Never A Memory

~Nostalgia, An Even Darker Journey~

“A further major way to distinguish different memory functions is whether the content to be remembered is in the past, retrospective memory, or whether the content is to be remembered in the future, prospective memory. Thus, retrospective memory as a category includes semantic memory and episodic/autobiographical memory. In contrast, prospective memory is memory for future intentions, or remembering to remember (Winograd, 1988).”

Shortly after…
~*~

The flight to Hogwarts was quiet. Very quiet.

Wisely, Draco let Harry fume. Well, wise as Draco would consider it.

If he instigated yet another argument with Harry by trying to explain, Draco knew he might end up telling him about the Prophecy and the runes and the whispers of Lord-fucking-Voldemort in his ear. Draco couldn’t think of a single thing worse than doing that and, in his mind’s eye, could already see that cold, hateful Harry Potter that he had loathed for years slide back into place. Something twisted inside Draco’s stomach when he thought of that and he shuddered as they neared the castle. Despite himself, Draco was quickly becoming attached to the young Auror.

In fact, a part of him was less interested in finding the Eighth Key for his own sake and more interested in finding it so the one flying on his left would never be disgusted with him again. Draco didn’t like to think of what that meant or even what Harry less-than-subtle but silent jealousy meant either because protecting him with this lie could permanently sever whatever they may have had if the present situation had not made itself known.

Draco was more than aware of the consequences his actions with Harry could have but could not fathom another way. Or, rather, another way where his bloody pride wasn’t at stake.

And no one could claim that Draco Malfoy didn’t have his pride.

He had killed Voldemort once, he could stop him again. He could do it and he did not have to endanger anyone else while doing so.

At least, of course, this is what Draco told himself to keep the guilt at bay; though, the burning in his lightening bolt scar had returned and ached the entirety of their flight to Hogwarts.

Silently, Harry landed outside of Hogwarts’ Northern Gate and did not glance behind his rigid shoulder as Draco followed suit behind him. The air was thick between them and the Horcrux they shared continued to burn and tingle as they made their way to the castle on foot. Upon reaching the castle’s entrance, Harry hung back as Draco entered.

Briefly, Draco closed his eyes and saw the Quidditch Pitch burning in Harry’s mind. Nodding, he too continued forward without looking back as Harry headed to the Pitch. Draco made his way through the castle, avoiding students so as not to be recognized, and descended into the Dungeon where he found Severus returning to his office from a Potions class.

Severus pursed his lips and regarded his godson with disdain. “Have you terrorized Potter so fully that you are already escaping his establishment?”

Draco’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and he shrugged minutely, picking up the picture of his mother that Severus kept on his desk, glancing at it briefly, and set it down again. “Actually, he’s headed for the Quidditch Pitch.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Draco walked the expanse of his godfather’s office and studied the books lining the far wall.

“Draco, what are you looking for?” Severus asked directly, in absolutely no mood for his godson’s games.

“A book.”

“I can see that. What book?”

“A book with restricted information,” Draco replied coyly, continuing to peer at book after book.

“That is what the Restricted Section is for,” Severus said, feigning wit.

“Precisely,” Draco said, turning to face his godfather with a false smile.

Severus regarded Draco suspiciously. “What do you want with the Restricted Section?”

“I’m studying runes.”

Severus snorted. “Runes do not exactly qualify for the Restricted Section, Draco. No more of this. What are you doing here?”

Draco pointed an accusatory finger at the Hogwarts Potions master. “This is exactly why I do not bother being honest. No one ever believes me. I’m look for certain runes and their meaning. I need the key.”

“What runes?” Severus demanded, holding his ground. Severus never doubted or mistrusted Draco, but his godson was, in fact, a Slytherin Prince. Better to err on the side of caution with this one.

Draco made a show of sighing. “I promise I’ll show you the runes only once I am ready to leave.”

“For time.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew how their minds worked.

“What’s a five minute advance to you, godfather?” Draco asked with deceiving softness. “You are awfully clever.”

Severus rolled his eyes and pulled a key from his desk drawer. Then, the Potions master jotted a note onto a small sheet of parchment and closed the message with his personal seal before handing both to Draco.

“Be sure I do not regret this, Draco,” Severus said in that deadly quiet of his voice. “It is too soon for you to be starting trouble already.”

Draco merely smiled and left, a shadow as dark as the one trailing his feet swimming behind his eyes.

~*~

Outside, letting the cool breeze ruffle his flying robes and sift through his messy hair, Harry Potter stood on the Quidditch Pitch and lifted his face to the sky. In his hand he held the Golden Snitch, whom Madame Hooch had entrusted to him for a bit of therapeutic flying.

Of course, the look Madame Hooch had given Harry had been on a certain side of dubious when he had arrived for the Snitch, but then, being Harry Potter did have its perks and she handed the Quidditch Case over to him without any interfering questions.

Harry took in a deep breath, trying to dispel any thoughts of Draco and the unwarranted feelings of frustration that had surfaced sense the day before, only to be heightened by the sight of him and Pansy so *comfortable* with one another.

And what was more, Harry’s signature temper was beginning to slip past its restraints at suddenly being just someone along for the ride as Draco went on his own little mission of secrets and whispers. A part of him felt used, another part felt ridiculous for feeling so, and the rest shook with frustration.

After all, Harry had known it would mean nothing but trouble to sleep with Draco Malfoy. He had known it.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was that it would be him, not Draco, who would have the emotional attachment. Harry had really thought that it would be like Cruent and purely physical consent to a heightened sensation for an hour two, not amazing sex with feelings and tenderness thrown into the messy mix. Harry hadn’t been prepared for that. And now Draco seemed to be changing yet again right before his eyes. It almost seemed he was turning back into the Malfoy that Harry had always took him for.

Why would he do that?

Harry opened his eyes and released the Snitch.

~*~

Blaise Zabini uncrossed his legs and stood, putting out his cigarette as he did so. He glanced once at the pair of women sleeping serenely in his bed before strolling across the room and opening a far window, where an owl perched with a message for him.

Nodding his thanks to the owl, Blaise took the letter and read it. Slowly, Blaise’s handsome face concentrated into a deepening frown as his eyes roamed down the handwritten scroll. It was a letter from Pansy Parkinson.

Draco was awake and wandering around London with one Harry Potter in tow. Idiot.

Blaise shook his head in mild disbelief as he finished the letter and burned it when he was through. Locating his pants and putting them on, Blaise decided it was time to return to England.

Pansy had, after all, urged him to go “Underground”.

~*~

Draco turned in a circle, eyeing the stacks of forbidden books and scrolls that piled high in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library, and tried to decide where to begin.

The Prophecy replayed in his head for a thousandth time, teasing him with a hidden answer just out of reach, holding back the key as it held back its laughter.

“A Pact is made on the Quest for Immortality…a God of Darkness relinquishes the Seven Keys…a Promise fulfilled in a Pure Womb…a Child born to Heal severed Lines…a Marking of the Near-Man…when the Dark Lord perishes at the Hands of Love half-remembered…The Gatherer is hosted and calls in the Night…a Sacrifice is laid on the Alter of Justice…and Purity wears the Face of Maul…Darkness reigns over the Land of Men…so be quiet Child…for the Black Tulpa fears only the Eighth Key.”


As his clear grey eyes took in his surroundings, Draco breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with apprehension and stale air, and stepped forward to begin his search.

For the first hour or so, Draco concentrated solely on puzzling out the strange runes that were etched into his back. A few of the symbols were actually quite simple; being rustic connotations for words such as ‘of’ and ‘the’. The easy transliteration pretty much ended there, however. It took Draco longer that he would have liked, poring over cracked and brittle pages and squinting against their pluming clouds of dust, to translate one rune into ‘chosen’ and then the next rune into ‘host’; which, really, could pass for three symbols that damn near overlapped one another into the Land of Indecipherable. A rune further down the list finally turned out to be ‘black’, once Draco found the common thread of vowels per swish. The remaining two runes seemed nigh impossible to translate and Draco, muttering to himself in irritation, pushed the pile of runic documents he had collected away from him at the desk he stood over, causing a cloud of dust to rise and nearly suffocate him.

Draco dropped his head in his hands and groaned. When he lifted his silvery head, Draco’s pale eyes fell on a large vellum book that had toppled over. Frowning to himself, he stood and retrieved the heavy book. Turning the pages, Draco read a few lines here and there about this dark creature and that evil force and all manner of foreboding presences until his hands stilled over a torn page.

There, at the top of the aged and ripped document, was a sequence of runes identical to some of the markings on his back…and one of which he had already translated. Beneath the runes was written: “Maul, the Black Tulpa.”

Draco heart thudded in his chest as he recognized the words and peered closer to read the rest that wasn’t missing.

“Maul, whose name must not be spoken aloud, is the Black Tulpa. When tainted souls of evil unmentionable are released from bodily confines, it is directed to the Black Tulpa; where it swirls in an abyss of darkness. This darkness was so dense that it spawned a mind like a demon, bearing a heart of hatred and contempt. This being was named Maul, which must not be spoken aloud, and given the Seven Keys. The Seven Keys…”

And there, it ended. The rest was torn and missing.

Draco cursed aloud and turned the page in an attempt to track the information. Failing, Draco turned back and used the translation to piece together the markings etched into his skin so long ago by Voldemort. When he finished, Draco’s mind became a muddled blanket of terrible fear and his blood ran cold.

The translation read: “Chosen Host of Maul, the Black Tulpa.”

Draco stared at the words written in his thin scrawl across the scrap piece of parchment, blood roaring in his ears, his mind screaming denial while his heart sank hard and heavy with acknowledgment.

“All things considered,” a snaky voice whispered in his ear, “you’ll probably make a better Dark Lord than you did a Death Eater.”

Draco whirled around, eyes wide and heart pounding. There was no one there.

“Your father’s greatest pride,” the voice came again, “was that you would become the host of Maul.”

Draco stood shaking in the middle of the Restricted Section, the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he recognized Voldemort’s voice.

“Who is Maul to you, Voldemort?” Draco hissed through his teeth.

“Already you,” the ghost of Voldemort whispered again, the sound seeming to come from everywhere at once, echoing madly through his mind. “Already you.”

“Where are you?” Draco demanded, turning around again and expecting Voldemort’s ghost to materialize.

“In you,” Voldemort whispered, those to words seeming to reverberate off the walls and dance in circles around Draco, the Chosen Host of Maul. “In you.”

Draco clutched his head and clenched his eyes shut. “No.”

Somewhere, Voldemort laughed. “Bellatrix knew. I never expected her to care. She mourned you.”

“No,” Draco said again. “No.”

“You will become a darker Lord than I ever was, little dragon.”

“Get out of my head,” Draco spat, panic closing his throat. “Get out of my head!”

~*~

A searing pain laced through Harry’s forehead and he missed the Snitch yet again. Truth be told, Harry was chasing the Snitch half-heartedly anyway; but, of course, that was no reason not to become even more irritated with one Draco Malfoy, who was undoubtedly the cause of the pain in his mind.

That being said, faster than it had come, the pain receded to a small ache; and Harry continued to fly in lazy circles around the Quidditch Pitch until he spotted Draco approaching the field.

Nimbly, Harry shot further into the sky and arching to the left to catch the Snitch before making his decent to greet his ward. Landing, Harry stood in the center of the field and watched Draco come towards him.

Draco’s usually impeccable locks had fallen forward to shadow his eyes and his robes hung limply around his hunched form. Draco continued his even, seemingly defeated, pace and did not pause in front of Harry but, instead, walked straight into the young Auror’s arms, which came up automatically to hold the Malfoy heir.

Draco buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and trembled, the shock of his new-found knowledge hanging about him still.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Harry asked softly, any trace of irritation or resentment he might have felt completely gone. Draco did not answer and Harry held him tighter. “I wish you would tell me what’s going on, Malfoy.”

Draco stiffened in Harry’s embrace and pulled away. Harry peered at Draco, trying to catch his gaze. When his worried green eyes met Draco’s slate ones, Harry took in a sharp breath. Aside from looking completely miserable, sheer terror and wrath seemed to battle for the upper hand in Draco’s hard grey eyes.

“Draco—“

“I need you to swear an Unbreakable Vow,” Draco interrupted, his voice sounding hoarse and pained.

“What?” Harry blinked. “Hell no. Why?”

“Please, Harry,” Draco whispered, the urgency in his voice allowing the sheer terror in his gaze to resurface. “I’ll tell you everything, I swear it. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important. The last time someone swore an Unbreakable Vow in my presence, Albus Dumbledore ended up dead. I understand better than anyone the seriousness of the Unbreakable Vow and I’m asking you to swear one now. Please.”

“Tell me what’s going on and I’ll consider it,” Harry said slowly.

Draco shook his head. “No, you must swear.”

“Draco, I won’t—“

“Harry!” Draco all but shrieked and another bolt of pain shot through Harry’s mind. “There is more going on here than you and me! A lot of people could die! You need to swear it. Swear it now!”

“Swear what?” Harry shouted exasperatedly. “Merlin!”

“Swear the Unbreakable Vow and I’ll tell you what you swore.”

“Malfoy, have you lost your damn mind?”

“TRUST ME!”

Harry clamped his mouth shut, his mind swimming. Draco had never asked for his trust before…nor would he, Harry thought, unless it was truly important.

Harry lifted his wand and swore the Unbreakable Vow.

The spell was yet unfinished and Harry waited as Draco took in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

Then, Draco closed his eyes and spoke the terms, completing the Vow. “Harry Potter, you hereby Vow to terminate my life should I become a danger to any Innocent Creature by any means necessary. This Vow will last for the entirety of one year.”

“No…” Harry breathed. “Ah, no…Draco, what…no…”

But it was done. An Unbreakable Vow was an Unbreakable Vow.

“I promised I would tell you everything,” Draco said, and when he opened his eyes again, Harry could see that the boiling wrath was shifting past the terror, making his eyes blaze a strange silvery color. “And I will…as I burn my father’s body.”

Truly shaken, Harry conceded with a small nod.

~*~


Author's Note:

I don't like to make a habit of apologizing for slow updates, but I truly think you all deserve one. I'm so, so sorry it took forever to get this out. Life happened and exploded like an atomic bomb. The good news is that I'm back in the game and should be able to update as frequently as I used to.

Usually, I respond to each individual reviewer, however, I been away so long I cannot tell where the reviews start for the last update and I don't want to leave anyone out.

That being said, thank you so much, all of you, for your thoughtful, wonderful reviews and saint-like patience. I'm nearly finished with the next chapter (which should have some steamy smut) calle "Father, Be Proud", and should have it up shortly.

Thank you again. See you next time! :P