “Right here.”

“Are you alive?”

“You brought me back.”

Draco shivered as he felt fingers run up the side of his neck. “Blaise says you need to go back to your grave.”

“I know.”

Draco turned his head. “I don’t want you to go.”

Harry Potter looked at him; the green eyes a lot darker than Draco remembered them. He looked bigger, broader as Draco reached a hand out to touch him.

“I need you to help me.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I’ll help.”

“Why do you want to?”

Harry’s eyes burned with something Draco barely recognized. Possession. Desire. Want. They were all there asking Draco to stay, to let Harry help him. Draco didn’t know if he wanted this. Potter was the reason his mother was in danger, the reason that Draco had been second best all his life. He hated Potter. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of him, to be the one who cast the spell that got rid of him.

“I want you,” Harry said.

Anger flashed through Draco. This was the same boy who had made him the laughing stock of the school. This was the person that made Draco’s life hell, who rejected him when he wanted to be friends. Draco hated Harry Potter.

Draco wanted Harry Potter.

“I hate you,” he whispered.

Harry smiled, dark and dangerous in the half light of the room. “But, you want me. It’s what brought me back. I can feel it, taste in the air around you. You want me.”

Draco said nothing.

“I want you too,” Harry said again. “I want to help you.”

Draco reached out a hand, his fingers digging into Harry’s arm. “Kill the Dark Lord.”

---

Draco felt someone watching him as he walked out of the second floor bathroom. It was cold as he made his way down the corridor. He could hear footsteps behind him, heavy and he almost turned until he heard the person behind him trip.

He was out later than he was supposed to be because he had cleaned Myrtle’s bathroom. Ever since Harry had come back Draco had found himself spending more and more time awake at night. Potter was always there waiting for him when Draco came from the library, always just as the sun set, never before. They’d spent countless nights learning each other, things Draco didn’t want to speak hidden in the bed sheets.

No one knew that Harry was alive or that Draco was shagging him, their encounters rougher each time they saw each other, like the distance made them desperate, every touch intensified each day that passed. That’s why Draco went to look for the book. He needed to know what was happening, why he no longer wanted to hurt Potter, why he wanted to press him into the mattress and be physically violent in ways he shouldn’t have wanted.

There had been nothing in the book other than talk of obsession, transferred desire. It was the same as it had been the first time and Draco didn’t understand why he felt it too. His skin burned every time he felt those fingers on him, the dark eyes staring into his. The very idea that Potter could break him with his bare hands. The power made Draco dizzy.

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned. He had heard someone following him and he wasn’t surprised to see it was Goyle. Out of all the Slytherins, it had been Goyle who called him out about why he was spending so much time in his room, about why Draco no longer showed interest in making fun of the first years. Pansy had talked to him too, but Draco had told her it was okay. He knew what he was doing. He was dealing with Potter. Draco wasn’t sure if he’d convinced her, but it didn’t matter.

“Are you busy?” Goyle asked.

Draco shook his head eyeing the wand in Goyle’s hand and the way the other boy’s hair was standing on end. Goyle looked sick, paler than Draco had seen him this morning. His hands were shaking.

“Let’s talk in there,” Draco said motioning to the door on his left.

Goyle nodded and motioned for Draco to go first. The stepped into the empty classroom, the door shutting behind Goyle, loud. Draco turned to see Goyle smirking at him, the wand rolling in his palm.

“You haven’t done what he asked.”

Draco raised an eyebrow as he sat down in one of the chairs in the room. “What does that matter to you?”

“He came to see me,” Goyle whispered. “He was in my head. He told me I had to do it. I had to be the one to kill Dumbledore. He said you were weak. I heard him speaking to me. He was in me.”

Goyle shuddered violently, dry heaving as he sank on his knees. “You don’t know what that’s like. To have him in your head. He knows who I am now.”

“Goyle,” Draco said standing up and moving towards the door. “You need to rest. Sleep it off.”

“He said I had to kill you too,” Goyle yelled, his wand hand steading as he aimed it at Draco. “You’re extra now Malfoy. You were too weak to do what he asked you to do. You and your father are both pathetic.”

“Leave my father out of this,” Draco said, his voice low as his hand slipped into his robe pocket.

“Cowards,” Goyle shouted.

“I said,” Draco whispered, aiming his wand between Goyle’s eyes, “to leave my father out of this.”

“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you like you were supposed to kill Dumbledore months ago.”

“Leave now Goyle. I don’t have time for you.”

“Of course, you think that just because you’re a Malfoy you can do whatever you want. I’m not your pet anymore Malfoy. If you’re too much of a princess to do what the Dark Lord needs then I’ll do it and I’ll get the rewards you were too stupid to get.”

“It’s not that easy you fucking moron.” Draco snapped. “You think you can just go up to Dumbledore and yell a curse in his face and he’ll be dead. It doesn’t work that way. You have to actually kill someone, look them in the face when they die. You wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Goyle laughed, a sound that made Draco’s heart jump in his chest. Goyle sounded crazy, half gone as he pointed his wand at Draco’s chest. “You think I don’t have the courage to kill someone? You think I can’t do it? Shall I show you, Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head, but didn’t back away. “Move the fuck out of my way Goyle.”

“I can kill you. I can kill you and then kill Dumbledore. I can do whatever I want. I have the Dark Lord’s mark.”

Goyle shoved his sleeve up and Draco flinched. “I could kill you Draco.”

“You wouldn’t.” Draco hissed. “You’re too thick to do it. You wouldn’t be able to get away with it.”

But then Goyle yelled the curse into the empty classroom. Draco ducked, his wand flying out of his hand as he heard a thud from in front of him. There was screaming, a sound like wood snapping in half. He heard Goyle scream, high pitched and raw, followed by the smell of blood. He gasped when he felt the warm puddle by his hand.

“Draco.”

He looked up and there was Potter standing over his, the front of his robes soaking wet, his face dripping blood, his hands covered in it. It smelled salty, thick and Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or lick the wetness off Harry’s face.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, his voice hoarse.

“I killed him,” Harry answered. “He tried to hurt you so I killed him.”

“You didn’t have to.” Draco gasped.

Harry leaned forward, his body pressing to the front of Draco’s. “He was warm. His blood is warm.”

Draco swallowed stepping back until his back hit the wall. “You’re covered in it.”

Harry’s eyes darkened as he stepped forward, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “Blood is warm Draco. Like you.”

Draco swallowed, his eyes focusing on Harry’s hands. He wanted those hands on him, wanted to know how easy it would be to slide their lips together, wanted to see if blood really was salty.

“I want to touch you,” Harry said as he stepped right in front of Draco.

“I—“

“Would you rather it was someone else?”

Green eyes darkened almost to black and Draco didn’t know how to answer.

“You seem comfortable with Pansy.” Harry said, his voice low as his hands found their way around Draco’s neck. “I’ve watched you with her.”

“Potter.” Draco gasped out, his throat closing as he felt slick fingers pressing into his neck.

“I told you to call me Harry.”

The hands around Draco’s neck tightened, slippery and warm. He squirmed, but then Harry’s body was pressed against him and Draco couldn’t move. His breath went out of him as Harry’s body pressed him into the wall too heavy for Draco to push off. The hands around his neck pressed harder.

“Call me Harry.”

Draco gasped, his body shivering in anticipation.

“Say my name.”

Draco’s body trembled with the low rumbling words that fell from Harry’s mouth. It was like Harry was all over, in the air that floated around them. He was lighter on of Draco, outlines fuzzy as Draco looked at him. The hands around Draco’s neck loosened.

“It’s morning,” Harry said.

“Not yet,” Draco said trying to move away from the wall.

Harry’s hands left his neck and Draco leaned away. He turned so that he was looking right at Harry’s neck. “It’s not morning yet,” he whispered.

He felt Harry shiver against him, but then it was gone, the hand back at his throat.

“You called me.” Harry’s hand pulled the button of Draco’s trousers free.

“I’m here.” The hand at Draco’s throat left, only to have those fingers dig into his collarbone.

“To watch you.” Draco shivered at the warm breath against his neck.

Harry smelled like something thick and musky and Draco didn’t know why he was trying so hard to remember. There was something in the air, thick and dark, something Draco could almost touch as his hands reached for Harry’s hair. He let his fingers run through jet black strands just as Harry’s lips finally made contact with Draco’s neck.

It was like an electric shock, a burst of electricity passing through them. Desire rippled over Draco’s skin, his vision going blurry as he pulled hard on Harry’s hair. There was a low growl from one of them and then their lips met and Draco lost all the air in his lungs as Harry fell on top of him, hands scrambling to pull away clothes, shoving trousers out of the way, nails dragging across skin. Draco’s body shivered under Harry’s hands, his back arching into the fingers that raked over his bare back, legs tangling with Harry’s.

“I want you,” Draco whispered.

“You’re mine.” Harry growled. “Mine and no one else’s. No one else can have you, understand?”

Draco’s answer was cut off by the hands that slid between his legs. He shivered at the possession in Harry’s voice, muttered something even he didn’t understand as Harry’s fingers dug into his thigh. He shuddered when he felt that mouth so close to where he wanted it, then groaned when teeth sunk into his thigh, fingers tightening on his leg as Harry sucked on the skin of Draco’s thigh.

“I don’t want anyone touching you.”

Draco nodded.

“You’re mine.”

Harry’s voice deepened, the tremors running through Draco. He inhaled as Harry’s hand pushed his legs further open.

“Mine.” Harry said, eyes dark as he pushed into Draco in one go.

Draco’s back arched off the floor, his hands digging into Harry’s hair, the words cut off from his throat, whimpers falling from his mouth. Harry’s eyes darkened, the hands on Draco’s thighs tightened their hold and then Harry pulled out, pushed back in and growled deep in his throat. Draco’s body tensed, his vision going blurry as Harry picked up speed, their hips meeting in the middle.

His body rocked with every thrust from Harry and Draco couldn’t understand the desire that flooded through him, the desire to be possessed this way. His body burned with need, each touch from Harry forcing its way through his control until he threw his head back, profanities falling from his lips. Harry’s lips were on his throat, tongue licking up to the corner of Draco’s mouth, forcing its way into Draco’s mouth.

Draco held on, his breath coming out in when Harry’s hand wrapped around him, fingers sliding over Draco in time with the thrusts. He came, shuddering, screaming his release until his throat burned. Harry’s body shook above Draco, his hands landing on either side of Draco’s head as he caught himself. Draco moaned low in his throat, his body falling into the floor, his eyes closing as Harry pulled out.

Draco managed to get himself up off the floor and back into his room. He fell on his bed with his clothes on as Harry climbed in next to him.

“You’re mine,” Harry whispered into his ear.

Draco’s eyes were half closed, his body curled into Harry’s so that he didn’t see the way Harry’s green eyes darkened until there were completely black.

“Mine. Don’t forget it,” Harry whispered just as the sun came through the window. His body shook, his hands losing the grip they had on Draco as his body expanded, each of his limbs extending so that he lost his body, dissolving into the air around him. Harry sighed as he floated up into ceiling, his eyes focused on Draco who was sleeping.

He stayed there watching over Draco until someone walked into the room. Harry watched the gentle hands falling over Draco, the way fingers tangled in Draco’s ice blond hair.
“He’s dead,” the boy whispered. “You have to forget him Draco.”

Harry memorized every detail on the face, the hands, the slender fingers. He waited until the boy was alone in one of the school corridors. There was no one else around as Harry descended, his body coming together in front of the boy.

“You.” The boy said, dark eyes widening when he saw Harry.

“Hello, Blaise.”

End