Time Cannot Erase

Time Cannot Erase

Chapter 1: by Karen Ilus

(Draco's POV)

I glare at the cheap plastic clock that hangs above the diner entrance convinced that it's been charmed to stop dead. I want to get out of here as soon as possible but it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon. There are only so many hours that I can bear listening to silverware clink against china. I can't stand this shift; there are just too many Muggles to keep an eye on. Twenty total at the moment, eight of them regulars and the rest I've never seen before, which makes me anxious. You never know when there's a wizard among them.

I can't bring myself to even think about the worst-case scenario. Hoping to distract myself from those kinds of thoughts, I grab up the nearest rag and focus on giving the counter another wipe down. Rather quiet despite the growing amount of customers, which I am grateful for. Also, none of them need anything at the moment. Thank Merlin, because there isn't much that can make me go over there just now. Too afraid. Too many unknowns. Much too many...and what if...

Sometimes, memories of events that occurred years ago overwhelm me to the point of confusion and it skews my sense of reality. Suddenly I think I'm back at the bar and a part of me screams for me to snap out of it but.. oh Salazar, I can overhear them. I've never overheard them so clearly before and... it's happening again... She isn't really dead. Something drops, forks are scattering down all over the floor but I ignore them, I need to hear this conversation. I may be able to save my mother. Don't panic. Just sit here and drink your butterbeer, Draco. What am I doing with this rag? They'll wonder at that and find me out. Hurriedly, I stuff the rag inside my robes so they won't notice. I can't hear them over my heartbeat. Shit why do they always whisper this part? It's something about my mother... they think it's.. I have to get back I can't breathe-

Someone slaps the counter in front of me and I jump as I'm pulled back into the here and now. I've got the rag under my shirt. I swallow against the tight knot in my throat and notice that the knocked down fork container is currently spilling plastic forks all over the floor. I hurriedly pick up the container and start collecting the forks when I realize that the Muggle must be there for a reason. I stand back up. The Muggle is eyeing me with some concern and I'm out of breath. He's asking me something but I can't hear anything over the ringing in my ears.

Get a grip!

The door chimes. I look over and the fucking world tilts.

It's him. He looks different but I recognize him immediately. Dressed head to toe in black, he stops just inside the door and takes a look around. I look away only to be ensnared by memory.

In the midst of the war, we had crossed paths once or twice. One time out of necessity. He had stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black Muggle clothing, tense and expectant. I had grim news. By that point I had seriously doubted the Order's chances of winning but when I looked at Harry that day, I saw fierce determination. This was someone who consistently defied the odds. Harry was an unstoppable force of nature and, at the time, I had no doubt that he would be victorious. Harry would win by sheer will.

The memory fades and he is still here. He walks past. My knees want to buckle and I hold on to the counter to keep from falling. It's not possible. He did not just walk in to my diner. How could I go halfway across the globe, leaving the Wizarding world behind, only to meet up with the last person I ever wanted to see again? It's absurd and I feel like laughing at the cosmic humor of it. I don't, only because hysteria never did me any good.

Nevertheless, the spy in me is dispassionately analyzing, memorizing characteristics. He has a prominent limp. The clothes he's wearing are casual yet tight-fitting. He is wearing sunglasses that obscure his eyes entirely. His whole demeanor exudes loner. Ignoring the not so discreet glances of the other customers, he chooses the booth in the farthest corner, which has the best strategic view of the diner. He's got the look of someone that has seen too much.

Half-forgotten feelings for him (it's what I like to believe) bombard me, leaving me quite numb. Despite this, the thought that reigns foremost is that he's beautiful. I'm struck by how much his presence still affects me. It's infuriating and the longer I look at him the more furious I get.

I look away and busy myself with scrubbing the grime off the grill. This is surreal. I'm scrubbing a grill and Harry Potter is seated in my diner inspecting the menu. Why would he come to a place like this? Though if there were one good thing about his sudden appearance it's that it verifies that the war is over and that the Order won, otherwise Harry would not have left Britain. If Voldemort had prevailed, the Muggle world would've been irrevocably affected, even here in this remote little nowhere town.

I remember the occasions when the war had spilled out into the Muggle world. Where the scale of senseless death that followed was incomprehensible. Row upon row of tidy Muggle homes awash with the eerie green of the hovering dark mark. Sometimes I arrived in time to witness the grief of those that survived. Other times I arrived where all that was left was the stillness of the deceased and utter silence. If it were a Wizarding community, many of those slaughtered became ghosts, neither here nor there yet with enough presence that neither the quiet nor the stillness was ever complete. Muggles, however, never became ghosts and even paintings of them were inanimate. It made the massacres so much worse. The heavy sense of wrongdoing and injustice hung thick in the air. To view the effects of such events was to succumb to it; my reasons for fighting had multiplied.

"Excuse me."

I jump, accidentally hitting the straw dispenser beside me. It topples over and straws spill all over the fork-ridden floor. For fuck's sake. I stare at it blankly for a moment. I look up, fervently hoping that he hadn't noticed, when I'm startled by the proximity of an older man's broad weatherworn face. Oh. Right. The Muggle. He's glaring at me at this point. Right then, I'll take his order. I won't think about Harry because he no longer means anything to me. He betrayed my trust and five years has not dulled the hurt. It can't happen again, especially not now. I'm too fucked up to deal with anything from my past. I won't do well with him around. Methodically, I fix the Muggle's coffee and cut a slice of cheesecake for him. One way to ensure that Harry will leave me alone is to make it clear to him that he's not welcome. That he is a chapter in my life that I'll never want to return to.

I'm done with the Muggle and it's time to take his order. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.

As I approach, his presence becomes more and more real. It's not just my imagination. I'm not having one of my bad days. Merlin, he is really here. I feel my hands shaking.

I manage a fairly disinterested tone. "Ready to order?"

Harry doesn't bother to look up, just proceeds to plow through his order. Same hair, same voice, same impatience, worse tact.

"Yes, now that you're finally here. I'd like coffee. Black. No sugar. Eggs, bacon and a biscuit."

He has taken off his sunglasses by now and when he looks up our eyes meet. He looks stunned. I wonder what exactly it is that he sees. Who I once was or the insignificant man I am now.

"Anything else?" I ask dully.

He recovers well and sits back to fix me with the smarmiest of expressions. Body at ease and an arm casually draped over the back of the booth, Harry couldn't have looked more relaxed. I hate him so much.

"Well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy." He smirks. I hate him. I hate him.

"Not that it's any business of yours."

He shrugs, nonchalant. "Was merely an observation. So what would a Malfoy be doing in a place like this?"

Hardly a fair question. I am as much a Malfoy as he is a blond.

"I work here," I reply "Would that be all then?"

He is completely unmoved by my brush off which irks me much more than it should. He gestures around the diner and stares at me again. He looks so at ease, and I'd buy it if his gaze weren't fixed on me so intensely.

"So, this is what a Malfoy does after he disappears into thin air without letting any of his friends or loved ones know."

His question sounds more like a statement of fact. I'm angered by the implications of it, by the accusation. In the end we were nothing to each other, not even enemies. He's no right to ask me anything at all. My hands want to ball into fists but I force myself to remain at ease. I don't want the arsehole to think that he can still get to me.

"Since you are neither friend nor loved one, it's none of your concern. I'll get your order."

I walk away before he has a chance to respond. Time has only worsened him. He needs to go back to wherever he came from as quickly as possible. I reheat a biscuit and fry the bacon and eggs. The faster I get this over with the faster he's out of my life. Hopefully, for good.

When I return, I avoid any eye contact with him and instead focus on placing his order in front of him. I can feel his eyes on me which is unnerving, but I'm determined not to give him the time of day.

"You know, the service here really leaves something to be desired," he says.

The fucking arsehole, did anyone ask him for his opinion? He's trying to get me riled.

"I'll pass the message along to management. Enjoy your meal." I speak pleasantly enough and start to move away. Suddenly he grabs my wrist and I'm reminded of my father's harsh grip. It's Lucius; he's back and she's dead, lying in front of us. It can't happen again. I won't allow it. I wrench my arm away.

"Don't touch me!"

But all I see is Harry and a fleeting look of hurt. I must have yelled because the diner has gone silent and everyone is looking at us. My ears burn. Harry shrugs and looks away. I stand there unable to move. I watch him take a drag of his cigarette. He smokes?

"Fine, whatever. Who would have thought? Draco Malfoy, a servant to Muggles."

If he thinks that is going to hurt me, he is sadly mistaken. I'm very much aware of my situation and I've accepted what's become of me. I want it this way, even if I fucking hate it.

"It doesn't matter because I'm not Draco Malfoy anymore."

I leave him with that and I attend to other customers. I try not to think about what has just happened but it's rather difficult considering that the Muggles keep asking me if I'm all right. I'm fine.

Time passes; it's almost the end of my shift. I've had time to compose myself and I return to Harry's table.

"Your bill."

He looks at me blandly. "You think I could get a refill?"

Fuck you, Potter.

"Certainly." I gather his plates, forcing myself not to smash them over his head, and return with the coffeepot. What does he think he is playing at?

Harry smiles at me. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Oh and can I get some cream and sugar?"

"Of course."

Fucktard. We can both play this game. I hand him the cream and sugar and smile at him, saccharine sweet.

"Would that be all?" I ask.

"Yes, thank you."

"My pleasure."

I leave in a hurry. Get out of my diner, Potter. Instead he spends some time, sipping the coffee and leaving the cream and sugar untouched. Of course. He remains at ease, in control. I still hate him. I busy myself behind the counter and do my best to ignore him.

Finally, he stands up and leaves.

Instant relief followed shortly by guilt. I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Eventually I start to feel terrible. I didn't handle this run-in with my past very well. My apologies, Harry. Just keep moving forward and leave me behind. I never deserved you. I work until the end of my shift.