"The Persistence of Memory"

By Stacy Galore

A/N: "The Persistence of Memory" is a continuation of "Persistence". If you want to understand everything, please read "Persistence" first. It's a quick read. The title is taken from a 1931 Salvador Dali painting.

THANKS: To my meticulous and all around awesome betas Megan and Felena. To my lovely muses DracoTMalfoy and NottTheodore (follow them on Twitter). To Jenniffer for her insight and for converting me to a "Dracodore" shipper. Finally, to Daniel for planting dirty little plot bunnies in my mind and for late night consultations on AIM that soon degenerate to meaningless debates such as, "During mutual masturbation, which hand does Theodore use to wank himself, and which hand does he use to wank Draco?" (Yes, I swear, we've had serious discussions on this matter.)

Chapter 1:

Draco Malfoy walked down the street of a somewhat shady neighborhood in London carrying a take-away bag and a cardboard tray with two large cups of coffee. He was completely unaffected by the stares he was eliciting as he strut down the pavement confidently. It wasn't his manner of dress that drew attention, though he wore an impeccably tailored designer suit and stood out amongst the skinny-jean-clad hipsters and disheveled junkies that shared the sidewalk with him. People were staring because it was pouring rain and Draco had no need for an umbrella. While everyone scuttled from place to place, seeking their destinations quickly, Draco casually strolled along, untouched by the cold, pelting rain. It rolled off his hair and his suit in large, glistening beads, as if Draco were coated in wax. He even cleverly enchanted his take-away with the same rain-repellent spell.

He arrived at his destination, a former industrial building that had been converted to apartments and artists' studios. Draco scrunched up his nose with repugnance and scoffed inwardly, "What a very dreadful fate for one of our society's most wealthy, pure-blooded men. I've heard of slumming it, but this is a bit much." He clandestinely slipped his wand out of his pocket and cautiously waved it under cover of his jacket at the locked front door, forgoing the buzzer. He entered, muttering to himself, "And not even one enchantment to supplement the useless Muggle security? Inconceivable!"

Rather than attempting to figure out the forbidding looking freight elevator that served as the passenger lift for the residents, Draco apparated to the top floor after ensuring no one was near to witness it. Surely, the door to the flat must have some security enchantments. Draco tapped his wand on the doorknob anyway and whispered, "Alohomora." To his astonishment, the locks clicked and the door creaked noisily as it opened. As he walked in, he uttered, "Un-fucking-believable." Then he called out, "Do you have some sort of death wish, Nott? No security charms at all in this bloody neighborhood?"

Theodore Nott's flat was starkly more bright than the dim and depressing corridor. An entire wall of windows that stretched from the cement floor to the lofty ceiling was left un-enchanted and let the outside world in. Draco wondered why in Merlin's name Theodore would want to look at that drab world of concrete tower blocks, dingy brick storefronts, and the ever-present grey gloom of London. On the other walls hung paintings and shelves lined with an odd assortment of items that seemingly had no aesthetic purpose. Racks holding an extensive collection of what appeared to be phonograph records covered one of the shorter walls. There were doorless cabinets showcasing a baffling array of shiny muggle devices with buttons and knobs - Draco wondered if Theodore actually knew how to use them, or if they were just for show. Draco hadn't noticed all this the first time he entered the flat yesterday – he was much too fixated on undressing Theodore.

There was no sign of the flat's inhabitant. Draco's heart sank a fraction of a millimeter. Perhaps he had been presumptuous in thinking Theodore would actually wait around for him, or even welcome him back to his flat. He had left before Theodore awoke, itching for a caffeine fix. Not willing to navigate through Theodore's kitchen, he ventured out to Café Novus Ars for take-away, leaving a note on the bathroom mirror.

Dear Theodore,

I'm miserably inept with kitchen spells, as I'm sure you are too. I'll be back with breakfast and coffee. No chocolate croissants this time.

Love,

Draco

PS: I expect you to have showered by the time I return because I intend to fuck you senseless.

"Presumptuous, indeed," Draco thought.

Last night, in an unexpected twist of fate, Draco Malfoy found himself in Theodore Nott's bed, after their friendship dissolved ten years prior. Of course, it was not an accident. Draco sought him out, hoping for some sort of closure after years of tension and unspoken desire. Not knowing exactly how that closure was to manifest itself, he made the conscious decision to accept as much of or as little of Theodore as he could get, whether that was a smack in the face, a handshake, or a shag. Draco grinned to himself with smug amusement over the fact that he managed to get the last option out of Theodore so soon. Though who could blame Nott? After reading his novel, Draco surmised that Theodore had been in love with him for years, however subconsciously, and was in deep denial.

Draco would not have even found the book if it weren't for his mother. Narcissa was an avid reader and no longer limited herself to writers of the wizarding world in an attempt to be more cosmopolitan in an increasingly open-minded, post-war society. She often combed through book reviews in muggle papers in search of the next good read. She recognized Theodore Nott's name and asked Draco if it were the same person he went to school with. Draco's curiosity was piqued. He owl-ordered a copy of the book and skimmed the first few pages. After a couple of paragraphs, there was no doubt in his mind that this was indeed the same Theodore Nott who irritated the hell out of him throughout school without needing to utter a word. The main character, Kieran Tate, spoke with the same maddeningly superior, intellectual tone. After a few chapters it became clear that Kieran was a fictionalized version of Theodore. Kieran often spoke of somebody from his youth named Alexander Moreau. Alex could not have been modeled after anyone else but Draco.

If Theodore's novel had really been an indication of what sort of lover he was, it could be inferred that he wouldn't make himself available for a second go if his partner seemed too needy or too pushy. In penning that note and returning to the flat uninvited, Draco was proving himself to be both, and that wouldn't do at all. He didn't know what he was thinking when he woke up this morning, believing he had some sort of relevance in Theodore's life now, rather than just a piece of old history. Perhaps he was still on a post-orgasmic high.

It had been an incredible experience. No one had ever shagged him like that before, as if he were being worshiped, Theodore's hardened flesh an offering to a deity. In fact, no one had ever fucked him. Period. There was a huge discrepancy between whom he took out and whom he took to bed. It was a rarity for Draco to sleep with his dates. This was more a function of preference rather than of opportunity. It was necessary to be seen at high profile social events with a beautiful, well-bred witch on his arm. And honestly, what woman wouldn't want to sleep with Draco Malfoy? Though he was more than amenable to sleep with men, he couldn't bloody well be seen on a date with one.

The way Theodore looked at him last night with those captivating blue eyes, shining with such reverence and adoration, compelled Draco to surrender. In the past, Theodore had never looked upon Draco any way but condescendingly. He was always too good, too clever, too bloody special to allow himself equal footing with Draco. Even that time back at school when their lips nearly met, Theodore's eyes never lost their loftiness while they shone with desire. Then when Theodore was bold enough to kiss him, that sultry night on the Great Lawn when they were fifteen, Draco didn't dare look him in the eyes. He knew that if he did, it would open a door into a world he wasn't prepared to deal with.

So it came as a welcome surprise when he saw an expression of complete relinquishment of control on Theodore's noble face and felt his body acquiesce beneath him. It inspired Draco to grant Theodore the privilege of taking him.

Draco shivered pleasantly from the memory.

He set the paper tray of coffee and the box of sweet things on the kitchen counter and let his gaze wander over the empty, silent flat. Part of him wanted to just go home and pretend last night never happened. He berated himself for being stupid enough to leave a bloody note and even more stupid for wanting more than a one-night stand. Thank Merlin, Theodore wasn't there to make this an even more embarrassing situation than it already was.

Or was he?

"Draco?" came a muffled voice from the bathroom.

"Yes?" he replied, still unsure if he was welcome or not.

"I'm in the bath," Theodore called out.

Then there was silence. Was that an indication that Draco should go see him there? Or just a simple statement with no implied invitation. God, Theodore was an awful host. Draco didn't know what he was expected to do. He still wasn't even sure if Theodore wanted him there. He started opening up cabinets looking for mugs, reluctant to drink his drug of choice out of a paper cup. There were very few essentials in the cabinets – some wine goblets, a few plates, water glasses, and a couple of bowls. There was a crystal ashtray. Draco turned it over and read the maker etched into the bottom. Lalique. He quirked an eyebrow. There was also an alarming number of liquor bottles. Very good bottles of liquor. Draco's quirked eyebrow arched higher.

He scoffed aloud, sarcastically, "Drink much, Theodore?"

"What? I can't hear you properly. Come here," said Theodore from inside the bathroom.

Draco pushed open the unlocked door and peeked his head in. Theodore was having a bubble bath, smoking a cigarette, and writing in a leather-bound journal on top of a rack strewn across the tub. If it were anybody else but Theodore, Draco would have found this odd.

"Judging from the contents of your kitchen cabinets, I'd have to conclude that you take the term 'starving artist' a bit too literally and that you're an alcoholic chain-smoker with expensive tastes to boot," Draco joked.

Theodore chuckled softly as he scribbled on the paper and took a drag off his cigarette. "I don't know why people insist on giving me alcohol as gifts. I don't drink much."

"Duly noted." Draco nodded slowly, thinking about the expensive bottles of fire whisky he usually sent his old Hogwarts mates for Christmas.

Then Theodore looked up from his journal and grinned brightly, for no apparent reason other than to grace Draco with his rare smile. Theodore's entire face lit up when he smiled. Draco could probably count the times he'd seen it on one hand. So when Theodore directed this uncommon expression of happiness towards Draco, it was quite disarming. He looked away and cleared his throat quietly, subconsciously tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear.

"I'm glad you came back," Theodore said coyly.

Draco shrugged and leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed. "You doubted I would? I thought my note made my intention to do so quite clear."

Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip and blushed, as if what he was about to say was more forward of him than allowing Draco to see him in the privacy of his bath. "Do you, erm… plan of fulfilling all your intentions?"

Draco smirked. He daresay Theodore's coyness was cute. "I'm a man of my word."

Theodore's eyebrow quirked and his grin turned slightly wry. "Are you, Malfoy? You talk a lot of shit."

Draco could sense the challenge in Theodore's words and rose to it in more ways than one. He sauntered into the room, closed the door behind him, and slipped out of his jacket. Theodore watched him intently, his elbow resting on the porcelain, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Draco sat on the edge of the tub, facing Theodore. He took the cigarette out of Theodore's hand and pressed it to his own lips, inhaling casually as if it were an old habit. He tilted his head back slightly as he blew out the smoke in a plume above their heads. Then he pulled a sour face as the acridness registered on his tongue. "How awful. I'll have to break you of this nasty habit." He coughed and threw the cigarette into the sink. Before Theodore could protest, Draco hooked a finger under his chin. "There are better ways to employ your lips," he said softly as he began to close the distance between their faces.

"Such as?" asked Theodore, a teasing grin playing on his lips.

Draco answered with a kiss. The meeting of their lips was still new and thrilling. Theodore's mouth was soft – he'd tease him for kissing like a girl if he didn't find it so appealing. When Theodore kissed Draco, it was like he was eating something particularly delightful, savoring every gentle bite with quiet moans – it was quite lovely. The delicious sensation of Theodore's tongue gliding over his lips coaxed them to part. Draco could taste the lingering menthol smoke on him, both pleasantly minty and simultaneously gritty, much like Theodore himself – an airy aristocrat and a tortured artist. He quite liked this about Theodore. He could have the novelty of fucking the dirty street urchin while concurrently having the familiar comfort of bedding the pure-blood prince. This thought danced in Draco's mind as they kissed, contributing to the exponential growth occurring between his legs.

Theodore must have sensed the desire behind Draco's kiss for he mumbled an invitation against his lips. "Come into the bath." He lounged back and gazed at Draco with a hungry yearning in his eyes.

Draco rose and crossed his arms, glancing away and feigning an indifferent shrug, hardly trying to hide his playful grin. "I already had a bath this morning." It wasn't as much fun if he gave in easily.

"The point isn't to get clean, Draco." Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip again in the coy way that Draco was quickly finding terribly endearing.

"Right." Draco smirked as he made short work of the buttons on his shirt. "The point is to get dirty." He cocked his head to the side and smiled keenly. "Isn't it, Theodore?"

Theodore answered affirmatively with his own smirk. "Very dirty." Draco slipped out of his shirt, then the tee-shirt beneath. As he did so, Theodore did little to disguise his slow appraisal of Draco's body. Draco daresay he caught Theodore shudder with want.

"Filthy, if you let me have my way," said Draco with a mischievous glint in his silver eyes.

Theodore blushed, a small smile creasing his mouth. It was rather empowering that Draco could still make Theodore nervous, even after spending the night together.

Draco sat on the closed lid of the toilet as he removed his shoes, still feeling Theodore's eyes on him as he fiddled with the laces. He accioed his wand from his jacket hanging on the towel rack, pointed it at the bathtub, and inadvertently at Theodore. Theodore instinctively flinched, but just as soon relaxed, watching Draco siphon off the bubbles.

"You've been undressing me with your eyes this whole time, Nott." drawled Draco. "It's only fair that I get an eye-full of what you're hiding beneath those bubbles."

"Nothing you haven't seen before, Malfoy," Theodore said with a shrug.

This triggered a stark, distant memory in Draco's mind.

It was the summer after their fourth year at Hogwarts. A lot of things happened that summer, leading to the rift in his friendship with Theodore. It was not unusual for them to see each other in various states of undress, being that they shared living quarters at school. Outside of school, it wasn't unheard of either.

Early in the summer, the weather was already sweltering. One particularly humid day, he and Theodore were so hot that they lay on the cool marble floor of the foyer playing exploding snap. His mother's nerves had become as frayed as the ends of her hair and ordered them out of the house to go swim in their private lake. For no other reason than to be an arsehole, Draco did not offer to lend Theodore swim trunks. But what he didn't bargain for was Theodore's desperation to cool off - He threw off his clothes after the arduous walk in the stifling heat to the far southern end of the estate and jumped off the boat dock in his underpants.

After several playful attempts at drowning one another, they grew bored and lay on the banks beneath a willow tree to dry. Draco caught a glimpse of Theodore – water beading and rolling down his lightly bronzed skin, his white boxers clinging wetly to the subtle curves and angles of his body. Draco had always resented how Theodore could color in the sun without burning and freckling like he did. But this time, as he studied the other boy, he wasn't envious. He felt a surge in his lap. It was startling, to say the least. Something inside him ached to feel Theodore's glistening, golden skin flush against his. He had to jump back into the water to tame his errant erection.

Too lost in reminiscence, Draco hadn't realized he was staring until he heard Theodore's haughty snicker. "Come now, Draco, I'm not that much of a sight. You needn't gawk."

He quickly snapped out of the memory and into the moment, playfully splashing Theodore in the face. "Got that right." He quickly pulled off his trousers, speaking in a sensual drawl, "I'm fucking you for your money, not for your looks."

Theodore chuckled, his smile lighting up his face again, compelling Draco to kiss him. The corner of his lips turned upwards in an unavoidable grin as their lips met briefly.

Draco slipped into the bath behind Theodore. The warmth of his body and the water soothed away the remnants of his apprehensions. Theodore seemed to melt into him – he sunk low into the bath between Draco's legs and rested his head on Draco's chest.

"Mmm perfect," Theodore mumbled contentedly.

If there was any doubt left in Draco's mind whether or not Theodore wanted him there, it had now dissolved into the water.

"Aren't I?" Draco replied smugly, half-jokingly, as he idly traced a pattern with his finger around Theodore's shoulder. In truth, this did feel like perfection, like they'd always been together. It felt as if there had not been ten years of animosity, spite, and repressed desire leading up to this moment.

"Draco, last night," Theodore began tentatively, as if he were about to say something bad. And doubt started to creep up again like an insect that just wouldn't die.

"What of it? It was brilliant," said Draco, almost defensively.

"Yeah it was, but…" The hesitation in Theodore's voice was worrisome.

Draco should have anticipated this. There was always a catch, written in fine print at the bottom of an interlude that was too good to be prudent. He steeled his emotions for the inevitable escape clause, imagining the words Theodore would use before he spoke them. But it has to end here. This is never going to work. Not that Draco was used to rejection – quite the contrary. Considering whom he shared last night with though, rejection would be logical. It would be Theodore's sweet revenge upon Draco for brutally declining him that night long ago.

Theodore continued, "But I promised myself last night that, if you were still here in the morning, I'd tell you something."

Oh Merlin. This couldn't possibly be good. Nothing good ever started with I have to tell you something or any variation of such phrase. "I'm here, so talk," said Draco, impatience coloring his voice.

Theodore took a deep, cleansing breath before speaking. And in the agonizing few seconds that transpired during that long breath, Draco thought of all the hurtful things Theodore could possibly say to him.

"I'm in love with you, Draco."

His instinct was to snort at himself for thinking the worst, though it would be interpreted entirely the wrong way. Instead, he casually replied, "I know," with a crooked smile.

Other than mind-blowing sex, what could possibly follow a declaration of love that was ten-years in the making? Draco followed through on his intentions and fucked Theodore senseless, making use of every surface en route from the bathroom to the bed. Never once, did Draco return Theodore's sentiment, even though he felt it burning in his chest with increasing intensity every time he drove himself into Theodore's pliant body. He even commanded Theodore to say it again in the heat of passion as he pinned his wrists to the kitchen table. "Tell me again. Tell me you love me."

Theodore gazed up at him, face flushed with ecstasy, moaning the words, "I love you, Draco." Of course, being fucked spectacularly could turn a noncommittal I'm in love with you to a full on I love you. It could hardly be taken as fact, when spoken under the influence of sex. People could be coerced to say all manner of things they didn't mean when blinded by lust. As Draco was very adept at 'blinding' people, he'd heard it all and learned to take it with a grain of salt. Yet Draco couldn't help but smirk upon hearing the words and revel in the power of withholding his own amorous return.