Chapter Two
A Vision of Pain

The following few days were spent resting. Harry and Malfoy were supposed to gather their strength again, so that they could get back into the war against Voldemort. They found out that they were Healers, which was a sort of continuation of the medi-witches and wizards. The two young men could both heal people with their touch.

“It’s something you were born with,” Dumbledore said when Malfoy once again played dumb and didn’t understand why they couldn’t all be Healers. “It’s inside of you. I know Lily would have become a great Healer if she’d lived,” he continued sadly. “And I believe that it is from Narcissa’s side that you got your gift,” he said to Malfoy.

Dumbledore seemed to have realized that the two boys were not who they were supposed to be, for he didn’t think twice about answering strange questions about things the two should have known. He did, however, not mention anything about it.

They also found out about the whereabouts of several other people the boys knew from their own world – or was it their own time?

Sirius, Harry’s godfather, who was still on the run for a crime he didn’t commit, continued to do things for the Order. The Order of the Phoenix was the secret but powerful group of trusted people that Dumbledore had gathered for years and years. Even before the return of Voldemort at the end of Harry’s fourth year (that was almost a year and a half ago, to Harry), Dumbledore had been wise enough to gather the people that he trusted the most to him, to fight the Dark Lord in the case of his return.

Severus Snape, the greasy-haired Potions Master at Hogwarts, was another member of the Order. He had the Mark, the tattoo all Death Eaters received, for he was really a former Death Eater. However, he had switched sides over twenty years ago, according to the Dumbledore of this world, and was now acting as a spy. It was one of the most dangerous jobs in the Order, which was why Severus often came home bruised and broken after Voldemort’s use of the Cruciatus curse.

They had yet to see either one of Sirius and Severus. Harry wasn’t looking forward to seeing his most hated teacher from Hogwarts, while Malfoy wasn’t looking forward to seeing the criminal on the run – Sirius. No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn’t get Malfoy to believe that his godfather wasn’t guilty. Just the same way, Malfoy tried to explain to Harry that the greasy Potions Professor wasn’t as bad as everyone thought – and Harry wouldn’t believe him.

All the while, Harry and Malfoy found themselves playing the roles of grown-up lovers. So far, so good, but good things never stay that way. Ron and Hermione teased them and asked if they were too shy to kiss in front of them, and Dumbledore spoke in a secretive manner, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Harry and Malfoy had to fight to keep up the pretence of a working – loving! – relationship between them.

Still, there was a problem that was always on their minds.

“How are we supposed to get home again?”

Malfoy asked the question in his lazy, drawling voice as though he didn’t really care if they actually did get home. Harry, who’d been getting dressed, turned to him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we should hit each other on the head and fall unconscious, and when we wake up, we’re back home.”

“I don’t think that would work.”

“No, Malfoy, I’m being sarcastic.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell, and Harry continued to get dressed. Dressing here was interesting, because here, he got to wear different coloured robes every day, unlike at Hogwarts, where all students were confined to black. Today, Harry decided to wear dark green robes that reminded him of the dress robe he’d worn at the Yule Ball in fourth year. The robes he wore now were different though, because they were open in the front, held together by his collarbone with a pin. Underneath, he had a white shirt with a high collar – that hid the tattoo on his chest – and pants that matched the robes. Malfoy still didn’t know about the tattoo, and there was no need for him to. It was embarrassing enough as it was.

In a wide belt around his waist, Harry had a few necessities that Ron had said that he always had with him – a few vials with healing potions, a knife and of course, his wand.

Ron had looked at him funny when he asked about the belt. “Who replaced Harry with an alien?” he’d asked and laughed.

There were a pair of leather boots down in the foyer as well, but he didn’t want to get Hermione on his case about wearing them inside, so for now, he wore only black socks on his feet. He didn’t mind.

One thing he found very nice about this place was that he was no longer in need of glasses. Seemed he’d had his eyesight corrected – whether magically or otherwise he didn’t know – a while ago.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked, and Harry turned to him as he worked on putting his hair up in a small ponytail. He hadn’t mastered that skill completely yet. He doubted his hair would ever look as nice as Malfoy’s did, but that was due to genes, rather than skill.

Malfoy was wearing the same sort of outfit as Harry did – the open robes, a shirt underneath, pants and belt, but all of his gear was in a light blue colour instead. He looked rather like an angel, so light and pure, Harry thought, and then wondered where the heck that thought had come from.

“Yes,” Harry replied shortly, and they made their way outside.

“Good morning,” Hermione said as they entered the kitchen downstairs. “Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully,” Harry replied. It was the truth; he slept better here than he’d ever slept before.

“Good,” Hermione said. “Well, Ron is out doing some errands for me, so he already had breakfast, but I’m making toast, eggs and bacon for you. That okay?”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry replied. “Anything we can do to help?”

The first time Harry had asked, he hadn’t realized how risky that question was. He had found out though – and made a complete fool out of himself by not knowing where the things were in the kitchen. Now he had memorized everything that Hermione had – with an odd look on her face – shown him, so now it was risk free to ask.

“You could set the table,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and did as he was told. Malfoy just stood there and watched him work, making no move to help himself.

“Is something wrong, Draco?”

Malfoy shook his head. “What?”

“You seem… distant. Is something wrong?” Hermione asked again. “You two didn’t fight or anything, did you?”

She didn’t sound as though she believed that they could fight, but the concern was apparent in her voice.

“No, no, we didn’t fight,” Malfoy said, still with the faraway look on his face.

Harry watched him curiously. Malfoy was acting strange, to say the least.

And then everything happened quickly.

One moment, the kitchen was calm and quiet as Harry proceeded to set plates on the table, and Hermione continued to watch the eggs and the bacon.

The next moment, Malfoy let out a scream and fell to the floor. Harry felt a sharp, splitting pain shoot through his body, and he lost the grip on the plates. They fell to the floor and shattered in a billion pieces. Harry was forced to his knees under the intense pain, and the pieces of porcelain cut his hands. He didn’t notice. Instead, he just moved painfully slowly towards where Malfoy was lying on the floor. Malfoy in turn was writhing back and forth, crying and screaming.

“Stop!” he cried again and again, “Don’t do it… No!”

Harry was on his knees. One hand pressed against his throbbing head, as pictures of torture passed in front of his eyes. Dead humans hung in thick ropes, and he could smell the blood, the fear and the death. Dark creatures moved around the room and Harry could hear them laugh. It made his stomach turn, and he fought to not be sick right there on the floor.

He crawled forward to Malfoy. Something within him told him he needed the other boy, and he followed the instinct. He couldn’t not follow it, for it was like there was a strong energy pulling Harry towards the blonde on the floor.

“No, don’t,” Malfoy continued to cry, but he sounded weaker now. “Please don’t…”

Harry stretched his hand out and grabbed Malfoy’s wrist. He pulled the other boy towards him, until Malfoy was in his arms. Malfoy turned to him, and cried into his chest.

“No…” he mumbled, again and again.

Harry felt something wet, cool and soothing on his forehead. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realized he’d closed, to see Hermione there. There was concern and fear in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. She only kept the cool cloth to Harry’s forehead, and something told Harry that this was not the first time something like this had happened.

Malfoy still lay with his head on Harry’s chest, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. Harry couldn’t bring himself to push him away; the blonde seemed to need the comfort.

“What did you see?” Hermione asked finally, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“People… tortured to death,” Harry said. “And dark shadows, moving around the bodies, laughing.”

“Death Eaters?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Hermione nodded, her face deep in thought, then stood, albeit a bit ungracefully because her stomach was in the way.

“Take him upstairs and let him sleep for a while,” she said, motioning at Malfoy. “Then he can tell us what we saw. I’ll come up with breakfast for you in a little while.”

Harry did as he was told. Carefully, he stood up. Malfoy cried in protest as Harry moved away from him, and gripped his wrist tightly. Harry wondered if Malfoy was conscious of what he was doing at all. He didn’t seem to be.

“Mal– Draco, I need you to let go,” he said gently. He felt the death grip on his wrist loosen just a little bit, and he wriggled lose. Malfoy whimpered like a small child on the floor and fresh tears trickled down his cheeks when Harry was no longer touching him. Strange didn’t even begin to explain how Harry thought of the situation. Then he let it go for the moment, and bent down and picked Malfoy up.

Now there was a strange sensation. It felt like he’d done this before… and not just once, but several times before.

Malfoy seemed to think so too, for he buried his head in Harry’s shoulder, and gripped Harry’s robes as though he knew exactly where to hold on.

Strange.

Once they were upstairs, Harry placed Malfoy on the bed. But this time, when Harry asked him to let go of his robes, Malfoy didn’t do as he was told. Finally, unable to force him, Harry laid down with the blonde. Malfoy curled up next to him, his breathing still uneven and shuddering. His cheeks were still wet with tears, but there came no new ones.

Harry lay still, with one arm around Malfoy – it was the only way for him to be comfortable with Malfoy still gripping his robes, he told himself – and thought of the past half hour’s events. He was not unused to the pain in the scar and the brief visions of Voldemort’s whereabouts; that had happened before. But why did Malfoy feel it? Malfoy did not have a scar, and as far as Harry knew he didn’t have any other connection to the Dark Lord either.

Still, he had to admit that it was possible – likely even – that something had happened with Malfoy in this world.

Maybe it had to do with their healing abilities?

It was possible. Harry didn’t know enough about being a Healer to rule it out. Dumbledore had given him a brief description of what Healers did, but it was far from a complete picture. Harry was nervous about the time when he and Malfoy would be forced out to some war site to heal – neither one knew how to.

Yet Harry had done it once – to Malfoy. On the very first day in this strange world, Harry had healed the bruise on Malfoy’s temple, and the blonde had woken up just minutes later.

There was a knock on the door, waking Harry from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Harry said softly as to not wake Malfoy.

He wondered why he cared whether Malfoy woke up or not.

Hermione entered with a tray of food. The delicious scent of eggs and bacon made Harry’s empty stomach scream, ‘I want food!’ Hermione set the tray on the table next to the bed, so that Harry could reach it with his free hand. He took a piece of toast and began eating hungrily. Hermione stretched out and took his other hand in hers, cleaning the cuts off. They weren’t bleeding anymore, but it looked nasty with the dried blood.

As she sat there with his hand in hers, Hermione said softly, “You look so perfect together.”

Harry choked slightly on his food. Then he swallowed and said, “What?”

“You two,” Hermione said, motioning at Harry and Malfoy, “Look so perfect together.”

Harry looked at her and tried to hide the disbelief he felt. “Um, yeah…” he said.

“I know I was shocked when you got together in the first place, but that was because… well, it was Malfoy. And besides, we were quite unprepared. I mean, suddenly you just began kissing him and Ron fainted and –” She broke off and stayed silent for a moment before continuing. “That’s not the point,” she smiled, as though recalling a dear memory. “I saw how good he was for you. And besides, he’d switched sides, so we couldn’t accuse him of being a Death Eater in training anymore.

“Then his father –” she spat the word out “– kidnapped him, and we saw how it pained you. You didn’t speak to us for days… you were with Dumbledore the whole time, and you wanted to go out and look for him. You were so angry when he wouldn’t let you leave the school…”

She smiled sadly at the memory. “And then we found him… Beaten and starved almost to death. But the way his eyes lit up when he saw you… I swear, if he’d died that night – and I’m not saying he wasn’t close to it – he would have died happy because you were there.”

“And Lucius?” Harry asked, although he should have known what happened to the elder Malfoy, since he was supposed to have been there.

“I wondered how Draco would take the news about how you killed his father. I had all these different scenarios in my head, but crying was definitely not one of them. I thought he’d be raging mad, or perhaps be as cold as he always was back them, but I definitely didn’t think he’d cry. Yet he did.

“I guess that’s when I realized that he really was human, and that he really loves you.”

She fell silent, and Harry’s gaze wandered from Hermione to rest on Malfoy.

“So yeah, you’re perfect together,” Hermione said with another small smile. One hand rested on Harry’s leg, the other one on her stomach.

“You and Ron are a just as perfect, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “And you’ll have a beautiful child.”

Some alien emotion flitted over Hermione’s face for a moment, but it was gone before Harry had time to tell what it was. Then she smiled at him. “I’ll leave you two alone now. Don’t forget to give him some of that to eat when he wakes up as well.”

“Promise,” Harry said, grabbing a plate with eggs and bacon on it. He placed it on the side of the bed, and began with the somewhat complicated task of eating eggs and bacon with only one hand, lying down on a bed. It was a wonder he didn’t make a complete mess.

Hermione stood and left, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy once more.

He didn’t know how long they had been lying there before Malfoy began to stir, but it had to have been a while, for the sun had risen high above the window’s height. Malfoy, still curled up next to Harry, moaned and lifted his head.

“Morning,” Harry said with a grin.

Malfoy practically flew out of bed. “What did you do to me Potter?” he yelled accusingly, staggering backwards when he discovered that his legs weren’t supporting him.

Harry got up and stood next to Malfoy. Malfoy was leaning on a table, trying to get the world back into focus. He blinked rapidly, and for a second, Harry was worried that he might faint. He didn’t, to Harry’s relief. Harry didn’t want to deal with an unconscious Malfoy yet again.

“Want to sit down, maybe?” Harry asked, offering his hand.

Malfoy didn’t take the hand, but he did make his way back to the bed where he sat down heavily.

“What did you do to me, Potter?” he asked again, this time in a quieter tone.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Malfoy. All of a sudden, you were on the floor in the kitchen, crying and screaming like a baby for something to stop. I grabbed hold of you -” Harry decided not to tell Malfoy just how close he’d held the Slytherin “- and you haven’t let go since.”

“You must have hexed me! You or that Granger girl! I would never -”

“You did, you git,” Harry said. “You were on the floor, crying as though you were in pain, and it took at least half an hour before you calmed down and fell asleep. Now, the more important thing is not that you were in fact sleeping with me as a pillow -” Malfoy glared at him “– but to know just why you fell down, crying and screaming for something to stop. So, do you remember anything?”

Malfoy continued to glare at him, but Harry glared back, and won the staring contest within a minute. Malfoy’s eyes were cast downwards, and he mumbled something.

“What did you say?” Harry asked, gently.

“I said that I saw blood!” Malfoy yelled, and Harry could tell that he was on the verge of breaking down again. “Blood and death… Muggles, hanging in ropes from the walls… Figures… Death Eaters… moving around the room, laughing at the dead bodies. There was one that was still alive, he begged for mercy, he begged for the others… but they wouldn’t give it… They cursed him, and he looked so shocked when he first felt it. Then they cut him with knives; they wanted to hear him scream. He wouldn’t, though. I could see him biting through his tongue to not give them what he wanted…

“And then they’d had enough… But they wouldn’t just do the killing curse – they thought that was too easy. So they continued to cut him, and curse him with the Cruciatus curse… And there was so much blood…

“And they opened his chest, while he was still alive. They kept him conscious with magic, it must have been magic, ‘cause no Muggle would have been awake for that… They cut his heart out… And he watched it beat a last time…”

Malfoy’s hand flew to his mouth, and he ran to the bathroom. Harry could hear him heave, and he walked after him. Malfoy was on his knees by the toilet, crying and trying to brush away tears and vomit from his face.

“I couldn’t do anything… I couldn’t make them stop,” he cried, now lying down and rolling onto his side.

Harry sat down on the floor in silence. Without a word, he lifted Malfoy’s head up on his lap and held an arm around him as he continued to cry, living through the vision one more time. Neither one said anything for several minutes, until Malfoy stopped crying.

“I had the vision too,” Harry said. “But not as detailed as you did. I felt the pain; I could smell the blood and the death. I saw the dead bodies…”

He fell silent again; he couldn’t come up with anything that would make Malfoy feel better.

“What if my father was one of them?”

The question was unexpected, to say the least. “What?”

Malfoy looked up from Harry’s lap – this time he didn’t seem to mind or care that that was where he was – and repeated himself.

Harry sighed. “He wasn’t,” he said, and he didn’t know if he should sound happy or sad for Malfoy. He settled for something that he hoped was neutral.

“How do you know?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Because he’s dead.”

Malfoy sat up straight. “He’s what?”

Harry looked down at his hands, studying them but not really seeing them at all. “In this place, your father is dead. He’s dead because I killed him. Or the me of this place at least.”

Malfoy’s mouth opened as though he was about to say something, then closed again. Emotions flew over his face so quickly Harry didn’t have time to read them, before Malfoy settled into a mask of indifference.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Harry said.

Malfoy looked up at him. The silver eyes looked empty, devoid of any emotion. “You’re sorry, Potter? You’re sorry that you killed my father?” He paused, and Harry expected a raging Slytherin to come next. What did come, however, surprised him to no end.

“I’m not sorry.”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, wondering if he’d heard correctly.

“I’m – not – sorry,” Malfoy spelled out to him. “My father has never my dad. I am – was – his servant, his heir, but I’ve never been his son. I told you, if he ever found out that I’m not going to join Voldemort, he would kill me.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, opened it to say something else, then closed it. His mind replayed his conversation with Hermione, and he realized that Lucius most likely had found out, and kidnapped his own son. He knew Malfoy was right about his father, and as such, Harry couldn’t find anything even remotely intelligent to say in reply to the blonde.

“You look rather like a goldfish when you do that, Potter,” Malfoy said.

Harry glared at him. “I happen to like goldfish.”

“I like spaghetti, doesn’t mean I want to look like it.”

Harry stood abruptly. “We should probably go downstairs. ‘Mione wanted you to eat something, but I doubt the food she gave me is still warm.”

He left the bathroom without giving Malfoy a chance to speak. He walked into their room and picked up the tray of food on the bedside table. He heard Malfoy clean himself up in the bathroom, and just as he was going out the door, he heard,

“Potter?”

Harry stopped with a sigh. “Yes Malfoy?”

“Thanks for… well, you know.”

Malfoy gave him a small smile, and then left the room before Harry. The Boy Who Lived was left behind, staring at the blonde.

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