Forgetting to Remember

The night air was shining, which was a distinctly unusual and rather frightening thing since the night didn't usually shine. As a matter of fact, that was pretty much the sun's realm of influence in Draco's opinion, and this reversal of nature was making him distinctly nervous. He edged backward slowly, trying to move away from the anomaly of nature. There was really no reason for him to die at such an unreasonably young age, he believed.

Unfortunately, Potter still existed, which was unfortunate not only because he was annoying, but also because he was behind Draco, which made walking backwards more of a challenge than Draco liked. Not having yet mastered the art of walking through people, he slammed into the taller wizard, sending them harshly tumbling to the leaf-covered ground.

Draco couldn't help cursing. His one goal of the day had been to avoid physical contact with Potter, and now he was sitting on the idiot's lap.

A vortex opened before them, blue and glowing with a brightness that could kill a guy with a hangover. It was an alcoholic's nightmare, swirling around in vivid circles and distorting the very ground around it. It made Draco instantly grateful that he had skipped that last drink.

As it sucked him toward it with a strength that was really just unfair, he couldn't help cursing his father, who had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with this unfortunate turn of events. However, it did make him feel better.

"Bloody hell! Why me?! This is the third time today I've been sucked into a screaming vortex of death!" he managed to scream as he was carried through the portal. Strangely enough, his words were actually mostly true.

"Stop whining, you horrid little ferret!" Harry screamed back as he, too, was carried away.

Draco realized that sometimes his life just plain sucked. Now was definitely one of those times.

* * *

Hermione, followed by Ron, ran into the clearing, alerted of the two wizards' presence by the glowing vortex. She knew it had to be Harry and Malfoy because only those two could possibly cause such a great disaster in so little time. They were just talented that way, Hermione supposed.

As they stepped past the line of trees, the two friends stopped to stare in shock at the brilliant and slightly nauseating view of this newest catastrophe. The beyond blue shine had rocketed into the sky, ascending to insane heights, far beyond their reach.

"They're in that blue spinning thing, aren't they?" Ron asked miserably.

She nodded, craning her neck to try to get a better view. For a second, she thought she saw a figure in the shining mass, but it disappeared all too quickly.

"How do we get Harry down?" questioned Ron as he glanced around in search of Harry's broom.

The broom sat alone and forlorn in the far corner of the clearing. Its bristles occasionally twitched as if it, too, was nervous. Ron sighed and went to pick it up.

"I don't think we can get him with that, Ron," Hermione said.

Ron lifted the broom into his arm, cradling it gently, and walked back to her. He patted the broom gently as if such a small gesture could soothe it.

"Why not?" he asked, glancing upwards again.

A shoe fell down from the gleaming light, landing squarely in the middle of the two friends. A few seconds later, it was followed by a shower of clothes, gently floating downward on the currents of the air. Hermione looked down at her feet and bent to pick up a crooked pair of glasses.

"I don't think they're there anymore, Ron. Whatever that thing is...It took them somewhere," she answered in a small voice.

"Stripped them, too. Oh, bloody hell. Naked Malfoy," he grimaced in disgust.

She glanced at him sharply, irritated by his flippant attitude.

"Hermione, don't be so worried. How many times has stuff like this happened?" he asked pointedly.

She smiled slightly, remembering a few previous events. Stepping closer to her, Ron put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing affectionately.

"Harry attracts more trouble than anyone I know, but he always comes back safely," he said comfortingly.

Hermione leaned against Ron, resting her head on his shoulder as they both stared up at the glowing monstrosity that had abducted their friend. Ever so slowly, its brightness seemed to be fading, leaving nothing in its place but empty air.

"We shouldn't have given him that letter," said she.

* * *

The old woman walked out into the cold night air, her gray hair blowing softly in a breeze that had traveled from realms beyond her imagining. She smiled as it danced about her like a playful child, teasing and whispering its secrets. She had come out to tend her garden, as she always did in the dead of night. It always responded better that way, growing like the wild creation it was. She thought maybe some spirit of a night followed her on nights like these, breathing life into wilting leaves.

She believed in such things, no matter what others said. Even her own children, long since grown, scoffed at her and called her foolish. She didn't care. She was old and probably foolish, but she was content, and she believed.

She glanced around in the soft moonlight, looking curiously upon the wild overgrowth of flora. Something seemed different tonight, but she didn't know what. The air felt strange as it swirled around her, tingling as it caressed the wrinkled parchment of her skin. The garden was full of secrets tonight.

A cloud passed over the moon, obscuring the light. The old woman felt a humming in the air and took a step back, startled. Two soft thuds sounded, followed by a nearly inaudible moan. The cloud slowly moved away from the moon.

The silver rays shone down upon a small clearing surrounded by roses, highlighting the two helpless individuals who lay in amidst the flowers. They lay on the grass, naked and intertwined like lovers. As she ran toward them, she wondered if that was what they were. To her, the two boys looked like little more than children, but she knew her judgement was still that of a mother's. Motherhood made for a poor judge of youth. In her mind, the children were always just that: children.

She dropped to the ground beside them, her old knees complaining at the rough movement. The two boys were wrapped around each other, impossibly pale hair mixed with hair the color of the night. The dark-haired boy's arms were wrapped around the pale one, cradling the fragile form. She touched the pale one's wrist first, checking for any pulse. A weak whimper escaped the boy's throat, and she smiled, placing his arm down gently. She could see the taller boy's chest moving, proof that he, too, was alive.

Standing slowly, she went in search of a way to move them into the safety of her house.

* * *

The first thing the dark-haired boy noticed was that he was naked. The second thing he noticed was that someone else was, too, and that this nakedness was pressed against his equally unclothed and innocent thigh. The third thing he noticed was that he was enjoying the mutual lack of clothes way too much.

He jumped guiltily, pulling away from the sweetly warm body pressed so tightly against him that he had at first thought it part of his own body. A young boy, no older than sixteen, lay beside him, his unusually pale hair fanned about on the soft pillow like a delicate curtain of light. One arm was snaked about Harry's waist, innocently clinging to the comforting presence like a child would cling to an old stuffed animal. Harry blinked at that thought, not enjoying the comparison of himself to a ratty old ball of fluff and stuffing. He really needed to work on his mental image of himself.

He blinked in confusion when he tried to remember what he thought of himself and nothing came to mind. He was drawing quite a terrible blank that was quite ominous in its very blankness. In fact, his memory seemed to have taken a temporary vacation to some island in the Bahamas, where it could enjoy the land of eternal sunshine and beaches full of lovely half-naked people, though he realized this wasn't quite fair, since he and not his memory was the one in bed with an exquisitely beautiful blonde.

He abruptly stopped in his thoughts at this unexpected realization. Hah. So, he was apparently quite gay. Wonderful, he muttered to himself.

Beside him, Harry felt the other boy stir, muttering softly in his sleep and inching closer to the source of warmth, which just happened to be Harry himself, who was only now beginning to realize how bloody awkward this all could be. How did he know this delicate creature who clung to him so affectionately? Were they.....lovers? If so, forgetting his name would probably be terribly unforgivable, Harry surmised.

But what if they had just met at a bar the night before? Maybe he could claim he had a blackout from too much alcohol, he thought desperately. They seemed a bit young for it, but Harry really wasn't sure of anything anymore. For all he knew, prematurely born infants were allowed to be seasoned alcoholics.

The soft flutter of eyelids against his chest pulled him out of a revery, and, dreading this moment, he glanced down. Pale eyes stared up at him curiously, blinking wearily in the dim lighting. The boy glanced down at their mutual nakedness, which was barely concealed by the tangled sheets, and then returned his gaze to Harry's.

"Ha. We're naked," he said in a bemused tone.

Harry tried to remind himself to breathe as he waited for his companion's next words, since dying from asphyxiation was not on his list of things to do. Well, actually, it might be, since he couldn't even really remember the aforementioned list.

"Who are you again?" the boy asked calmly, running a hand though his soft locks.

Harry stared at him with a stupid grin on his face, relieved beyond all measure.

"You don't remember anything either?" he asked, just to be sure that the boy hadn't just meant that he had forgotten Harry's name.

"Not even my name," the other admitted, shaking his head slowly.

Harry began to agree with him but stopped. He was....Harry. He couldn't remember anything else, not even a last name, but that one fact was ineffably clear to him.

"I remember my name. It's Harry," he said softly.

The pale boy cursed to himself and angrily snatched at the blanket while glaring crossly at Harry.

"Well, that's bloody unfair. How come you get a name, and I don't?" he complained.

Harry hastily pulled the blanket back towards him, desperate to cover his unclothed skin. The unnamed boy let him move it back into place but snickered gleefully as Harry tried to conceal his blushing face.

"Blushing seems a bit out of place after fucking like rabbits, doesn't it?" the boy asked pointedly.

Shock wasn't a strong enough word to describe Harry's current emotional state.

"I thought you didn't remember anything!" he gasped, still unable to believe that he had apparently had wild sex with this stranger.

"I don't, but it doesn't take a bloody genius to figure it out! We're naked in a bed! What do you think happened?!" the pale boy answered vehemently.

Harry stared down at his hands, unwilling to look at the other boy. Great. Not only was he gay but apparently quite sexually active. It was a lot to discover in so short a time. He wondered if it would cause his brain to overload and turn into a useless lump of quivering half-thoughts, but rather doubted it, since he didn't seem like a very lucky person.

"I'm sure there's another explanation," he muttered weakly.

The other boy's only answer was a derisive snort. For several minutes, they sat in unrelieved silence.

After a while, he felt the sheet lift up as the pale boy tried to peer under them. Harry screeched in horror, realized he sounded like a cross between a wailing baby girl and a little female kitten, changed the screech to a quick yell of "NO!", pulled the sheet back down, and attempted to glare fiercely at the blonde, though he thought his madly blushing skin probably ruined any chance he had at looking bellicose and combative.

The other boy looked at him innocently, pouting in a way that Harry repeatedly had to tell himself was most definitely not sexy.

"What? We're lovers! I just wanted to see what I'm going to have to...ahem....deal with," the slender boy said reasonably.

Harry didn't think this was at all reasonable, and he continued to glare and blush. The boy sighed and shook his head, sitting up in the bed and staring at their surroundings.

"I'm going to look around the room. I suppose you want to keep the blanket?" he asked dryly.

Harry nodded miserably, clutching the blanket like a lifeline, which is exactly what it felt like. He briefly wondered if it was possible for a person to die of embarrassment.

The other boy stood up, discarding the blanket without a second thought and stretching casually. Though he realized the boy was doing this merely to embarrass him, he found that breathing was becoming increasingly difficult.

At least now he had the opportunity to study his companion more closely. The boy was thin, his hipbones and ribs showing clearly through unusually pale skin, and his eyes were almost cold in their intensity. However, what truly caught Harry's attention were the bruises that bloomed dark and angry on the ivory skin, and the neat bandage that covered his entire left side.

The boy himself seemed to recognize the presence of his injuries just after Harry, falling to the floor with a gasp of pain brought on by his unwise movement. Though time had seemed to slow as he had stood, Harry realized just seconds has passed since the boy had left the bed. Now, he lay on the floor, frighteningly still and silent except for a choked back whimper.

Harry immediately scrambled over to the other side of the bed and dropped down to the floor. His heart was thudding in his chest as he stared down at the boy, who didn't even attempt to get back up.

"It hurts," he whispered to Harry, his eyes wide and fearful.

Harry nodded and carefully began to slip his arms underneath his companion. The boy started and stared up at him, but he remained silent as Harry began to lift him back onto the bed. He was surprisingly light and easy to carry, and within moments he was once more safely seated on the bed.

"You need to stay still," Harry cautioned as he closely watched the boy.

A tight nod met this comment as his companion tried to ignore the pain he was obviously experiencing.

"I think I know your name," Harry said, hoping it would distract the other boy from his pain.

He turned to stare at Harry, eyes wide with sudden hope.

"How? Are you remembering?" he asked incredulously.

Harry blushed and stared down at the sheet for a moment. He was swiftly tiring of these too frequent embarrassing moments.

"Um, no....You have a tattoo," he paused, uncomfortable.

"What?! Where?" he cried, craning his neck to try and see any sign of markings on his body.

Harry hadn't thought it was possible for him to get any redder, but apparently he was wrong again. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of a tactful way to answer.

"On your arse," he finally said with a long-suffering sigh. There really was no polite way to tell someone they had a tattoo on their bum.

The boy stared at him for a second and then promptly burst into a fit of laughing, clutching his sides at the sudden pain it brought forth. He quickly tried to still his glee, but a few giggles continued to sneak out at irregular intervals. On the other side of the bed, Harry just continued to stare at him, completely confused and miserable

"What?! It's bloody funny!" the blonde cried.

Harry just shook his head and flopped back onto the pillows, wondering how his day had become so suddenly strange. Here he was, trapped in a room with a boy with a tattooed bum and a liberal decoration of bruises, and no memory of the past day, let alone years, and all he could think of was how badly he wanted his clothes.

"Well, what's my name? Actually, it might be your name, you know. Why would I write my own name on my arse? It's not like I'm going to forget whose it is!" the boy said, giggling again.

Harry shook his head. Somehow, he was certain the name belonged to the pale creature beside him. It fit him.

"Draco Malfoy. It's written in really fancy script with roses climbing up the letters," he elaborated.

"A bit girly tattoo, huh? Ah, well," Draco said with a sigh.

Harry shook his head. The tattoo was perfectly suited to his companion, despite its floral additions. In truth, the roses were barely noticeably; it was the ink thorns that had immediately caught his attention. In the right light, they seemed to almost drip blood. He quickly mentioned this to Draco, thinking it would soothe the boy and make him more comfortable with the marking.

"You really remembered details, didn't you? How long were you looking at my bum?" Draco asked with a sharp grin.

Harry tried to keep the blush from his cheeks but met with very little success. He might as well just paint his face red and save himself the trouble.

"You know, we may not be...together," Harry pointed out, "You're covered in bruises, and it looks like you have a nasty cut under that bandage. Maybe we were just in an accident."

Draco nodded thoughtfully and stared at Harry for several moments.

"Maybe. You're bruised, too. If we're lovers, then we definitely play on the rough side," he replied.

They both stared around the room, looking for any clues to who they were. It was heavily decorated with floral patterns and soft lace, and ancient trinkets and dolls were placed at random intervals on the desks and shelves. The blanket which covered them was of a soft material with a delicate pattern of roses and small white flowers.

"There is no way we live here!" Draco announced, his face wrinkled in a moue of disgust at the feminine decorations.

Harry nodded fervently.

"That means there has to be someone else here. Maybe they'll know who we are," he said hopefully.