A/N: Thanks to Princess Kathleen who pointed out something I hadn't thought to explain. While yes, Wufei would be in the same grade as the other G-boys according to the American system, the british system has an age cut off at September first. So Hermione, for example, is born on September 12th, and is only in the same year as Harry and Ron because of those critical eleven days. Wufei would still have been in the same grade as Quatre, but he doesn't know that Quatre is there yet. So thank you for bringing that up, as other might have been similarly confused!

But Magic Doesn't Exist! – Chapter 10

… times passing, same POV, same scene

change of scene/change of POV

scene deleted, refer to livejournal account

have a cookie emphasis, ie. Italics

/have a cookie/ thoughts

Care of Magical Creatures is a crack up, Draco had said, you don't want to take that one. The teacher's barely more than a beast, and should be put down; but then, not all people are as sensible as we Malfoys. Those words echoing in his head, Quatre had not signed up for Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn't like he couldn't hire people to take care of any magical pets he chose to own.

He watched while Mr. Malfoy conversed quietly with the man meant to oversee Quatre's OWLs. /Ordinary Wizarding Levels: OWLs/, he thought/and NEWTs. How… clever./ The sarcasm was palpable even in his thoughts.

The man, Gerand Wersford, stood straight and tall, in green robes that were just a touch grey. Mr. Malfoy was annoyed, he could feel behind his ribcage, with the fact that his original choice of adjudicator had been previously occupied, sending his assistant instead. Mr. Wersford was, in turn, affronted and angry that Mr. Malfoy refused to acknowledge his worth. Quatre just wanted to get this all over with before he exploded from the tension in the room.

Draco hadn't been allowed into the examination room, and Quatre wished he were there, because it would mean he would have someone to quiz him on things that would be on the exam.

He'd chosen to go with Ancient Runes instead of Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy just so that he would have a class with Draco. Besides, it wasn't like Arithmancy was all that difficult. It was very similar to the advanced maths the tutors of his false memories had taught him. His fake memories were useful for some things, at least. He almost dreaded his next meeting with Professor Snape. No doubt it would be the return of his memories, and the destruction of his false ones.

That would be a shame: he knew he shouldn't, but he actually liked his false memories. Though his sleep was often disturbed by nightmares of his past memories, and the memories themselves were terrifying in places, there were many that he found himself chuckling over as he felt himself discovering them anew: a quiet afternoon with 'Duo', 'Wufei's reaction to his library on L4 – a spacestation? Honestly. – and, he blushed to remember it, an afternoon with Trowa, lounging in the sun, languidly making love as they wasted away the day.

His memories of Heero were few, and often painful to think of. From what he could remember, he hadn't spent much time with Heero, though he kept correspondences with all of the other pilots after the wars. Within a month, he and Trowa had grown tired of the idle life that his wealth offered, and joined Preventers with Duo – who had joined a few days prior – and were soon followed by Heero, who had appeared from the wood work of Relena's security detail.

He nearly snickered to remember the laughs they had had at the girl's expense. Really, she wasn't that bad any more, and they knew that, but sometimes when the darkness of war had been too much to handle, a laugh about the girl who had stalked Heero so successfully that she could have won the war for OZ or White Fang if she'd had the inclination was what was needed to chase the dark away.

But then, 'Relena' was a figment of his imagination, as were the other 'pilots' and the wars, for that matter: a fanciful figment, at that. He put them away in his mind, and went over the incantation and definition of a Sonorus charm.

He ran through levitation, silencing, and his fingers were twitching through the wand movements of a full body binding when Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Wersford turned to him.

"Let's get started," Mr. Wersford said sourly, "Your theory exams will be spread out over the next week, with the practical exams the next week following."

"What?" Quatre felt his eyes pull wide. "So long?" Could he last that long under the anxiety? "I won't do it."

"Pardon me?" Mr. Malfoy frowned as he spoke, his face twisting into an ugly expression that Quatre would later come to realize that Draco had never seen: it was cunning, angry, and made the darker parts of Quatre – the ones that haunted him at night – flare up in response.

"I'll do all of them today. It's better that way." Quatre said, well aware of the scandal surrounding the Malfoy name. Father arrested for collaboration with a Dark Lord, only a few months escaped from prison, and hiding in his own house. It was part of the reason Lucius was so annoyed to have his first choice of adjudicator be 'otherwise occupied': the man was one of the few who would sneak Quatre's results in among the other students', and not report Lucius to the authorities while he was at it.

"Each exam takes three hours to complete;" Mr. Wersford informed him, "to complete nine exams worth is impossible for anyone."

"Only if I take longer than two hours for each exam," Quatre shot back haughtily. It wouldn't be the first time he'd written for long periods of time: his mission in New Venice had taken four days and been comprised mostly of forging documents.

There was a large part of his mind that told him that they weren't his memories, they weren't anybody's memories, and he hadn't gone to New Venice, there was no 'New' Venice! How could he expect to write for eighteen straight hours, and still pass his exams?

Ignoring tactical laws, his words were based on the faint belief that he could do this, that he was capable. He had done harder things. "I'll do the theory today, and the practical tomorrow," he continued, and, at Mr. Wersford's suspect expression, added "I'm ready."

"Then the issue is settled," Mr. Malfoy grinned smugly, sparking a faint… familiarity in Quatre. 'Déjà vu' the Duo of his memory would have called it. Quatre didn't think such a simplistic term applied. It wasn't so much that he'd seen that smile before so much as… it reminded him of… someone… telling him… something?

The shadow of the memory slipped away as easily as sand in an hourglass, and Quatre shook his head minutely.

"Administer the tests," Lucius was saying. "Quatre will pass or fail on his own merit."

The eighteen hours turned into hell by the time Quatre had reached the one quarter marker. His brain felt like it had turned to mush, or perhaps a supersaturated sponge. He pulled facts out, left, right and center, and Quatre tried not to let his thoughts stray.

His brain kept wanting to think about how good Trowa's massages felt, and his body kept twitching under Wersfords gaze. His hand kept moving to grip a gun he didn't carry. Did guns even exist? Or was that science fiction?

Realizing his mind had wandered again, he shook his head, and concentrated on the Arithmancy theory. Witch Helena Ingham desires to marry Muggle George Dawson, on the Seventh of October 1998. Suggest a more auspicious date, and explain your choice.

His hand cramped, and he shook it out, and small moue crossing his features as he puzzled out the question. A glance at the time said he'd been working on the Arithmancy test for 45 minutes. A quick flick of his gaze over the scroll told him he was well over half done. He massaged his cramped muscles himself, giving himself a quick moment to wish Trowa were real and there. He wouldn't mind a kiss hello.

The answer came to him then: December 4. Same year. It was a better match to the numbers in both names, and accented their astrological traits better. Scrawling down a more complete answer, he glanced at the hour glass. Wersford must have turned it over, and the sand was a little less than half gone. His eyes widened. He only had half an hour to finish the rest of the questions!

He rushed his way through the rest. His brain, panicked by the time press, pulled facts out without feeling like a sponge and Quatre barely noticed when his hand bean to cramp again.

He passed through the rest of the tests in that same kind of state. His eyes were fixated on the page before him, his free hand braced the scroll when it wasn't reaching for the next. His writing hand barely wavered as it dipped the quill in the inkwell, dabbed off the excess and wrote in smooth movements.

The eyes on his back were still burning into him, but his hands, otherwise occupied, stopped twitching.

Quatre awoke, shivering with anticipation. Today was the day. His practicals had gone about as well, he thought, as the theory. This meant, of course, that he was in high spirits, as his theories had gone wonderfully. The only things today would be missing, he believed, were Trowa, and mind blowing sex. Of course, he grinned, he could always have mind blowing sex without Trowa.

Having it with Trowa would be somewhat difficult.

He would just have to have mind blowing sex with someone else. He was fairly certain that Draco was willing… and if he wasn't Quatre was pretty sure he could make him willing. Empathy was ever so useful.

He wondered, allowing himself a moment of reflection, what the Achmed Winner his memories supplied would think of his son even considering manipulating Draco Malfoy. He decided it didn't matter. His memories weren't reality after all, and he knew from Lucius what kind of a man his father was.

The Winners was the only family that the Malfoys considered themselves inferior to. The fact that they were far enough away that Mr. Malfoy never felt threatened was a major factor in that. Quatre, despite missing most of his memories, was picking up the game faster, he thought, than Lucius thought he was.

Inferior families were to be used, not respected. That, of course, was a crackpot theory, but one he could use. He was in the middle of a war (/again/, the back of his brain whispered, and the rest ignored), and whatever his family might think, he had principles (/For now/, the rest of his brain whispered, and the back ignored).

Lucius thought him to be weak because his memories were gone. Quatre knew Lucius to be weak for overlooking him as a threat. Not that he was going to reveal himself as one, of course not. He was finding that he actually liked Draco. And just in case whoever-he-was-normally didn't agree with who-he-was-now, he wasn't going to burn that bridge just yet.

Perhaps he could even strengthen it.

Quatre rose from bed, flicking his wand at the robes draped out over a nearby chair. With his word, they soared to clothe him, and he walked the halls of Malfoy Manor with a confident, measured stride.

Half a minute's walk took him to Draco's door, and he knocked briefly, before entering. Malfoy the Younger's room. Light spilled into the room from windows whose shutters he flipped open with a word.

"Protegera," his sunny smile never wavered as he cast the spell over himself. The filmy sphere snapped up around him, and the bright light of a full body bind bounced off it. Quatre lowered the spell, laughing at Draco's reaction. "Really Draco, you're such a drama queen," he said, snapping the duvet off Draco's somewhat prone form.

Blinking at the wand suddenly in his face, he gently took it from Draco's fingers, and set it aside. He leaned over the blonde territorially, inches from Draco's face. Temptation struck, and Quatre slowly lowered his lips to press against the other's. Hands on his shoulders pushed him back, and Draco favored him with a sly smile.

"You're a poof, then?" He asked, and Quatre shook his head.

"Does it matter? We're both going to have to marry girls we don't love, and probably don't even like. Why not have a little fun?" The last was rhetorical, and Draco's smile widened.

Draco stared at the ceiling for a long time. "Yeah," he answered back, absently. His eyes blinked. "I'm tired now."

Quatre chuckled weakly, and lay down beside him. He patted his robe slowly, and came up with his wand. /Fuck marks/, he thought, clearing away the mess/they can wait until later/.