Summary: Restoring someone's memories after they've been Obliviated is tedious and painful work, something that must be finished once the process has started. Draco Malfoy finds a block in his mind that provides images of a blurred figure from his childhood. He needs the help of the Golden Trio to find out who this figure is and why they were blocked from his mind in the first place.

Set in 7th year, post Hogwarts battle. The Trio and Draco have returned to finish their year.

DISCLAIMER: All rights go to the queen, JK ROWLING. I do not, nor will I ever, own the Harry Potter franchise. Any plot and original character(s) are mine.

The first time Draco saw her—the mysterious hooded figure—was in Diagon Alley many years ago, right before he started his First Year at Hogwarts. She stood under the shadows of the narrow alley way between Gringott's and the broom shop, staring curiously at the blond boy. He had felt the presence of her eyes on him when his attention was preoccupied by the Nimbus 2000 and he had turned to meet her wide-eyed gaze.

Her storm grey eyes matched his molten steel ones.

She looked no older than he was, with the wisdom and maturity of someone far beyond their years, and he grew curious. As he made a move to approach the stranger, his mother's slender hand settled on his shoulder, drawing his attention briefly from the girl.

"Draco, darling," his mother cooed, "are you ready to go?"

"Mother, there's a girl over there and she's staring," Draco claimed, pointing in the general direction of the alley where he had seen the young girl.

Narcissa smiled at her son. My little prince, she mused, such a charmer. Deciding to humor him, she followed the direction of his finger to peer at the shadowed alley. Her blond brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"What girl, Draco?"

Draco spun his head toward the alley, ready to clarify for his mother, only to stare at an empty alley. His mother was right, there was no girl. The young boy squared his shoulders and turned back to his mother with an expression that can only be considered impassive.

"My apologies, Mother," he started, "my mind must have been playing tricks on me." He chuckled to himself as he began walking in the direction of their route home. "Honestly, Mother, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Oh, it's quite alright, dear."

"To think, mother, I imagined I saw a girl my age with grey eyes like mine. What a laugh."

Unnoticed by Draco at the description of the mystery girl, Narcissa had tensed in apprehension for a moment. Her mind raced to a rainy night eleven years ago, a night that had not been allowed to cross her mind in over a decade.

"I need you to take her, Andromeda, please!"

"'Cissa, I don't—"

"Please, sister!"

"…What is her name?"

"Mother?"

Her son's voice snapped her out of her reverie, returning her to the present. She forced a smile at her boy, reaching for his hand to lead them home. She whispered an apology for her moment of distraction, her mind slowly receding back to that fateful night.

Narcissa Malfoy looked over her shoulder once more at her sister and young niece, committing their image to memory before she walked out of their lives. Her steady gaze landed on the swaddled bundle in Andromeda's arms, a name coming to mind.

"Her name is Marina. Marina Lyra Riddle."

Later that night at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Malfoy stood over the sleeping form of her son. Her wand was held tightly in her right hand, the other hand softly sweeping his blond locks away from his face. She leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead—something he ever rarely allowed her to do when he was awake, ever since he had told her he had no need for such childish comforts. Narcissa allowed one tear to escape her eye as she pointed her wand at her son's temple. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She never thought she'd have to do this.

I'm sorry, Draco, she sighed. But it's for your own good, my dear. You must never remember that girl you saw today. "Obliviate."

I planned to make this chapter longer, with the other few times that Draco had seen Marina. IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY, DON'T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL. Really, myself and other flamed writers, as I'm sure, do not appreciate being bashed for our plots and characters. What we write and how we write is entirely up to us, the least any of you can do is give us a little respect for even writing and sharing our works on here. Constructive criticism is welcome if it I just that: constructive. Rant over, thank you for reading.

-alice