Never A Memory

a/n: Hey guys! I could tell you the amazing stories that would be my excuses for the extremely late update but I won't bore you with my scars. Suffice it to say that I spent my only weekend off in a MONTH to organize and outline the final ten chapters of the Second Arch and prepare the next two chapters for your reading pleasure. Then, we'll jump into the Third Arch and have even more fun! That's where a ton of the juice is!



Now that we've reached the 'smut break', we can dive back into the story. I'm really excited because I have so many awesome things planned that will keep you guessing until the end.



This chapter is a bit longer than most because of the extremely long wait and I have another one ready for you as well called The Secret Prophecy.



Enjoy.



















~Black Horizon~



“I hope we're not trying to figure out who he is and more figure out who we are.”

—Gwendolyn, 9/11: The Falling Man



The following morning…

~*~



Harry watched the pale dawn trickle through the thick curtains in thin beams of light across Draco’s narrow face and had no desire to dispel the lazy grin that had fixed itself on his features as Draco began to stir.



Harry wondered at the overrated nature of color when Draco's sharp gray eyes focused on him and sent a remembered shudder through his body. If a color so pale around a set of pupils that made black look bright could make Harry’s blood feel hot and burning beneath his skin, would a red rose or a perfect blue sky begin to fade in comparison? Harry was beginning to think so and his smile grew fonder.



Draco smirked back at him. "You're not getting all soft on me now, are you, Harry?"



Harry’s smile turned rueful but he did not respond.



Draco gingerly sat up against the pillows, the sheets slipping down his naked torso to pool around his waist, and ran a hand through his platinum locks.



“Have you figured out what happened last night?” Draco asked as he curved an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him against his chest.



Harry laid his head back, resting it on Draco’s shoulder, and shook his head.



“Something shifted, though,” Draco continued, his voice quiet. “Can you feel it?”



Harry thought of the near two hours he had spent silently waiting for Draco to wake up and felt his heart twist a little—in a pleasant sort of way…like sucking on spicy, sweet cinnamon candy. “Yes, I can feel it.”



Then, as reality is wont to do during pleasant times, memories of the more disturbing part of the night before thundered through Harry’s critical mind, forcing a terrible frown to replace the good-natured smile.



“I don’t like it when you sleep walk,” Harry said suddenly. “It doesn’t feel right.”



“If only the world revolved around Harry Potter and all that he feels is right,” Draco murmured with a smile in his voice.



“I’m serious,” Harry said, pushing off of the body he leant on and twisting so he could see Draco’s face. “You’re different. It’s hard to breathe when you get like that.”



Draco’s gray eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”



“It’s your eyes,” Harry murmured somberly. “They’re not your eyes.”



~*~



The Ministry of Magic…

***



Ron stifled a yawn as he pulled another stack of paperwork towards him. That’s all it’s been for the past two weeks. Paperwork and then more paperwork.



Ron finally knew how it felt to be the newbie. By rights, he should have endured this already, being one of the youngest Aurors the Ministry had ever employed. Yet, when he was partnered with Harry Potter, his life-long best mate and the Hero of the Wizarding World, he completely forewent the Newbie Harassment—filing everyone else’s paperwork, taking out the trash, being sent on pointless and ridiculous errands, and otherwise being treated like a common House Elf.



Now, Ronald Weasley was sick unto death of paperwork.



Yesterday, at a quarter to five, Ron had seriously considered burning every tree on the planet so that paper would no longer exist to lend a hand to creating paperwork. Luckily, after enduring the slowest fifteen minutes mankind has ever known, the clock struck five and Ron escaped the Ministry with his sanity; thus trees still exist and all is right in the world.



It was Friday and the last day of the two-week suspension. Ron could barely wait to go and celebrate with Hermione and Harry. Ron would be able to see his fiancée at work again, he wouldn’t have to be the red-haired House Elf to Ministry any longer, and Harry could come back to work.



All things considered, Ron mused as he dipped his quill and began writing on the top sheet, Ron was just glad he wasn’t the one who had to live with a slimy Slytherin Brat Prince for two weeks. Ron would choose the accursed paperwork any day.



Ron glanced up when he heard a familiar voice speak a rushed apology amidst a crashing noise across the room. Raising his eyes above the line of cubicles separating him from the Minister of Magic’s office he spotted Hermione and her wild curls rushing towards the office with a letter in her hand.



Hermione rapped on the Minister’s door and turned and met Ron’s bewildered gaze seconds before Scrimgeour admitted her inside, immediately closing the door behind her. Ron slowly stood to his feet and warily made his way towards Scrimgeour’s office, concerned by the frazzled look in his fiancée’s eyes.



Upon reaching Scrimgeour’s door, Ron raised his hand to knock, curious and a little timid, afraid he would get in trouble for this too, when suddenly the door flew open.



“WEASLEY, GET IN HERE!” Scrimgeour shouted before registering that Ron was merely inches away from him.



Shell-shocked and mildly irritated, Ron wiped the Minister’s spittle from his freckled face and stepped into the office, where his fiancée tried—and failed—to hide her smile.



~*~



Number Twelve Grimauld Place...

***



Draco’s smile was quiet and secretive as he accepted his plate from Harry, who had insisted on making breakfast. The meal was light--eggs, fruit, and a bit of cheese--yet it was the endearingly forceful way that Harry had taken it upon himself to dismiss Slightly and make their morning meal himself.



Of course, Harry’s words weren’t any less brittle and his glare any less shrewd, but his actions spoke volumes of how much he had softened towards Draco and what their relationship was evolving into seemingly of its own accord. It was as if what had transpired the night before had broken an invisible barrier inside of Harry; that maybe the cage the Boy Who Lived kept himself locked up in was finally open and a gentler side of him was peeking out.



Draco had wondered, for years, what this side of Harry was like and had spent an entire Hogwarts education teeming with jealousy that Granger and Weasley were of the seldom few who had the privilege to experience it.



That being said, Draco’s victory seemed abruptly bittersweet. Draco could never explain to Harry how terrified he had been seconds before Harry had broken his trance. Draco could not find it within himself to break the spell with the frightening news that he had heard Voldemort’s voice mocking him in his mind mere moments before Harry had struck him or of the unbearable pain that blossomed across his back as his limbs began to tremble when his eyes focused on Harry’s concerned face.



Or, Merlin save his soul, the sweet, tantalizing voice belonging to a lone figure standing beside a roaring bonfire that called to him, urging him to go. Go where, Draco wasn’t sure. However, it petrified Draco to think that the closer he became to Harry, the more the mystery around his being thickened.



Draco couldn’t and wouldn’t speak of this to Harry. How could he when his memory was supposed to have the answers and more than apparently didn’t? How could he when the sweet side of Harry Potter was finally being offered to Draco and this new mystery could possibly destroy everything fragile and bittersweet between them? How could he when it was Voldemort’s voice mocking him? Voldemort was supposed to be dead! He was supposed to have destroyed him for good!



Draco had painstakingly planned and executed the assassination of the Dark Lord. He couldn’t have failed.



Was the ghost of Tom Riddle haunting him? Was that his price now that Voldemort’s death somehow didn’t claim his life? Or was there a more terrible price to pay for cheating Prophecy?



“Come back to earth,” Harry said with a rueful smile as he snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face.



“Hm?”



“Do you like it?” Harry asked slowly as if he were repeating the question.



“It’s truly scrumptious,” Draco replied as he picked up a strawberry and bit into it.



Harry nearly choked on his orange juice at the odd reference to the Muggle film and shook his head.



“What on earth is so funny?” Draco inquired with a quirk of his brow.



“Nothing.” Harry glanced over at Slightly when she popped into the room.



“Mr. Harry Potter sir,” Slightly murmured, “a letter for you, sir.”



Harry nodded. “Let her in.”



Slightly snapped her fingers and Hedwig flew into the dining hall, a letter attached to her leg. The Snowy Owl landed on Harry’s waiting arm and accepted a bit of cheese for her worries. Harry detached the letter, freed it from the envelope, and read it through.



When he was finished, Harry stood to his feet and told Slightly to fetch his Auror’s cloak.



Frowning, Harry met Draco’s gaze.



“What is it?” Draco asked, suddenly feeling very cold.



“It was from the Minister,” Harry said. “I must return at once.”



Draco looked away. “Our two weeks is up, then?”



Harry smiled a little. “I’m still the head of your case.”



Draco nodded. “I’ll see you when you get back.”



Harry accepted his cloak from Slightly when she popped back into the room and threw it on. “Would you like to come with me?”



Startled, Draco raised a brow. “Ah, no. I’ll take you up on that offer when I am significantly less sore, thank you.”



Harry grinned, despite himself, and shrugged. “I did try.”



“I know you did.”



“I’ll be right back,” Harry said after a moment, flashing a charming smile Draco hadn’t known Harry was capable of.



~*~



The Ministry...

***



“He’s back.”



The whispers echoed loudly as Harry made his way through the first level of the Ministry. It surprised him, and would never cease to, that so many would mark his comings and goings and the space of time in between.



Of course, Harry would never let it show and his face remained neutral as he continued down the halls of staring faces and pointing fingers. By rights, he should be used to it by now.



Finally, Harry reached Scrimgeour’s office and knocked once before the door opened. Inside, Harry permitted himself half a second to ponder why Hermione, Ron, and every Auror that had accompanied them two weeks ago in Wisconsin--Boyle, Nadger, Mackle, and Anin--were in the Minister’s Office waiting for him.



Harry looked over at Scrimgeour, who was seated behind his desk, his hands clasped in front of him, and saluted, waiting for him, or anyone, really, to drop him a bone.



Scrimgeour regarded Harry for a moment before nodding at Hermione.



“Harry, the Americans have closed their Apparatal Borders.”



“They, what?” Harry whirled around and stared hard at Hermione. The last, and only, time in Wizarding History that any country anywhere had closed their Apparatal Borders was when it was confirmed that Lord Voldemort was back from the dead and gathering his army some five years ago.



Anin stepped forward, in his quiet sort of way. “That man at the Muggle station, the one you arrived with—“



“Deans,” Harry said immediately.



“Yes, well, actually, his name is Maximus Cure,” Anin said. “And he was expelled from Sequoia’s School for American Witchcraft and Wizardry in his second year.”



Harry’s mouth fell open seconds before he pressed his lips into a thin line, his green eyes blazing with understanding. “For what?”



“Using the Inversion Enchantratem on another student and thereby causing the child’s death,” Nadger said.



Scrimgeour watched Harry carefully as he took in this information.



“That’s what happened at Willow Station,” Harry said. “Isn’t it?”



Ron nodded solemnly and held Harry’s eye for a long time. Ron had read the report Harry had written about the hours before the accident at Willow Station. They both new that Draco had only been in that apartment for two days and Deans was present for both of them. In fact, Deans had expressed to Harry that “Smith” had convinced him to make his supper.



Real nice.



Harry took in a deep breath and turned back to the Minister. “Okay, so Deans is not a Muggle and tried to kill Malfoy. Why would the Americans close off the Borders over that?”



Hermione stepped forward. “That’s just it, Harry. The Inversion Enchantratem isn’t designed to kill. It’s designed to separate a wizard from his magic.”



“But Malfoy didn’t—“



“Draco Malfoy had focused so intently on recovering his memories,” Hermione interrupted, “that it was his memories that kept him connected to his magic.”



“Though, I dare say,” Boyle interjected. “The Inversion Enchantratem was working hard to sever the connection. Remember those pulses of energy?”



Harry nodded, still trying to piece the other puzzle together in his mind.



Nadger lifted his chin. “What we have concluded is that something in the Horcrux you share with young Malfoy saved, not only his life, but his magic as well. If you hadn’t acted as you did, Malfoy would really have been a Muggle.”



Harry frowned. “What on Earth would anyone want with Draco’s magic?”



“Cure is a Wizard who cannot use his magic, Potter,” Mackle said. “If he used Malfoy’s, the Americans wouldn’t be able to tell when he was breaking the law.”



“Which all seems a bit less severe than you are all making it out to be,” Harry said quietly. “Why have the Americans closed their Apparatal Borders?”



Scrimgeour smiled approvingly and flicked his wrist to no one in particular.



Ron stepped forward and the severity in his gaze made Harry apprehensive.



“Cure spoke of one called The Gatherer,” Ron murmured. “The Gatherer hired Cure to separate Malfoy from his magic and kill him. Think, Harry, what would The Gatherer be gathering? Think.”



Finally, Harry shut his eyes and heaved a sigh. “Merlin, its Death Eaters, isn’t it? The Gatherer is gathering Death Eaters.”



“The Americans think so,” Ron answered. “And so do we.”



Harry nodded and opened his eyes. “Interesting.”



“What is?” Scrimgeour asked, the first thing he had said since Harry had arrived.



“That The Gatherer wouldn’t just call himself the Dark Lord.”



The Aurors present glanced around the office at one another. “Explain,” Anin demanded. “You think You-Know-Who is coming back? Why?”



A darkness fell over Harry’s eyes. “Of course not. Voldemort is dead. My point is that this Gatherer rounding up Deatheaters seems suddenly separate from the assassination of Draco Malfoy. As if it is just on their to-do list. Why would they be re-assembling their army without a Dark Lord? Why now?”



Scrimgeour pointed to Mackle and Anin. “Figuring that out is their job. Nadger and Boyle will be their seconds and in control of civilian distress. Potter, you and Weasley will continue to keep Mr. Malfoy safe. Of course, if there is any information to be had from young Mr. Malfoy, by all means, get it out of him. Granger will continue to monitor the Apparatal Borders. Anything new arises, inform me immediately. Questions?”



Silence.



“Good, now get out of my office.” Scrimgeour sat back in his chair and watched with shrewd eyes as Harry lingered near the door until everyone else had gone.



“Potter?”



“Minister, Voldemort’s not coming back,” Harry said, his eyes blazing with green fire.



“And if He does?”



Harry was silent for a fraction of a second before he smiled grimly. “I’ll take care of it.”



~*~



Number Twelve Grimauld Place…

***



Severus Snape, his godfather, had warned him against the portrait of Lady Walburga Black, Draco’s great aunt.



And Draco had heeded it. Knowing that stirring up the ghosts of his mother’s line would be less than opportune unless absolutely necessary.



The Black Legacy was long and pure, due to their watchful eyes and merciless, unforgiving ways. The Legacy reached far into history and knowledge that seemed to be lost to mankind, the Black’s knew.



All he needed was a clue. One clue and he could unravel the rest of this mystery himself without disturbing the ghosts of Number Twelve Grimauld Place.



One clue.



She would know he was a Blood Traitor. She died long before his birth, but she would know all the same. It is their way, the dead communing with the dead.



His aunt had shown mercy once, the day he was exiled. And if there was anyone in the Black Legacy who had the most right to loathe Draco Malfoy, it was Bellatrix LeStrange.



Perhaps, just perhaps, Lady Black would show mercy too.



All he needed was one clue.



Just one.



Draco pulled back the curtain and regarded the portrait.



~*~









a/n:



HellishMind: Thank you! Hope you enjoyed!



Jan: That's a great guess! Check out the next chapter and tell me if you still think that! Thank you for your review!



mariahs_fantasy: Cure's actual intentions, I'm afraid, will remain a mystery until the end of the Second Arch. I would love to hear your guesses, though! Thank you for the compliment. Yes, there will be many smut scenes and many of them will be very different from one another, so I wanted to make this one about passion and not so much about the technicalities. Thank you again!



Scotty: Thank you!



snarrylover: Thanx for the help with the song title. I'm afraid I really suck at the game of remembering who sings what, lol. I suppose I should lay off the song lyrics. Thank you so much for the compliment. I sort of knew it would tantalize, flipping between the scenes, which really made me want to do it. Thanx again!



Heero Yuy: Thank you so much for the review and I hope you enjoyed the update. Great guess too!



Graballz: "Oh good, thanks! With everything that's going on, with the anticipation, and with what (I hope!) is about to happen, I was extremely preoccupied with how the souffle tasted...thanks for clearing that up!" and "Gather THIS, motherfucker!" were my favorite parts of your review. I laugh so hard at your reviews, I really do. And yes, Harry hit Draco. You were the first, I believe, to say you think you know who the Gatherer is, I wonder who your guess is? Thank you so much for your review!



WeasleyWench: Why, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy the updates!



Soria: I actually feel bad for being unable to update with your wonderful praise. Thank you though! I do believe you spelled precarious correctly, lol. I hope you enjoy the updates!



snakevamp: No, no, I thought it was incredibly funny! In fact, I had assumed you had meant to spell it that way as a joke. Ah, sometimes genious happens when we're not looking. Be proud, "TEH" was an inspiration. Thank you for your review and I hope you enjoy the updates!



Draco_Harry_lover: Thank you so much! I certainly hope you get alot out of the updates!



AlcyoneBlack: Thank you! I hope you enjoy the updates!



thrnbrooke: You always ask the perfect questions, m'dear! I hope you enjoy the updates! And thank you for your review!



claire: Thank you!



Snarry-lover: Ha ha, thank you!



Lihrah: Great, great questions! This chapter and the next may answer a few if you can decipher a few hidden riddles. The other questions have answers within the rest of the story. Thank you so much for your review and I hope you enjoy the updates!





Now, for those of you who are wondering: Yes, The Gatherer's true identity is someone whom you have already met and not a new character I have yet to introduce. Thank you guys for your amazing reviews and saint-like patience. Happy Be-lated Easter everyone! Or Fertility Day! Or whatever-you-celebrate Day!