Never A Memory

a/n: Quick update as an apology for that nasty cliffhanger from the last one! Enjoy!









~A Gentlemen’s Agreement~



At the Ministry…

~*~



“Blinding sun, Potter!” Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, shouted, his round face flushed in aggravation. “What am I going to do with you?”



Assuming the question was rhetorical, Harry Potter remained silent. The Minister had been shouting at him for nearly twenty minutes already and Harry figured it would be best to let the man spend his energy before speaking at all.



Ron, who refused to even look at Harry after seeing Hermione Granger run from the Minister’s Office on the verge of tears before being called in themselves, was an ever present silent shadow behind Harry. Harry could feel the irritation rolling off of his partner in his direction and had to fight the urge to turn around and look at him.



Scrimgeour continued to pace the office and Harry and Ron stared straight ahead, their faces blank and expressionless; except Harry’s, whose green eyes were bright and simmering with a storm cloud of anger and frustration.



“This fiasco was completely avoidable!” Scrimgeour continued. “I don’t know what got in your sodding head, Potter! And involving Muggle Affairs was certainly not the best of your bright ideas!” On and on he went and Harry’s mind screamed for him to shout back that Malfoy was alive and that was actually his job and therefore—



“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, Potter?!”



Harry head snapped towards the Minister. “Yes, sir.”



“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”



Harry lifted his chin but delayed his response when Ron tugged on the hem of his robe as if to say, ‘don’t make it worse, you dolt.’



Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can handle the situation in America, sir.”



Scrimgeour laughed in his face. “Like you handled it yesterday?”



“No, sir.”



“What are you going to do, Obliviate everybody?” Scrimgeour sneered. “That seems to be your answer for everything!”



A muscle twitched in Harry’s jaw but he did not respond when he felt another tug on his robe.



“The American Ministry has it under control,” Scrimgeour said in a calmer tone. “Thank Merlin they’re not holding any resentment. Apparently, they deal with this sort of thing frequently. New Mexico had some interesting occurrences a couple decades ago that they managed to blame on aliens from outer space…and then there was that terrible little bit with a bridge in West Virginia a few years back. Now, they say they can blame everything on low-budget film making…whatever that is.”



Harry raised a brow but said nothing.



“But you, Potter!” Scrimgeour said, raising his voice again. “What am I going to do with you?!”



Harry remained silent, but, for once, this only seemed to make the Minister angrier. Scrimgeour finished his pacing and threw himself into a chair, glaring for all he was worth at one of his youngest Aurors.



“You are proving to be the worst investment I ever made,” Scrimgeour spat.



The rage that simmered behind Harry’s green eyes boiled and his fingers curled into fists. “That’s awfully rich, Minister, considering all we’ve done for the past three years! One accident does not negate—“



“WE?!” Scrimgeour exploded. “Not we, Potter! You! You are completely incompetent and I have half a mind to take you off the Malfoy Case altogether and send you on an unpaid suspension! Now what do you think of that?”



“I am not incompetent.”



Ron tugged roughly on Harry’s robe and this time Harry whirled on him. “Would you cut it out?!”



“Fine,” Ron hissed icily, staring passed Harry. “Get us fired. Be my guest.”



Harry turned back to the Minister, his anger blotting out any clear thought his mind might have been trying to formulate. Suddenly, Harry heard Draco’s voice in his head.



‘Suck it up, you pansy.’



Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before approaching the desk. Harry placed both hands on the Minister’s desk and leaned forward, staring directly at Scrimgeour.



“If you really think there is a soul in this place that would be able to handle Malfoy better than I, then have at it,” Harry said, watching as Scrimgeour’s angry demeanor began to calm. This is the Auror everyone expected from Harry Potter; not the brash young man who causes catastrophes in Wisconsin.



“Why do you think you are so much better equipped?” Scrimgeour asked.



Harry smiled thinly as he raised his hand and tapped his forehead—where his scar used to be—just like Draco had done to him earlier that morning.



Scrimgeour pursed his lips, thinking. Finally, his eyes softened and he sighed, running his chubby fingers over his face. “Potter,” Scrimgeour said, abruptly sounding spent and tired. “It’s not that we haven’t had to deal with accidents like these before—especially when You-Know-Who was around--and Merlin knows what you’ve done for our world; but you must understand that so much more is expected of you.”



Harry frowned and straightened.



“You have no idea what it’s like trying to rebuild after the Eve War, to try to convince the Wizarding World that we can get back on our feet and move on,” Scrimgeour went on saying. “And I cannot afford for this case to fail. Draco Malfoy is as much a legend now as you are; which is exactly why I originally put you two in charge of this case.” Scrimgeour leaned forward in his chair. “Do you realize that mothers tell their children stories of you and Malfoy before sending them to bed?”



“I was unaware,” Harry said dryly and he heard Draco’s voice whisper in his mind again, this time accompanied with soft, mocking laughter. ‘Suck it up, you pansy.’



“This all very iconic, Potter, and Malfoy being so exposed and unprotected yesterday is certainly not the goal we are shooting for. We WANT Malfoy to be able to roam freely about because it would be an assurance of this new safety we’re providing as the Ministry of Magic; however, many want him dead. So until you can figure out who and why, Malfoy must remain hidden. Do you understand?”



“I do, sir.”



“Good.” The Minister leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. “I still need to take disciplinary action, Potter. You realize I cannot just let this go.”



“I understand.”



“Where is Malfoy?”



Harry hesitated before answering. “Headquarters.”



Scrimgeour stared at him for a moment before nodding, understanding finally that Harry meant for the Order of the Phoenix. “Brilliant. Will he stay put?”



Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I believe so.”



“How can you be sure?”



Harry didn’t answer immediately. “If I have to tie him down, Malfoy will stay put.”



Scrimgeour smiled. “That isn’t exactly the best way to treat a Wizarding hero.”



Harry’s eyes turned a flat sort of green. “It is the way you treat me, sir.”



To Harry’s surprise, the Minister laughed. “I suppose so. Well, then, a two week suspension for you, Potter, wherein you will not let Malfoy out of your sight. Weasley—“



Ron’s head snapped up.



“You will report in everyday of Potter’s absence, nine to five, and restrict yourself to your cubicle.”



“Yes, sir.”



“You will leave Muggle Affairs and Ms. Granger to their business.”



Ron made a choked sound but nodded. “Yes, sir.”



“And both of you will report to me the second some mad scheme pops into your head so I can Obliviate the bloody hell out of it,” Scrimgeour said, smiling pleasantly. “Now get out of my sight.”



Outside the office, Harry tried to stop Ron as he made to push past him. “Ron—“



“You think its fun, don’t you?” Ron hissed, whirling on him. “Creating fiascoes so that you can play the hero all over again?!”



“Ron, that’s not—“



“We’re PARTNERS, Harry!” Ron bit out. “We do things together! I look like an idiot because you run off to do your one man show and now I can’t even visit my bloody fiancée when it was YOU who fucked up! Blinding sun, Harry! When are you going to get it through your thick head that what you do effects everyone around you and when you’re being terminally selfish like you were yesterday it’s your closest friends who suffer for it?!” Ron took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “But I guess it doesn’t matter as long as you get what you want, right?”



Ron turned on his heel and stomped away, muttering to himself about being ‘Harry Potter’s stupid friend’.



Harry watched helplessly as his best mate disappeared down the hall, a heaviness in his stomach that was not-quite-grief, not-quite-anger, and not-quite-guilt.



Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Get out of my head, Malfoy,” Harry whispered to himself.



His only response was that tingling sensation where his scar used to be.



~*~



“So, Sirius Black gave this place to Potter?” Draco asked his godfather as they went down the creaking stairs.



“Yes,” Snape answered. “It was used as the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.”



A sunny smile—an expression Snape had no idea his godson was capable of—broke out on Draco’s face and he turned in a circle once they had reached the bottom of the stairs. “Really?” Draco said, the quietness in his belying the expression on his face. “I had wondered…”



“Does your scar still hurt?”



Draco shook his head and bent to inspect a small, dusty painting on the wall of the main hall. “Not really. A bit of throbbing, no more.”



“What does it mean when it only throbs?” Snape inquired from where he remained at the base of the stairs.



Draco shrugged nonchalantly and rubbed at his scar, careful not to mess up his diligently kept hair style. “Potter’s the expert, remember? He’s had seventeen years of experience with this damn thing.”



Snape rolled his eyes and continued to watch his godson. While Draco Malfoy had always been more comfortable around his godfather, Snape had never seen him act this…ambiguous.



Snape had taken care to explain—in great detail—everything he knew about the danger Draco was in after the pain in his godson’s scar had subsided. Draco had listened carefully, his face a placid mask of courtly patience, and when Snape had finished describing the importance of Draco remaining hidden, his godson had laughed softly and walked away from him.



They bantered, of course, like they usually did, which Snape would admit was comforting in its own way, but Snape could not dig any answers out of his infuriatingly silver-tongued godson, who would deftly sidestep any direct questions and dance around all other inquiries.



Eventually, Snape gave up and took to showing Draco the house, assuming Potter had not the courtesy to already have done so and knowing that Draco may very well be here for a while. That was Snape’s vote, in either case, and he had made it more than vocal during the past hour.



Snap was jerked from his thoughts when the front door opened and a blast of cold, spring wind swept through the house. Almost immediately, Harry stepped into the house and closed the door. Harry paused when he looked up and saw both Snape and Draco staring expectantly at him.



“Snape,” Harry said with an informal jerk of his chin.



“Potter,” Snape answered.



Harry turned to Draco, his automatic glare sliding into place. “I’ll be in the study when you’re through.”



Draco nodded and both he and his godfather watched silently as Harry made his way up the stairs, the creaking of the floorboards louder in their ears then perhaps it should have been.



~*~



Draco found Harry in the study standing by the fireplace and staring into the roaring fire within it. The light from the flames flickered across his handsome features and his jet-black hair fell artfully into his eyes, which he raised to meet Draco’s when he heard him come into the room.



“So,” Draco began, his gray eyes bright with cynicism. “Am I your prisoner?”



Less than amused Harry looked back at the fire. “Do you want the long or the short of it?”



Draco put on his best charismatic smile. “The short, please. We all know your stories have a flair for the dramatic.”



Harry briefly rolled his eyes skyward and silently prayed for patience to whoever might have the empathy to listen. “There is an underground warrant for your death, Malfoy,” Harry said when he looked back at the fire.



“My godfather said as much.”



Harry looked over at the Malfoy heir. “So you know it is in your best interest to stay hidden.”



“Apparently.”



“It is also in your best interest to inform me of anything that may be useful to your case.”



Draco smirked. “I’ll be sure to let you know if anything comes to mind.”



“Are you taking this seriously, Malfoy?” Harry demanded, scowling for all he was worth.



Draco shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain what makes you think I care about what is or is not in my best interest, Potter.”



Harry snorted. “You are Slytherin, Malfoy. It’s your nature.”



Draco’s eyes darkened with mystery. “If you say so.”



“Malfoy, quit trying to confuse me with your riddles. I’m in no mood for it. Do I have your word that you will stay here?”



Draco offered a sarcastic smile. “In the Order of the Phoenix’s Headquarters, no less! Such an honor.”



“Malfoy,” Harry growled, a warning in his voice.



Draco sighed dramatically. “Very well; if I must.”



Harry nodded and looked back at the fire.



Draco stood there watching Harry watch the fire for a few moments before he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s all very touching, really.”



“What is?” Harry asked, not bothering to look up.



“Your utterly noble concern for my welfare.”



It was Harry’s turn to smirk as he turned towards Draco. “You are nothing but a job to me, Malfoy; never forget that.”



They stared at one another for many minutes, a tension gathering between them Harry didn’t want to name, before Draco spoke again.



“He’ll come around, you know.”



Harry blinked. “Who will?”



“The Weasel.”



Harry came towards Malfoy and stopped directly in front of him, his green eyes bright with the scowl he wanted to show. “Stay out of my head, Malfoy.”



Draco’s smile was quiet and his eyes glittered with amusement. “I’m only in there by invitation, Potter.”



Harry glared into Draco’s laughing eyes for half a moment before walking past him and disappearing down the hall.



Slowly, Draco’s smile faded and his eyes lost their shine. Draco walked quietly over to a chair in front of the fireplace and sat down. He covered his mouth with one hand and thought about the dangerous game he was playing as he stared at the dancing flames.



And Draco Malfoy knew he was in way over his head.



Yet, when wasn’t he?



~*~







a/n:



Thrnbrooke: You're an inspiration! Thanx to you, I was able to wrap up the last arc with a paragraph, you little genius you! Really, thank you for your review!



Graballz: lol, that's the best part about H/D slash; it can be fun and edgy and angry and turn into something incredibly passionate and sweet! We'll get there, I promise. Much more insult trading and sexual tension to come! Thanx for your review!



Zypher: Thank you, deary. This update was a product of your whining. Now stop bitching, lol. Thanx for your review!



Dark_Samira: Ha ha, no kidding. I hope you enjoyed the grillage! Oh, and it will be, it will be...Thanks for your review!



Wizli: Yeah, baby! And he's back in black! I missed his snarky bastard self too, so we get to see much more of that. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for your review!



Smokey: Okie Dokie. Thanx for your review!