Transport it turned out was a secure portkey and he, Malfoy, Dumbledore, Remus and Tonks all arrived in the headmaster's office just under an hour later. By this time Harry had clothes that were actually his size, which made him feel a little more comfortable, but he was quite frankly terrified of himself. The moment they landed, Harry felt the power of the school like a blanket around him, and it was almost as if he could reach out and touch it.

The magic sang to him and he found himself quite fascinated, looking around the study as if he had never seen it before. The darkness within him rose at the sensation of such energy and he wanted to touch the walls to see if they would give up their secrets. It was as he was fighting to hold himself still that the sixth being in the room made himself known, as Fawkes launched himself into the air with a trilling song.

The Phoenix landed first on Malfoy's shoulder, much to the Slytherin's shock, singing his heart out the entire time before the bird jumped to land on Harry's. When Fawkes came to rest on him the Phoenix's song changed, but was still just as sweet, and Harry felt his knees go weak. If it hadn't of been for Remus he could have fallen as all strength left him.

Fawkes continued to sing, and Harry began to become lightheaded, but it was strangely wonderful as well. His mind soared free of the darkness curling around his body. He sagged into Remus' arms, and, for the first time since Voldemort had kidnapped him, he felt at peace. Nothing mattered, nothing but the Phoenix's song.

Harry woke up very slowly feeling rested and at ease, which was a very pleasant surprise. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was and how he had ended up there. Sitting up rapidly he looked around at a room that was totally unfamiliar, but the feeling around him was the same. He knew he was still at Hogwarts.

This had to be the Room of Requirement, but it was like he had never seen it before. He was sitting on a large four poster bed that had deep red sheets, just like in Gryffindor tower. There was an open door to the right where he could see a large bathroom and to the left was a library type area with shelves full of books and a large desk.

Unable to stop himself he reached out with the power inside his body and felt for the wards around the room. It was like hitting a brick wall and he lurched back onto the bed as the wards threw him off. He threw the pillow next to him in frustration as the part of him that wanted to be free rounded in anger, but his fit of pique did not last long. He calmed down surprisingly quickly as far as he was concerned and began to wonder what exactly was going on with him.

There was a letter sitting on the bedside table addressed to him, so he picked it up and opened it quickly.

Dear Harry,

Fawkes' song appeared to affect you quite distinctly, and we brought you to the Room of Requirement while you were under his influence. I do hope you slept well. Dobby has access to the room and if you need anything just call for him. If you are open to visitors tell Jeremy Kats, the portrait next to the door, and he will allow us in if we call.

Rest assured we are all working to find a solution to your unique situation.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

For a while Harry just sat there looking at the headmaster's neat cursive script; he was home, at Hogwarts, and yet he felt like an alien. Then again, he felt like a stranger in his own skin, so it wasn't as if he had expected to be comfortable with his new surroundings.

Climbing off the bed he padded into the bathroom and tried to ignore the mirror on the wall as he relieved himself. He did not want to see the changes in himself, but as he washed his hands, he really couldn't avoid seeing at least a partial reflection and he snatched his gaze away at the treacherous glance.

He was turning away when he became angry with himself. How could he go through life afraid of his own reflection? Thumping the basin with his fist he glared at himself in the mirror and refused to flinch away.

"What are you?" he demanded of his reflection.

He could not understand how something so ugly on the inside could look so beautiful on the outside. His thoughts were full of death and violence, and yet ethereal, alluring features stared back at him from the mirror. He was a contradiction, and it repelled him; he was the devil in disguise.

How many creatures waited behind his green eyes to devour the innocent and unwary? He had not heard from Professor Snape yet, so he really did not know what to expect until it happened. So far he had concrete proof of incubus, vampire, werewolf, banshee, basilisk and Dementor. There was also his sense of the emotions around him which he assumed was something to do with the incubus and the boggart, possibly also the Dementor and he had no idea why he could move through solid objects, or why he seemed to have a vague desire to absorb magic.

The basilisk scared him the most. About the only aspect of this he had to be thankful about was that his skewed version of the creature appeared only to be able to petrify and not kill with a look, at least so far. If that Auror had dropped down dead he suspected he would now either be surrounded by the corpses of those defending their colleague, or be dead himself, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore. What else lurked beneath the pale surface?

Reaching out, he touched the mirror as if it would answer all his questions, but cool green eyes just continued to look back at him. Could he ever hope to control what was inside of him or would it consume him? Turning from his reflection he walked quickly back into the other room. At least here he had something to distract his troubled thoughts and he walked over to his small library. If he could not fight what he was, at least he could understand it, and he set about trying to find a book that might have information about the magic that curled through his body.

~*~

"Mr Potter," a voice said from behind him as he leafed through his third book on magical creatures.

He turned, surprised to have been addressed and found that the empty frame beside the door was no longer without an occupant. A smartly dressed seventeenth century gentleman looked out of the canvas at him.

"Hello," Harry responded, unsure of why the portrait would be talking to him.

"I'm Jeremy Kats," the man introduced himself, "and Professor Dumbledore asked me to look after your door. Normally I wouldn't interrupt you, since you have not given me notice to alert you of visitors, but there is a Slytherin outside to see you, and he is rather insistent. Should I allow him in?"

Harry was beginning to suspect there was some sort of calming charm on the room, since he felt more stable now than he had since he first woke up, and he nodded. If Snape had come to see him it was probably important, and hopefully the Potions' Master would have some news.

"Yes, thank you," he replied politely.

Jeremy disappeared and Harry went back to the page he had been reading, not looking up again until he heard the door clicking closed. When he did glance towards the entrance he froze—it wasn't Snape.

"Expecting someone else, I see," Malfoy said casually and walked further into the room.

Harry suddenly found that maybe the alleged calming spell on the room was only so useful, as every cell of his body screamed and would have lunged at Malfoy like first years onto the welcome feast, if he had not been clutching the table as if his life depended on it.

"Are you insane?" Harry asked, desperately trying to keep himself in check.

Malfoy was back in school uniform, but Harry did not think he had ever seen anyone look quite so edible, and in his case that was literal as well as figurative.

"We need to talk," the interloper said pointedly and was definitely not walking back towards the door.

"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice deepening with a slight growl, whether he liked it or not, "remember what I did last time we were alone? Get out before I do something we will both regret."

If he had been hungry, he would have pounced on Malfoy without a second thought, as it was, lust and various other desires stirred in the pit of his stomach and he could barely stay seated.

"No," Malfoy said simply and sat on the bed.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to banish the mental images that move put into his mind. Occlumency abandoned him as he fought to empty his thoughts only to have his very prominent instincts provide him with yet more possibilities.

"I don't blame you, Potter," the words dragged him back from the edge of the pit he was looking into and he glanced over at Malfoy, unsure of what to reply. "I admire your strength of character."

Harry would have laughed if he had not been so afraid that the reaction would be his undoing.

"That strength is failing," he said rather desperately.

The longer he was in Malfoy's presence the harder it became to ignore what his body was telling him and the quieter the voice of control was speaking. They were alone, there was not a raging battle going on, and there was nothing else for Harry to focus on. The Slytherin had his undivided attention.

"Malfoy, every fibre of my being wants to do that to you again," Harry could think of nothing that might make Malfoy leave except the truth, "please go."

For a few moments his focus of awareness did not move, Malfoy remained elegantly poised where he was sitting, and then he rose to his feet. Harry closed his eyes and tried to hang on for the long seconds it would take Malfoy to cross the room to the door. Only as the click of the door did not come and he realised that feelings of curiosity, trepidation and want were assailing him, did he look up in shock and realise that his prey had not walked towards the door.

"I know," Malfoy said from no more than a few inches away, "I can see it every time you look at me. Potter, I owe you for my life twice and for my mother's once, you can have whatever you want. They have locked you in here with no idea what to do when the hunger returns; well I am your solution."

Breathing was difficult as pure, unadulterated lust tried to strip Harry of any control he had left. The hunger was not forcing him along, burying his humanity in its intensity, but he wanted Malfoy with everything he was, and he almost reached out.

"No," he growled, more at himself than Malfoy and sent his chair skittering backwards as he pushed himself away from the table and away from the other young man, "I don't want you indebted to me, Malfoy. I don't want to use you; you are better than that."

Momentary shock flicked across Malfoy's pale features, but he still did not move away. For a moment Malfoy appeared indecisive and then he shrugged off his outer school robe and put it on the table. As Harry watched, caught between fascinated horror and wanton desire, Malfoy stepped up to him once more and reached out to touch the side of his face.

"Maybe I want this too," were the quiet words that became Harry's undoing.