Memory Loss, part four: Once a Malfoy, Always a Malfoy?
"What's this name you're always calling me?"
Breakfast was sheer pain for Harry, because each minute that ticked by made him recall even clearer what he had lost and might never regain. This should have been a pleasant meal savoured in their own apartment—they should have been living their dream, the dream that they had shared for two years at Hogwarts. So many hours had been spent planning their future together—the Auror training and everything—and Harry refused to admit that it had all been in vain.
They would get there, eventually. At least he had the comfort of knowing that one Draco Malfoy was trying to surface—but it was not his Dracums. Do you know who I am? Those six words still played on his mind. Those six words had come straight from the Draco Malfoy that had enjoyed mocking him in the school corridors, the Draco Malfoy that had provoked him into losing his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in their fifth year, the very same Draco Malfoy that had been relied upon by his cruel father to become a vicious, blood-thirsty Death Eater. It was the wrong Draco, but it was an advancement nonetheless.
He poked his fork into the boiled egg in front of him. "Hmm?" he mumbled absent-mindedly.
The blonde wolfed down another sandwich. "That name—what was it? Dennis?"
"Draco."
"Yeah, that's the one. What is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, why are you calling me that?"
"Because that's your name—Draco Malfoy. That's your name."
"Is it really?" the blonde wondered thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound right."
"Well, it is."
"I guess. If you say so." He took another bite of his fourth sandwich. Still had the same appetite, apparently …
Draco noticed that Harry was looking at him with a depressed look on his face. "What?" he queried. "Why are you looking at me like that? Am I offending you or something?"
Harry quickly shook his head. "No. No, you're not offending me, it's just … I miss you. The real you. The person you were when you left me."
The blonde stared at him for a while. Then, he said, "Well, if I left you as you say, what is there to miss? Shouldn't you be angry with me or something in that case? Or at least cry."
"I did my crying already. And it wasn't like that … You didn't leave me leave me, if you know what I mean. You just … left me. There were things you needed to sort out, and I couldn't help you with that. You wouldn't let me."
Draco swallowed the last of his sandwich and drank two deep swigs of milk. "Your hallucinations are actually starting to intrigue me," he said in an amused tone of voice. "Never know what you're going to tell me next." He started to make himself a fifth sandwich. Just butter on his bread.
Hermione came in from the living room. "Good morning," she said and yawned. "Sleep well, Draco?"
"Like a baby." At first he did not reflect much over his choice of words, but then he obviously remembered what Harry had called him that very morning and grew pale. He looked down at the table.
Hermione sat down next to Harry and began to make her own sandwich. She was just about to say something else when a loud Pop! interrupted her and Ron came into the room. Draco gave a shriek. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast and everything, but—" He spotted Draco at the table and gave a shriek of his own, backing up several paces with terror in his eyes. "What is he doing here?! He's dead!"
Draco stared at him in astonishment. "Who's that clown?"
Harry rose to greet his best friend. "Ron, that note was just a decoy," he told him. "The Death Eaters wanted me to believe that Draco was dead when they really just erased his memory."
"Just erased his memory?" Ron echoed. "That's pretty damn serious, mate! So what are you going to do? Take him to St. Mungo's?"
Harry shook his head. "No, that's too risky—they might find him there. At least here he's safe, where I can protect him."
"But how's he going to regain his memory if he's not getting Healer help?"
"I'm going to make him remember," Harry said determinedly.
Ron looked at him with pity. "I admire your ambition, Harry, but I honestly don't think you have the slightest chance of winning this one. Remember Professor Lockhart, remember in what state he was when we met him at St. Mungo's—and he had been there for three years."
"I know, but I also know that I'll succeed. All it takes is love."
Ron lay a hand on Harry's shoulder. "For your sake, I hope you're right. It'd kill me to see you that devastated again, mate. Kill me."
He waited impatiently while Draco showered, holding a pile of black clothing in his arms. It was Draco's old school robes, and he hoped that wearing them would bring at least some sort of memory back to him. When the blonde saw them, however, he knitted his eyebrows in scepticism. "You expect me to wear those?" he said. "Yeah right, like they are even close to my standard!"
"And what exactly is your standard?" Harry retorted. "I mean, you've lived on the street practically your whole life, haven't you? You said so yourself."
Draco frowned at him. "You're right. Why did I say that?" He took the long black cloak and gave it a closer look. "What exactly is this?"
"Your old school uniform."
"School uniform? That looks like this? Looks more like it's been taken straight out of a museum or something. And besides, I thought we'd already made it clear that I didn't go to school with you."
"No, you made it clear that you hadn't gone to school with me," Harry corrected him. "But if you look closer at the collar, you will find that I'm right."
The blonde squinted at the nametag at the collar of the cloak.
Draco Malfoy.
"That doesn't prove anything," he objected, "I don't even know if that really is me. How do I know that you're not fooling me?"
"You don't—you just have to trust me. Put them on."
Seeing Draco in his old uniform—with the Slytherin weapon on his chest and the bright silver Prefect badge—actually turned Harry on a bit, and he hoped the blonde did not notice because that would really piss him off! It was just that … Draco looked so powerful in those robes, truly aristocratic and authoritative. The old air of superiority came back to him for a fraction of a second, and even though it was a little alarming that the old Draco seemed to want to come back out, Harry was pleased to see this temporary change in his lover. Taking out his old cloak from the back of the wardrobe had been a good idea indeed.
"How does it feel?" he asked with childish curiosity.
"Like I'm in some sort of bad costume," Draco said, making a wry face. "Is this really what they wore at your school?"
"Yeah, that's what we wore."
"What kind of a school was this?"
"I told you—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One of the finest wizarding schools in the world."
The blonde glared at him. "Wizarding school? What sort of freak do you take me for? I would never in my life mix with that sort of people—let alone go to their school! They … they … they … they don't even exist, for crying out loud!"
"Oh, they don't, do they?" Harry echoed, and with a self-righteous smile playing on his lips, he used the Summoning Charm to fetch some old memorabilia. "Accio photo album."
With the album in his hand, he gave Draco a daring look. "Do you have enough strength and courage to look through some old school pictures with me?" he then asked, because he knew that 'strength' and 'courage' were trigger words in a successful mockery of the old Draco.
The blonde swiftly turned crimson. "Of course I have!" he hissed, and snatched the photo album out of Harry's hands. With a resolute expression, he sat down on the couch and opened the first page. "What the Hell is this?" he inquired when he saw the picture of one-year-old Harry together with his parents; all three of them smiling cheerfully and waving at the camera—literally waving.
Harry took a seat next to his lover. "Turn a few pages and you'll see what I'm getting at," he promised.
"I don't doubt that, I just … Why are the pictures moving?"
"Oh. Those are magic pictures, developed with a certain method that makes the pictures move. Wizard pictures, you know. Really catches the moment, don't you think?"
Draco turned the pages and looked at the pictures of Harry together with Ron and Hermione with steadily growing angst. His grey eyes reflected both envy and despair. "You … you really have special friends, sir," he mumbled, and had to look away.
Harry felt like he was just stabbed. "Why are you calling me 'sir?'"
"Well, I still don't know your name, do I? You never told me what your name was."
"It's Harry. Harry Potter. I was hoping you'd remember …"
"Potter, eh? Sounds familiar somehow."
Harry's heart began to pound like crazy. "It does?"
"Yeah, don't know from where, though …" His voice trailed off as he turned another page and saw his own face smiling up at him. And that was not all. In the first picture he was alone, making funny faces at the person behind the camera—Harry—and he looked really happy. In the picture next to it, he was leaning against Harry, the Gryffindor's arms around him in a tight embrace, and he was looking up into Harry's eyes with a broad smile and lyrical eyes. Harry, in turn, was gently kissing the crown of Draco's head.
There were more pictures like that, several in which they were kissing tenderly. But they all had the same message; they were inseparable. The promises they had made to each other were plain to read on their faces, and there was no questioning that they were as happy as people could be. Draco, now shivering and shaking like a leaf, dropped the photo album on the floor, and it closed itself with a bang! He was making pathetic panting noises.
Harry, worried that he might have trouble breathing or something, instinctively put his hand on Draco's back. "Dracums? Are you all right?"
Many seconds ticked by before the blonde could answer. "I … I … You were … you were telling me the truth, weren't you? I really was … We really were … right?"
He thought he understood perfectly well what the blonde was trying to say. He nodded slowly. "Yes. We were a couple, if that's what you're getting at."
"And did we … er, did we …"
He frowned. "Did we what?"
"Were we … happy? No, wait, that's a stupid question. Of course we were happy—I saw all those pictures. But we were happy, weren't we?"
"Yes. The happiest people in the world. Nothing could come between us."
"And did I … did I … love you?"
Harry flinched. It hurt him to see Draco this upset, shivering and weeping. It must be terrible to get such a revelation about oneself when there were no memories of it. "Yes," he said in a whisper, "you very much loved me. Maybe even more than I love you."
This only made Draco shiver worse. "So if I loved you as much as you say … then how come I can't remember it?" he asked darkly. "How come I can't remember all those things in the pictures? When you held me … when you … kissed me … why can't I remember all of that if it meant so much to me?"
Harry did not know how to answer him. He could not understand it, either.
"Why can't I remember being happy? Why can't I see all those things in my head? I mean, if it really was me living them … why can't I see them in my mind?"
Harry put his arms around Draco and enveloped him in a reassuring embrace. He whispered consolingly in his lover's ear, silently promising him that everything would be fine; everything would soon go back to normal.
"Why are you so persistent in making me remember?" Draco suddenly asked him, nonplussing him. "Why do you keep fighting? Why don't you just forget me like everyone else seems to want to do?"
Harry held him tighter. "Because I promised you I'd never leave you. I guess you don't remember now, but … I promised you that I would always be here for you, that I'd always take care of you. And if you were ever taken away from me, that I would fight for you. That's what I'm intending to do. I will fight for you, Draco. I won't give up until you're back with me—I won't even give up then. I love you, and I want you to remember me. I won't ever give up on you, because giving up on you would mean giving up on myself. You're a part of me, and I can't live without you. Without you, I might as well let them kill me."
"'Them?' There's someone who wants to kill you?" Draco asked.
"Yes—the Death Eaters. They're dark wizards, the worst kind. I will tell you more about them later, but right now I think it's best if we take it easy on the info."
"I couldn't agree more." Draco actually snuggled into the embrace and closed his eyes. "You know, this doesn't feel at all that awkward—it's actually quite nice."
At that moment, Harry felt happier than he had since the owl had delivered that ominous letter to him six days ago, and he was sure that he was getting his Draco back.
He could not have been more wrong.
The weeks passed at a startling rate, and little more than a month after Harry found Draco in the street, he still did not remember a thing. Now and then he got minor outbursts of anger that very much resembled the ones that the old Draco had had every time Harry had beat him at something. Many times, he cursed Harry and Hermione for "being in his way," but neither of them fully grasped what he meant by that. Neither did Draco.
He had grown accustomed to his name, but he still felt hesitant about it. Harry tried his best to make him recall something, anything would do, and he told him great many anecdotes about their time at Hogwarts—solely from their sixth and seventh year, of course—and he showed him more moving pictures. Aside from that, he also taught Draco to use a magical camera and a few other items that might help relax the blonde.
At first, it all seemed innocent enough, but eventually the blonde's behaviour started to become alarming. It all started the day that he got his first memory back.
Thirty-five days, Harry thought grimly, thirty-five bloody days and not a single memory! What else can I do to help him, huh? What else can I bloody do? He was swiftly starting to get tired of Draco's stubbornness and reluctance to let Harry get too close to him. Ever since that one hug, Draco had been very wary of Harry—and it hurt.
So when Draco began to break through, Harry naturally got blinded by his hopes of getting his lover back exactly the way he had been before leaving for the Manor.
Harry was just helping Hermione to do some cleaning around the apartment when Draco, sitting comfortably on the couch and watching him dusting the surfaces of the bookcases, suddenly said: "Breaking the rules again, Potter?"
Harry froze. That voice. The utter scorn that tore through the air like bullets from a smoking gun. The words. Trembling, concentrating on not dropping the glass figurines he was holding, he turned around to look at the blonde. "Draco?" he said shakily.
The blonde was smirking at him. Slowly, and very arrogantly, he tilted his head slightly to the left. "Why does it feel so good to say your name?" he asked in a low, intimidating tone. "Potter. Potter, Potter, Potter. Just to spit it out, like a gum. Fuck you, Potter!"
Now Harry was trembling so bad that he had to put the glass figurines down and lean against the bookcase not to collapse onto the floor.
Hermione appeared in the doorway. Apparently, she had heard Draco's cry and come to see what was going on. She frowned at Harry.
Draco started to get up from the couch. "I think I'm remembering something," he said, very slowly rounding the coffee table and starting to walk towards Harry. "A dark corridor … stone walls, marble floor, heavy oak doors … yes, I am definitely remembering now. You were pestering me about something, weren't you, Potter?" He stopped a foot from Harry, and his grey eyes were just as cold as they had ever been. "I challenged you to a duel, didn't I? Midnight in the trophy room, I recall. But I can't quite remember what this trophy room was, or what kind of a duel we're talking about—only that I fooled you. I never showed up, but I told Filch you'd be there to teach you a little lesson. How come you never got caught that night, Potter? How did you escape Filch?"
Harry, his head now pressing painfully against the bookcase, swallowed hard. This was not good—this was not good at all. Draco's drawling gave him a really bad feeling, and he reluctantly admitted to himself that the blonde was scaring him. "You … you remember Filch?" he found himself saying.
Draco studied him closely, not breaking eye contact even for a second, leaning in closer for a more intimidating effect. Hermione called out to him, but Draco only waved her away. Eyes still fixed on Harry's, he said, "I remember how much I hated you, Potter."
"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Is he hurting you?"
Harry swallowed hard. Forcing himself to calm down and believe in Draco and everything they had shared for two wonderful years, he found the words to answer. "Ye-yes, I'm fine, don't worry. He's not hurting me. He's merely recalling … certain events of the past."
"But he just said he hated you," Hermione objected.
"He's just trying to get in touch with his memory, Hermione. Nothing to worry about. Now go back to the kitchen, okay? I can handle this."
She hesitated. But then she left them alone.
Harry expelled a sigh of relief. "Draco, you can let go of me now."
"Why should I?"
"Excuse me? Why? Because you pinning me to the bookcase won't get you anywhere."
"You're right—I don't have my wand."
Harry's eyes widened in astonishment. "Your wand? But then you—"
The sneer that formed on Draco's lips was a perfect display of darkness and malice. "Yes, Potter, I remember everything now. Just a few minutes ago it was just that long, dark corridor—nothing else—but now I remember it all. I'm Draco Malfoy—son of Lucius Malfoy, the wealthiest and most powerful wizard in all of England—and I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for seven years, I was a Slytherin and I enjoyed mocking you very much. And I haven't forgotten what you did to my father, Potter. How you went and told everyone that he's a Death Eater. He was seized by the Ministry because of you. You destroyed his reputation—you tainted our name. That was unforgivable, Potter. Unforgivable. And if my wand hadn't been broken and thrown away, I would have simply killed you right here and now."
Shocked, but at the same time feeling bloody bold, Harry heard himself speak as if from a distance of several hundred yards. "So kill me, then. There are loads of other ways to do it even without your wand."
"A Malfoy would never use his hands for such petty duties, you idiot."
"No? Coward, Malfoy?" What was this? Why was he provoking him? Why was he back in his old habit of picking on Draco? He loved him. He needed him. He was his boyfriend!
Draco looked as if Harry had slapped him. Swiftly, he shot forward and put his hands around Harry's throat. Pressed hard. Choked him. Harry desperately gasped for breath, but no oxygen managed to reach his lungs. Draco was going to strangle him to death. Why? he thought in despair. Why are you doing this? Why don't you remember? Why don't you remember everything we had together? WHY?
Fortunately, Hermione came back into the living room to ask him something, or to fetch something or whatever, and when she saw what was happening she cried out and drew her wand. "Rictusempra!" When the jinx hit Draco, he automatically let go of Harry, who fell to the floor wheezing like a pipe.
The blonde glared at Hermione with pure hatred in his silver eyes. "Do you really think that a Tickling Spell will stop me?" he asked disbelievingly. "Don't you see that this is only the beginning?"
Hermione was beside herself with anger. "Get out! Get the Hell out of my apartment!" she shouted.
Draco sneered self-righteously at her. "This isn't the last you'll see of me, Mudblood. You just wait. One day you'll be standing on the wrong side of the battlefield, and when that day comes, I will kill you. That's a promise."
"Get out, I said! Get out and don't you dare come back here!"
Draco straightened up. "As you wish, witch." He Disapparated before Hermione had the chance to curse him.
Harry sat up with some effort. He was still shaking badly to the bone. He hardly noticed when Hermione kneeled beside him and put her hand on his shoulder, or when she asked him if he was okay; all he could think about was his once again lost lover, and he wondered how much he could take before going irreparably insane.
Was this the end? Had he fought so hard for their relationship only to have it end like this? Had he forever lost the Draco that he loved, or was there still a chance of getting him back? And if he went looking for him again … would Draco even listen to him? Or would he kill him?
He collapsed in Hermione's arms.
"Draco …"