Never A Memory

a/n: Quick little pre-note. I originally put a "Language" warning when I posted the prologue for this story because I know that my writing, especially when dealing with dark, intense stuff, usually tends to lean a little towards the profane. However, it's been tons of chapters and I've managed not to use profanity except maybe twice because I never really felt the need for it.



That being said, this chapter has quite a few naughty words in it.



Just a refresher warning, lol. And if you feel it's beginning to get excessive, feel free to let me know. :-)

~*~







~Don't Lie to Me~



The next day...

***



Harry arrived at the Ministry early the next morning. It was raining outside, the wind blowing it sideways in sheets, and Harry was glad for the reprieve from the inclement weather even though his mood equally matched its gloom. Harry quietly wove in and out of the Ministry's halls, his steps taking him slowly towards his destination.



When he arrived, it took Harry a few minutes to figure out the spell that would unlock Hermione Granger's office in Muggle Affairs. Once inside, Harry shuffled through the papers on Hermione's neat desk, looking for the address of Draco Malfoy's new flat. Finding it, Harry carefully folded and pocketed the sheet of paper within his robes. Then Harry left the office, locking the door behind him, and slipped back down the hall.



He couldn't wait any longer.



***



Draco stared at the paper cup filled with dry, thin noodles and seasoning and bit his lip, trying with all his might to figure out this new puzzle. It said to add boiling water but damned if this place didn't have a teapot, or any other pot, for that matter. Draco turned and fixed his gaze on the thing that Deans had called a microwave. Deans had tried to explain how to use it but Draco had been to busy discovering his new flat to really pay attention.



Draco opened the kitchen drawer beneath the microwave and pulled out a little paper book that had a picture of the same device on the front cover. He flipped through it, reading a few lines here and there, before turning once again to the little paper cup with noodles. Frowning in severe concentration, Draco added water to the cup and placed it into the square microwave. Pressing a button, Draco watched, fascinated, as a light came on inside it and illuminated the little cup as it turned around and around.



Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when the thing beeped shrilly and he opened the microwave and retrieved the cup. Cautiously, Draco dipped a finger into the cup. The noodles were far from soft but the water had become much warmer.



A slow smile spread across Draco's face and his gray eyes brightened. "Interesting."



***



Dr. Laeverton took a sip of his coffee and glanced once at the paperwork spread across his desk. There, among the scattered sheets, was John Smith's notebook with a small, yellow "post-it" note attached to it. Dr. Laeverton reached down and plucked up the note and read it.



'Doctor,



Mr. Smith accidentally left this in his room.



Regards,

Brooke'



Brooke was a Betty here and Dr. Laeverton grunted as he crumpled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket. Dr. Laeverton finished his coffee and fed his turtles before taking a seat behind his desk and retrieving the notebook.



Dr. Laeverton glanced at the first page and his salt and pepper brows drew together violently. The first passage was very different from the notebook Dr. Laeverton had read during their sessions together. This passage spoke of an Eagle Owl, severe and violent dreams, flashbacks that included fantasy visions of floating candles, bubbling cauldrons, and people wearing dark robes and strange, pointed hats. Dr. Laeverton kept turning the pages, a sour feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach, and he stopped abruptly as he read a passage about Bane.



It recalled, in detail, Smith becoming so angry at Bane that energy escaped from his body and nearly killed the other patient. Dr. Laeverton gnawed at his lower lip and shut the notebook thoughtfully. Usually, the Doc would brush this off as delusions and over active imaginations, except there had already been an account of this from Bane. It was the exact same story and Bane and Smith had not spoken once after the 'incident'.



Also, there were many passages about an Eagle Owl outside of Smith's window and a large owl had been reported to flying into the Ward with a snake and bringing it into Smith's room.



The icing on the cake, however, was that crazy people don't know they're crazy. Dr. Laeverton rose shakily to his feet. Smith's notebook had passages upon passages about whether or not Smith thought he was crazy and why he couldn’t tell the Doc or anyone else about these visions. If Smith was crazy, he certainly didn't want to be because he hid these thoughts from anyone who could condemn him so.



Dr. Laeverton snatched up the notebook and carried it with him out of the office, down the hall, and directly into Bane's room. Bane looked from where he sat on his bed, eyes bright and cold.



"Bane," Dr. Laeverton said. "I want you to tell me again what exactly happened between you and Mr. Smith."



Slowly, Bane nodded.



***



Harry glanced at the sheet of paper in his hand and back up at the large, red brick building. Squinting, Harry could make out a blond young man walking back and forth in his kitchen. Harry swallowed, his heart beating faster in his chest, and sat down on a nearby bench.



Harry ran a hand through his jet-black hair and took a deep breath, trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. Harry hadn't slept at all the previous night. He had tossed and turned, every bone in his body screaming to go to America and immediately retrieve Draco Malfoy. Harry felt callous for treating the Malfoy Case so despairingly. And while sending Malfoy to America had been for his own good and wasn't even entirely Harry's own idea, Harry would be a liar if he said he hadn't thought it was funny or even felt a measure of satisfaction, knowing that whenever Draco would regain his memory, he would be embarrassed and angry.



Harry knew now that Draco Malfoy wouldn't care so much that he was stashed with Muggles, but that he would despise everyone involved in his relocation for lying to him and seemingly abandoning him. Harry also knew that part of his own stress of getting Draco to remember was that the Pensieve had shown Harry enough to convince him that Draco wasn't a complete asshole and that maybe his actions during the Eve Battle had been more pure, righteous, and unselfish than he had thought.



Harry had just never thought Draco had ever had it in him, or the desire, to be heroic…or, just to be a decent person.



And something parallel to Harry's own past had beginning to show itself in Malfoy's Pensieve. Malfoy understood loss and grief as well as Harry did. Now, after the war, most people do. Then, at Hogwarts, it was difficult to see past your own text book on practical spells, let alone really take in war and death and the terrible sweetness of grief.



Malfoy knew what it was like to feel alone and to feel like he wasn’t up to par with what people expected of him. Malfoy knew what it felt like to be lied to his whole life and he definitely knew what it felt like to disappoint those who believed him to be something worth greatness.



Harry took in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. In a million years, Harry never thought he would have so much in common with Draco Malfoy.



Harry rose to his feet when a tall young man with dark brown hair, olive skin, and hazel eyes pulled up in a black Honda and got out of the car. Harry watched carefully as the man walked towards Draco's building, paused, and turned to him.



The man squinted at Harry. “Hi,” the man said. “Are you new here?”



Harry raised his brows. “Somewhat. I’m…visiting a friend.”



“Yeah?” the man asked, walking towards him. “Who?”



“Um, John. He lives up there.” Harry pointed at the brick building.



The man broke out in a cheerful smile. “You mean Smith? What a coincidence, I’m here to see him too. He never said he was having a visitor.”



“He doesn’t know,” Harry mumbled, perturbed by the young man’s cheerfulness.



“Oh?” Deans frowned. “What was your name?”



Harry thought for a moment, trying to recall the name Ron had given the doctor at St. Mary’s when he called. “Hale. Christian Hale. Pleasure.” Harry reached forward and shook the man’s hand, watching him slowly register and finally recognize the name.



“Mr. Hale! Dr. Laeverton did mention your name. How do you do?”



Harry faked a plastic smile and tried to pull his hand away.



“I’m Deans,” the man said.



Harry nodded. “Smith’s social worker.”



Deans beamed at him. “Sure am. I forget, what division are you from?”



Harry stared at him for a moment. “I’m here to see Smith,” Harry said finally. “And I’m sure you know the way.”



Deans’ smile disappeared and he pursed his lips. “Mr. Hale—“



Harry shook his head and walked passed him. Deans sputtered and had to jog to catch up. “Mr. Hale, Smith is somewhat…”



“Delicate? Vulnerable? Maybe I should come back another time?”



Deans had the grace to laugh. “Hardly delicate or vulnerable. He managed to convince me to make him dinner last night, the sneaky bastard.”



Harry smiled, in spite of himself, and opened the door to the building, holding it out—semi-politely—for Deans as he did so. Deans thanked him and Harry followed him up the stairs and down the hall. Deans stopped in front of John Smith’s apartment door and turned back to Harry, using his body as a barrier between Harry and the door.



Harry frowned and raised his gaze to Deans.



“Listen, I’ll let you see him, I mean, he can see anyone he wants, but just…don’t overwhelm him,” Deans said, his tone anything but confrontational. “I mean, yesterday, he didn’t even know what a microwave was.”



Harry snickered before he could stop himself and Deans grinned before he turned and unlocked the door. Inside, everything smelled like Ramen Noodles, and there were uneaten cups of them scattered everywhere. Deans cleared his throat, taking in the sight, and called for Smith.



“Deans!” Draco called from his bedroom, “I found the manual for that microwave thing in the kitchen.”



“I can see that,” Deans answered, going around the room, picking up the cups of noodles, and throwing them away. “You shouldn’t waste this food, Smith.”



Harry felt something stab in his chest as Draco and Deans conversed normally to one another. They couldn’t have known one another for very long and Harry wondered if he was jealous of their casual banter.



“Why?” Draco answered from his room, his voice somewhat muffled. “The food is completely terrible. I don’t even think it should qualify as food.”



“Then why did you make so many?” Deans called back.



“I was experimenting with the density of the noodles. Apparently, it doesn’t matter how long you put the cup into the microwave if all you want is softer noodles. If you want them hot, of course, you’ll want to keep them in there for a certain amount of time. However, the water doesn’t even have to be heated for the noodles eventually get soft! Brilliant!”



Deans had stopped throwing away cups of noodles during Draco’s little conclusion about Ramen Noodles and was now staring incredulously towards Draco’s room. Deans glanced back at Harry, who shrugged and looked away.



“What are you doing now, Smith?” Deans said finally.



“Just left the loo, mate. Needed a shower.”



“Hurry up, you have a visitor.”



“Who is it?”



Deans glanced at Harry who stared back with an emotionless mask covering his features while his eyes spoke volumes of discomfort.



“Christian Hale,” Deans answered finally, becoming suspicious all over again.



“Who?” Draco asked, coming out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his blond hair still damp from the shower. Draco winced as he turned into the hall, his hand coming up to rub at his scar. Then Draco’s head snapped up when he spotted Harry behind Deans and his gray eyes became so dark they were nearly black.



In three quick steps, Draco was in front of Harry, staring so hard at him Harry was compelled to take a step back.



“Christian Hale,” Deans repeated, watching wide-eyed.



“That’s not his name.”



Draco stared at the man with jet-black hair and green eyes that he’d seen so often in his dreams and knew, just KNEW, that Christian Hale was not, could not possibly be, his name. There were too many syllables in the first name and not enough in the last. Draco could hear the man’s real name in the back of his mind in echoes of a whisper but he couldn’t grasp onto it.



The man stared back at him, green eyes wide with anxiety...and a little of something else Draco couldn't name, and he shifted his gaze momentarily to Draco's lightning bolt scar.



"Deans, get out," Draco ordered in a breathless whisper as shadows of images began flickering through his mind, too much and not nearly enough.



Deans frowned, affronted and surprised in the same breath. "Excuse me, Mr. Smith, but I am charged with your well-being and I will not--"



Draco's eyes left the green-eyed man's as he whirled on Deans, a glare spitting from his eyes that would give even the sturdiest man nightmares. "You insignificant piece of worthless wank," Draco growled in a low, dangerous voice, "I couldn't give half a shit what you were charged with. You are a waste of oxygen and this is my flat, you over-rated Betty-boy. I said get out. Now go. And don't, for fuck's sake, let the door injure that perfectly good ass of yours on the way out."



Deans opened his mouth to protest, startled by this new side to Mr. Smith, but Smith cut him short with a sharp flick of his wrist. Deans looked between Hale and Smith, both men trembling with the tension that suddenly surrounded them. Finally, Deans threw his hands up in exasperation and burnt dignity and trudged towards the door. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mr. Smith," Deans muttered before closing the door behind him.



Draco once again turned to the man with the green eyes. "I see you every night in my dreams," Draco bit out, his eyes blazing. "You're always there. I demand you tell me who you are and don't lie to me. I'm sick of all these bloody lies!"



Harry gazed back at him, his mind trying to make sense of what to do next. Harry had thought, for the few minutes of hearing a good-natured version of Draco Malfoy hold a conversation with Deans, that the Malfoy heir had become a different person during his stay at St. Mary's. But now, the Draco Malfoy that Harry knew was staring intensely back at him, except that his gray eyes were wild, bright, and half-crazed.



Harry, beginning to think that coming here without the Memory Draught and the proper supervision had been the worst impulse he had followed through in ages, reached into his sleeve and began to pull out his wand.



Draco watched him, the images shooting through his mind coming in mad and jarred sequences, trying to distract him with all their might. Suddenly, Draco knew that if this man retrieved that stick from his sleeve, he would almost definitely forget everything all over again. He couldn't let that happen.



Draco surged forward, his hand locking down on the other man's arm, and tried to suppress the sudden flood of images that began racing through his head at faster speeds and with more intensity. They circled around and around, spinning, crashing, blending into one another and Draco was dizzy with it. Draco shook violently as the visions battered against him, surging and receding with the awesome force of ocean waves under a storm. Lightning crashed in his mind and his feet turned to mush beneath him. His knees buckled and his mind froze when his thoughts could no longer keep up with the flashing and stumbling half-memories. Draco felt the floor disappear beneath him and his hand loosened its grip on the man's arm.



His name is...



His name is...



Harry caught Draco when he lost consciousness and silently carried him into his bedroom, laying him carefully on the bed. Shock and confusion ran through Harry's body in tremors as he sat next to the sleeping Draco Malfoy.



Allowing the sound of Draco's steady breathing to calm him, Harry took in an unsteady, deep breath and let it out slowly. This, officially, had been a very bad idea.



Harry shakily got to his feet and left the flat, his movements barely making a sound.



***





a/n: Oh, my goodness! It took me TWO DAYS to write this chapter! It is, happily, the first part of the first climax. *does happy dance* Hope you enjoyed it! I am going to be ridiculously busy this week so be warned that I may not be able to update every day. Maybe every other day, :-).



I love the reviews! You guys rock! No really, you do. Thank you, thank you, thank you!



thrnbrooke: Honestly, I had never really given much thought to whether I wanted to create a likable Pansy or not, but she definitely evolved into one. I may just put more of her into the story. Yes, the trio know, they are the ones that press Dr. L into moving him out so quickly by cutting his State funding. Thank you for your review!



arealdeal: lol, thank you! I certainly hope you liked this chapter :-)! Much more fun goodness to come. Thanks for your review!



wizli: Cruelty is going to be common theme in this story, especially when we start delving a little more deeply into the pureblood families and their culture. If you have any advice or fun little ideas, definitely let me know! I'm open to anything. :-) Thank you so much for your review!



katel: Thank you! Deans...*sigh* Poor fucker. Yes, many choices to come. I wish I could say more, but that would kill the suspense, wouldn't it? I hope you like this chapter and I will definitely add you to the update list. :-)



graballz: Wow, thank you! I get a kick out of your reviews, lol. I am glad you are enjoying the turn of events. :-)



jajaki: Thank you!



bigkt: Thank you! Memories are a'comin'! Lol, I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!



alexkim: Thank you so much! Much, much more character developement to come and I'm stoked you're enjoying what I've written down so far!



It's such an honor to get reviews like these. Thanx guys, really!