When Draco opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was emptiness.
There was none of the Forbidden Forest's biting reality—no leaves brushing his skin, no metallic smell of blood. There wasn't even solid ground beneath his feet. Everything around him was pure white, blindingly so—no sky, no earth, not even his own shadow.
He flexed his fingers.
No pain.
The spot on his back where that Bone-Shattering Curse had hit—where the agony had once made breathing impossible—was now perfectly fine. Even the blood on his clothes was gone. He was still wearing his black robes, straight and smooth, as if they'd just come out of a wardrobe in Malfoy Manor.
"Didn't die properly?" Draco frowned and touched his cheek.
The cut from that tree branch had vanished too—no scab, no scar.
He remembered it vividly: the final moment when he shoved Harry out of the way, the curse hitting his back like hot iron, and Harry's voice calling his name—hoarse and breaking as if it would shatter.
Harry.
The moment the name surfaced, Draco's heart clenched tight, and his previously calm mind twisted into chaos.
He snapped his head up and called into the blank white expanse:
"Harry? Harry Potter! Where are you?!"
His voice vanished without echo, swallowed by the stillness.
The whiteness seemed to glare even brighter.
Draco marched forward a few steps. His feet still touched nothing real—it felt like walking on cotton. He stopped quickly; there was no direction to go. This place had no landmarks, no orientation, nowhere to set a destination.
He wasn't unafraid—he just knew how to hide it.
The Malfoys had been taught from childhood: No matter how desperate you are, never show panic.
But right now, he truly was panicking.
Where was Harry?
Had Harry died too?
Or… was he the only one who ended up in this strange place?
"Why're you shouting? My ears are going to fall off."
A lazy voice drifted out of nowhere, directionless, hanging lightly in the air.
Draco spun around, hand reaching instinctively for his wand—only to remember he'd dropped it in the Forbidden Forest.
He narrowed his eyes and demanded coldly, "Who's there? Show yourself."
"No need to get all tense," the voice said, amused. "If I wanted to hurt you, do you really think you'd still be standing there talking to me?"
Right after the words fell, a faint silhouette appeared in the distance.
It slowly solidified into the shape of a person.
He wore a dusty gray cloak, hood pulled low to hide his face. In his hand, he twirled an unremarkable wooden staff, spinning it with idle ease.
"Who are you? And what is this place?" Draco asked without lowering his guard. He took half a step back to maintain distance—the man's presence was strange. Not like a wizard, not like a Death Eater. Something else, something you didn't underestimate.
"No need for names," the man said, lounging back into a stone chair that materialized behind him. "As for this place—just call it the Blank Realm. Easy enough."
"Where's Harry?" Draco cut straight to the point, voice icy. "Harry Potter—did he come here too?"
The man paused mid-spin of his staff, lifting his head slightly.
Under the hood, his eyes gleamed—sharp, as if they could see straight through Draco's thoughts.
"You're direct. I like that," he said with a soft laugh. "But no—he's not here."
Draco's stomach sank. His fingers tightened until his knuckles went white.
"Then where is he?"
"Well, by all accounts, both of you died." The man spoke casually, as if discussing the weather. "Those two corpses in the Forbidden Forest? Cold as ice. The Order even came back to double-check before leaving."
"Then why isn't he here?" Draco's voice rose—panic finally cracking through. "If this place isn't for the dead, then why am I here alone?"
"Never said this place collects the dead." The man let out a soft scoff, stood up, and walked toward Draco. The face beneath the hood finally came into partial view—sharp-boned, lips curved in a permanent half-smile.
"This realm only takes in people with obsessions. You came because yours is heavy.
As for him… his obsession isn't the same. He went somewhere else."
"Somewhere else?" Draco pressed. "Where? Can I go there?"
"Nope." The man spread his hands helplessly. "Where he went is way livelier than this place. You can't get there."
Draco stared, eyes cold enough to freeze stone.
"So you know everything—how we died, where he is, and what this place is?"
"More or less." The man flopped back onto his stone chair, spinning the staff again. "I've been stuck here a while. Seen all types. But someone like you—dead and still thinking of just one person—that's rare."
Draco didn't respond.
His mind kept replaying the words you both died.
He and Harry—both dead in the Forest.
Harry hadn't escaped.
The thought of Harry dying alone, collapsing in the dirt with no one there—
Draco's chest tightened, worse than any curse.
He hadn't always cared for Harry.
Growing up on tales of the "Chosen One," it was just a name on a page.
Until that first day in Madam Malkin's, a boy in ill-fitting clothes with eyes too bright.
Then at Hogwarts—years of sparring, complaining to Father, even that Sectumsempra incident in sixth year—
But deep down, he'd always known the hostility had other colors mixed in.
Irritation when Harry was close to Ron and Hermione.
An impulse to help when Dementors cornered him.
And when he learned of Dumbledore's command, his first thought wasn't fear—
It was I don't want Harry to die.
And in the Forbidden Forest, when he shoved Harry aside and took the curse—when he saw Harry's panicked, tear-streaked face—
That was when he finally admitted it:
He had fallen for Harry Potter long ago.
"What're you spacing out for?" The man's voice pulled him back. "You're pale as paper. It's not that serious."
Draco forced himself to breathe, pushed the turmoil down, and regained his cold composure.
"Doesn't matter. You said we're both dead—so why am I here? Just because of 'obsession'?"
"Not just that."
The man straightened, losing the careless tone.
"There's another reason—
You two can do it over."
"Do it over?" Draco blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." The man tapped the arm of his stone chair. "Return to before you died. Back to when everything hadn't gone to hell yet. You can go back. And so can he."
Draco's heart slammed against his ribs—hard enough to knock the breath from him.
"Go back? And see Harry again?"
"If you have the ability," the man replied. "I can teach you—teach you magic stronger than Sectumsempra, teach you how to crush a person's heart in your hand. But you'll have to listen."
"If learning that means I can protect Harry—then teach me. I'll learn."
"Relax," the man said with a rare, approving smile. "Of course I'll teach you. Otherwise, with your old skill level, how'd you expect to stop the Order? Stop Dumbledore's orders?"
The sentence stabbed exactly where Draco was weakest.
Last time, he had been useless.
He learned the command and rushed blindly into the Forest without a plan.
If he'd been stronger—
If he'd had any real ability—
Harry wouldn't have died.
Neither of them would have.
"Fine." Draco said quietly but with steel in his voice. "I want to know where Harry is. How he is."
"You're demanding." The man arched a brow, but nodded. "I can tell you this—where he is now is dangerous, sure, but livelier. He'll suffer a bit. As for how he's doing… when you go back, you'll see for yourself."
Draco fell silent, which the man took as agreement.
He looked again into the endless white.
Still nothing visible—but he felt as if he could see Harry through it somehow.
He wouldn't let the Forbidden Forest happen again.
"So we start now?" Draco asked, urgency slipping through despite himself.
"What's the rush?" The man reclined again, spinning his staff lazily. "Acclimate to this place first. You'll be here a long while."
Draco didn't answer.
He simply stood, staring ahead into the blankness.
He remembered that last moment—Harry holding him, tears falling onto his hand, burning hot.
He'd thought, If only I had another chance.
Now he did.
He would seize it.
He would learn.
He would become stronger than anyone.
For Harry, he would push through anything. Become powerful enough to tear fate apart.
And as for those who had hurt them—those who left them to die in the Forbidden Forest—
One day, every debt would be repaid.