{The usual rigamaroll here, folks. I don't own any of these characters - the great J.K. Rowling does. I just love them with all of my heart and am a firm believer that Harry and Draco belong together for life. Not profiting off of this story, just here to entertain! Thank you for the reviews, by the way. Means a lot!}

Chapter 10

"If I let you go outside, do you promise not to take off?" Draco eyed Potter cautiously. The two men had just finished lunch and Potter had expressed a desire to call his boyfriend—though, Potter had made it a point to tell Draco that the man he saw with him was not his boyfriend.

Harry nodded, "I told you. I'm not going anywhere…" He had come to the realization that he wanted memories of his life. He wanted to know who Harry Potter was—no matter how tragic the life had to have been to make him run away from it all. He loved his life as James for it was simple, but it was a lie. He wanted the truth and the only way he was going to get it e was by staying with Draco.

Draco nodded, "Very well, I have to make a call anyway." He pulled his wand out of his pants and pointed it to the door in the kitchen that led out into the garden, "Alohamora," he said, eliciting a small click from the door.

Harry jumped a little as the spell was cast. He could feel the magic pass him, but instead of the fear he once felt, he felt a bit of excitement. He turned to ask Draco what that was, but the man was already gone. He opened the door and stepped out into the garden.

The yard was small, but beautiful. There was a six foot privacy fence around the perimeter, the wood covered with sweeping vines. There was a willow tree in the back corner, draping over into the yard and casting a pleasant shade over a small pond. There were wildflowers speckled through the grass. Harry swore he saw a very creepy gnome statue when he first came out, but it was gone now.

He took his cell phone from the back of his pocket. 70 text messages and 20 missed calls. He cleared them all and dialed Liam.

"James! Is that you?" Liam's voice was frantic, as he waited for a response.

Harry was quiet for a moment before smiling a little, "It's me."

"Gabby! It's him! He's okay!" Liam called away from the receiver, "You are okay, right?" He asked James quietly.

Harry frowned a little. Liam was so worried about him, it made him feel guilty. "I'm fine, Liam. Really. I'm fine."

"Where are you? When are you coming home?"

Harry sighed, "I'm—" well, truth be told, he didn't know where he was, "I'm not coming home Liam, but I am safe."

Liam laughed, "What do you mean you're not coming home. Where are you?" His voice was a bit strained.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he paced around the garden, "Look, I can't really explain what is going on, but there is something that I need to take care of, and I cannot be home to do it. Just… just know that I am okay and I promise I will call you as soon as I get this figured out."

Liam began talking quickly into the phone, "James. What are you talking about? What are you doing? Where are you? When will you be home?"

Harry cut him off, "Liam. Liam! Enough. I don't know when I will be home. In fact, I'm putting you in charge of the restaurant. Tell Mr. Rosenbaum that I am sorry, but I will not be returning to the restaurant. You are the new head chef, Liam."

Liam was quiet finally and for a second Harry thought he had lost the call.

"You promise that you'd tell me if you could?" Liam questioned softly.

It broke Harry's heart. He loved Liam. Liam was his first friend, his partner at the restaurant, and Harry absolutely had feelings for the man. But, he couldn't drag Liam through this—not when Harry barely knew who he was. "I promise, Liam. With all my heart."

Liam sighed, "Okay. I will leave you alone. I'm not happy about it, but I trust you. Goodbye, James."

The phone disconnected and Harry sighed, "Goodbye, Liam."

Draco leaned casually over the fireplace, the flames licking his face as he spoke.

"He's fine, Granger. I thought you trusted me with this." His voice was cool with a mild annoyance. They were the ones who made him take Potter into his home.

Hermione sat on the edge of the leather couch in the office. There were dark circles under her eyes as if she had been up all night. She sighed, "I'm just so worried, Draco. I want to come see him."

Draco shook his head, "Absolutely not, Granger." His voice held a strange tone of authority laced with protection. "Potter is not ready for it. He barely knows his own name and he just read his entire biography less than twenty-four hours ago. He's not ready for an emotional reunion with his friends."

Hermione sighed, "I know. You're right, I just…" she sighed, "I wish there was something I could do to help him."

Draco mused for a moment, "You know, there might be something you could do. Do you have some time to go to the burrow?"

Harry gently closed the kitchen door behind him. There was no sign of Draco anywhere. He sighed and exited the kitchen. He could hear his voice coming from the library, and he crossed the foyer into that direction.

"I'll send Strix. He should be up to the task." Harry heard Draco speak, but he didn't hear a response. He must still be on the phone. He entered quietly into the library. His eyes widened as he saw the man with his head buried in the fire.

"DRACO!" He yelled loudly, running to the blonde and pulling him back. He pushed him onto the floor and quickly pulled his shirt off so he could use it to put out the flames.

"Umph!" Draco was thrown from the fire and shoved onto his back. He looked up to see Potter, taking his shirt off. "Potter! What are you doing?!" His eyes were wide as he tried shoving the dark-haired man off of him.

Harry looked down as Draco yelled, pushing at him. Where did the flames go? He expected the man's face to be half gone by this point. Instead it was perfectly fine. Harry was straddling, a perfectly fine Draco with his shirt off and he was too dumbfounded to move. His mouth was half open as he stared at Draco, "But you… I saw… in the fire!" He stammered.

Draco shoved harder this time, knocking Potter back. His face was flushed, which he chalked up to the adrenaline and frustration coursing through him. "I told you I was making a call!" Draco's voice was scolding as he stood up, hovering over Potter. It suddenly occurred to him that the man had no idea what that entailed in this world. He sighed, offering a hand to the dark-haired man, pulling him up.

"It's called the floo network. It is how we communicate with one another and one of our means of travel." Draco said, more calmly than before.

Harry stood, staring between Draco and the fireplace. He was about to ask how it was possible, but he reminded himself that the blonde was a wizard—hell, he was apparently a wizard—and magic could explain a lot of the unexplained. He suddenly felt very foolish and his face was flushed from embarrassment.

Draco bit his lip a little, the awkward moment made only more so with Potter's torso exposed. "Put on your shirt, Potter. We have work to do." Draco spoke with his usual tone, but fumbled over the words slightly. He tried not to stare as the dark-haired man covered himself back up with the tight fitted tee.

Draco ushered for Harry to sit down on the chair as he moved to the bookshelves. He really had no idea what he was doing, so he turned to the things that never betrayed him—the books. He searched the tomes for moments before he heard Potter speak up.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked quietly, the embarrassment still clear in his voice.

Draco sighed, "I am trying to find something to help you get some of your memories back." Draco had plenty of books, but truth be told, he had no idea how to make someone remember something they worked so hard to forget.

"Tell me about the first time we met." Harry spoke softly.

Draco turned around, staring at Potter. A lump formed in his throat. "The first time we met? Why?" Draco didn't want to get into their torrid relationship right now, or ever for that matter. He'd rather be long gone when Potter remembered that.

"Well, because right now you're my only connection to this life and I want to know how you fit in." Harry said simply. He could sense that there was a history—his only two memories of Draco (saving him from the fiendfyre and vouching for him in the court) were filled with so many conflicting emotions that he knew this man played a massive role in his life.

Draco couldn't deny that Potter was correct and he sighed, "It was before our first year. I was being fitted for robes in Madam Malkins and you had come in for your fitting as well." Draco paced around the room a bit. "I didn't know who you were then—"

"—Of course you didn't, we had just met." Harry said, simply.

Draco laughed a little, "No, I mean I didn't know you were Harry Potter." Draco saw the confused look on Potter's face and he explained, "Everyone knew who you were, Potter. You were famous at only a year old for ending the First Wizarding War."

Harry's eyes widened as he remembered that bit of trivia from the book he had read last night. "Lord Voldemort…" he whispered and he would've sworn that he felt a twinge where his scar was.

Draco visibly shivered at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. "Yes. Him." Draco cleared his throat a little and continued, "I didn't know who you were and I swore I prattled on about every stupid thing I could have thought of." Draco always wondered if he had known who he was standing next to, he might have made an attempt to not be so daft—though, he was only eleven.

As Draco spoke, Harry could see the scene play out in his mind. He could almost hear Draco's juvenile voice talking about Mudbloods and "that oaf, Hagrid"—the memory made him a little sick to his stomach.

"I didn't like you." Harry said coldly, though the coldness was more directed at himself than at Draco.

Draco smiled sadly, "For good reason. I was not the most welcoming child."

Harry curled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he was deep in thought. The memory played out a little longer in his mind. He remembered leaving the shop with a bitter taste in his mouth, finding a very giant man holding an owl out to him. His mind skipped around to the castle he remembered and the giant hall where he was surrounded by his peers. He was next to a gangly, red-head—who very closely resembled the man from the hospital yesterday—as he was approached by the young Draco.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

Harry replayed the memory over and over again as the two men sat in silence in the library. He had rejected Draco's offer—albeit a arrogant one—of friendship. He wondered to himself if that was when the rivalry began. Was it merely the simple rejection of a handshake? Surely, something that simple could easily be repaired? Harry vowed to try and gain Draco's friendship while he tried to regain the part of himself that was lost.