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Hogwarts Express	By : Closet Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 27088 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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            “How does it look?” Harry asked anxiously, looking up from his stirring.

            Draco paused in the doorway, arms crossed, examining the scene thoughtfully.

            After their potions class that morning, Harry had slipped Draco a note that basically said
that his afternoon’s classes had been cancelled ((Poor Professor Pufftien, the new Defense
instructor, had had another nervous breakdown after a seventh year Ravenclaw had let loose their
Patronus, which happened to be a Dementor. The Patronus hadn’t had the same effect as the real
thing, but it had still been realistic and ironic enough that Pufftien had had another of his famous
panic fits.)) so he was heading to the bathroom to work on the potion. Draco was welcome to join
him whenever his classes let out.

            So, when his classes finished, Draco promptly headed to the third floor girl’s bathroom,
only to open the door and find this.

            Harry had removed his jumper, rolled up his sleeves, undid the top three buttons of his
dress shirt, then let his tie hang loose and lazily around his neck. The potion was boiling and as a
result steaming up the bathroom well, so Harry had been sweating and now his black hair was
stuck in little tendrils to his forehead. He sat, legs askance, on the floor, a cutting board between
his knees so he could carefully hack the daisy roots into tiny pieces. His cheeks were flushed, and
his emerald eyes were glittering more than usual.

            Draco took this all in, swallowed, and had to fight the flush trying to struggle its way over
his face.

            “Incredibly good,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he was passing judgement on his potions
partner or their project.

            “Good,” Harry sighed with obvious relief. “I was afraid I’d screw something up. What do
we need to add next?”

            Draco crossed the room to drop his book bag beside Harry’s, then settled down on the
opposite side of the cauldron. He watched Harry work on the roots for a long moment,
contemplating this new and sudden realization of what Potter actually really looked like, until
Harry looked up at him expectantly, and he ripped his eyes away before Harry would catch on to
the staring. “Lacewings,” he said calmly, forcing himself to remain that way.

            “Good thing we didn’t have to steal them from Snape’s personal stores this time,” Harry
muttered, mostly to himself, but Draco knew he referred to the Polyjuice potion he’d made in this
bathroom five years before.

            They worked in silence for some time, each comfortable with the other enough that they
didn’t feel like they had to fill the silence with words. Granted, Draco was sneaking glances as an
apparently oblivious Harry, but that was only for interest’s sake. After about an hour, and as it
neared time for dinner, Draco stretched, then jumped when his stretching arm brushed against
something that did not feel like a wall or bathroom stall.

            Spinning, Draco was alarmed to find his alternate self sitting there, almost right behind
him!

            Draco cleared his throat, and when Harry looked up to see what he wanted, the Boy Who
Lived saw him too, eyes widening.

            For several long minutes, neither of them spoke, just warily watching the intruder. He
didn’t seem to have noticed that they were even aware of his presence, and instead sat there, head
titled back, watching the ceiling with a perplexed expression. After about ten minutes, he shifted
his position, and happened to glance at the two of them. His expression flitted to almost fear
when he spotted the two of them staring at him, then quickly smoothed it into cold indifference.
“Good afternoon,” he said smoothly.

            “Good afternoon,” Draco sneered. “What do you want this time?”

            Alternate Draco frowned, considering that. “A quiet presence of the Boy Who Lived, I
suppose.” He sighed, noticing their perplexed faces, and directed the topic away. “What are you
brewing? And why in the girl’s bathroom?”

            “Polyjuice potion,” Draco blurted out before Harry could respond. Well, it’s the last
potion that had been made in the room, in any case. So it was close.

            “Yes,” Harry said smoothly, as though he’d been expecting Draco to say that. “We want
to see what happens if you don’t know which is which.”

            “Ah...” Alternate Draco nodded slowly. “So you intend to transform into the other, so as
to see what my reaction would be? Interesting. Of course, it will also give you both the
opportunity to see the other’s life... it may be enlightening.”

            “Enlightening, yes,” Draco said with a mental leer. He was curious to see what being
Harry would be like. Both in public and in private. Had Quidditch developed Harry’s muscles the
way it had to him?

            Bad Draco! Draco thought fiercely, trying to scrub that image from his brain. No thinking
about what Potter looks like under those clothes!

            Although...

            No!

            Bad Draco!

            “Hmm.” Alternate Draco nodded thoughtfully, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. “I do
like the way you work together, I must admit. I am impressed.”

            “Well, you know,” Draco sneered, “I am the potions genius, and Harry here provides the
bodily presence to chop up things that are far too dangerous for my own delicate fingers. So
really, it’s a fine balance we have set up here, but it works.”

            Alternate Draco dropped his eyes from the ceiling to gape at Draco. “Amazing.”

            Draco spared a glance at Harry, who looked as surprised as he did. “Well, it is a good
system, but I don’t know about amazing...”

            “No, no,” Alternate Draco held up his hands, stopping that train of thought. “I meant....
you called him ‘Harry’, not ‘Potter’.”

            “Oh, that.” Draco waved a hand lazily in the air. “It’s been like that for ages, you really
ought to keep up with the times.”

            The other looked inordinately proud of them. “I am so glad. This is excellent.”

            Both Harry and Draco shrugged.

            “Why is it excellent?” Harry ventured, cocking his head to one side.

            “Well...” Alternate Draco considered that. “Because it’s the way things should be.” He
stood suddenly, smoothing his black, silver embroidered robes. “You two are doing so much
better than many others. I’m very pleased, but I must go...”

            “Wait!” Harry stood suddenly, and Draco, feeling rather ridiculous being the only one
sitting, stood as well. “Why do you keep running off and never explaining yourself properly?! It’s
like you’re in some lousy novel and the author can’t be bothered to attempt to write your
character for more than a few paragraphs!”

            Alternate Draco paused, considering, and Draco arched a brow, giving Harry a look that
clearly said ‘Character in a novel?’

            “Well, I suppose that is true,” he sat down, slowly. “Do you always come up with
analogies like that?”

            Harry flushed, slowly sitting back down. “No. Usually ‘mione does that.”

            Draco remained standing, watching these two intriguing individuals. Harry Potter, Boy
Who Lived, Golden Boy, Gryffindor Extraordinare, Closet Slytherin, Seeker. And another copy
of himself, only a slightly off-balanced version of himself. He was beginning to suspect that this
copy of him was himself if he had gone completely and utterly off his rocker.

            “Well.” Alternate Draco considered this. “I can’t explain everything. It’s too early for
most of it, and some of it... I never tell. But... in the meantime, I suppose I can divulge a few
more details than I have. Do sit down, Draco. It’ll be more comfortable.”

            Draco narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, then went to lower himself to the
bathroom floor, only to discover that he was instead sitting on a squishy lavender coloured
pouffe, almost exactly like the ones in Trelawny’s classroom in the tower. A quick glance at
Harry confirmed that the Gryffindor was also sitting on one, and the Alternate Draco had settled
himself onto a deep royal purple version of the same.

            “Well. As I have told you before, I have a somewhat grand purpose in being here, and it
involves both of you. I don’t think anyone else knows about it, other than your potions professor,
Severus Snape. And even then, only really because you told him.” He frowned for a moment,
thinking. “In any case, I can promise you that I am not here on any Dark Lord’s business, which
I’m fairly sure will please both of you. Though I will admit that where I’m from... the Dark Lord
issue is... slightly different.”

            “Where are you from?” Harry asked, tugging his knees up to his chest and wrapping his
arms around them.

            “Hmm. Good question. I’m from... here, I suppose, and yet not. I attend Hogwarts, I live
in Malfoy Manor, I am a Slytherin. But things are not exactly like they are, which I suppose is
why I am not exactly like you,” he motioned to Draco. “If I had been, I wouldn’t be here, after
all.”

            “So... you really are Draco?” Harry asked, warily.

            “You are me?” Draco added.

            The Alternate Draco frowned. “Yes and no. Yes, I am Draconius Lucian Malfoy, and
nearly everything about your existence is the same as mine. I suppose I have the same blood as
you, so yes, I am you. But no, I’m not you. I was raised... somewhat differently. I went to a
different Hogwarts, where your beloved fool Dumbledore was not headmaster.” He looked
wistful for a moment, then shook his head, looking back at them. “I made a foolish decision
when I was fourteen. A decision you did not make.”

            Harry and Draco shared a glance. “What foolish decision?”

            Alternate Draco didn’t answer them, except to carefully unbutton the cuff of his left
sleeve, then roll the sleeve up to his elbow.

            Dark and ugly in the middle of his forearm, was a skull with a snake weaving dangerously
from its head like a tongue.

            The Dark Mark.

            “You’re a Deatheater?!” Harry gasped, moving to stand up.

            “Unfortunately,” Alternate Draco murmured. “I’d like to say that I, like Severus Snape,
am a spy for the side of light, but I’m afraid that’s not the case. I am merely another masked and
cloaked member of that inner circle, following in my father’s footsteps.” He traced the edge of
the tattoo aimlessly, then sighed and tugged the sleeve down. “I suppose you could say that my
business with you is... redemption.”

            “Redemption?”

            He sighed, smiling softly, sadly. “I’m trying to redeem my own black soul.”

            “How?” Draco asked softly, barely daring to breath. How did his other self want to
redeem himself?

            “I can’t tell you that yet,” he said, almost mournfully. “It’s too soon.”

            “Why?” Harry asked, drawing both blonds attention to himself. “Why can’t you tell us?
Why is it too soon?”

            “You wouldn’t be able to handle it yet,” he smiled softly, but stood, robes swirling
around him as he walked closer to the two of them. “But I promise you, when the time is right, I
will tell you. I swear it, on my mother’s grave.”

            Draco’s eyes widened. “Mother’s - ?”

            Alternate Draco nodded once, then bent, and before Draco could back away, pressed his
lips lightly to the crown of Draco’s head. Then taking two more steps, he bent and did the same
to Harry, who gaped at him in confusion. “I hope that helped,” he said softly, folding his hands in
front of him. “Even if just a little. I will see you both soon.”

            And then he was gone.

            For a very long while, perhaps even as long as half an hour, they sat in silence on those
ridiculous pouffes, until Harry finally spoke up. “Do you think we can believe him? That it has
nothing to do with Voldemort?”

            “He said it didn’t,” Draco pointed out, softly.

            “But he’s a Deatheater...” Harry paused.

            “Look,” Draco said quietly, drawing the emerald eyes back to his face. “If he’s really me,
and at this point I think I’m ready to accept that he is.... I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

            Harry nodded slowly, then reached across the narrow gap between their two pouffes,
touching Draco’s forearm lightly. As though he just needed some kind of human contact, and
wasn’t even concerned that this was his rival’s arm he was barely touching. “What do you
suppose he meant, when he said the Dark Lord situation was... different?”

            Draco could only shake his head.

            “I don’t know.”
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Hogwarts Express