Never A Memory

~Is It Worth It? ~

Man was made of social earth,
Child and brother from his birth,
Tethered by a liquid cord
Of Blood through veins of kindred poured.

Next his heart the fireside band
Of mother, father sister, stand;
Names from awful childhood heard
Throbs of wild religion stirred; --

Virtue, to love, to hate them, stirred;
Till dangerous Beauty cam, at last,
Till Beauty came to snatch all ties;
The maid, abolishing the past,

With lotus wine obliterates
Dear memory’s stone carved traits,
And, by herself, supplants alone
Friends year by year more inly known…

…It was ever the self-same tale,
The first experience will not fail;
Only two in the garden walked,
And with Snake and Seraph talked…

The Minister's Suite...
***

Draco Malfoy had had a lot of time to sit on his own and think these past couple of months.

Most of his weeks at St. Mary's Hospital had been spent wracking his brain for his long-lost memories. Hours he had spent grasping at the frayed strings of his dreams and scribbling down anything that stood out into notebook that had been provided him Dr. Laeverton. Soon, one element of his dreams became synonymous with every seeming flashback. The black-haired, green-eyed male that was Harry Potter.

He was in every dream, every hazy memory. Most, he wasn't supposed to be. Draco realized later it was because Harry had been watching his memories in his Pensieve and he, Draco, had been an invisible witness through the Horcrux Scar.

When Harry Potter had rescued him from his bubble of imploding magic in Wisconsin and brought him back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Draco had spent much of his time balancing his thoughts between why he had been granted a second chance at life and the best possible way to annoy his protector and former Hogwarts rival.

The former seemed endlessly fruitless. His plan to destroy Voldemort had been precise and was executed thusly. The Dark Lord was dead and so too, then should Draco have been. And the coma that he had slept under for one thousand, two hundred and seventy-six days was something to occupy is thoughts as well. Oddly, the same number of days he was in Asia brewing the VCE Elixir. One, two, seven six. Draco still wondered if that number had any merit.

Draco had had no desire to be alive. He had spent so many years preparing and resolving himself to his death. Draco thought that, perhaps, he had once remembered what he had seen after he hexed himself with the Killing Curse. A flash of white, the cold, pale smile of his mother, like an early spring dawn still shivering from the last snow of winter...a twinkling, blue eye behind half-moon spectacles...and then a pushing sensation, pushing him back into the vast expanse of whiteness. However, Draco couldn't be sure if it was his memory...or if it was his over-active imagination, a product of too many lonely hours searching the barracks of his dusty and tired mind.

The latter, however, proved to be much more interesting, scattering any serious thought to the wind. Harry Potter, his very own certified Auror.

Merlin.

Draco felt his lips curve into a smile.

Originally, Draco had pestered Harry for the mere familiarity of it. It almost felt like the good old days whenever he managed to merit a brilliant green-eyed glare from the former Gryffindor Golden Boy. But those eyes were too green and that frown was shaped by lips that are made for smiling; and, soon, Draco found himself falling headfirst into a pit of tag and chase flirtation. A dangerous game at best. A self-destructive ploy at worst.

It started with the blasted butter pasta.

Draco noticed that Harry had an issue with eating healthy meals, but if one was set in front of him, he usually consumed everything with a ferocious appetite. So, Draco had made them lunch and brought Harry's portion up to his study for him. True, it had been rude when Harry had gaped at him in disbelief; as if the mere notion of Draco having the ability to cook was an impossibility too profound to believe. But then he had settled in to eat it and Draco hid behind a book, finding himself mesmerized by how Harry's mouth worked around the pasta.

Which led to an argument. How could it not?

Then there was the day the Weasel came to visit. That was the day they exchanged blows. That was the day Draco had revealed the most intriguing truth about Purebloods.

That was the day Draco kissed him. That was the day Harry kissed him back.

Later, startled by his own actions, Harry Potter had threatened to transfer his case. Draco had slit the vein in his wrist to prove that they were indeed in this together and that nothing--NOTHING--could change that.

Draco snorted, remembering. If anyone believed that load of bollocks, he'd personally give them the Order of Merlin.

If Draco was honest with himself--which he was seldom--he would admit it was because he had surrendered to a brutal urge to rectify the mistake of him still being among the living.

To this day, he wished that Harry had let him bleed. Then, there would be no Maul. Then, there would be no column in the newspaper slandering Harry Potter's name. Then, there would be no reason for anyone to fear the rumored End of Days.

Draco could never pull another stunt like that again. Now, he was invested in another person. He was invested in Harry Potter.

Strange, that caring for only one person in the world could stay his hand like it did.

After the incident, they had become lovers. The friction between them giving way to an exhilarating spark of passion and sleepy smiles. It was as if they had snatched a few moments of heaven before a dark and terrible storm came crashing down around them.

The Gatherer was behind the attack of the Inversion Enchantratem, an army of organized, renegade Death Eaters were forming, Walburga Black spoke of a dire Prophecy, countries around the world closed their Apparatal Borders, and Cruent Mantle sang the Song of Summoning.

Draco sighed, putting his head in his hands from where he sat at the desk in the bedroom.

Draco remembered the flesh of Cruent Mantle's cheek embedded in his fingernails and the swell of nausea that accompanied it. That terrible wave of darkness that shuddered through him, again and again. The impulse to kill, to destroy, to hate and burn and annihilate until the world was nothing but ash.

Then the panic. The trembling that washed over him every time Maul receded back into his being, settling into a shadowy niche beside his soul, wracked his body. Death Eaters surrounded him. Harry shouted his name.

Draco drew in a shuddering breath. True, the broom chase that ensued was an extraordinary testament to Harry Potter's flying skills...but it was something Draco would sooner forget. Draco couldn't count on two hands how many times he nearly died in those moments of dashing around street corners, dodging exploding rubble, and daring insane spirals that even Viktor Krum would think twice about.

But the sudden ending of it all from neither being the recipient of the Killing Curse nor slitting his own veins to slowly bleed to death could compare with how his heart painfully clenched or the agony in the pit of his stomach as he watched Harry topple from his broom and plummet headfirst to the ground. Another thing he would like to forget.

Draco was beginning to truly hate how he was endangering this Auror by just being alive.

And then the realization that Cruent Mantle, Maul's handsome Gatherer, had crept into Harry's bed to get closer to him had enraged him so much, he could barely think. The feelings that swamped him as he slowly tortured the man that would have cast out his soul like a used plaything and replace it with the Tulpa that was Maul went beyond cruelty, it went beyond anger. It was that slow-burning hate that he felt as he brewed the VCE Elixir and thought of Voldemort, it was that wrathful vengeance that had poisoned his core when the Dark Lord had murdered his mother and then defiled her funeral.

Draco shuddered again, wondering if he was really worth saving.

But then there were those few, precious moments of heaven at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Beyond the electricity of their cat-and-mouse game, beyond the magic of their lovemaking, their was the warmth and rightness of Harry's embrace, the startling revelation of Harry still lying next to him in the morning, and the smell of slightly burned eggs for breakfast.

Who was he kidding? They couldn't possibly make a lifetime of those stolen moments of bliss. Their small affair alone had spread unrest and panic throughout the Wizarding World due to an impromptu, scandalous column in the Daily Prophet. Not to mention the hearing that was scheduled on the morrow to decide whether or not Harry should even remain on the case.

But...

But if it could...

It just might be worth fighting for.

It just might be worth it.

Harry had gone off with the Weasel some place and had just returned yesterday. How long had it been? The days had seemed never-ending. Weeks. Maybe two; two and a half, perhaps.

After frogs and flies and blood, the dull, boring aftertaste of the Markaghirelle, the few books this Suite contained having been read over and over again, Draco was quite restless. But then the column was written and the day of Harry's arrival spoiled.

It hurt, a little, that the first person Harry blamed for the horrible column was him. But then, really, Draco might have possibly thought the same if their roles had been swapped. Draco thought that he was probably in a sour mood mostly because their reunion hadn't gone...quite...as he had hoped.

And Draco didn't think he would be able to see Harry until the hearing...if at all.

A knock sounded on the door down the hall. The front door opened, Draco could hear whispering, and then the door was closed. Draco rose to go and greet his visitor, hoping it wasn't Granger. Draco hoped he wouldn't have to see her face for a very long time. Forced or no, her confessions to Rita Skeeter had him so angry he was beside himself. Glaring darkly, Draco went into the hall and froze.

Harry took a timid step forward, reaching out his hand before it fell limply by his side.

Draco frowned. "You're not supposed to be here."

Harry shifted his shoulders minutely. Draco supposed it was Harry Potter's version of a shrug. "Ron and I have hand picked the Aurors on your case from day one," Harry murmured, his expression unreadable. "While many of them often disapprove of our decisions, they are all fiercely loyal. It helps to be of the few surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco gazed back at him, his cold, gray eyes unimpressed.

Harry looked away, his wild hair shading the brilliance of his green eyes. "I wanted to see you."

Draco was silent for a moment before stepping to one side. "Come in."

They went into the living room and reclined onto comfortable chairs. It was some time before Draco cleared his throat. "How's...everything on the outside?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Widespread panic. People are stupid."

Draco thought of the burning hate that Maul positively breathed. "Perhaps they are smarter than you think."

Harry lifted his eyes to Draco and immediately looked away. "The Minister has publicly diluted any truth concerning Maul. He doesn't think it’s a good idea that the public should know how bad it could really be."

"Some will not believe him."

"True."

Silence again.

Too much and not enough. Almost, but not quite.

"Where did you go?" The question was barely a request for an answer. It was a demand for the truth.

"Germany. We were sent there to retrieve the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and collect an exorcist."

"The Sword," Draco mused. "I had thought as much. The exorcist was unexpected, though."

"The Ministry wants his expert opinion."

"The expert opinion of a Muggle?" Harry could hear the sneer in Draco's voice.

"This one is an untrained Wizard. He'll be in here soon to diagnose you."

Draco laughed. It began as a soft noise but ended as a hard-hearted chuckle. "Brilliant."

Harry looked up again. "Hermione tells me Maul won't let you eat or drink."

Draco peered at Harry. "Have you been eating?"

"I had a sandwich today." Harry frowned. "Nothing happened. I felt a bit sick, but 'Mione had insisted that no plague could effect me."

"I didn't think it would."

"Then why did you urge me not to eat while I was away?" Harry asked.

"I didn't," Draco said with a frown of his own. "It must have been my own psychological repulsion. You should have seen it."

Harry smiled a little. "I heard it was quite the scene."

"It was humiliating," Draco clarified shortly.

Harry sighed, inspecting his hands. "Listen, Draco...I think I blamed you for the column because, underneath it all, I feel like you might possibly resent being this...this hero...and not getting any of your due for it."

Draco snorted. "Personally, I've never had much time for heroes."

Harry blinked. Dumbledore had once said that. "So, you don't resent...you don't resent being holed up here?"

Draco smiled his cold smile. "Of course I do, Potter. I just don't want Hero Worship spoiling my Slytherin reputation."

Harry startled himself with a laugh. "I see."

"Though, of course, being respected wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome," Draco said softly, his gray eyes averted, thinking of what Voldemort had once said to him. Run away, Draco. It is, after all, what you are best at.

Harry nodded. Strange that this thing was something else they had in common. “How did you know about the Sword?” Harry asked, changing the subject again.

“I spent three years brewing the Verve Channel Electron Elixir, Harry,” Draco retorted darkly. “Give me some goddamn credit.”

Harry winced. “You’re still sore because I didn’t tell you where I was going.” It wasn’t a question and they both knew it.

Draco stood, feeling restless again. “I understand your reasoning,” Draco muttered, facing away from him.

“Do you? ‘Cause I don’t.”

“What you know, he knows,” Draco quoted. “Stay out of my head.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Draco spat, turning back to him. “Don’t start apologizing. I can deal with a lot of this, but I can’t deal with you and your depressing, self-pitying bouts of regret.”

Harry’s black brows raised a fraction. “That’s not really fair, Malfoy.”

Draco’s silver eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t preach to me about what is fair, Harry Potter.”

Harry rose to his feet, his patience beginning to slip. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You chose.”

Harry jabbed his forefinger at Draco incredulously. “YOU sucker-punched me into kissing you! Where was choice—“

“Oh, don’t start, Potter,” Draco interrupted. “You chose to head my case when the warrant for my assassination surfaced, you chose to destroy the Transfer Case scroll, and you CHOSE to fuck me!”

“Are we seriously arguing about this?” Harry demanded.

Draco clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Is it worth it?”

“What? Arguing? Hell no.”

“No, Harry,” Draco corrected, his pointed face shuttered. “Placing your friends in danger, losing your job, embarrassing yourself tomorrow at the hearing…is it worth it? Are we worth it?”

Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him?

“No.” Harry drew in a shaky breath as Draco’s gray eyes looked away; hiding the pain that his silvery gaze betrayed him to. “But you are.”

Draco looked back. “What?”

“Our affair…the scandal…” Harry shrugged. “No, it’s not worth putting my friends in danger, or embarrassing myself, or losing my job. But you are. You are worth it; and I feel like a traitor for it.”

Draco’s shielded resolve slipped a little and he looked suddenly vulnerable. “Why?” Draco asked, his voice cracking.

Harry reached out and traced the curve of Draco’s ear before cupping his cheek, feeling the Slytherin shiver beneath his touch. “Because you saved my life. Because you proved us all wrong and never asked for anything. Because you’ve shown a semblance of dignity these past months that would put the entirety of Pureblood Society to shame. Because you’re fighting this thing when it would just be easier to succumb to it and that is a courage few possess. Because…because…”

Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him?

“Because you saw through my pain and gave me something special,” Harry finished, pressing his forehead against Draco’s, the electricity of their connection spiking around them in all its glorious brilliance.

“What?” Draco whispered, closing his eyes. “What did I give you?”

“You.”

Draco made a sound in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a sob and growl before pressing his lips fiercely against Harry’s. This kiss was desperate as they fought to plunder the other’s mouth, drowning in each other as if it would be the last thing they ever did.

They almost didn’t hear the knock on the door.

“Harry!” an Auror whispered. “Someone’s coming!”

“I have to go,” Harry said softly, every fiber of his being screaming denial as he pulled away. “I’ll make this right tomorrow. A scandal we can deal with, not being there to battle Maul isn’t.”

Draco nodded, understanding what was at stake and his heart burning for it. “Just don’t get yourself fired, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Because you saw through my pain and gave me something special.

What did I give you?

You.

…For this fortune wanted root
In the core of God’s abysm, --
Was a weed of self and schism;
And ever the Daemonic Love
Is the ancestor of wars
And the parent of remorse.

~*~

~ Excerpts from the poem The Daemonic Love by Emerson



~*~


Lilith: Ha ha. I hope sufficiently answered your questions with this chapter. Thank you for your review! And I hope you enjoy the update!



Mangacat: You know? I've actually thought about pairing them. That would be interesting, wouldn't it? In one of the scenes I cut out of that chapter was this one where Max has to sit outside of Simon's room while Blaise and Simon shagged, and he had to listen to the whole thing. But then I thought, Blaise would never shag a Muggle, would he? Nor do I think Blaise could be THAT mean. So I scrapped it and rewrote it. But it was designed to throw in a spark between the two. I just didn't have time for any follow through. *shrugs* we'll see where it goes, eh?



Mangacat: Thank you! I think...one or two of your questions were answered in this chapter...but I think the answers to the others will have to wait for further updates. The mind-dialogue at the end of the chapter was a last minute addition. I hadn't planned for it, but it felt right so I kept it. I'm glad you liked it!



Mangacat: Rita Skeeter...Well, i don't think she would give a damn about what she should or shouldn't tell the general public. She was just happy she got an incredible story. They get theirs, trust me. It takes a bit, but they get theirs. I certainlyt hope you enjoyed this update! And thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews!



thrnbrooke: Well, here you go! I hope you enjoy it and thank you for your review!