Just Another Recollection

You know, the tongue was one of the strongest muscles in the body. Draco flexed it now, against the roof of his mouth, against his teeth. It felt like his mouth. It hadn't changed much in three years, which Draco was thankful. But who knew what had been in it. That was a little disconcerting and made Draco rock back and forth for a couple of moments to calm himself. Apparently, he had lost his marbles (among other things) and was shagging Potter. Shagging him. Who knew where his mouth went! He was convinced that Potter put a couple of spells on him before he woke up every morning or perhaps made him drink a love potion of some kind, because if he was SANE (and apparently, he lost THAT with his long-term memory) he wouldn't be fucking Potter. No. No he wouldn't. Shagging Blaise maybe. He was sexy. But Potter was not. Having a broader chest does not make any difference. You needed more. Draco wouldn't know what else was needed, because in school he never had a real sexual encounter but...oh, who the hell was he kidding? He probably had plenty of sexual encounters now with Potter but he couldn't remember one for the life of him, damnit. That made Draco a little upset again. He was going to be a virgin in the head for the rest of his life? This Could Not Be Right.

"You're having the Sex Talk in your head again, aren't you?" Blaise commented from his corner of the room. He was sitting calmly in a still intact chair, having played it safe and kept quiet while Draco had his breakdown. But he just had to cut in when he was working towards his peak, didn't he? Draco sniffed. "Your eyes always squint up like you have Down syndrome whenever you think about sex. I don't know how Harry finds that attractive long enough to shag you."

"I hate you," Draco sniffed indignantly, the only thing he had managed to say to Blaise for the past hour. Then the last thing Blaise said hit Draco hard. "And Potter does NOT shag ME. I shag Potter. I am the Almighty Alpha, do you understand?"

"Oh no," Blaise said, grinning maliciously and his teeth shining. "You are definitely a Bottom Boy. You like Potter on top and riding you like an old American cowboy-"

"STOP!" Draco shrieked (again). "Stop this instant, you evil incarnate!" The images were giving him ulcers, he was sure of it. The pangs in his lower abdomen were just not normal.

"But at least you've accepted the fact that you shag one another," Blaise continued on easily. "I remember this one time, you kept waking up in this one mood or personality and Harry had to go without a week."

"Poor Potter," Draco snapped sarcastically then continued on his merry way of pretending that Blaise Did Not Exist. Chewing on his thumb nail, Draco glared at the bed he was sitting on...and realized with rising horror that he was sitting in a bed they probably just shagged in last night. Draco leaped off of the bed immediately and ran to the other side of the room in case the germs decided to follow him. Blaise raised his head bemused.

"What? See a spider?" Blaise looked at the bed curiously.

"I am not afraid of spiders," Draco pouted, glaring at the bed.

"Please," the other man snorted. "If I remember correctly, Harry, Hermione, and I had to pry you and Ron off the ceiling you guys refused to come down after two days."

"That is the biggest exaggeration and you know it," Draco sniffed angrily. "After one day, I would have forgotten why the bloody hell I was doing up on the ceiling with Weasley anyway."

Blaise's teasing expression sobered immediately and he cleared his throat.

"Okay. Maybe it was only one day."

"Bloody right."

"You know, Draco...you should really look into the pensieves you have around here..."

"I said no," Draco snapped, turning furious eyes on his old classmate. "And what does 'no' mean?"

"Under any circumstances unless death or bodily harm?"

"Correct."

"So, if I threatened to punch you in the face right now, what would you do?"

"Scream, curse, hit you back, but the answer would still be no."

"Ah."

"Nice try, though."

"Thanks."

A knock interrupted their friendly quarrel and Blaise sighed when Draco's shoulders immediately tensed. Hermione peeked her head in, followed quickly by flaming red that made Draco cover his eyes.

"Ugh, so bright," he muttered, theatrically stumbling back to the bed and throwing himself on it.

"How is it going?" Hermione asked, stepping into the room delicately; for Draco's sake or because of the wreckage still on the floor, it was hard to tell. Ron, though, waltzed in without a care, things cracking underneath his feet loudly, and made a great show to stand on top of Draco's scattered shirts.

"Splendid, Granger," Draco muttered into the sheets, before suddenly jerking up like he was being skinned alive. Frantically, he scrubbed at his face, the light t-shirt and jeans he was wearing, spinning around like it would help. The other three in the room simply stared for a minute before turning back towards each other to converse privately. Draco glared at them behind his messy hair, because he couldn't hear what they were saying, and that was rather rude.

"Sorry!" Draco yelled, not noticing or perhaps not caring that he sounded like a spoiled brat. "Sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you!"

"Um," Hermione flushed. "We...We were just wondering if you wanted to come down for lunch...?"

"What a wonderful idea," Draco perked up sarcastically, slapping on a fake, plastic smile.

"I don't think-" Blaise started but Draco broke in.

"Well, what you think matters very little, Zabini," Draco spat, enjoying the flicker of emotion crossing Blaise's face. "Personally, being locked up like this is doing nothing for my complexion. Please, show me around this lovely establishment just so I can forget about it tomorrow. I'm sure you guys never get tired of showing me where the bathroom is everyday."

"You're being a bitter git, aren't you?" Ron scowled, cheeks redder than his hair. For a moment, Draco forgot to feel sorry for himself and wished that Weasley's ugly looks could be modified to save the rest of the Wizardry world the pain of looking at him. Having that face for the rest of your life was the real tragedy.

It didn't last long and Draco felt his entire world center on himself again. Ah, that felt better.

"What?" Draco replied innocently enough, even pulling off the expression. "Should I be happy, Weasley? Should I be throwing fucking rose petals everywhere? Maybe do a little dance? How about-"

"This would be easier on you if you would just look at the pensieves..." Hermione began.

"NO," Draco raged, suddenly his cheeks making a very good imitation of Ron's. His rage was immediate and easy to call upon; no longer was there sarcasm. The bitterness had melted into a pool of pure anger and most of it radiated to the one person who did this to him, who was too much of a coward to come and face him now that he KNEW and had adjusted to the fact that Harry bloody Potter was the one who should be subjected to this curse every single day for the rest of his heroic life. "I will NOT look into those stupid pensieves!! Those are not my life!!"

"Of course they are your life, you stupid bloke," Ron snapped. "Just because you can't remember them, it doesn't mean it didn't happen!"

Draco paused, his mouth full of his tirade and ready to be let out. Instead, the words started to drizzle down the way they came, down his throat and landing heavily in his chest, drawing it down like dead weight. Draco felt his knees shake and put a hand on the bedside table to stable himself. The way Weasley had said that...like it was some cue...

"You've said that to me before...haven't you?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes heavy with fire.

"Did you remember that?" Hermione leaped, so much hope splayed on her face.

"No," Draco shook his head, closing his eyes to block these strangers out. These strangers that seemed to know him so well. "It just seems like something a person who knew me well would say to stop me."

They didn't say anything, which Draco knew they would do...because they knew him. Knew when to speak, when to keep quiet, and when to be his friend or enemy. Unfortunately, Draco realized slowly, he knew nothing about them and never would. He opened his eyes to look at them slowly, staring at the faces that he done nothing but taunt in all their years at Hogwarts. Granger and Weasley stared back, Hermione worrying her lower lip and Ron seeming to be resigned to stare back at Draco defiantly, as if daring him to make him look away. He would never know them, never know them like they did him. He would forget about them every morning, reducing them back to his childish hate while they seemed to have gone and grow beyond that...to even consider him as their friend. Draco was suddenly filled with such an aching loss that it momentarily killed him, sent his thoughts blank, and his heart to stop beating until he forced himself to be revived again. When his head and eyes cleared, they were all looking away from him, eyes drawn to the floor in such a way that it reminded Draco of submission, rather than shame. Quickly, the shock came and numbed him for a moment; he cared about them. He didn't remember ever sharing a close moment with them in his life, but he cared about them so deeply that it threatened to knock Draco out from the reality of it all. He stared at them like he was seeing them for the first time. He didn't know why, didn't understand or didn't want to. Perhaps it was the pictures that he tore off the walls. Perhaps it was the way they treated him like a friend, instead of Draco Malfoy, the Ugly Git Who Made My Life Hell at Hogwarts. But he did care, cared so suddenly, that it scared him to death.

"Get out," Draco requested softly, drawing up a hand to cover his eyes. They didn't say a word or have to be told twice; like friends, they filed out of the room quickly and shut the door quietly behind him. When he was alone, Draco's eyes were drawn to the bed and without thought, he splayed himself over the cushion and blankets again. Although he hated to admit it, he felt at home in the down comforter and the silky blankets. Even though he could not remember ever sleeping in this bed, could not recall a moment when he flung himself with abandon on the bed in either happiness or sadness, Draco's feelings were still there and ingrained. He didn't have to remember to have his feelings grow attached to some material as this; he didn't have to remember ever sharing laughter or tears with Gran...Hermione, Ron, or Blaise to not care for them. The last memory he had of those two was laughing cruelly as Crabbe and Goyle held Ron back, watching Hermione's homework burn from a well-aimed spell. He didn't care for them in the least then...and now, to suddenly be like this, be their friend with nothing in-between, caused Draco so much ache and confusion that he felt his eyes leak with tears. Where did these feelings come from? He would never remember it building. Remember it, their friendship, climbing, remember beginning to trust one another; those memories died every time he fell asleep and they were no longer his. He buried his head in his pillow, knowing it was his pillow simply because it had no smell. Eventually, he allowed himself to think of Potter. Harry. What did he feel for Harry, even though he had no memories of him beside broken noses and words that stung?

The feeling that rose within him unbidden caused Draco to cry in loss for many hours.