Only a Memory Away

Harry buried his face in his hands. Draco remembered. There's nothing to worry about, he reminded himself. He wanted to get away from the Death Eaters. He isn't one. But it made him wonder how many they'd killed or captured that had been on the front line. Nothing but eager children wanting to prove their worth. Every death, every capture, and every bloody darned fight made him sick. Every battle... he always felt sick afterwards. Ever since Draco.

He hated himself for what he had done, and every day he had to relive that moment, poking through bodies, wondering which was to be the next Draco Malfoy (Black, he reminded himself). How many of them didn't get the chance Draco did? How many more were going to die? He wasn't sure he could handle it.

Making up his mind, he stood and got the letter from his desk. "Alright, Draco. I guess it's about time." He opened it and read it for the first time since that day, when he'd refused the small truce. He wished that he'd just listened before leaving the Great Hall. That he'd just taken the letter and read it. Then he remembered when Draco first woke up, wondering who he was.

"Will you help me find my memory then?"

"I think I can do that."

Could he, though? Could he get up the strength and courage to say, "Draco, I've been lying this entire time. Your name is Draco Malfoy, and you're my worst enemy"? How was he supposed to say that he himself landed the blow that wiped Draco's memory? He shook his head. It wasn't his choice anymore. He'd made a promise to Draco. Whether or not they'd still be friends afterward, he didn't care anymore. He would help him until the end.

~~~

It was the third time he'd passed out in as many weeks. He woke in his bed once more and stared at the ceiling. It was an interesting sort of color, he'd decided. A very odd marblish sort of off-white. Perhaps in the future he'd recommend some sort of decoration. A mural, perhaps. As one of the mediwitches came by he decided to express just that.

"And how are you doing today, Draco?" she asked, fluffing his pillow.

"Doing well, and thinking about things."

She raised a brow. "Oh, and just what are you thinking?"

"That if I'm going to be in here any length of time longer, now's a good time as any to tell you your ceiling's hideous."

She shook her head. "I'm a mediwitch, sir, not a decorator." And she moved on.

He chuckled silently to himself. Decorator indeed. It didn't matter, what did he know of décor? A dull ache began in the back of his skull and he lay back, clearing his mind to get rid of it.

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, opening them only when the ache went away. The ceiling now felt unnaturally bright and he closed his eyes again. Once he felt ready he looked up once more, then towards the window. No sign of an owl. Had Harry forgotten about him? It was true then, Harry was his enemy and he was just hiding it. Why? Everyone praised Harry, so he couldn't be the bad guy. So that meant... He squeezed his eyes shut against tears, wondering if he tried to kill Harry. The other had been so nice to him, gently helping him the entire way, even after all Draco must have done to him. They were enemies, and Harry still wanted to protect him. Never did he more want to end his life than at that moment: Draco was a "bad guy."

"Draco?"

Draco jumped, hearing a voice from the far side of the room. He looked over to see Harry standing there, looking a little scared. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he pulled an emotionless mask over his face and sneered at Harry. "It's about time."

"So then, do you remember?" Draco remained quiet, and Harry hung his head. "Look, I know I lied, but I wanted us to be friends. It was a chance to start over." He walked over and laid the letter next to Draco. "I'll leave you alone to read it, if you want." He turned and started to walk away, not daring to look back at Draco.

The other, meanwhile, was watching Harry intently, his heart near breaking as he heard each word. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed Harry's arm, his mask dropping. He felt vulnerable, but he needed some support. "Don't go!" Harry turned, looking stunned, but Draco kept his hold. "Please... read it with me?"

Draco lay against Harry, the dark-haired boy holding him as he wept. The pain in his head was getting more intense as Harry told them about their true past together, but he didn't care. He wanted to hear all of it, no matter how it hurt... in head or in heart. All this... Harry seemed so strong. Draco almost couldn't take it. He wanted to run from the room and never look back. He'd been horrible to Harry all this time, and Harry was still here, holding him, supporting him. He didn't deserve any of it.

Harry looked down at Draco and smoothed his hair. "Hey, are you gonna be okay?" He shook his head before getting an answer. "I should stop for today. This is enough. I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Draco sat up and wiped his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of me."

Harry watched Draco a moment, thinking about the question. Holding Draco in his arms, it felt like a precious child he couldn't let go of. Maybe if he did, then the child would be lost to him forever. But just how much protection did the other boy need? Surely not as much as Harry had been sheltering him with. So, then... What was the truth?

"I suppose..." He smiled lightly. "Because it's in my nature."

"I see."

Moments of silence passed between them before Harry stood and gathered his things. "Don't feel so bad, Draco. We were children. Sometimes I think we still are, somewhere inside. And had we been untouched by the war, we could still be. And we would have been friends." He turned back to Draco a last time. "I kinda liked having your memory gone. I'll admit that. Because if no one remembers, it's like it never happened, right? So if you'd forgotten, then I could forget too. But even if you get your memory back, I think we can still forget the past between us. After all, in the end it was your choice to be my friend. You read it yourself. I remember seeing the desperation in your eyes when you wanted to give me the letter, but I was just too stubborn. I thought I would see you again in time to read it. Take care, Draco."

And with that he left, leaving the boy in something of a daze. Perhaps he was right. All that hatred and fighting may be but a memory away, but it was up to him whether or not he wanted to follow in the path of his memories.

And that night, as Draco slept, he dreamt of his past life. He dreamt of his mother and father. He dreamt of his letter from Hogwarts. He dreamt of his time at school. He dreamt of fighting Harry. He dreamt of his father taking him to Voldemort, and getting his orders. And he dreamt of writing what he thought was going to be his final letter, asking the Gryffindor boy to heal his soul.