Draco frowned. That was cryptic. Well- he supposed he better start searching for- whatever he was searching for. He started on the fields- but couldn't resist seeing what was gold and what wasn't. He picked up a little golden stone- there must've been thousands of them scattered around- and bit it; sure enough, it was soft enough to leave impressions. Real gold, then. He picked up a fistful of grass, and bit that, too, wondering if the percentage of pure gold differed from item to item here, or if it was all 100%- then spat it out, spluttering. That wasn't gold. He glared sullenly at the grass blades now scattered around his feet.

Then he remembered Harry; turned to him to ask what he thought of the note and the place- only to find that Harry had disappeared from his side.

He spun around wildly, looking for him, until he spotted a messy black nest of hair, buried in a pile of- well, it looked like gold, but what the letter had said was still fresh in Draco's mind, and Draco had learned (somewhat) from the grass. All that glitters is not gold.

"Potter," he cautioned- Harry turned around for just a moment, and Draco wondered if he were imagining the hurt in his eyes- "Maybe you shouldn't-"

And then Harry was gone, and so was the pile of- whatever it was he'd been looking through. DRaco jumped backwards, shocked, then ran over to where Harry had been; now there was a hole in the floor, leading straight down into pitch black darkness.

There was a muttered curse, and then Harry hollered "Draco?" from below. "Lumos!"

A light appeared in the darkness , illuminating the space. Harry appeared okay- he looked around himself first, assessing his surroundings. When he appeared to have deemed them safe, he gestured for Draco to join him.

"No, you dimwit, I'm not going down there. You need to figure out how to get out. I told you you shouldn't have-"

"No, Draco," Harry interrupted. "Really. Come down. You'll want to see this."

Draco lowered himself, swinging off the edge of the platform and landing gracefully on his feet. He looked up to see Harry, looking straight back at him. But then Harry spoke, and Harry's mouth moved, but his voice came from behind Draco.

"Draco," he said softly. "Draco, I think I know what that is." He frowned at Harry. Yes, the voice was definitely coming from behind him; but Harry was stood in front of him. He turned around, and saw; there were five Harrys here.

Each wall held one in its surface; they all faced the center of the room, where Draco and real-Harry were stood.

Mirrors.

Except- if they were mirrors, why couldn't Draco see himself? And how could all of the mirror-Harrys be facing him, when the real one turned in circles, staring at the walls. Draco noticed, absently, that Harry's eyes widened as he watched the mirror, and his hand went to his pocket.

Draco himself, however, was still trying to puzzle out what he was seeing. He turned away from Harry, back to the mirror, and noticed that as he moved, mirror-Harry did too. Huh.

He tentatively waved at mirror-Harry; mirror-Harry waved and beamed back at him, and Draco stumbled back at the shock of how utterly beautiful Harry was. Draco sank down onto the ground; next to him, mirror-Harrys two and three followed his movements, sitting next to him. When they caught him watching, they both smiled that blindingly bright grin.

A little unnerved, Draco moved closer to the first mirror-Harry he'd seen. He shuffled over, right next to the mirror, and rested his fingertips on the glass. Who was this strange Harry, separated from him by a layer of glass, who smiled at him like nothing else mattered, like he thought Draco was-

Draco stiffened; mirror-Harry cocked his head in confusion, frowning.

And Draco understood.

The mirror didn't show Harry. Well, it did, but it didn't show Harry. It showed who Draco wished he were to Harry.

But that mirror-Harry... That wasn't his Harry. Not one bit.

Harry didn't smile like Draco was the light of his life.

Harry wasn't concerned when Draco suddenly became alert and anxious. He didn't even notice. Maybe he could learn to, over time.

But what tipped Draco off was what mirror-Harry had done.Mirror-Harry had cocked his head to the side and frowned. Worried. Confused.

Draco's Harry didn't do that.

When he was confused, he blinked.

So Draco stood, abruptly, stepping away from the glass that showed him things that weren't true; stepped into his Harry, who he could touch, who wasn't separated from him by a layer of glass. Apparently his Harry had been watching him with the mirror; he stumbled slightly as Draco fell, looking at him in confusion. He blinked.

The floor opened, and Harry and Draco fell.

At first, all Draco could see was black. All he could feel was the rush of the wind, whipping wildly at his hair, his clothes, his skin; tearing at him as he fell, like when he fell from his broom in Quidditch. Harry's arms were still wrapped around him from when he steadied him; now, they tightened, hugging Draco close.

Over Harry's shoulder, Draco could see the sky; shade by shade, it lightened, turning from pitch black to a dark, smoky red. Then it continued to lightened, though becoming more and more vivid a shade of crimson; now, as the two tumbled, it turned blood-red. Danger, Draco thought, though he couldn't quite remember why. The mirror-Harry had played with his mind, and now real-Harry was clutching him as they fell from the scarlet sky, and- oh, Draco thought, the potion's gone red.

He needed to get out.

Now.

As he thought this, the wind that had previously been pushing against them, bringing tears to Draco's eyes, turned and flipped the other way- like it was pushing the pair down, rather than slowing their descent. Draco had the most peculiar feeling that he was falling upwards. But he still needed to get out. What could he do? He needed to go up...

What had he been thinking earlier? Like falling from a broom, something in his mind whispered.

"A broom!" he shouted aloud. Somehow, Harry heard him over the whistle of the wind; comprehension spread across his face. He was already holding his wand- still lit with Lumos- and pointed it straight up, behind Draco's back.

"Accio broom!" he shouted, and Draco was pulled back to fourth year, when Harry had shouted this same thing when faced with a Hungarian Horntail. Its flames had been the same colour as the sky was now. He wondered if Potter was scared then. He wondered if Harry was scared now.

Draco was terrified.

The broom came speeding through from the sky in a blur of brown; Harry somehow mounted it, now facing downwards in a nosedive position. At least, Draco thought it was down that Harry was facing; he wasn't quite sure which way was up and which was down at this point.

Harry pulled Draco on behind him; Draco's arms wrapped instinctively around Harry's waist as Harry yelled, "Hold on!" and the broom shot towards the wind- upwards, Draco supposed.

As the sky turned the bloodthirsty colour of fiendfyre, Draco was thrown violently into the past.

He thought of a room- a room where Harry's house was now stored- full of items; he thought of mountains of lost things, and of climbing one mountain, watching as flames leaped up at his ankles. He buried his head in the crook of Harry's neck as he thought of an image, burned forever into his mind; a cupboard, going up in flames, as one of his oldest friends watched him leave.

He'd held on to Harry just like this.

And he'd cried as Harry flew him away from Crabbe, flew him away from the room of leaping flames, the same colour as the sky all around him.

Now, he didn't cry.

But his arms went slack around Harry's waist.