A Certain Kind of Memory

The ingenuity of man has always been dedicated to the solution of one problem,

how to detach the sensual sweet, the sensual strong, the sensual bright, &c.,

from the moral sweet, the moral deep, the moral fair...

ATTRIBUTION: Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882),

U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. "Compensation,"

Essays, First Series (1841, repr. 1847).

Fate or destiny, while being a total con as far as Harry was concerned, seemed to laugh in his fucking face all the time. He grumbled as he rolled over in bed and attempted to ignore the pounding. No, Fate had come to his rescue so many times in the past, saved him from death or extreme torture - why wouldn't he expect it to stop him from dying again? Even in his dreams.

Except sooner or later his luck was going to run out and then even Fate wouldn't be able to save him. Or was it Fate that decreed his time was up and she was stepping aside for Death to weave his own brand of magic and remove his spiritual being from his physical?

He didn't stop to wonder why he'd woken with rational thoughts clattering around the thumping headache. How did it do that, anyway? Did they slide greasily between the great hammers on the inside of his head?

Unfortunately, the pounding appeared to be real and was coming from the direction of the front door. Why couldn't whoever it was have Flooed over? Then he wouldn't have to get up and answer the door.

"All right, I'm coming," he called out only to immediately grimace at the grip the noise took on his head.

He dragged himself up off the bed, swaying at the upset in his equilibrium. Luckily he still had boxers on, because he didn't know if he would cope bending over to pick something up to cover himself with, it was enough to reach for his glasses and secure those to his head. His stomach felt like it was sitting right up at the back of his throat, all wound up and wanting to go somewhere - preferably the bowl of the toilet, apparently.

With what he considered to be great fortitude, he made it to the front door and opened it to blearily look at who had been so rudely pounding on it.

"Draco?"

Oh, just perfect. No, Fate hadn't intervened to save his life; she had intervened to kill him by mortifying him so completely he dropped dead just to escape the embarrassment. Draco was staring at him, he knew, but he couldn't focus enough to ascertain the expression on his face. He just shook his head and indicated for Draco to come inside, before turning and heading for the lounge and dropping into an armchair.

"Hangover?" Draco asked and Harry nodded, closing his eyes at the throb that caused. "Do you have any hangover cure?"

"Bathroom," Harry answered and wondered if hammers had ever really managed to beat their way outside the skull. He forced himself to count slowly until Draco came back, focusing on both settling his stomach and the numbers he was counting, because if he had to make a run for the bathroom, he was sure he'd pass out before he made it two steps.

By the time he reached fifteen, Draco had returned and pressed the vial of potion into his hands. "Drink," he said. And Harry did, scrunching up his face at the flavour of it. After a few moments he could feel it going to work, the need for his stomach to expel itself down the toilet bowl abated and the hammers in his head suddenly turned rubber and softened until they disappeared altogether.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing his temple to extinguish the last of the headache. When he looked up at Draco, he blanched. The man looked positively wretched.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked, suddenly worried.

Draco sat there studying Harry for a long moment. Then he sighed and leant forward, head dropping to look at his feet. "I'm being evicted from my flat. Since I lost my source of income, I can't pay my rent and they've told me I'll have to leave. I have nowhere else to go, and I thought..."

Harry could see the flush creeping up Draco's neck and he knew that this was hard for him to admit.

"Of course you can stay here," Harry replied. "I have a spare room, no problems." Draco was first and foremost a friend and regardless of whatever else had happened, he was still that.

Draco blushed further. "No, I meant I thought I'd take you up on that offer if it was still good."

"Oh," Harry said, startled. "Oh. But it's not what you want, is it? It's at the point where you feel you're desperate and have no other option, right?"

Harry really felt for Draco as he slumped back in his seat and nodded. "It's not that I don't like you or don't find you attractive, I do, too much so. It's more that-" Draco ran hands through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. "If there ever was to be anything between us, I'd not like it to be bought and paid for. I'd like it to be because we both want it, and not like I was selling myself to you or you were buying me."

Harry nodded; he did understand that. "I'm sorry for ever thinking that would be a good idea," he said. He stood and went to the desk in the corner, picking up the papers for the shop. "I have a new deal for you," he said, passing over the papers to Draco, who looked bemused and started reading the topmost sheet. "And no arguments.

"I bought a shop yesterday. I want to help you and for once you're going to let someone. I will advance you a loan - a loan only - to set yourself up a Potions lab in my shop, where you will have six months rent free in which to establish your business. You may live here in the spare room also rent free for six months, after which you can start paying normal commercial rental for both the shop and the room."

"Harry, I-" Draco was shaking his head, looking at Harry dumbfounded, and unless Harry was mistaken there was that sad look in his eyes that had been there two days ago. The one that said there was everything he'd ever wanted right there in front of him and he couldn't take it.

"I said no arguments. I want to do this and you need some help. It's a loan, Draco, not charity. Neville and Madam Pomfrey want you for your skill, not as a favour to you or anyone else."

Now the look was cautious hope. "This is all real then? I'm not dreaming?" he asked, searching Harry's eyes for what he assumed were hints that this was all some joke.

"It's real. Don't you think you deserve a chance?"

"I've wanted one for so long, but I never thought I deserved one," Draco said, and Harry was fairly sure he heard a tremor in Draco's voice and saw a sheen of moisture across Draco's eyes.

"Well, you do. Everyone does," Harry asserted.

"How can I ever thank you for this, Harry?" Draco asked, real emotion building in his tone, now.

"By being successful." Harry grinned. "And by staying my friend."

Draco nodded. "You sure you don't want the other arrangement, too?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I was wrong to even suggest it. You're right, if there is to be anything between us then it needs to be because we want it and not because you're pressured into it."

"So, why are you still helping me?"

Harry laughed. "You dolt. You're my friend. It's obscene how much money I have. I could never use it all. Let me do something good with it, something worthwhile. You're worthwhile," Harry said, smiling. "I admit there are days when I wonder..." He was joking of course and when Draco looked up quickly, a retort on his lips, he made sure it was obvious he was joking.

"Bastard," Draco grumbled, fondly.

"I am serious about you being worth it, you know. Back in school I might not have thought so, but you're not that kid anymore and you work harder than any of us. Let me help you, Draco."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered.

"Don't mention it. You saved my head with the hangover potion." Harry grinned. "Least I could do."

"We'll get papers drawn up, so that everything is official," Draco insisted. Harry nodded his head.

"Of course, if that's what you want, I'll organise it with my solicitors," he said.

"I think it would be best to have the agreement formalised so that there is no ambiguity on either side."

Harry wondered how much more unambiguous he could be, but shrugged and thought that the more business like the deal was then the more organised Draco could be.

"Fine. Now, I think maybe I should go and put some clothes on. I must say I've never done business sitting around half naked in my underwear before." Harry smiled, wryly.

"You could always just go the whole way and divest yourself of them completely." Draco winked at him.

"Bloody flirt," Harry said back. "No wonder I want in your pants so badly."

Draco laughed. "Doesn't everyone?"

Harry made a rude gesture at him with his fingers as he stood up. "I'm going to shower. You might want to go and collect your stuff. You know where the spare room is?"

Draco nodded. "Do you have a spare key?"

"No, but I'll have one made up today," Harry replied, shaking his head.

"Would it be possible to go and have a look at the shop later?" Draco asked.

"Sure. I think they sent me keys when the paper work came back."

A smile lit up Draco's face. "Things are really going to change for me, now, aren't they?"

The joy and hope that Harry saw in those stormy grey eyes filled him with such immense pleasure that he realised most people don't want a handout, they just want a hand, a chance to make it on their own.

Harry moved over to him and pulled him to his feet, kissing his lips quickly. "I hope so, you're way too pretty to be wasting away and living on the streets."

"Hmm," Draco slid his arms around Harry's waist. "And you, Potter are too sexy to be walking around half naked and not expect to get manhandled from time to time." Draco's nose wrinkled. "But not right now. You smell like a brewery. Go and shower and make it quick, because if you're not done by the time I get back, I might just join you and see if the package matches the advertising." Draco laughed at his own joke.

As did Harry. "Tart," he joked back, disentangling himself from Draco's arms and heading for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder. "I'll make sure I take a long shower then."

Standing under the shower a few minutes later, Harry felt the elation settle inside him and found a smile on his face that assumed it belonged there. Even though the application of his good intentions had begun a little off centre, everything had worked out well in the end. The most important thing - that Draco was getting help - had occurred and the other, well, should the other happen then that was a bonus.

There was something very comforting about the thought of having Draco living in the flat with him, although, he realised now, he'd have to make sure that anything to do with his illness was locked away in his bedroom. But, apart from that, the very fact of having someone in the flat so that he wasn't on his own anymore was...heartening, relieving, calming.

Not only did he get companionship from the deal, but in addition to the book he was about to start writing, he thought he'd also offer to physically help get Draco all set up and ready for business. That would fill his time and keep him busy. As an added bonus he got to appreciate Draco's good looks and company every single day. Things didn't get much better than that.

All right, yes they did, but at this moment, standing under a hot shower realising that he was not going to live alone and he had things to keep him occupied and prevent him from dwelling on his grim future, he was happy. Which in itself was enough to shock him to the core.

He was dying and yet he was happy.

How did that happen? How did one find happiness in the process of dying?

Had he not been dying he wouldn't have made any changes to his life. Hermione wouldn't have her books, Draco would be broke and have nowhere to live and without the previous offer Harry had made, might not have thought to come to him for help. He might have gone to Blaise and Ginny instead. But no, he'd come to Harry and now Harry was going to benefit.

For the first time since he'd been given the news, he was looking forward to the future. The fact that he had this foreign object growing inside him could take a running jump to the back of his head while he enjoyed the time he had left. There would be time enough to think about dying when the potion stopped working. Each little event in his life and in his friend's lives that he could experience, he wanted to embrace with open arms. Live and submerse himself in what made him happy. And what made him happy right at the moment was his friends; those he considered family.

By the time Draco arrived back with several trunks, all shrunk of course, Harry was showered and dressed and feeling on top of the world. He helped Draco unpack, saddened by the fact that the trunks and bags were all Draco possessed in the world, and then they both agreed they'd pick up a pie or a sandwich to eat while they checked out the new shop.

As they walked through Diagon Alley, Harry still feeling the tingle of excitement touching him, he found that feeling good put a special shine on everything. Even some of the dinghy shops in Diagon Alley looked good today under the bright summer sun and his own feelings of happiness. Maybe it was infectious. And his roast beef and mustard sandwich was the best he'd ever had.

Draco stood stock still when he saw the shop, a hand on Harry's arm, stopping him.

"This is it?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah," Harry replied, not sure if that was a good reaction or a truly terrible one. "I mean you can change the colour scheme and such to whatever you'd like, but this is it."

"Harry, you have just bought one of the most sought after properties in Diagon Alley!" Draco exclaimed. "It's perfect, because it's two doors up from Ollivanders, across the road from Flourish and Blotts and...it's right in the hub of everything. It's perfect." Draco's voice trembled on 'perfect' and Harry smiled as he shrugged.

"I thought it might be good for you," he said. "As soon as I saw it, I knew. It's clean and near everything and it has a big room out the back that you can set up as your Potions lab," Harry enthused, walking to the door and opening it with the key.

He pushed open the door and let Draco enter first. It led directly to the actual shop and Draco spent the next ten minutes walking around it, looking at it from every angle and thinking aloud.

"I'll need counters and shelves and I want huge baskets for herbs and would it be alright if I put in some more windows?"

Harry smiled. "Of course, whatever you think you need."

"I can't wait to get started in here. You'll help me?" Draco grinned at him, the excitement shining in his eyes.

He really liked seeing Draco like this. It seemed like some of the worry lines had smoothed away. He nodded. "Yes, I'll help you. As long as you don't treat me like a house-elf, that is."

Draco waved his sandwich at Harry, brushing off the suggestion. "Like I'd do that." Draco was grinning at the time, so Harry knew that at some point or other Draco would order him around like a house-elf. Not that he minded much, seeing this shop take shape was going to be fun. And it was Draco's shop, so he'd have the final say.

"At some stage I might need to get an assistant, too," Draco mused. "Someone to look after the shop when I am working on potions."

Harry smiled. "Do you know where to order all the things you'll need? Cauldrons, vials, ingredients..."

Draco nodded. "Yes, those suppliers would be the same ones that I used for the potions I made for the Apothecary. I should get onto them," he said. "We should have bought down some parchment and quill to write a list of things I need."

"I'm sure we'll remember," Harry replied. "It's good to see you so happy."

Draco grinned and leant over, kissing him on the lips. "Thank you for all of this, Harry."

"Don't thank me," Harry said. "The only thanks I need are to see you build yourself a secure future. That will make me happy."

"Even so, I'm very grateful I have such good friends."

Smiling, Harry indicated the windows. "Do you have any plans for a window display?"

"Mmm..." Draco thought for a moment, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I think I want a riot of colour. You don't often get that with Apothecary shops. They tend to be dark and mysterious and a tad dusty. But I want flowers and colour to make people feel happy to come inside."

"Flowers?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, flowers have a medicinal use, Harry, and if not the flowers, the seed pods or the roots. You should remember that from Potions at school, even if you were totally useless." Draco smirked. "They can be an economical way to brighten up the shop."

"Okay, and you'll be making potions for Hogwarts and for Neville, which I am assuming you'll also sell in the shop, but what else will you sell?"

"Now, that's a question," Draco said. "I haven't had a lot of time to think about this, you only sprung it on me a few hours ago. But I would think all the things I'd be making for Hogwarts would be legal to sell. Neville's as well. Plus the ones I was making for the Apothecary. They can keep their middle of the road potion and I'll make only quality."

'Good for you." Harry smiled back. "And you can refuse to sell it to them when they come after you for it."

"Of course, Potter. That's a given. They paid me a pittance to make a very complex potion. They're not getting my skill back again."

It was wonderful to see some of the fire come back into Draco's eyes.

"Thought of a name for the shop yet?" he asked.

"I have, actually," Draco said. "I've had a name in my dreams for years, ever since I was eleven and knew I wanted to make potions for a living." He blushed a little before continuing. "I want to call it 'Perfect Potions'. It has no connection to the Malfoy name, so there will be no negative publicity from that angle. People who walk in off the street won't know who owns it if I have an assistant as a sales person. And it has a light-hearted sound to it, like the atmosphere I'm trying to create."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed. "A more enticing sounding shop than 'The Apothecary'."

"I still can't quite believe this is happening," Draco said, spinning around slowly and looking at his shop.

"How about I leave you here to think about the rest of what you'll want? I need to go and have that agreement drawn up and I have a few other things to take care of, so I'll meet you back at home?"

Home. That had a nice ring to it. Draco nodded, smiling.

"Oh, here, sorry I forgot. The keys to the shop." Harry handed over the keys to the shop, which Draco accepted but not before taking a deep breath.

"See you at home," he said.

***

Sebastian Tort was a middle aged, balding man, encumbered by a generous spread around his middle and a handlebar moustache that he could have tied round the back of his head.

He was, however, a decent lawyer and had come highly recommended eight years ago when Dumbledore had died and left Harry everything. He'd needed someone to take care of the estate - all three estates, and Mr. Tort had performed well.

And naturally, when the secretary saw Harry, he quickly made sure that Mr. Tort was free and ushered Harry inside.

Mr. Tort was also endowed with a killer handshake, as Harry had found out all those years ago and never forgotten. Therefore he prepared himself for the crushing grip and steeled his expression to not show any grimace of pain.

"Harry Potter, how may I help you today?" Mr. Tort beamed as they shook hands and sat down.

"I take it you received copies of the documents regarding the purchase of a shop I made yesterday?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point whilst surreptitiously flexing his hand to ease the pain.

Mr. Tort nodded. "Yes, I did. Looks like you made a wise investment there, Harry. Excellent property and should appreciate extremely well."

"Yes, yes." Harry nodded. "I'd like to sign over ownership to someone else, but not have them aware of it until my death. Is that possible?"

"Yes, it is. Not a problem at all. May I ask why you want to do this?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'll need some sort of binding oath from you to not disclose anything of what I'm about to tell you."

"Well, the oath I took when I took on your account deems me incapable of passing on any information unless strictly necessary for the running of your estate," Mr. Tort frowned.

"I need one that covers personal matters as well, "Harry insisted. "There are two people who are aware of this information and I'd rather it not be made public knowledge."

"Of course. A secrecy oath should suffice for that." Mr. Tort took his wand in his hand, placed his other hand over his heart and recited. "I, Sebastian Tort, hereby declare that I will never reveal any personal information about Mr. Harry Potter to anyone unless directed by himself to do so." He waved his wand and a pale blue light emerged from the end and wound itself around Mr. Tort's pudgy hand before disappearing into his chest.

"Thank you." Harry smiled, and went on to tell Mr. Tort of his medical condition and the reasons for him not wanting anyone to know. He went into details of the change of ownership of the property and how he wanted the other agreement prepared - the one he and Draco would both sign.

He separated out Dumbledore's book collection from the rest of the estate and arranged for some sort of certificate of ownership for Hermione. She could loan it to the public library as she wished, but Harry wanted her to keep ownership of them. They were a virtually priceless collection and he had no wish to donate them to an entity rather than to one of his best friends.

Lastly, he asked that a draft be made on his personal account to the establishment where Ron and Hermione were having their wedding reception. Paying for their reception seemed to be something he could do for them. Something to make their lives easier - they wouldn't have to put off buying their house, then. A wedding present. He'd have liked to do it anonymously, but he knew that even if he did, they would know it was him. No matter.

Mr. Tort pushed him to make a will, declaring that if Harry were to die without one or without a legal heir then his whole estate would go to the Ministry. Harry demurred and said he'd think about it. He had no one to leave it all to, anyway. Perhaps his friends should share his parent's money; maybe Draco should have the Black money and who knew what to do with Dumbledore's? When he figured that out, he'd make one. A will was too final, anyway. He wasn't ready for that yet.

By the time all the papers were drawn up and signed, it was late in the afternoon. Harry was very grateful that Mr. Tort had put aside any work he had to do for Harry's needs. Mr. Tort made sure to let Harry know that it would be reflected in his bill. Harry laughed and thanked him again and then headed home. After such a late night, along with the heavy drinking the night before, and the full day, especially going over all the legalese talk this afternoon, Harry was feeling very tired.

All he wanted was to go home and put his feet up. He decided he might be a Muggle and order in pizza. Then watch some mind numbing television for a couple of hours and have an early night. Sounded perfect.

By the time Draco arrived home about an hour after Harry, it was dark, Harry had ordered pizza that had been delivered and was sitting on the coffee table alongside a half empty glass of pumpkin juice. Harry was sitting on the couch, feet on the table and television tuned to some silly comedy show that had very corny jokes but didn't require Harry to pay terribly much attention.

Draco flopped down on the couch beside him, still all excited about the shop.

"I've got suppliers coming tomorrow and the Ministry to do the certification next week. I'll have to contact Neville and Madam Pomfrey and let them know, or should you do that, seeing as it's all so unofficial at the moment?"

Harry laughed. "You can do it. I'd love you to see the pleasure on Neville's face when you tell him you can do his potion after all. He'll be over the moon."

Draco sighed happily and dropped his head on Harry's shoulder comfortably. "Okay, I'll do that in the morning. Did you get that agreement drawn up?"

"I did," Harry replied. "And I've arranged for ten thousand galleons to be transferred into your account at Gringotts. That should be there tomorrow."

"Harry," Draco gasped, sitting up. "I'm not sure I need that much."

"Better to be safe than sorry," Harry said. "If you don't need it then you don't. The papers are on the desk over there. Sign them and send them back in the morning."

Draco nodded, and then seemed to spot the pizza. "What, may I ask, is that?"

"You can't tell me you don't know what pizza is," Harry replied, surprised.

"I don't know what pizza is," Draco repeated, deadpan. He leant forward and opened the box and sniffed. "I do know what pizza is, I've just not seen it in a box like this, nor have I actually ever eaten any. It smells nice, though. I thought you'd been cooking when I came in, but this is what it was."

"Eat some. That's dinner. I've had a very draining afternoon with my legal eagle and I couldn't be bothered cooking."

"What's on it?" Draco asked. "I can see meat and cheese like on some base and I can see olives -"

Harry cut him off, smiling "Just eat some. You'll like it trust me."

Draco picked up a piece of the pizza and took a small bite. "Hmm, not bad at all, Potter. You may prove to be a useful housemate yet." He grinned and bit off a larger piece as he flopped back beside Harry.

"Oh, so now you only want me for my food and not my body. I get it," Harry said, feigning hurt.

"Of course, " Draco joked back, licking his lips and taking another bite.

"Good to know," Harry said, attempting to give Draco a smile, but it got stopped half way when he had to yawn.

"You really are tired, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "You're not though, I can see."

"Too excited about today," Draco said, shaking his head. He finished his pizza and then patted his knee "Here, lie down and relax."

"Who am I to resist the opportunity to have my head in a gorgeous man's lap?" Harry quipped and then did as he was told, turning and laying along the couch, his head in Draco's lap.

For the next ten minutes there was silence as Draco ate pizza with one hand and with his other he ran his fingers through Harry's hair, gently massaging his scalp. Harry couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him like that. He sighed, hoping it sounded a happy sigh, but it was a mix of contentment and a little sadness. He was really enjoying lying here being tenderly touched by Draco, but there was also sadness because he wanted more.

"Don't, Harry," Draco, whispered, leaning over him and pressing his lips to Harry's for a second. "Don't think so much, just relax and enjoy it."

"And if I am enjoying it too much?" Harry whispered back, opening his eyes.

"I can stop if you like," Draco said, searching Harry's face for something.

Harry reached up with his hand and cupped Draco's jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Not yet."

He fell asleep still on Draco's lap ten minutes later.