Never A Memory

~Not Quite Paradise~



“…down the dank

moldering paths and past the Ocean’s streams they went

and past the White Rock and the Sun’s Western Gates and past

the Land of Dreams, and soon they reached the fields of asphodel

where the dead, the burnt-out wraiths of mortals make their home…” (Odyssey 24.5-9, translation by Robert Fagles).



The next morning…

~*~



Draco slowly opened his eyes and automatically murmured a charm to dispel his headache. As the throbbing pain behind his eyes eased, a half-smile curved his pale lips.



Draco Malfoy remembered the Mind Calm Charm.



Then, as quickly as his smile appeared, it vanished. Draco sat up on the large bed and looked around him. His cultivated mind immediately caused a platinum blond brow to rise as he took in the once-lavish décor of the room he was in. The drapery and furniture were expensive and well thought out but it was covered in inches of dust and moth-eaten holes covered the fabric. It was as if someone had put a great deal of effort into designing the large bedroom and then had completely forgotten about it after the project was over.



The colors were dark and rich, the light from the warm fire of the fireplace glancing off of the picture frames on the walls and washing over the thick carpet before it, like a glass of red wine by candlelight. Draco threw back the covers and placed his feet on the floor. He glanced over at the nightstand by the large, gilded bed and gazed at the two empty vials set there.



Idly, the fingers of his right hand went to the sleeve of his left arm. Pushing up the fabric and keeping his blank gaze in the general direction of the two vials, Draco traced the scratched out imaged of Voldemort’s Dark Mark with his fingertips.



Abruptly feeling sick, Draco doubled over and put his head between his knees. Draco clutched his hair, no struggle this time in discerning his memories and he wondered what was worse as his mind screamed for the haven of his amnesia. Taking in three deep breaths, Draco forced his heart beat to slow and his thoughts to quit roaring of their own accord.



Draco sat back up and looked at the vials once more before coming to his feet. Wherever he was, it was Harry Potter who brought him here. Draco wouldn’t allow himself to be a sobbing mess the next time they spoke.



Draco turned in a circle and spotted a pair of his black slacks, neatly folded, black robes with the silver hem Malfoy’s were trademark for wearing, and a black silk, open-collar shirt lying across the couch in front of the fireplace. Draco nodded to himself, appreciating, despite himself, that throughout this entire ordeal, at least he was provided his own damn clothes.



After washing up in the adjoining bathroom and dressing, Draco walked over to the window and pulled back one heavy, velvet curtain, squinting against the burst of bright eastern sunlight. The dawn was cold and gray, the way Draco Malfoy knew—and remembered—he liked them and, more delightfully, it was an English dawn. He could tell by the ever-present residual smell of rain and the lifting fog that never quite went away.



Not quite the Paradise he was expecting after he died, but it would do.



~*~



Draco wandered into the kitchen minutes later and spotted Harry Potter dozing at a small table, his cheek propped against his hand. Draco wondered where the rounded spectacles Harry usually wore were and allowed himself a small grin, realizing that The-Boy-Who-Lived looked quite harmless when he slept.



Draco leaned against the wall and cleared his throat. “I suppose we’re even then.”



Immediately, Harry’s eyes shot open and his head jerked up. Harry blinked a few times before his green eyes focused on the figure before him and Draco smirked, making sure to keep the lines around his curling lip hard and minutely bemused.



“What?” Harry managed finally.



“I saved your life, you saved mine; we’re square,” Draco answered calmly.



Harry didn’t answer but he reached into his sleeve and produced Draco’s wand.



Draco’s gray eyes brightened covetously and he whispered Accio, thoughtlessly, in his mind, summoning his wand to himself. Catching it, his magic calmed from the swirling torrent within him to a slow push and pull every wizard felt when they concentrated on their magic flowing through them.



Pocketing his wand, Draco glanced back at Harry, watching him run a hand over his face and look like the world was, once again, resting on his shoulders.



“Are you an Auror now?” Draco asked, resuming his perch against the wall.



Harry nodded blearily, not quite meeting Draco’s eyes.



Draco’s trademark smirk was back in full force. “So was all this your doing?”



“Mostly,” Harry answered honestly in a hoarse voice.



Draco pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter as it boiled up inside of him. “There’s this weapon the Muggles use…I believe it’s called a Magnum 44.”



Harry raised his eyes, lifting a black brow questioningly.



“The bullet's on me,” Draco said, pressing a fist to his lips, his eyes gleaming with vicious laughter.



“Oh, go fuck yourself, Malfoy,” Harry growled, the familiarity of their childhood rivalry almost comfortable.



Draco released his laughter and it rang off of the walls of the kitchen. “Harry Potter, Auror of the Ministry of Magic…responsible for the most incredible fuck up in the Wizarding World ever…”



“Shut your face, Malfoy,” Harry said scowling. “Not ‘ever’. I mean, that would have to belong to the day you were born…”



“Less than original, Potter,” Draco remarked with another sarcastic curl of his lip. “I expected more from you.”



Harry’s scowl lost its fire and he looked away. “Yeah, so did everybody else.”



Draco drew his brows together. “I was talking about your comeback, you ponce. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re even less Gryffindor than I am.”





Harry was immediately on his feet. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? And what the hell makes you think you know anything about me?”



Draco slowly, deliberately raised his hand to his forehead and tapped the lightening bolt scar with his forefinger. Harry’s eyes followed the movement and he unconsciously chewed on his lower lip as he gazed at the scar that used to belong on his skin.



“It bloody hurts when you feel like shite, Potter,” Draco murmured. “Do us a favor and suck it up, you pansy.” Draco paused. Then, “Was it like this with you and Voldemort?”



Harry shook his head slowly. “Not really. I hated him; the pain was more violent.”



Draco snorted. “And what makes you think I don’t hate you?”



Harry gave him a long-suffering look.



“Oh, right,” Draco said sarcastically while still managing to sound charming. “I saved you from mutually assured destruction.” Draco turned to walk out of the kitchen, but paused near the hall. “Don’t kid yourself, Potter. I will always be a Muggle-hating Malfoy and if you don’t hate me now, you will eventually. Isn’t that the game we play?”



“No,” Harry said softly, placing his hands flat against the wood of the table. “What have we given, Malfoy?”



Draco went very still.



“My friend, blood shaking my heart,” Harry continued as Draco slowly turned and stared at him. “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender…which an age of prudence can never retract—“



“By this, and this only, we have existed,” Draco finished for him, his voice as icy as his eyes. “You sneaky bastard, you found my Pensieve.”



It wasn’t a question and they both knew it.



“You can’t pretend to be an asshole anymore, Malfoy.”



A slow, cruel smile curved Draco’s mouth and the sight of it sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Draco moved back into the kitchen, his presence in the small room suddenly feeling black and oppressive to Harry. Draco walked until he was directly in front Harry before pausing and leaning forward so that his breath brushed along Harry’s cheek and the sound of his soft voice echoed loudly in his ear.



“Oh, yes I can, Potter.”



Harry swallowed and stubbornly set his jaw. He had dealt with Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts; he was more than equipped to do so again now no matter what he playing at. “Yeah? How do you explain quoting Muggle poetry when being remarked by Voldemort?”



Draco chuckled softly. “T.S. Eliot was a Squib, you idiot.”



Harry closed his eyes as Draco’s soft, mocking laughter spread across his cheek, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Harry almost sighed in relief when Draco pulled back for a moment, a quizzical look plastered across his face that almost looked comical.



“Which might actually be worse, you know,” Draco said after a moment. “I sort of lived as a Squib these past few months. Less than appealing, I can assure you; though I’m sure you and your friends had good, hard laugh at my expense.”



“It was Snape’s idea,” Harry muttered defensively.



Draco snorted. “You really should have been in Slytherin, you know that?” Draco murmured as he leaned in again. “Merlin forbid you should take responsibility for your own actions.”



“And what about you?” Harry asked, refusing to step back. “At least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”



That cruel smile was back. “Don’t you?”



“What are you talking about, Malfoy?”



“You know. Confusion is a coward’s way out and you are no coward.”



“You’re contradicting yourself, Malfoy.”



“Am I?” Draco’s breath in Harry’s ear was nearly driving him mad.



“Step away from me, Malfoy. You’re too close.”



Draco smirked and Harry turned his face to glare directly at him.



“You’ve gone soft, Potter. You must have missed me.”



Harry scowled. “Is that why you did it? Because you knew no one would miss you?”



Draco’s eyes flashed with something Harry couldn’t name and Draco’s smile almost became soft. “That’s more like it, Potter.”



Guilt wrapped around Harry’s heart and squeezed and Harry opened his mouth to apologize. Draco saw the look and cut him off with a wave of his hand, stepping away suddenly and leaving Harry feeling cold and miserable all over again.



“I wish to see my Godfather,” Draco said before disappearing down the hall. “Bring him here.”



Harry allowed the trembling that quivered inside of him to well up and shake his limbs before he forcefully dispelled it and willed his heartbeat to slow. Harry took in a deep breath and tried not to be frustrated that he had just spent nearly twenty minutes with Draco Malfoy and hadn’t managed to get a single question answered.



~*~



Severus Snape found his godson in the Library of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and knocked softly on the doorframe. Draco, being a professional at making people wait for him, did not look up until he was finished reading the page he was on of the book he was sitting in a chair with, the fireplace blazing beside him.



Snape had received the owl from Harry Potter little over an hour before and rushed from Hogwarts to see his godson, the apprehension and curiosity nearly strangling his senses. Potter was no where to be found when he arrived and Snape had wandered the Black residence, following the warmth of the fire that Draco must have made for himself.



Marking his place in his book, Draco carefully set it down and glanced up at his godfather with a decidedly bland expression on his sharp features.



“Hello, Godfather.”



“Draco,” Snape answered with a curt nod of his head, his apprehension only a whisper of a shadow behind his black eyes. “I trust you are well?”



“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Draco said. “I’m not even supposed to be alive.”



Snape’s mouth curved in his version of a smile. “You’re an idiot, by the way.”



“Your consoling nature is always so overwhelming,” Draco shot back softly.



“Why did you do it?”



Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I expected that question from Potter, not you, Godfather.”



“Regardless,” Snape said with a flick of his of his wrist. “Why?”



“Do I really need a reason outside my mother, Godfather?” Draco said quietly, staring into the fireplace and its frolicking flames.



“Yes,” Snape said.



Draco looked up at his godfather and raised a blond brow. “Oh?”



“You said yourself, Draco, you’re not supposed to be alive,” Snape answered softly. “Revenge for Narcissa would still not qualify as pure selflessness. The ancient magic of Sacrifice would not have been invoked through just revenge.”



Draco pursed his lips and looked back into the fire, finding no warmth there but enjoying the view much more than Snape’s demanding gaze. “What do you want me to say, Godfather? That I embarked on a soul-changing journey and my heart was pure light and love by the time I confronted Voldemort?”



Snape snorted but did not answer; such was their secret humor.



Draco sighed and rubbed his at his temples. “I don’t think I should say, Godfather. I think I may be in enough trouble as it is.”



“Could it possibly be that bad, that you couldn’t even tell me?”



Draco continued to stare at the fire.



“It wouldn’t have anything to do with Potter, would it?”



Draco’s eyelids twitched but he still did not respond. However, Snape knew his godson too well.



“You must be joking.”



Draco’s mouth tightened into a thin line before he answered. “Would it be fair, after all these years, for Potter to die because of some genius mistake made by one maniac of a dark wizard?”



“Since when do we give a Muggle’s ass what is fair and what is not, Draco?”



Draco laughed softly. “You have no idea, Godfather. I just…I knew it would be hard for our world to pick itself up after the Eve Battle, but even more so if their hero died. I made it so he wouldn’t and now he’s an Auror. Isn’t that sweet?”



“How do you expect me to believe a word you just said, Draco?”



Draco smiled thinly. “Where is he, by the way?”



“The Ministry, no doubt. Potter has quite the mess to clean up.”



“A mess that was you originally your idea?” Draco inquired with a sarcastic smirk.



“I had no idea Potter and Weasley would be so incompetent—“



“You taught them for six years, Godfather,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “Really, what were you thinking?”



Snape spread his hands. “Potter has been committed to your case for three years, Draco. I didn’t think—“



“Three years?” Draco asked suddenly. “What do you mean?”



“Potter didn’t tell you?” Snape asked. “You were in some kind of coma for three years after the Eve Battle.”



“What was the exact number of days?”



“Pardon?”



“The exact number of days, Godfather.”



Snape thought for a moment. “I believe…One thousand, two hundred, and…seventy six days.”



“Huh.” Draco sat back in his chair. “That’s interesting.”



“What is?”



“That is how long I was gone making the VCE Elixir.”



Snape shook his head. “No, it takes four years and nine months to make the—“



“You really think I would sit there by a cauldron for the entirety of nearly five years, Godfather?”



“I see.”



Draco rested his chin in his hand. “One, two, seven, six…I wonder if that has any merit.”



“I specialize in Potions, Draco, not Numerology.”



“I am aware, Godfather. Thank you for your enlightening input.”



Snape frowned at him before his face went tight with worry as Draco gasped in pain and clutched at his scar. Snape rushed forward and knelt before his godson. “Draco, what’s wrong?”



“Potter,” Draco bit out through clenched teeth, “is not having a good day.”



~*~







a/n: I apologize for the abrupt ending of this chapter; it really was not my intention to leave you with yet another cliffhanger, lol. I had alot planned for this chapter but I got caught up in the dialogue which I didn't have the heart to cut out. So, the next chapter will answer many of your questions about the American Muggles, how the Ministry is going to deal with Harry's royal fuck up, and so forth. Cheers!



Graballz: Ha ha, your hint hint, nudge nudge, and wink wink! was duly noted, lol. Yes, this, my friends, is the lovely slash arc of the tale. Much lemon goodies to come. Thanx for your review!



Ravenshadow: Thank you very much!



Airagorn Charda: Wow, thank you!



Mangacat: Thank you!



Wizli: Thank you very much! Yeah, I was actually nervous about writing that chapter because I saw this really cool scene in my head that computer animators would have gone nuts over, lol! So, I'm like "Herm, how the hell do I pull this one off?" I did a bunch of research on explosions and black holes and some other stuff and I even watched a submarine explode under water a few times on the telly before I felt I was ready to even begin writing something; especially because I didn't want to take up the word count by describing how it happened, you know? So, I was really happy when I read your review! It made my day, really! :-)



And, oh yes, it's all about the emotions.



Snakevamp: Thank you for your encouragement. It is sometimes frustrating having the next chapter banging against the inside of your skull, wanting to get out and not having the time to sit down for an hour and type it up. Thank you so much for your review! Harry is all about being in over his head; I don't know if he could handle it, having a dull normal life, lol.



Thrnbrooke: I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for your review!



Bigkt: Thank you for your review! Your question should be answered in the next chapter.



Smokey: I do have an update list, though I kinda suck at remembering to send out the update notification, lol. Would you like me to add you? Thank you for your review!



Alexkim: Thank you for your review! Your question should be answered in the next chapter.



Tia: I'm thinking 60ish? Not sure; but I know we have at least two more archs to get through, lol, and that may very well be about forty chapters. Thanx for your review!



Dark_Samira: You're absolutely right, lol! You won't even need to guess why Draco's scar is hurting! Lol, I know what you mean about the snogging bit. I never thought I would write a slash where it took so freaking long for the romance to ante up! Ah well, love takes time, I guess; and when life gives you lemons...(I had something witty I was going to say but my mind just went blank)...And yes, this is the romance arch so plenty of lemonishings on the way. If I had to throw a number out, I'd say maybe eight chapters from now...maybe less. Depends on reviews I guess.



I'm a slave to my reviewers, lol.