Chapter 23
Draco woke to the soft morning light filtering through the window curtains. He stirred slightly, feeling the familiar warmth beside him, and turned just a little, his breath still slow from sleep’s haze.
Harry was sleeping deeply, his chest rising with a hypnotic regularity. His raven hair was even messier than usual, disheveled strands falling over his eyes and forehead. His relaxed face looked almost younger, devoid of the dangerous spark that accompanied him when awake. His long lashes cast tiny shadows on his cheeks, and his lips, just slightly parted, moved imperceptibly as if he were dreaming.
Draco let his gaze wander downward. The sheet barely covered his hips, revealing his lean torso—his fair skin marked only by reddish patches and runes. One of his shirts, clearly too large for him, had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the curve of his neck and the red mark left the night before.
He was beautiful. Disarming, even in sleep.
Draco rested on his elbow, allowing himself a moment to watch him, as if he could capture that image just for himself. Then, without really thinking, he ran a finger along the line of the raven’s jaw—a touch as light as a feather.
The other mumbled something incomprehensible and turned slightly, moving closer to him in his sleep.
He smiled, leaning down to brush a light kiss across his forehead.
The morning slipped away amid lessons and crowded corridors, with the constant murmur of students moving from one classroom to another. Draco had allowed himself to be swept up in the usual routine, but several times, between classes, he found himself crossing paths with his boyfriend in the hallways.
The first time was outside the Transfiguration classroom. Harry was standing with Hermione and Ron, but Draco immediately noticed something odd. Harry’s eyes were… different. Not the usual bright green, but a color that seemed to oscillate between gold and red, as if a flame stirred within them. For an instant, Draco paused, squinting his eyes. But when he turned to him, Harry’s expression was perfectly normal.
The second time happened in the dungeons, before the Potions class. Harry was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he listened to something Blaise was saying. Draco was about to join them when he noticed another unsettling detail. Some strands of Harry’s hair seemed almost to glow, shifting between black and hues of red and gold, as if lit from within by an inner light.
He stopped abruptly, but it took only the blink of an eye for everything to return to normal.
At lunch, he could no longer ignore it. Seated at the Gryffindor table, Draco watched Harry intently as he served himself food with a distracted gesture. He seemed… quieter than usual. Not that Harry had ever been particularly talkative, but there was something about the way his shoulders were slightly tense, as if he were holding something back.
He set down his cutlery and leaned in a little toward him. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice lower than he intended.
«Yeah.» Harry replied, shrugging.
«I think I’m just tired.»
Draco stared at him for a moment, a feeling of unease nestling in his stomach.
He hadn’t even had time to close the door behind him when he heard the shorter one falter beside him. His body suddenly lost balance, and he moved on instinct, grabbing him by the arms before he could fall to the ground.
«Harry?» his voice was tenser than he meant it to be.
For an instant, Harry’s eyes met his. They burned. Literally. Molten gold and vivid green swirled in his irises, pulsating like an uncontrollable blaze. Then his body contorted, a surge of magic erupted from him, and the blonde was forced to let him go abruptly as flames licked at his hands.
The Gryffindor staggered backward, clutching his chest as if something inside him were trying to tear him apart. Fire enveloped his arms, his hair shifted between black and a bright, lively green, while every muscle in his body convulsed in a painful spasm.
«Call... Luna...» he managed to say between clenched teeth before the pain finally overwhelmed him.
His body collapsed to the floor, the flames around him pulsing for another moment before dying down, leaving only his motionless figure lying there.
«Shit.» Draco’s heart seemed to have stopped.
He fell to his knees beside him, his hands trembling, uncertain of what to do. Harry’s body was burning, and his breathing was irregular. Panic settled in Draco’s chest, but he couldn’t afford to remain still. He looked up toward the door and shouted,
«Blaise!»
The sound of hurried footsteps followed, and then the door swung open as the mulatto entered in a rush. His eyes widened at the sight of Harry sprawled on the floor and the despair on his best friend’s face.
«Go find Luna. NOW.» He had never spoken with such urgency.
Zabini asked no questions. He turned sharply and disappeared from the room, leaving Draco alone with Harry—breath short and his hands still trembling.
Luna arrived silently, her clear eyes settling on the Gryffindor’s figure lying on the bed. The light in the room seemed to almost dim around him, as if the very magic held its breath in anticipation. The blonde did not move; he didn’t let go of Harry’s hand for even a moment—whether the warmth he exuded was overwhelming or when it suddenly turned as icy as frost.
The girl watched him intently, her face serene yet focused. Then, after a moment of silence, she spoke in her usual ethereal voice.
«I think it’s best if you take him to his parents.»
Malfoy’s gaze snapped upward.
«I’ll go with him.» he replied, his voice leaving no room for discussion.
Luna did not object. She regarded him for a moment, as if she already knew he would never agree to leave him alone. Then she nodded and raised her hand just slightly.
With an invisible flutter of wings, the room vanished, and they found themselves in Harry’s room at his parents’ castle.
It was a spacious, regal environment—the dark walls lit by floating candles that emitted a warm, almost golden glow. The high ceiling was decorated with a starry vault that seemed to change slowly like a continuously shifting night sky. A grand four‑poster bed, draped with thin, dark veils, dominated the room, surrounded by refined furniture and elegant details.
He immediately turned toward the dark‑haired guy, still clutching his hand.
Harry opened his eyes and found himself in a place suspended between dream and reality. The air was wrapped in a familiar warmth, an energy that gently brushed against him, echoing something known. It felt just like when he was beside Draco—as if the essence of the blonde were imprinted in that place.
He sighed, already imagining the blonde’s reaction once he emerged from there. He could almost hear him huff insults, that mixture of exasperation and concern he always tried to mask behind his usual sarcasm.
He began to walk, letting the landscape gradually reveal itself. The surroundings seemed abstract, ethereal, as if every step carried him deeper into a dimension that belonged neither to reality nor to dreams. The ground beneath him was solid, yet it moved in gentle waves, as if responding to his presence.
Then he saw it.
A strange, floating black mass that seemed to pulse and vibrate with its own will. It was formless and ever-changing, like dense smoke that refused to disperse, yet there were details that caught the light: delicate scales of gold and green shimmered on its surface.
He stopped, his green eyes narrowing in a mix of curiosity and caution.
James approached Draco with an unusually calm expression. The blonde was seated next to Harry’s bed, his hand still tightly clasping Draco’s, as if letting go would shatter a precarious balance.
«You should rest…» the brunette said in a tone that brooked no argument, but the other didn’t move.
«I’m fine.» he retorted, though it was clear that wasn’t true.
His grey eyes were ringed with fatigue, and his shoulders were stiff from accumulated tension. He had watched Harry without ever averting his gaze, as if he feared that Harry might vanish if he blinked too long.
James sighed, his gaze falling on his son.
«There’s no point in wearing yourself out. When he wakes, he’ll need you sharp.»
Draco clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. He knew he was right, yet the idea of letting go, even for a moment, made him feel vulnerable. Harry’s temperature changed unpredictably, oscillating between an unbearable warmth and a cold that could freeze the bones.
«Harry is stronger than you think. This won’t stop him.»
He lowered his gaze to the hand entwined with his boyfriend’s.
«I know.» he whispered, though he couldn’t bring himself to let go—more for his own sake than anything else.
Tom entered the room with the fluid step of someone in no hurry, but his gaze betrayed a subtle unease, well hidden behind his usual impassive expression.
The brunette immediately turned toward him, the tension in his shoulders easing as soon as he saw him.
«So? What did they say?» he asked, his tone calm yet laden with expectation.
The taller one snorted, crossing his arms as he approached Harry’s bed.
«You know how I am…» he replied, clearly annoyed.
«Mirathis said he might know something, but then he disappeared. Tsk.»
James pressed his lips into a thin line.
«Always enigmatic, huh?»
«More irritating than usual. Especially Vareth.» Tom drew closer, studying Harry with keen eyes, almost as if analyzing him.
«If only they would speak plainly instead of hiding behind enigmas and half-truths.»
James watched him for a moment before sighing and running a hand through his hair.
The two men exchanged a quick glance—a silent understanding that needed no words. Draco barely noticed the faint movement of air as James and Tom disappeared from the room.
The silence was then broken by a sudden presence. The air grew denser, charged with an ancient, unknown energy. Draco looked up abruptly and found himself facing a figure wrapped in an otherworldly aura.
Mirathis was tall and lithe, draped in a fabric that seemed to shimmer between ancient gold and the black of shadow. His face was harmonious, but his eyes were a bottomless well, filled with reflections like fragments of memories scattered through time. His irises shifted colors with every beat. Thin black marks—runes very similar to Harry’s—moved across his skin as if alive, while his dark hair floated lightly as if following a rhythm of its own.
«Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Draco. I am Mirathis.» he introduced himself in a calm, deep voice, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
The blonde remained silent, his grey eyes wary as the being shifted his gaze toward the boy lying there with an interest that Draco found unsettling.
«I need a hand, if you could follow me.» Mirathis continued naturally, opening a portal beside him.
Inside the portal was a shimmering expanse of moving stars, as if the universe itself had been distorted.
Draco stiffened.
«Why should I follow you?» he asked coldly, without letting go of his boyfriend’s hand.
The other tilted his head slightly, a barely-there smile on his face.
«Because I think you want to help your dear Harry.»
Draco clenched his jaw, his cold eyes fixed on Mirathis. Every instinct screamed not to trust him. This being didn’t have the threatening aura of someone intent on doing harm, but there was something about him that made Draco uneasy—a strange neutrality, as if he were completely beyond their logic, beyond their fears or desires.
Draco lowered his gaze to the body of his boyfriend. Harry’s breathing was still unstable, and his body still trembled imperceptibly. The temperature of his skin shifted unnaturally.
Draco gripped Harry’s hand for a moment, as if he could imprint his touch on the other’s skin, ensuring that even if he let go, Harry wouldn’t vanish.
Then he stood up.
«I hope it’s worth it.»
Mirathis smiled with an almost amused lightness, then turned toward the portal without haste.
«Follow me.»
Draco hesitated for one last second, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, with one final glance at Harry, he took a step forward and crossed the portal.
The Gryffindor watched the landscape around him shimmer like a reflection on rippling water. The ground beneath his feet seemed to dissolve and reassemble in shards of light and shadow, while the air was charged with an unstable, almost electric energy.
The floating black mass before him stirred with a tremor, as if disturbed. Its gold and green scales flickered on and off, pulsating as if responding to something unseen. It appeared on the verge of dissolving, yet it held its shape with remarkable strength.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
«What are you?» he asked, his voice firm yet low.
It gave no answer, but its movement grew more frantic, as if gripped by an increasing discomfort. The entire space around them warped for an instant, like a veil torn away by a sudden gust of wind, and he felt overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness, as if something—or someone—were trying to wrench him away from that place.
He took a step forward, his incandescent green eyes fixed on the unstable mass.
«What’s happening?»
The mass stiffened. Then, with a whisper like the rustling of dry leaves in the wind, it folded in on itself, even as the world around them continued to dissolve.