Never A Memory

~A Somewhat Untimely Change of Heart~



The following morning...

***



"I don't know what to do," Harry muttered over coffee at Ron and Hermione's breakfast table.



Ron took a seat opposite of Harry and exchanged a glance with Hermione, who was already seated. Harry had not spoken a word the previous night and the couple had woken to the sight of Harry huddled over a cup of coffee before the sun had even graced the eastern sky.



Harry swallowed and shifted in his seat, bringing his eyes up to regard his two friends solemnly. "I still don't know why he saved my life, I still don't know how he knew about the Horcruxes, and we are still no closer finding out who wants Malfoy dead."



"From what you've explained, Harry," Hermione said gently, "it seems every pureblood family has reason to. Pandora made it clear that what Malfoy did at the funeral was a grave insult to the Wizarding pureblood community."



"I don't even get why he did that," Harry mumbled before jabbing a finger at the two of them. "By the way, Malfoy left an updated will in his Pensieve and it seems he felt it was important to leave the Malfoy Manor to your mother, Ron, and the Malfoy Library to you, Hermione. Why would he do that?"



Ron's mouth hung slack as he stared hard at Harry. "I have no buggering clue, mate."



Harry shifted his eyes to Hermione, who had turned bright pink. "Hermione?"



"Well, I...I...I don't think," Hermione stammered. "Well, I don't know. He had once asked for my assistance in looking up some books at Hogwarts...um, I think it was fifth year. But, I don't know. That couldn't possibly warrant an entire library...Harry, stop looking at me like that!"



"Like what?"



"Like I did something wrong!" Hermione was clearly upset by the news so Harry dropped the subject.



"I guess it doesn't matter, anyway. Malfoy's alive." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Still, when Malfoy put the memory into the Pensieve, he clearly thought he was going to die. I wonder if he was trying to make some sort of statement."



Ron shook his head, not in disagreement, but more in a fashion like he was trying to dispel runaway thoughts. "What else was in the Pensieve?"



Harry shrugged and looked away.



"Harry?"



"Malfoy's alive," Harry murmured. "Perhaps it should stay private."



Ron blinked and exchanged another glance with Hermione. "You feeling sorry for him, mate?"



"Yeah. No. I don't know." Harry covered his face with hands and groaned. "I don't know!"



Hermione placed a restraining hand on Ron's arm. "Harry...what's going on?"



Harry removed his hands and looked back at Hermione. They stared at one another until Harry's green eyes glistened with unwelcome tears and he looked away, dashing the palms of his hands roughly against his eyes. "I never thought I'd see the day when I would feel bad about Malfoy," Harry muttered. "The things they did to him, the things he went through, and the fact that he never, ever complained...I feel like complete shite for hating the bastard."



"Harry," Hermione murmured. "Do you remember when you used to be able to see into Voldemorte's head when he was in a highly emotional state?"



Harry's eyes widened a fraction and he nodded. "I know what you're talking about, 'Mione. I think he can see me."



"Who?" Ron asked, looking between the two. "Voldemorte? He's back from the dead?"



Hermione rolled her eyes and glared at Ron. "No, you moron! Malfoy."



"Why would Malfoy be able to...oh," Ron said as he watched Hermione tap at her forehead. "Oh...bugger that."



Harry swallowed past a rush of emotion. "I felt someone watching me all week; especially when I was in his Pensieve. Malfoy's memories aren't pretty."



Hermione nodded. "I suspected that may happen...but it seemed so far fetched..."



"Between his owl helping him remember and him watching me swim around in his Pensieve..." Harry shook his head. "We've got to get him out of there."



Ron cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of arranging that. That damn doctor at St. Mary's chose his own Social Worker for Malfoy, but I think we can still figure a way to check in on him."



Harry nodded slowly. "I want to see him."



Hermione peered at him. "Why?"



Harry didn't answer.



Ron shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Harry."



"Then just add it to 'Harry Potter's Crap Ideas' list," Harry muttered. "I'm not asking your permission."



Ron scoffed at him. "Yes, you are. Otherwise you would've just done it already instead of telling us. Where's the Pensieve?"



Harry gave him a pointed look. "I hid it...at the Order's old Head Quarters." Number Twelve Grimmauld place; Sirius Black's old house.



Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement.



"I think we should give Malfoy his memory back in full," Harry murmured after a moment's pause.



Hermione blinked. "Really?"



"Yes," Harry said. "I think he's safe in America...but he should be able to choose. Malfoy will know what's at stake...and I think the answers we're looking for are locked up in is head."



Ron chewed on the inside of his lip. "All right. 'Mione, could you whip up a Memory Draught for us?"



"It’ll take a few days," Hermione said. "But, yes, I can."



"Great," Ron said. "Harry, do us a favor and wait to go see Malfoy until it's done?"



Harry did not answer but inclined his head a fraction.



"Right, then, we have a lot of work to do," Ron grumbled as he stood to his feet.



***



Draco paused in his mad scribbling of notes in his notebook at a knock on his door. A Betty entered and Draco scowled, wondering where the hell Mettle was. "Yes?"



"You are being released today," the Betty said. "Pack your things."



Draco shook his head when she made her exit, trying to shake off the feeling of déjà vu. He had the strongest feeling that someone had said something very similar to him a few weeks ago. Draco stood to his feet and closed his notebook and wondered for the thousandth time where the hell the Eagle Owl was.



***



Harry paced back and forth in the Ministry's Mess Hall and Ron watched him as he munched on a deli sandwich.



"What's got you in a fix now, mate?" Ron asked over a mouthful of turkey and pickle.



"Bellatrix."



"She's dead, Harry." Harry had killed her a over a Horcrux she was sent to guard.



Harry sent a despairing look Ron's way as he continued his pacing. "But she was at Narcissa's funeral."



"I have no idea what you're talking about."



Harry stopped pacing and went to the table, ignoring the strange looks other Aurors sent his way. It wasn't often that they saw Harry Potter lose his cool. "When Malfoy called Narcissa the end of the Black line, Bellatrix was still alive, Ron. Bellatrix was Narcissa's sister."



"But didn't she marry that Lestrange bloke?"



"That's not the point, Ron."



"Then bloody well get to it, Harry!"



"Bellatrix was the only one who stepped in and let Malfoy say goodbye to his mother after he gave her the rose, Ron," Harry said as his voice rose a pitch or two. "After he insulted the Black family line, Ron! Why would she have been so consoling? Technically, after Narcissa died, Bellatrix was the remaining Black descendant."



"I don't know, Harry."



Harry resumed his pacing and Ron finished his sandwich.



"Maybe," Ron said thoughtfully, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "Maybe he knew she was going to die anyway. You know, from the Time-Turner."



"Time-Turners don't explain everything, Ron," Harry muttered.



***



Draco watched as the Betties gathered his luggage and took it outside where a yellow...contraption on wheels sat in the graveled driveway, waiting to take Draco to his destination. A man cleared his throat behind him and Draco turned, greeted by the sight of Dr. Laeverton and Deans.



"Come to see me off, Doc?" Draco inquired, his gray eyes grave and serious.



Dr. Laeverton nodded. They had not spoken much about the incident in his office a few days ago when Draco had spaced out. Dr. Laeverton had tried to get him to speak about it, but Draco, worried that the Doc would label him delusional and call it a day, had refused other than saying it was sort of flashback.



Dr. Laeverton had grounded Deans on the fact that Mr. Smith was to be watched shrewdly and, if anything came up--anything at all--he was to be informed immediately. Dr. Laeverton didn't like the idea of John Smith leaving St. Mary's so soon, but Smith's funding was abruptly cut and he had received another...interesting phone call from Mr. Hale, saying Smith was to be rehabilitated immediately.



Draco glanced at Deans, sending him a disarming smile, before looking back at the Doc. "Well?"



"If you are not certain you can handle this," Dr. Laeverton said quietly, "you can remain here indefinitely. I'll find a way."



"That's quite touching, doctor, really," Draco said with a minute lift of his blond brows. "I am more than capable, however. Thank you."



Dr. Laeverton nodded again. "Have it your way, then. Best of luck to you, Mr. Smith. Deans, he's all yours now."



Draco grinned and Deans shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze.



Inside the 'cab'--as Draco found out the contraption wheels was called a car--Draco gazed out the window. The early spring outside was still cold and the windows of the vehicle were foggy. Draco watched trees fly by as the cab lurched forward and pulled out onto the street.



Like it did more often this past week than his entire stay at St. Mary's, Draco's mind went blank and uncontrollable images began replaying themselves uninhibited; and Draco's eyes glazed over as he submitted to them.



***



Harry finished his beer and ordered another, thoughts still on the mystery that surrounded Draco Malfoy. In fact, Harry's thoughts seemed to be obsessed with the Malfoy heir.



Guilt so extreme kept pressing against his chest and Harry tried to drown out the taste of it with his fifth mug of ale. Harry closed his eyes and saw the image of a terrified sixteen year old Draco Malfoy standing his ground in a cold, dirty stone room while two of the darkest wizards of all time glared down at him. Harry knew that at that moment, Harry had thought nothing more of the Slytherin prince than of a spoiled brat of Malfoy who became a Death Eater for glory and joined Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad just to make his life even more miserable.



Harry wondered what it had to be like to have a father so evil. Sure, his own parents had been murdered by Voldemorte when Harry was an infant, but Harry had the luxury of knowing they were good, kindhearted people. Honorable people.



Harry took another swig of his beer and sent a startled glance over at the man who took a seat next him at the bar at The Mild Brew. Cruent smiled at him from under his mop of light brown curls. "How are you, Harry?"



Harry blinked at him and looked away. "Fine. You?"



"Better now."



"Don't do that," Harry said.



"Do what?"



Harry scowled. "Act like you're happy to see me."



Cruent was quiet for a moment. "Am I not allowed to be happy to see you?"



Harry didn't respond but turned and looked into Cruent's light blue eyes, loosing himself--like he always did--in their depths as he searched for the tell-tale signs of a lie. Cruent reached out and pushed back a stray lock of jet-black hair from Harry's face and Harry flinched away violently.



Cruent sighed and looked away. When he turned back, his sunny blue eyes were angry. "I don't understand why we can't be friends, Harry."



"You left me, remember?"



Cruent ordered a glass of chilled pumpkin juice. "I was trying to get you to wake up, Harry."



"I wasn't asleep," Harry muttered.



"No, Harry, I was trying to get you to wake up to me," Cruent murmured, staring at his pumpkin juice.



Harry snorted. "What did you expect me to do? Chase after you?"



Cruent turned to Harry, his blue eyes intense and hurt. "Yes, Harry. I kinda did."



Harry frowned and looked away. "Sorry."



"For what? Not wanting me?"



"I wanted you."



"I'm not talking about sex, Harry. I wanted you to want all of me."



"If I wanted to hear this shite, I'd date girls," Harry muttered.



Cruent laughed. "Not all girls are infatuated saps like me, Harry."



Harry grinned and thought of Hermione. "All right. I'll give you that one."



"It's good to see you smile, Harry. It takes off five years, you know."



"Yeah?"



Cruent nodded, his blue eyes light again.



Harry bit his lip. "It's good to see you too, Cruent."



Cruent smiled, his eyes softening. "You know, Harry. There's nothing so bad that a little guilt won't make worse...and there's nothing so good a little guilt won't make better. It's inherent nobility that we all share. Something we are all born with, Muggle or Wizard."



Harry nodded slowly and didn't look up when Cruent stood to his feet. "I'll see you around, Harry," Cruent murmured, squeezing Harry's shoulder briefly before turning and walking away.



Harry shifted so he could watch Cruent exit the pub and the moment Cruent was out of sight; Harry's ears became deaf to the noises of The Mild Brew and his mind fixated, once again, on Draco Malfoy.



Harry closed his eyes.



***



Draco wrinkled his nose as he looked around the small apartment.



Deans laughed at the look on Smith's face and moved past him down the hall. "It's not much, but once you start working, you can begin to furnish this place and make it look decent," Deans called over his shoulder.



Draco said nothing as he walked cautiously into the kitchen.



"What is this?" Draco called.



"What is what?" Deans replied, turning and following Smith into the kitchen. Deans raised a brow when he saw what Smith was pointing at. "That's called a microwave, Mr. Smith."



Draco scrunched his brows together as he inspected the large, square device. "A what?"



"A microwave."



Draco frowned. "I don't think I've ever seen one before."



Deans grinned and shook his head as he watched Smith cross over into the living room.



"There isn't much in the fridge, but it should last you a few days," Deans said as he watched Smith inspect the small television set with wonderment. "I'll come by tomorrow and take you to the grocery store."



"Hmm?"



"The grocery store, Mr. Smith. That's where you buy food."



"I see."



Draco sat down in a folded chair and picked up the receiver of the phone on a nearby table. Draco put it to his ear and instantly dropped it like it had burnt him. Draco looked up at Deans and glared at him for an explanation.



"What?" Deans asked.



"It was making noises," Draco hissed. "There! Can't you hear it?"



Deans sighed, wondering if Smith wasn't really off his rocker, and picked up the receiver. When he placed it back on its base, the beeping immediately stopped. "It's not going to hurt you, Mr. Smith."



"This place is very peculiar," Draco said, looking around. "Where is my maid?"



"Excuse me?"



"My maid," Draco repeated, peering at the pair of antennas on the television set. "My Betty."



"You don't have one," Deans said.



"So it's just you."



"Yes, but I'm not a--"



"Well, get on with it. I'm quite hungry."



"Mr. Smith--"



Draco pressed the power button on the television and jumped back when images appeared on the screen. Draco stepped forward when he was certain the little people on the screen weren't going to jump out. "This thing offends reason, Deans."



"Mr. Smith!" Deans sputtered.



"What is it, Deans?" Draco answered, keeping his eyes on the screen and its images, entranced.



"You'll have to make your own dinner, Mr. Smith."



Draco stood and slowly turned towards Deans. "Really, Deans. Are you mad?"



***



a/n: While I realize Draco has probably seen a telephone before in Dr. Laeverton's office and I find it incredibly hard to believe that there wouldn't have been a television set in the Common Room of the Ward, I couldn't suppress the urge to poke a little fun at Draco's complete naivete of Muggle creations. It was meant to make you giggle a little and I hope I did my job. :-)



Just wanted to throw that out there.



snakevamp: Thank you very much! Slytherin intrigue is so much fun to play with. I was thinking of Jacqueline Carey's Kushiline Trilogy when I wrote the last chapter. It gives a wonderful flavor to upper-class comings and goings that lean a little towards the darker, more honest way of understanding things. I'm glad you're enjoying the fic thus far. :-)



jan: lol, he is a damn good flirt, isn't he? I couldn't write a Draco without him making someone a little uncomfortable with their own sexual preference. Poor, poor Deans. Harry's Gryffindor nature is kicking in big time, now. Get ready. :-)