He runs, breathless… it is pitch dark, his footsteps pattering, his breath swallowed by the ebony blackness, surrounding him, pressing him in… chocolate brown eyes, soft, sweet, they're everywhere, everywhere he goes, they're…

"Why didn't you tell me Harry?" Dennis' voice was soft.

"I'm sorry…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dennis' dark coffee brown eyes were accusing, moist with tears.

"I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"He was my brother!" Dennis screamed, and now the darkness was gone, and now Harry could see.

What he saw made him want to retch.

The body of Dennis Creevey lay on the floor, his skin a ghastly shade of blue, save for his back, neck and face, which were caked in blood the color of fallen dead leaves. His eyes stared out of his face, hauntingly sad even in death. The most horrifying however was his neck, twisted at a grotesque angle from his body, as if merely hanging together by an artery and a vein.

Dennis Creevey had leapt off the Astronomy Tower, only a month after the murder of his older brother.

This dream was nothing new to the Gryffindor. It had after all been haunting him for years, plaguing on his conscience. He had felt partially responsible for Dennis' death, like he could have done something to avert it.

"I know, I was just-"

"Just what?" Dennis shouted. "Protecting him! Protecting that bastard, Malfoy!"

"I…" Harry couldn't finish.

"He killed my brother," Dennis' voice was cold, hoarse. "And you didn't tell me."

"What good would it have done anyway?" Harry cried out, knowing the answer perfectly well, could probably recite it off by heart. "Colin was dead, there was nothing that could've-"

"I would have been happy, knowing my brother's killer was in Azkaban," Dennis said quietly, his blood-crusted lips the only part of him moving, his body lying eerily still on the floor. "You betrayed me, Harry."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he meant it with all his heart, wishing he could do something, anything…

"You betrayed me. For him."

Harry couldn't speak. The guilt weighed heavy on his heart. Oh god, I could have saved him…

"Did you even really love him?" Dennis asked. "Was it worth it? The two Creevey boys, for him? God Harry, you were our world. Colin would have died for you." Dennis laughter came short and harsh out of his mouth. "Well, he died alright. The least you could have done was avenge him.

"Why did you have to kill yourself?" Harry whispered.

"Colin was like my other half," Dennis' voice was flat, emotionless. "When he died, so did I."

"You didn't have to… Dennis, I could have…"

"Helped me?" Dennis asked bitterly. "My soul was dead, it was fucking dead, and all because of HIM!"

"I'm so…" a tear welled in Harry's eye. "I'm so sorry Dennis, I'm so sorry, I screwed up, I'm so, so sorry…"

Dennis' eyes were vacant. "Colin… Colin taught me everything… looked after me when mom died… when dad was in the hospital…" he barked out a short laugh. "He killed himself. Bastard did it on purpose… set himself on fire… incendio, that's what did it… have you ever seen a burning man, Harry?" Dennis sounded distant, like he was in another dimension. "The hair's what goes first… then the skin start to char and melt… along with the eyes… white goop, drooling down the person's face…"

"Dennis, stop," Harry said, sickened.

"The bastard," Dennis repeated, softly. "I was only eleven… Colin was only thirteen."

"Please, Dennis…"

"He did it, Colin… he did everything. He got the money, I don't know how… and he did it with a smile. Never complained once about how hard it was… just kept telling me, 'Dennis, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay'…" Dennis turned his dead eyes to meet with Harry's. "He worshipped the ground on which you stood, Harry. You know why? Because you… it was always you, you were the one who made things better, you were the one who could perform miracles no one else could… he believed you could have helped us."

Harry couldn't take it anymore. He turned from the corpse and ran.

Running… the voice played in his head. You can't get away Harry; it's all around you, surrounding you, caging you in…

"He killed him." Harry could see Dennis' eyes, sad, anguished, angry, betrayed. "And you… you killed me."

---

Harry screamed, the same time Draco did. The blonde fell to the floor, gasping in agony as the darkness seeped in through his skin, tiny needles piercing, pushing.

"Oh, poor baby," Voldemort cooed, walking over to Harry, giving control of the blonde's body momentarily back to its rightful owner.

"You… bastard… get… away…" Draco's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth, biting hard into the soft flesh oh his palm to stifle his scream. Voldemort looked at him, amused, then stroked back Harry's fringe, running his thumb over the lightning bolt scar, his mouth twitching into a smirk as the boy moaned and turned over, sweating in his tortured nightmare.

"Oh, don't complain," he said to Draco as a muffled yell emanated from the boy. "It was you who brought this on yourself you know… I must remember to thank you, by the way. Licking Potter's scar like you did… it was all I needed, to drain his energy for myself.

He turned his attention back to Harry. "Gryffindor's hero…" he mused, brushing a finger lightly past Harry's eye, "reduced to tears by a simple nightmare."

Beads of sweat burst onto Draco's forehead as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, fighting back the pain. He wasn't going to scream, no way. He wasn't going to give the asshole the satisfaction. He felt his spine cracking and he bit down harder as jolts of pain seared down from his brain to his tailbone. He felt his hair shoot out at the fringe, shortening at the back… then it stopped.

"Drama queen," Voldemort sneered. Draco got up, his legs shaky as he walked to the mirror. What he saw almost gave him a heart attack.

A half-naked boy, trousers tight around his slender hips. But that wasn't what got him.

It was his face. Instead of pale blonde, his hair had returned back to its original mouse-brown. His fringe was long, flopping sensually, casually down his face, over his stunned ice-blue eyes to his chin, curling at the ends. The rest of his hair was in spikes, curving gently down his skull to end at his nape. His eyes were wide, its look of original boyish innocence restored.

He looked just like…

"Oh god," he back away in horror.

"Hm. Starting resemblance," Voldemort mused. "Well, as they say, like father like son… a muggle phrase, I believe it was."

"Bastard," Draco whispered.

"I do wish you would stop calling me that," Voldemort said, irritated. "After all, there was no one to blame for his death but yourself. Tell me… did he taste nice?"

"Oh," he laughed. "That reminds me. There's a friend of yours who's been just dying to meet you."

"Wh-" Draco didn't get to finish. Voldemort snapped his fingers, and the startled boy disappeared.

Or at least, he thought he had disappeared.

"Where am I?" he wondered. He was in a plain room, large and white. He was surrounded by four screens, and as he looked, he realized they were showing what he was doing, what his body was doing. It was as if staring out through his own eyes, except projected onto a screen. He could see his body moving, getting up off the floor… meaning Voldemort was back in control.

Dammit! he thought furiously. That rose… he had given it to Harry for a special reason. He had asked the boy to keep it well and never let it break, and he knew Harry would treat it like gold.

How ironic that he would be the one to do it himself.

Harry… his heart ached. He felt angry, so angry… how dare Voldemort do this to him? How dare he take over his body, his body, in this manner?

Oh god, Harry. Suddenly it hit him like a speeding truck. He had only been caring about himself, his feelings… while Voldemort stood in Harry's bedroom, in possession of his body.

And Harry was asleep.

Oh, don't worry, Dragon, he heard Voldemort's amused voice. Me and Potter… we're gonna have some fun first.

"Leave him alone!" Draco shouted.

How rude… didn't Lucius ever teach you to share? Voldemort tsked, his voice mocking. Then all was silent again. Voldemort had cut off contact.

"Fuck!" Draco swore. He suddenly heard a familiar snarl, and he whirled around.

Hello, prey, the werewolf said, and pounced.

---

"Play nice now," Voldemort murmured, smirking as he felt the two beings inside him collide. Mm. It felt good to have a body… to actually have a body…

A scowl played on Draco's face as Voldemort remembered with pure fury what had happened at Durmstrang. He had bee so close, so close to power… and yet someone had known, had cast a spell that had left him weak and had forced him to beat a hasty retreat, returning Draco and his body back to Hogwarts while he recovered inside. He had been in control then, just as he was in control now, just as he had been in control when he had killed that boy…

He curled his lips back into a smirk. Ah, yes. Colin Creevey, he believed it was. The boy had caught him using the Imperius curse on a student, and had been forced to kill him, doing a hasty Memory Charm on the student who had been recovering groggily. Draco was devastated, if he could remember correctly. The Slytherin had always been a difficult host; Voldemort had had to use a lot of powerful Memory Charms on him the past few days. But at the time… Voldemort had simply found it easier to return Draco's body to its owner.

And what had the brat done in return? Run straight to Golden Boy Potter and told him everything. It had taken all Voldemort had to regain control and make Draco force Harry to swear not to tell anyone. He had put on his best expression of pure distress, and had pleaded with the Gryffindor for him not to tell anyone, 'else Draco be put in Azkaban.

The idiot had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

But of course, the damage had been done. Voldemort had been forced to switch Draco to Durmstrang, just to be safe.

Incidentally, the switch had been the day after the death of Colin's brother. What was his name again… Voldemort had caused the death of so many it was a miracle he even remembered one. Ah, Dennis, that was it. Stupid fool had hurled himself off the Astronomy Tower.

Ah, but it had been so worthwhile, to see the infuriated anguish in Potter's shimmering emerald orbs as he beat Draco, hit him, screaming at him. Tearful sobs of "How can you? I love you, you bastard, is that what you want to here? I need you… don't leave me, I need you… how can you leave me?" turned to loud screams of pure, unbridled anger… "It's all your fault! You bastard, you killed him, you killed them both, you cold, unfeeling bastard… why don't you say something?"

Harry had been so desperate, so angry, just wanted Draco to say something, anything, even just a simple 'sorry' would have sufficed to quench his anger… but Draco didn't say anything. Because Voldemort didn't.

The anger… Voldemort was amazed at it. So pure, so powerful, so much raw emotion… he had never felt anything of the like.

And apparently, neither had Draco.

For that, Voldemort had to thank Harry. Every punch, every hit, every accusation… they slapped at the blonde like shard of ice, poisoned glass seeping into his skin.

Killing him.

He had cried. Inside, he had cried, "Harry, I'm sorry, stop, stop it, please, god, I'm so sorry." But on the outside he stood, blank, a human sized doll.

Voldemort wasn't giving him control.

It had been easy to control Draco from then onward. It had been as if his mental self had simple shut down. As if… as if it were dead. It had only been in Durmstrang… damn that girl, damn her, for turning Draco back into a child… no, no, it hadn't been just her… her, and that boy, and the headmaster… they had all cast their spells at once, and the combination had been what reverted Draco to childhood.

Somehow, it had also made him forget. Forget everything, except for his eight-year-old self and what was happening then.

And then there was the werewolf. Voldemort hadn't been exactly sure why Harry's kiss had brought Draco's seventeen-year-old self back, but he was thankful it did. He needed that body.

However, he hadn't counted on Draco's mind returning to normal. In the end, he was using such powerful Memory Charms he was afraid he would permanently damage the boy. And of course, he had to be very careful… in case Draco could sense something wrong.

The last step however had been thanks to Draco himself. That episode, earlier that day, when he had licked Harry's scar… Voldemort had been able to use that to suck the energy out of the Gryffindor, enough so that he was strong enough to once again try to fight Draco for control of his body. It had been easy this time. Voldemort had forgotten what an extremely powerful wizard Harry was.

Next to him, the Gryffindor stirred, a soft moan escaping his lips. Voldemort glanced at him and smirked. Why not? He had told Draco he was going to 'have fun', after all.

And 'fun' he was going to have.

Getting smoothly onto the bed, he straddled Harry's waist between his knees. Harry blinked awake, startled at the sudden weight on him.

"Hey, gorgeous," Voldemort purred.

---

There had been a very good reason why Draco had handed the rose over to Harry.

It was because he knew Harry would never break it. No matter what he said.

And now… it was broken.

I've been waiting for this a long time, the werewolf said, landing neatly on its paws as Draco dodged away. Finally… a real fight.

Draco had known of the power inside the rose. Voldemort had put it there, sucked it out of the boy and trapped it in its crystal casing like a bug in amber.

It had been his 'gift'. His miracle cure, the only cure for lycanthropy.

Teen and wolf circled, each eyeing the other warily.

You have grown, the wolf noted.

"It's been a long time since we met like this, isn't it?" Draco agreed.

You stripped me of my powers! the wolf snarled. You trapped me in that rose!

"But now, you're free," Draco said, his voice calm.

And at the full moon, I shall return to the hunt. The wolf's silver eyes were filled with a sort of longing, feral and wild.

Draco had met the werewolf like this before. Once, before, when Voldemort had stripped him of his lycanthropy… he had seen the wolf howl in pain and fury as its powers seeped out from it into the flower's petals, the crystal casing quickly forming to cover it.

I will take your body, the wolf said. In daylight, I shall have your body… and by the moon, I shall have mine.

"Charming," Draco said, sounding uninterested though inside his heart was pounding fast. The wolf snarled, and leapt again.

---

"Wh-"

"Mmm…" Voldemort moved down so he sat on the Gryffindor's chest. Harry blinked and stared. Who the hell…

Those eyes…

"Draco?" he voice came out as a rather undignified squawk.

"New look. You like?" Voldemort smirked seductively, like a supermodel showing off her body to a gang of drooling teenage boys.

"You… what ha… what are you doing?"

"Hm?" Voldemort paused, fingering the top button of Harry's shirt playfully. "Well, I'm dressed… sorta," he mouth quirked up at the corners, "for the occasion. Shouldn't you be?"

"Occasion?" Harry asked warily, his eyes trailing involuntarily to Draco's bare chest. Damn, did he have a hot body… the Gryffindor could feel the heat rise to his cheeks.

"Well… you know," Voldemort purred, stroking the underside of Harry's chin playfully, much in the same way that one would do to a kitten. "Come on Potter, let's play."

"Play?" Harry was incredulous. "Draco, what's gotten into you? First I wake up, then I find you… sitting on me, half naked and looking-"

"Looking?" Voldemort pouted. "You don't like my new look?"

"Dammit Malfoy, I don't even know how you got this way, and now it's like you don't care, just sitting on me and…" Harry tailed off.

"Offering you sex?" Voldemort supplied innocently.

Harry turned an odd shade of crimson. "What is going on here, Malfoy?" he demanded. Voldemort suddenly froze. He thought he heard…

Whirling around, he pulled Draco's wand out of his pocket and aimed it at the door. "Desountos," he said, and the door glowed red before fading back to its normal color.

"What did you do?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Minor locking spell," Voldemort shrugged.

"Why?"

Gods this boy was nosy. "Because," he said, pocketing the wand then leaning in the Harry again, "you wouldn't want your friends to barge in and ruin all the fun, would you?"

"What…" Harry's face turned crimson again. "We don't have to-"

"Yes we do." Voldemort engulfed Harry's mouth with his, swallowing the words that were about to tumble off the Gryffindor's tongue. "Because you love me… ever so much… isn't that right?" he hissed his final word in Parseltongue, soft and venomous. "Potter."

---

Hermione tried the handle. "It's locked."

"Harry!" Ron shouted, banging on the door.

"He can't hear you." Pansy's voice was oddly quiet as she touched the door. "Desountos. Dark Magic."

"Isn't Desountos the one where sound can't penetrate through the object?" Hermione asked.

"And neither can anything else," Pansy said grimly. "Not even ghosts."

Ron rattled the doorknob hard, slamming his body against the wooden door.

"Don't even bother," Pansy said. "Desountos also is a powerful locking spell. You'll never get in by brute force. That's why it's classified as Dark Magic; Death Eaters used to use it so many times to kill their victims that it was no longer considered 'just a spell'."

"So then what do you suggest we do?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"How do you know all this?" Hermione asked strangely. Pansy looked at her, her brown eyes cold.

"Trust me, Granger. You don't want to know."

"Can we have this conversation later?" Ron asked, worry etched on his face. "Is there a spell we can use to beat this thing, or not?"

Hermione drew out her wand, but Pansy put a hand on it, forcing it down. "That's not going to work," she said.

"We have to try," Hermione said determinedly. Pansy released her wand and turned away as Hermione pointed and said, "Alohomora."

As Pansy had anticipated, nothing had happened.

"What now?" Ron asked. "Do you know any other 'opening' spells?"

Hermione didn't reply as she watched Pansy slowly approach the door, silently placing her palms flat on the warm wood and closing her eyes.

Draco.

---

Draco gasped in pain as he just barely dodged, the wolf's claws tearing cruelly into his skin.

Draco.

He halted, just for a second. "Pansy?"

Draco, can you hear me?

"Pansy!" he shouted, then grunted as he spun, delivering a jaw-breaking kick to the wolf's snout, kicking one sharp tooth out and causing it to bleed.

Draco. The voice sounded relieved. Draco, are you alright?

"A bloody werewolf's trying to fucking kill me, do you think I'm alright?" he snapped.

Me, Weasley and Granger are outside the door… we're trying to get in to help, but I think someone Desountos-ed the door… do you know how to break it?

Draco whirled and spun away from the werewolf. He glanced quickly up at the screens and almost died of heart attack on the spot. He was… snogging Harry… his fingers were stripping off the Gryffindor's shirt…

"Harry, no…" he moaned. He felt as if his heart was breaking… couldn't he tell it wasn't him? It was Voldemort, dammit, not him, couldn't Harry see that…

Draco?

Snapping out of it, Draco whirled around, just to see the wolf flying straight at him, leaving no time for him to run. He turned quickly so his back face the beast, and he was slammed down onto the floor, screaming in agony as he back was ravaged, claws ripping wildly into the unprotected flesh.

Draco!

"Try… Apparating!" Draco gasped before jerking his body away from the wolf.

---

"What are you doing?" Ron asked. Pansy ignored him, then frowned.

"Draco's in trouble. I think he said… he was fighting a werewolf."

"What?" Ron looked surprised. "It's not even night yet… isn't he a werewolf himself?"

Pansy was silent, thinking. "What was that, anyway?" Ron asked. "Why did you touch the door?"

"Weasel, for once in your life, don't be a pain and just shut up," Pansy snapped. She turned immediately to Hermione, not allowing Ro the time to respond. "Granger… you know how to Apparate, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Good. We're going in."

"Wait, but… Apparating's against the…"

"Oh, screw the rules!" Pansy said. "If you're not coming, I'll just go myself."

Hermione hesitated. "What about Ron?" she said, looking at the redhead who at the moment was looking incredibly hurt.

"Go call Dumbledore," Pansy said, her tone authoritative, commanding. "Tell him Potter's door has been cursed shut."

"Wait," Hermione said. "I want to know too… why did you touch the door? How did you know about Malfoy?"

Pansy looked irritated, but gave in. "I guessed Draco had been turned back into his child self… what is, what his child self would look like if he were seventeen… but that doesn't matter. I suspected that Draco's real father-" she said this with a disgusted scowl, "was psychic… that is, that he had some mild ESP skills… I only guessed that it would have been genetically inherited."

Ron and Hermione looked utterly lost.

"Malfoy's real father?" Hermione asked.

"Malfoy's psychic?" Ron asked.

"No, just a little, and we have a strong bond and… oh dammit, I don't have time for this. Apparate!" Pansy shouted, and she disappeared.

"Hermione?" Ron said.

"Yes, Ron?"

"I…" he looked upset, "I can't Apparate…"

"I know." Hermione's voice was soft, her expression slightly sad.

Ron came up to her and, hesitantly, kissed her on the lips. "Take care," he said, and as they pulled away Hermione could see the look of pure anxiety and worry in his emerald orbs. She suddenly realized how difficult it had to be for him… the redhead had always been there by Harry's side. And now, he was just being tossed away…

"Boy, makes me wish I paid more attention in class," Ron joked weakly. Hermione pulled him into a quick hug.

"I love you," she said, then Apparated in.

---

"Mm," Voldemort murmured, his mouth trailing down Harry's body, tongue touching skin lightly. "Yum."

It was all Harry could do to stop the moan threatening to escape his lips. Most beautiful and mysterious boy he had ever met in his life sitting on top of him, both clad only in trousers –Harry glanced at his shirt, lying in a mess on the floor- bodies impossibly close…

Harry subconsciously touched his scar. It was… tingling. Not to mention something else was… he felt heat rush to his cheeks.

"Kiss me," Voldemort said, and before Harry could respond, he grabbed the Gryffindor's head and pulled Harry to him, their mouths meeting roughly, the Slytherin's lips parted and his tongue seeking entrance. He licked at Harry's lip and Harry opened obediently, Voldemort's tongue ravishing every inch of the raven-haired boy's mouth. His hands were everywhere, touching, feeling…

Harry went a sudden bright crimson red as he pushed the other male back with as much force as he could.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, moving back.

"I thought you liked doing this," Voldemort said, pouting.

"You…" Harry suddenly had a very visual thought and turned even redder.

"See? You do like it, don't you?" Voldemort smirked at Harry's flushed face. "You pervert, Potter."

"Draco!" cried a female voice.

With lightning-quick reflexes Harry kicked the other teen in the stomach, causing him to topple onto the floor just as there was a small flash and Pansy appeared in the room.

"Pansy?"

"Alright you bastard, you leave Draco alone now or-"

"What are you doing?" Harry asked in mild alarm as the girl pointed her wand at the Slytherin on the floor, a look of pure venom on her face.

"Expelliarmus!" Voldemort was pleased with the speed of his new body as he whipped out Draco's wand and cast the spell at the girl. A wind-like force whacked the wand out of Pansy's hand and she whirled around to get it back.

There was another flash and a very startled Hermione appeared in. "Harry!" she exclaimed. Then, "Why are you half naked?"

"What the hell is going on here, Hermione?" Harry asked, frustrated.

"Stupid boy." Voldemort was up now, an ugly sneer marring Draco's handsome features. "Shall I show you?"

"Harry… that's You-Know-Who!" Hermione cried.

"Crucio!"

Pansy picked up her wand and flicked it Harry, ending it before it even began, her eyes cold as she turned to face Voldemort. "You. Bastard." Her voice was calm and clear.

"There's that word again." Voldemort's voice was icy. Pansy raised her wand.

"You wouldn't hurt me," Voldemort scoffed. "You hurt me, and it's bye bye Malfoy."

"Try me," Pansy said.

"Pansy, no!" Hermione cried.

A smirk tugged at Pansy's mouth as she shouted, "Rictusempra!," dodging left away from Voldemort's "Incendio!"

Voldemort spun as if caught in a mini whirlwind and smashed into the wall. Pansy dropped to the floor with a pained hiss.

"Pansy!" Hermione raced to the girl's side, covering her mouth in horror. A huge chunk of the Slytherin's arm was gone, showing just blackened meat and charred bone. Blood was starting to dribble out, a sickly reddish brown. The smell of burnt flesh invaded Hermione's nostrils and she felt about to retch. Pansy's eyes were wide, pained, tears starting to spill, her breath coming in short and ragged as she tried to resist the all too human urge to just sit there and scream in agony.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted. The raven-haired teen jumped off the bed, reaching into his pocket…

My wand! He suddenly realized in horror that he no longer had a wand, it being broken and splintered. He raced for the door, but found it wouldn't open.

"Desountos," Voldemort said, getting up. He flicked his wand as Hermione, and the girl flew back with the force of a hurricane into Harry's cupboard, her head connecting with a cruel 'crack' against the wood. She slumped down, unconscious. At the same time, Pansy fell down, her face lying flat down on the floor, the pain evidently too much for her to handle.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, panicked.

"And now, boy," Draco's mouth was wide in an evil, taunting grin, "it's just you… and me."

---

A/N: Hope you liked the dream sequence! I'm in the midst of writing the 13th chapter now and am trying to bring things to a close, so anyone who doesn't understand the story (I know there's quite a few of you out there ;) or has any questions about it, ask them now and I'll write them into the chapter. Cheers!