Never A Memory

a/n: I am dreadfully sorry for the short hiatus. This next chapter will be written in parts, because, as you probably suspect, there is so much to be explained within the Pensieve. I hope this chapter and the ones that follow will make up for the wait :).







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~Color Behind the Gray~

Part I





Later that afternoon...

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"Finally!"



It took hours for Harry to find the small journal that held the whispered incantations that would unlock Draco Malfoy's Pensieve, hidden beneath it under the floorboards, and even longer, after uttering a series of complex unlocking charms, to figure out that a simple "Alohomora" would open the unmarked journal. Harry stared at the first page of the journal, squinting to make out the small, elegant scrawl.



'My Will' was written at the top of the page and, directly below it, the incantation that would seclude that particular memory in the Malfoy heir's Pensieve. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the Pensieve, the journal in his lap and his heart racing so quickly he actually paused to wonder why. No reasonable answer forthcoming, Harry murmured the short incantation and watched the blue-green string-like memory rise to the top of the basin. Dipping his head in and concentrating on that particular memory, Harry felt the familiar fall and sway of merging into another person's memory.



Blinking to take in his surroundings, Harry found himself staring at Draco Malfoy; seated in front of a dusty mirror near the cot of the very same room Draco had hidden his Pensieve. His hair was long and wild, nearly to his shoulders and framing his long face in almost a bedraggled way. Harry had never seen him look so unkempt. His black robes were tattered and frayed, lying around his long, thin frame like an oversized blanket, and his eyes were tired and bloodshot.



Draco ran a hand through his hair, perhaps in an attempt to tame the frazzled, platinum locks, and glanced once into the mirror before averting his eyes. Draco took in a deep breath and began to speak, his voice low and raw.



"Congratulations", Draco murmured. "If you are watching this, it means I have been successful and the Dark Lord is dead. No Death Eater bearing the Dark Mark can use my Pensieve save I, and I am assuming you are an Auror; but then, like so many things, my assumption is left to chance.



"I will not explain why I have adjusted my Will. There will be many adjustments and they will be strange, especially for a Malfoy. All the same, I am leaving this as my last testament and perhaps it will have the Daily Prophet speculating for years to come and pureblood families screaming denial for even longer. Even so, this is as it is.



"First, my godfather, Severus Snape, should he survive, will be awarded all of my inheritance except the Malfoy Manor and the Malfoy Library. The Manor will be given to Molly Weasley, a distant cousin of my godfather's, but a cousin just the same. The Library will be given to the Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Be sure to tell her not to trust the genealogies for I have found they can be most deceiving, but everything else may be used to her digression."



Draco smiled, his lips curving in a wry, secret smile, and his lips twinkling with mysterious mirth. Draco allowed himself a small laugh before continuing, his voice once again so soft Harry found himself straining to hear it.



"Harry Potter may have my Nimbus Two Thousand One, who was quite green with jealousy over it in our second year."



Harry snorted really hard and rolled his eyes.



"And, if my body survives the battle," Draco continued, the mischievous glint in his gray eyes vanishing suddenly as he leans forward towards the mirror. "I wish to be buried outside of Malfoy hollowed ground. I am not attached to where. Just...not there." Draco leaned back, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his eyes took on a faraway look. "And if there is confusion about my inheritance even still being mine, trust that even if my father would deny me verbally, he would never, ever do so officially. Malfoys are never that way. Until my name is scratched out of the Malfoy Tree, my inheritance is mine to do with as I will. And it is; this is my Will. And it is final."



Draco took in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, as if the words he had spoken took an incredible amount of strength and courage. Harry watched as the image of Draco shimmered and faded as the memory came to an end and Harry was thrust out of the Pensieve. Harry glanced down at the journal in his lap, the confused, rabid thoughts in his head racing around, bumping, and crashing into one another. What the hell is Malfoy playing at? Is he actually serious? He would give the Weasley family the Malfoy Manor with his final wish? And the Malfoy Library to Hermione, who he had tormented with blood slurs for years and years at Hogwarts? Why?



Harry's fingers trembled as he turned the page and read the words written there. 'My Mother's Funeral'. Harry quickly murmured the incantation that would unlock the memory and bent into the Pensieve.



Draco Malfoy walked slowly towards the open casket, paying no heed to the cold stares of those gathered around the coffin. The day was gray with steady drizzle and most of those assembled were hidden beneath wide, black umbrellas. They parted for him as Draco stepped unhurriedly towards the body of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, a single white rose clutched in his hand. Draco's hair was trimmed and styled as it usually was but slightly damp from the weather, causing his bangs to fall into his eyes. His suit was black and simple, his shoes shiny and polished, and his walk as graceful and proud as it ever was. The only evidence of anxiety was in his white-knuckled grip on the rose in his hand. Slowly, as the thorns on the stem bit into the soft flesh of Draco's palm, red, red blood began to seep through his fingers as he made his way slowly down the aisle the people around him made for him, adding a splash of color to the dreary gray world that surrounded them.



Finally, Draco reached the casket and gazed down on his mother's pale, still face. He seemed to stand there forever and when he finally lifted his hand, and the rose within it, the people crowded around him shifted and peered closer, their black eyes revealed from under the rim of their umbrellas.



Placing the rose carefully into the other hand, Draco smeared the blood from his hand across the pure white of the rose's petals before setting the rose atop his mother's carefully clasped hands. Draco leaned over the rim of the casket to place a kiss on Narcissa's brow but a wizard clad in dark, billowing robes moved forward and pressed the tip of his wand against the back of Draco's neck and Draco whirled, his wand ready in his hand, pointed directly back at the assailant.



Instantly, thirty wands were pointed at the Malfoy heir and Harry found himself moving forward to aid him. Remembering that he was inside the Pensieve, Harry paused while reaching for his wand and watched carefully as Draco coldly stared back at the nameless wizard.



"You may not touch her," the nameless wizard said.



Draco smiled cruelly but said nothing.



"It's your fault she's dead and your father's in Azkaban," the wizard continued. "You are a blood-traitor of the worst kind, Draco."



Draco raised his chin and looked down his nose at the wizard. "Oh?"



"Yes!" the wizard hissed and murmurs of agreement sounded throughout those assembled. Harry looked around for the first time, recognizing dozens of Death Eaters and their families. Harry still couldn't place the wizard speaking to Draco, having never seen him before; however, Draco seemed like he knew him.



"So, tell me, All Knowing One," Draco whispered through his teeth, emotion in the shape and color of anger surfacing in him for the first time. "How many of you must I kill before I can kiss my mother goodbye?"



"That is enough!"



Draco stiffened and the nameless wizard flicked his beady eyes toward the source of the exclamation. Bellatrix Lestrange lowered her umbrella and glared around her.



"Let the boy say his goodbyes," she said, her voice icy and commanding. "In honor of Narcissa Malfoy, no one here will utter a single curse or provoke one. This day is for grieving. However, after this day, Draco Malfoy, you are forthwith exiled from the Dark Lord's circle and no longer a Death Eater. By his order, from the second you leave this place, you are to be killed on sight. Do you understand?"



Slowly and one by one, the wizards and witches around Draco lowered their wands and Draco turned to Bellatrix and regarded her solemnly. "I understand."



Bellatrix nodded curtly, her gaze still unforgiving and ice cold, and turned away. Draco once again approached the casket and placed a chaste kiss on his mother's pallid forehead. Draco swallowed a gulp of emotion back down his throat, shutting his eyes briefly as he silently wished Narcissa a final farewell.



In a burst of swirling black magic, Voldemorte suddenly appeared, flanked by three more Death Eaters. Draco straightened and stared back at the Dark Lord as his snake's face sneered at the Malfoy heir. "Hello, Draco."



Rage burned behind Draco's eyes as he glared at Voldemorte. "How dare you speak to me at my mother's funeral, you illegitimate Half-blood filth!" Draco spat, his features sharpening dramatically as his wrath boiled just beneath the surface.



Instantly, Voldemorte's sneer vanished amidst a blazing glare and his long fingers twitched around his wand. But then, a wide, knowing smile curved maliciously along the lower half of his frightening face. "Our little dragon is having a tantrum," Voldemorte said. "Don't you worry, Draco. Your time will come."



Draco's fingers curled into fists. "Yes, it will," Draco replied icily. "And when it does, those minutes will be your last. I swear it, Voldemorte."



Voldemorte hissed a demeaning laugh and was rewarded with a murmur of chuckles from his Death Eaters. "We will see," Voldemorte said with a flick of his wrist. "Go on then. Run away, Draco. It is, after all, what you are best at."



Draco took a step forward but Bellatrix caught his eye with a meaningful glare.



"Fine," Draco whispered and Apparated.



Instantly, the memory vanished and Harry was more forcefully thrown from the Pensieve. Landing heavily on the floor, Harry winced as he sat up, his eyes wide and processing.



Harry remembered feeling empathy for Draco Malfoy the night of Dumbledore's death, knowing that Draco's end of the deal was as shite as the rest of theirs. Harry also distinctly recalled the mixture of shock and awe that had welled up inside of him the night of the Eve Battle as he watched ancient magic bless Draco with a second chance at life for his sacrifice.



Over the years, even after taking on Malfoy's case in a response to Harry Potter's expected honor, Harry had convinced himself that whatever Draco's motives for killing Voldemorte, that it had to be somehow selfish. That it had to be stemmed from some sort of cowardice or fame searching glory.



After witnessing only two of Draco's memories, Harry found himself cursing his Gryffindor nature for reminding him that perhaps Draco Malfoy was more than had ever met the eye.



Harry had been in the Dark Lord's presence multiple times before Voldemorte's death three years prior and knew the automatic terror that would take a hold a person and nearly choke the life out of him by just looking at the Dark Lord. That Draco was able to remain cold and thoroughly composed while his mother's murderer defiled her funeral with his presence and not fly of the handle and do something that would inevitably get him killed was completely amazing. Draco was even able to remind Voldemorte that he was the son of a Squib and a Muggle without, in turn, receiving the Killing Curse. That too, was something to wonder at.



Harry knew that there was more to the riddle of why Voldemorte did not kill Draco, and that he let him escape from his presence and was left alone for nearly a year. Though, even after all of this, Harry couldn't help but acknowledge Draco for the incredible willpower it must have taken for him to walk through a crowd of Death Eaters who would see him dead to pay his final respects to his mother, and then keep his cool when Voldemorte taunted him.



Harry Potter was no stranger to grieving a parent. He understood the awful, digging pain of knowing that he was, in some part, responsible for his mother's death. So, Harry, as much as it seemed unnatural to do so, sympathized with the Malfoy heir.



When Harry thought about Draco's Will, his frown grew so fierce it hurt his face. After all of this, Harry still could not fathom why he would become so charitable towards the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. Maybe Draco's journey actually did shift something his soul. Why else would he do that? And what actually shifted?



And why Hermione and the Weasleys?



Why, for the love of Merlin, did Draco Malfoy save him?



Perhaps more color lay behind those cold, one-dimensional gray eyes than originally anticipated.









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a/n:



alexkim: I am glad you appreciated the humor. Being ticklish is the devil.



thrnbrooke: I hoped you liked the beginning of this segment. Many more answers to come!



humpuuki: Well, thank you very much. I really agree. I am finding myself handling Draco so delicately because I'm terrified I'll end up altering him, lol. I believe that Draco is great with Harry because Draco embodies the things that Harry won't admit to himself that he is and is capable of becoming all too easily. They have more in common than they realize. And love must be handled carefully :).



zafaran: Thank you. It is mentioned frequently in HPB that Harry has a sort of saving people 'vice' and does the 'hero thing'. I've always wondered what Harry would become if you took that away from him. I understand your view towards Severus and Draco versus Harry and Ron. I promise, I will most definitely delve deeper into Harry as the story progresses. :)