Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone

by wintermoon2

Enchanted diaries bring solace to unlikely lost souls. It's a wizarding twist on the classic tale of penpals. What will happen when these mystery writers finally meet? HD Completed!

18. Lost for Words

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter 18: Lost for Words
Authors: Azhure and Wintermoon2

And I was lost for words in your arms
Attempting to make sense
Of my aching heart
If I could just be everything and everyone to you
This life would just be so easy

Not enough time for all that I want for you
Not enough time for every kiss
And every touch and all the nights
I wanna be inside you
Not Enough Time - INXS

Notes:
Text in Bold, Italics: Diary entries from Flash.
Text in Italics: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

Thank You: Thank you to SeparatriX and C Dumbledore for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful! Thank you to all our patient readers who put up with the long wait between chapters. We would rather give you the best possible story than just dishing out our first draft (trust us, you don't want to know about our first draft)...

This chapter is dedicated to Michael Serpent. RIP.

---

Thursday 24 July

Draco knew something was different the moment he awoke. From the angle of light shining on his face and the lack of a crick in his neck, he knew he wasn't sleeping in the chair in the infirmary. Days of sleeping beside Harry's bed had become the norm, but now the restful sleep in his own bed seemed to be unusual. As he inhaled deeply, he reveled in the scent and feel of his soft cotton sheets. He had missed this small comfort, but a small smile played across his lips as he remembered why he was back in his rooms.

Harry was going to live.

Finally, after days of heart wrenching concern and worry, the worst was over, and Harry could start the uneasy road to recovery. Pomfrey had kicked him out of the infirmary once she knew for certain that the worst was over. Harry was alive, and that knowledge alone was enough to lighten Draco's heart. He was alive, and that made all the difference because Draco was certain that he loved Harry. Knowing that Harry was Flash made it even more poignant.

He still had trouble believing the mumbled word's Harry spoke during his sleep. Draco tried to think of dozens of possible reasons that would make it untrue, but there was no denying what he had heard. Harry confessed that he was Flash, and that he loved both Draco and Luc. For months Draco had been confiding in one person who helped him to fall in love with another – only to realise they were one and the same. It seemed incredulous. It had been wrenching enough to realise that he wanted to be with Harry before this discovery, but now... I keep wondering if I'll wake up and everything will be part of some nightmare, and things between us will be the way they were before I came to Hogwarts. It's funny, I never realised it before, but I was falling in love with Flash, and to find out that he's Harry...

There may not have been a spring in his step as he went about his early morning routine, but a sense of calm and serenity imbued his spirit. Unconsciously, he moved towards the window with his freshly brewed coffee to sit in his usual spot watching over the courtyard. The absence of Harry doing his T'ai Chi was palpable, and he turned away, a little disappointed.

He wanted to rush straight back up to the infirmary, but doubted Madame Pomfrey would let him in. Awakening from the coma was only the start of Harry's recovery. He still needed time to heal from all of his injuries, the Aboleo Adesum curse delivering the worst of them. Draco had put his entire life on hold as he waited for Harry, and now a deep weariness overcame him as the intensity of his emotions struck at full force.

Looking around his rooms, he could see the pile of unopened mail was growing taller; Melchett had obviously taken to using the owlery to seek out his treats. No doubt the owl would be more prickly about it than usual when things settled back to normal. With the benefit of sleep, he felt refreshed enough to tackle almost anything, including that pile of mail. He noticed one of Arianna's familiar pink envelopes sticking out of the pile and immediately felt guilty for not having read her last letter. He also noticed a rather thick envelope with the Gringotts seal that had fallen onto the floor. Picking it up, he realised that with all his recent distractions, he had let the ruins of Malfoy Manor slip to the farthest corners of his mind. He still didn't want to think about that now, so he left the mail for later.

A familiar, soft warmth rubbed up against his leg and he unconsciously picked up Petite Amie. A full night's sleep and peace of mind left him with a surprising amount of bundled up energy, and he looked around the room for ways to expend it. For her part, Petite Amie was more than happy for Draco's presence, purring graciously as she was rubbed under the chin. He wordlessly spelled open the kitchen cabinet and levitated a plate of fresh fish down to the floor for her breakfast. In her eagerness to get to it, she lost all sense of propriety and clawed her way out of Draco's hold, leaving him with a few scratches along his arm.

"That's right, you only love me for my food," he chastised her playfully.

A quick glance through his potions stores showed that he was running low on many items. He was going to need a few bunches of Murtlap and plenty of Dittany, the chief ingredients in the poultices Pomfrey used on Harry's curse burned arm. Severus was getting better, but he would be taking Essence of Rue for quite a while to help calm his nerves. He was completely out of that, along with a number of other basic catalysts. His lab seemed quiet, and for the first time since he had moved in, not a single cauldron was full.

There was plenty of work he had been neglecting, such as seasoning the cauldrons with lavender, along with starting on the August batch of Wolfsbane. However, a trip out of the castle seemed preferable, if only because he only just realised he had been cooped up and needed to get out. A trip to the apothecary was needed and it would give him time to work out his next step. Life went on, and now Harry was recovering, he could look to the future. As much as he wanted to rush right back to the infirmary, he did have to sort out his priorities. First things first – he would have to tell Harry that he was Luc.

Compounding that worry was the guilt about not having seen Emmaline in a few days, despite Jean-Paul's protests that she understood why he had not visited. Besides, the lure of Emmaline's pastries was far too tempting. Hopefully a change of scenery and some fresh air might provide him with the inspiration to come up with the right solution to his most recent dilemma. He knew Emmaline would certainly have something to say if he told her what was truly troubling him. But who else can I confide in? She always seems to know the right answers, even if they are cryptic. Just how do I tell Harry? What will he think? He says he loves me when he's half conscious, yet I just don't know if he is ready to hear that I'm actually Luc.

Although it had now been little over a day since he heard Harry's revelation, he had yet to sit down and make complete sense of it. Even so, just that little bit of knowledge, combined with the fact that Harry had come out of his magical coma on his own, gave Draco a clearer sense of purpose. It seemed unbelievable, but deep down, he knew it was right. Harry admitted that he loved him. The fact that he was unconscious at the time didn't matter. And it was such a relief to admit to himself that he loved Harry as well. It gave him hope for the future.

And yes, the world had turned upside down from the revelation. The coffee tasted so much richer, and the air seemed fresher from that knowledge. Even so, he knew the hardest task was yet to come. Telling Harry that he was Luc was going to be a challenge, and he hoped he wasn't being premature in getting his hopes up. A nagging sense of doubt played in the back of his mind. But what is there to lose if I don't tell him? Everything, that's what.

He was just about to step out the door, grabbing his day cloak and his cane on the way, when a loud crash, accompanied by a yowl of displeasure made him turn back. Papers and unopened letters from his desk were strewn all over the floor. Petite Amie looked startled, but she appeared to deny all knowledge of how the accident happened. Draco casually flicked his wand at the scattered mess as the papers quickly and gracefully flew back to the desk. He stopped and stared again as Petite Amie began grooming herself as if nothing had just happened. But he wasn't looking at her – he was pointedly looking at the journal she was sitting on.

The journal. His one link to Flash – the one thing he had spent months pouring his heart into. It made perfect sense that someone with Harry's fame would relish the contact with someone who didn't know they were talking to the wizarding world's greatest hero. He could understand Flash's reliance on the anonymous contact.

The thought of Flash's most private conversations came to mind and he realised just how intertwined their lives had become. Draco unceremoniously shooed the cat away as he picked up the journal. The urge to write was strong the moment that he picked up the book, but the urge to read Flash's words was even greater.

He barely realised that he was carrying the journal as he finally left his rooms. He had to stop twice and change direction, as his feet were unconsciously leading him back to the infirmary. Despite his desperate desire to sit beside Harry as he slept, Pomfrey was adamant that she didn't want to see Draco for at least a day. His potion had worked – at least Pomfrey seemed to think so. He never doubted his own brewing ability, but the fact that the Aboleo Adesum cure was rare and ancient meant that he never had a chance to test it. The lack of Pegasus Wingtips meant that he had only one chance to get the potion right. Thankfully, that was all he needed.

His own convalescence after the war was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that he had saved Harry from a painful fate. Now Pomfrey could concentrate on healing Harry's other injuries. His usual cuts, bruises, sprains and breaks were easy to mend, but Harry's arm was worrying the medi-witch. A series of curse burns ran up and down the length of Harry's wand arm – a legacy of the curse he deflected from Phillip Parkinson. The bones had been broken, but Pomfrey was worried it may have a lasting effect on his ability to cast magic, hence her desire to keep the arm immobilised so that Harry couldn't work any magic.

Draco had seen curse damage that bad before, and Pomfrey denied that Harry would end up with an arm like the Headmaster's. There was no sign of curse remaining in the arm, but she wanted to let it heal naturally, which was going to take time. Draco had every intention of supporting Harry in any way whilst he waited for it to heal.

The moving staircases startled him out of his thoughts, as he spotted Charlie standing a few steps behind him. He greeted the affable red head with a smile. "How's Severus?" he asked, noticing for the first time that Charlie looked tired and haggard. Draco could sympathise with those feelings.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, "Oh, he's fine – well enough to kick me out for a while. He says he's sick and tired of me hanging around, but I know he truly is grateful, in his own snarky way. He hates being confined to bed, but I think Pomfrey actually enjoys keeping him there. I'm hoping that she'll let him go home in time for the weekend. Not that he'll be gallivanting around the countryside, if I have anything to say about it." He sounded extremely relieved, but the weariness was clear on his face. Draco was rather glad that Severus had someone who cared about him so much. He deserved his own happiness, and he knew Severus would be a fool to let the former dragon handler out of his grasp.

Charlie continued to ramble about Severus, "Of course, I'll tie him to the bed if I have to..." He suddenly realised the connotation of what he just said, and smiled genuinely at Draco's raised eyebrow. "Hey," Charlie continued, a hint of a smile now on his face, "I hear that Harry's woken up on his own – that's good news."

Draco showed his own relief. "I was thinking about heading back up there, but..."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't think Poppy would let you back in if you tried. I checked on Harry earlier, and he's sleeping naturally – which is good. It's the only way his magic will heal, but Poppy said he's still quite groggy and has trouble remembering what's happened when he does wake up."

"He can't remember?" he asked in confusion. "But he seemed fine last night." Draco didn't like the sound of that, and the sudden news put a damper on his mood. Charlie saw his hesitation and stopped him before he could take a step in the direction of the infirmary.

Charlie continued. "Don't be too worried about that, Draco. Poppy doesn't seem too concerned about his memories. Short-term memory loss is common, apparently. He did have that huge lump on his head, if you recall. Poppy's got him surrounded by a field of diagnostic and healing spells. There's no point in you heading back there and crossing her at the moment. She's in a prickly mood, for some reason. I've seen sick dragons with a better temperament than hers right now. Harry's in good hands – honestly."

A little disappointed, Draco nodded his head and sighed, "I understand. Perhaps I can placate her later with a few more potions."

"Sounds like a good idea – listen – I want to thank you for all that you've done for Severus too. I know what he means to you, and, well, I thought I was going to lose him. I was planning on working very hard to convince Severus I was serious about him. I think the thought of possibly losing him made me see that it isn't a game, and I think he sees it that way now, too."

Draco seemed a little surprised by the seriousness of Charlie's tone, but he fully understood the sentiment. He had nothing to say in reply, but a firm pat on the back told Charlie his own feelings. They parted ways – Charlie down to the dungeons (goodness knows what Severus would think when he knew Charlie was down there before he could get out of the hospital wing), and Draco on his way out to the courtyard.

It wasn't until he had Apparated into the village that he realised he was still carrying his journal. Hugging it close, he knew what he needed to do. Having relished every word of their conversations, the time had come to put those conversations into context. Perhaps rereading them would give him some insight into how he should reveal his identity to Harry.

Despite his assertions, Charlie's news played on his mind. He couldn't understand how Harry could be forgetting things. He seemed perfectly fine the night before. As he made his way across the village to the apothecary, he replayed every word of their conversation from the previous evening.

---

Wednesday 24 July (the night before)

He had fallen asleep at Harry's bedside, the sleep-talking confession and his vigil having taken their toll. His emotions were high, and he remembered clutching Harry's hand desperately as he pleaded for him to wake up. The pleasurable sensation of fingers gently stroking through his hair made up for the dreadful crick in his neck. Realising where he was, he sat up quickly. Harry's deep green gaze stared back at him, and he felt a wave of joy at the longed for sight. Draco moved quickly and dropped a kiss on Harry's lips, without a thought or care for anything else. Harry was still a little groggy, and he was squinting, but he certainly didn't protest Draco's actions. His eyes reflected the pain he was still feeling – the new wrinkles crinkling around them as he tried to smile. Draco thought it was the most wonderful sight.

Harry inhaled deeply. "Draco... I didn't doubt it was you... mmm, that cologne." His voice was cracked hoarsely and fresh pain crossed his brow as he tried to lift his right arm.

"Just for the record, Harry, you are definitely the poster boy for Gryffindor recklessness," Draco drawled as he found a few tears welling in his eyes.

"What'd I do?" Harry coughed, and new spasms of pain visibly wracked his body. Draco shakily pointed his wand at the jug of ever-chilled water beside the bed, which automatically began pouring into a cup. Draco grabbed it as it levitated toward him, and helped Harry to swallow a few mouthfuls. He started coughing in renewed pain as the water slid down his parched throat.

"Oh, just the usual - jumping in front of curses to protect me, of all people. I don't know whether I should be thanking you or throttling you for being so reckless. It's not every day someone owes a debt to Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened as he remembered. "'D'you get them? Is it over? Is Pansy..." He tried to sit up but fresh spasms of pain must have shot through him and his head fell back against the pillow. "But are you all right?"

Draco smiled. So near to death, and Harry was now worrying about him. "Just you concentrate on getting better. You aren't well enough to get out of here just yet, you know. And yes, we got them. Pansy and Phillip are dead, but they're not your concern. Why don't you just concentrate on getting better. Leave the cleanup to the Aurors, it's their job anyway."

Harry tried fighting the pain and weariness to protest, "But you're fine – that's good..." Draco felt Harry's hand squeeze his, and the tears threatened to form faster. The worst was over. Harry was going to get better.

Draco just sat there, staring lovingly at his soul mate. That thought kept a smile on his face. As he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Harry's face, he noticed that the new scar on Harry's cheek seemed darker and more angry against the shockingly pale pallor of his skin. It was in stark contrast to his blackened and scarred arm. Harry opened his eyes again and blinked slowly – obviously in pain. Draco wanted to do more for him, but could think of nothing more than dropping another warm kiss on his forehead. A smile formed on Harry's face afterwards that warmed Draco's heart.

"How do you feel – really?" Draco could not help but ask.

"Like I've been hit by the Knight Bus – several times," Harry tried to joke, and even Draco smiled at it. The unmistakeable clip clop of Madame Pomfrey's heels cut their time short as she bustled into view. No doubt the sound of Harry's voice alerted her. She practically swooped down on Harry, and Draco gladly sat back as she cast numerous diagnostic spells. She left as quickly as she came, but was back before Harry could protest. He quickly found a half dozen potions forced down his throat – wincing at the flavourless assault. Draco sympathised, for he knew exactly how tasteless most healing potions had to be.

"Sorry the potions taste like shit, Harry, but the worse they taste, the better they'll work," he said ruefully.

"Don't think I could feel any worse than this..." Harry closed his eyes and yawned deeply, another wince of pain crossing his face as he tried to move his right arm. He tried to lift his head to look down at it. "Wha..."

"Just you get some rest, young man," Pomfrey interrupted quickly, purposely redirecting his attention away from his injuries. "You're going to be in here for a while yet – no need to rush these things." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Pomfrey gave him a knowing frown. Either Harry knew better than to argue with her, or the potions were already kicking in.

"And you," she turned around to address Draco. "You're going to end up in here as a patient too if you don't go home and get some rest. Harry needs to rest, and so do you. How do you expect to be in any fit state to help him if you don't look after yourself?"

Her words rang true and Draco nodded sheepishly. His only protest was to continue to hold Harry's hand. A reassuring but faint squeeze told him that Harry sympathised with him. He sighed deeply.

He wanted to talk to Harry more, but Pomfrey was right. He was exceedingly tired. Harry had drifted to sleep, the potions having already taken effect. A peaceful smile adorned his face. After seeing that, Draco knew he was going to sleep well. Obviously not moving fast enough, the medi-witch grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pointed him towards the door. "Go on, out! Out!"

He barely remembered being herded out the door and falling asleep in his own bed, but he knew that his dreams would be all the better for such good news.

---

With his order in at the apothecary, and a promise they would have it delivered to Hogwarts by mid afternoon, Draco found himself with a couple of hours to spare, and his feet automatically making their way to the Leaf and Bean. He was assaulted at the door by Emmaline's warm and enthusiastic greeting.

"So, your young man must be feeling much better if you finally grace me with your presence," she pouted peevishly, offering him a warm hug. He smiled and laughed and was glad for the small slice of normality that had returned to his life.

"Yes, Harry's awake, Emmaline, and he's over the worst. He'll be down here eating all your chocolate pastries and ordering obscure types of tea before you know it." Emmaline smiled and the relief was visible on her face.

"But look at you – you look as if you 'aven't eaten in weeks – you are far too skinny, môn chéri!" Her frown as she looked him up and down was accompanied by a tsk of disapproval. "But fortunately for you, I have just the solution – you just sit over there and I'll bring you something. I have fresh croissants from Henri's Patisserie, and there is plenty of fresh ham and cheese to put on them..." The audible growl of Draco's stomach at the idea of something so mouth watering only made her add a third croissant to the plate.

He never realised how much he missed talking to Emmaline, particularly since he had very few people now to converse with in French. It felt like forever since he last stepped into her warm and homely shop, and he immediately regretted the absence. He even pushed aside a momentary feeling of homesickness for France. The shop was practically empty except for the elderly wizard with the monocle and handlebar moustache sitting by the opposite window. He was wandlessly stirring his coffee as he had his nose buried in Cicero's treatise on the Extremes of Good and Evil. The irony of that was not lost on him, but he had his own readings to ponder. The comfortable surroundings of the shop made it the perfect place to start rereading the journal.

The revelations of the past few days were completely overwhelming – everything from his new found feelings for Harry to the fact that Harry was Flash. That made him put his emotions into much greater perspective. He hoped the answer to his dilemma would be found in the journal – after all, Flash had helped him with so much in the past few months. Surely he could help answer this. Just how do I tell Harry that I know he is Flash, and how is he going to take it when he learns that I'm Luc? He kept repeating the question to himself, but only because he was hoping an answer might suddenly appear.

As his eyes were affixed to the page, it came as no surprise that Flash's words came to life in Harry's voice. Just that knowledge made them seem all the more poignant. At last, the final piece in a terribly complex, yet seemingly simple puzzle had fallen into place.

The customers came and went throughout the morning, all watching the strange young man in the back corner. Draco desperately clung to an empty coffee cup with one hand whilst lovingly caressed the words on the page. He didn't realise he was doing it – the words spoke for themselves, and it was so easy to fall under their unintentional spell. It was easy to now see and understand that Harry was Flash. Flash had often discussed his desire for privacy, and the need to stop dealing with the expectations of others. Harry guarded his privacy with both hands, and this anonymous outlet must have helped him considerably.

Some of their conversations put a wry smile on his face, and others made him feel like a complete idiot. How could he not have seen that Harry had been the one making these entries? Still, he had mistaken the words for Severus at one stage – perhaps he was the one who was blind. A few times he realised that Harry had been writing about him, and for a brief moment, he felt hurt. However, as he progressed through the journal, he could see that very slowly, Harry was regarding him with less disdain.

Reading of Ollie's betrayal of Harry burned Draco's heart more fiercely than it did when Flash first told him about it. Draco had no idea as to the true identity of this Ollie, but he would certainly find out as quickly as possible. There was going to be one wizard who would be dreadfully sorry he ever hurt Harry Potter.

Draco's emotions rose and fell as wildly as a Gringotts cart ride as he continued to read. He stopped when he suddenly made another startling connection. Charlie. Harry only had one friend with that many brothers, and there was no doubt in Draco's mind that the Charlie he had slept with was Charlie Weasley. His jealousy flared momentarily, but he realised that Charlie was truly in love with Severus, and that Harry did regret his rash actions, despite an unconscious attraction. Draco had to reluctantly admit that Charlie was extremely fit, and he could understand Harry's unbidden attraction.

The shadows darkened as evening approached, and he had no idea that he had unconsciously lit the end of his wand to create more light. Emmaline had been plying him with a constant stream of coffee and food – she seemed pleased to see him eating, and not protesting. Other patrons came and went, but he barely noticed them. He only looked up briefly at the frumpy witch wearing a hat that was as crooked as her nose.

Draco was sure she had been jinxed with a delusion charm, for she seemed to think that she was some grand beauty who had wrongly been put into the body of a hag. She was apparently after some way to reunite herself with her one true love – Gilderoy Lockhart. She regaled Emmaline with her dilemma and was most put out when Emmaline suggested that she should ask the apothecary for a love potion cure. After causing a commotion, she stormed out of the shop as the door banged loudly behind her.

Draco couldn't help but smirk. Love made people do some thoroughly stupid things, and he honestly couldn't say he was immune. Here he was – falling hopelessly in love with someone he thought he despised, and trawling through a book in which they had both confided their deepest desires. His past failures in love still left him somewhat pessimistic and a little insecure.

He managed to keep a straight face as he realised that many of Harry's later entries were about him. Draco knew Harry had followed him incessantly during their last couple of years at school, but he never realised that he had been spied upon in the Quidditch showers. The thought was quite arousing and not at all discomfiting. After all, he had done the same.

Something tugged at the back of his mind as he read about their shared erotic dreams, but he couldn't quite make the connection. The discovery that Harry was turned on by spoken French left a salacious grin on his face. Harry had been adamant that Draco wasn't gay, and for that, he partly had Arianna to thank. He absently remembered her unopened letter, and promised he would write back to her soon. He had a lot to tell.

He doubted they would ever see eye to eye about Severus, but he finally realised that it was some of their fundamental differences of opinion that made things so exciting.

They were like dark and light, night and day. So different, yet each defined the other's existence, and Draco knew that his life would be so much different if he had never crossed paths with Harry Potter all those years earlier. He found himself suddenly eager for the moment when he could finally tell him the truth.

Suddenly, one of Harry's own phrases leapt out of the page.

I tell you in one entry that I love you, and that I know it is true and right and honest, and almost in the next breath I find myself falling for this man. You no doubt think I'm a right wally.

He had to reread the words carefully. Several times. His heart jumped at the realisation that Harry was falling for him. He had not imagined it - it was written there for anyone to see. The irony of the fact that they had helped each other to overcome their preconceptions was not lost on him. These revelations were almost too much to take in at one sitting and he closed his eyes to absorb them all.

It was then that something struck him as being peculiar, and he frowned. Why didn't he realise it was me when I talked about my Death Eater past? Surely it was obvious to him who I am. Could it be possible that he knows I'm Luc, and he's just been toying with me? He didn't want to contemplate that thought, but a small corner of his mind could not dismiss it outright.

He shook his head. Harry couldn't be that cruel. That sort of thing really isn't in his nature. But as I read, I see things that make it blatantly obvious it's him, yet at the time I never gave it any thought. Surely this must be the same for him. Perhaps we've both been oblivious. After all, we've been writing for months, and not once before have I had reason to think I'm talking to Harry Potter. How could I be so stubbornly blind as not to see what was plainly before my eyes?

A sudden sound startled him from his musings, and he looked up to see Emmaline pulling the blinds closed with her wand. It was completely dark outside, and checking his watch, he could see it was extremely late.

"I'm sorry... I lost complete track of the time," he said sheepishly to Emmaline as he closed the journal.

She waved him away as she sat down wearily at his table – they often used to sit like this after a long day in the Paris shop. "Nonsense, môn chéri," she smiled. "Since when have I ever kicked you out of my shop? You're obviously mesmerised by your book, and I didn't want to disturb you. If a writer can make you get lost in the words like that, it must be a thrilling read." Draco unconsciously ran his fingers lovingly over the journal's cover.

"You were so engrossed, you barely said anything when Jean-Paul left!" she quickly added.

Draco seemed surprised. "Jean-Paul was here? This afternoon? I didn't see him." Draco would have liked to thank him for all his help in the infirmary in those desperate hours after the battle.

Emmaline nodded, "Oh, he just popped in, but you were so busy, he didn't want to disturb you. He's gone to London for a few days. He's thinking of staying in Hogsmeade permanently – setting up a practice." He couldn't tell if Emmaline was happy or sad about that news – she seemed strangely neutral on the subject, but she did seem eager for a reaction from Draco.

The news that Jean-Paul might be around permanently didn't strike him in any way. It was then that he realised that he had completely moved on, and that he held no more than feelings of friendship for his former lover. Still, it would be nice to have him around occasionally. He had done so much to help Harry in the past few days, and he was the one who made Draco realise just what he was after – and he knew he would be forever grateful for Jean-Paul's vision. He doubted that he would have admitted his desire for Harry if it weren't for him. Of course, the lessons in the Tantra would definitely be something he would never forget. It was just that now he would much rather share them with someone else.

"Draco? How do you feel about that?" Emmaline sounded a little hesitant. Draco's silence was obviously unnerving her.

He suddenly realised what she was talking about - waving her concerns away, as he suddenly made a startling connection. "I have no problem with Jean-Paul sticking around, Emmaline. Honestly, I have a nasty suspicion that no matter what I do or where I go, we would probably end up crossing paths."

"What do you mean?" Emmaline seemed curious, as she hastily rearranged her robes in her discomfiture.

"Have you ever heard of the concept of Anam Cara?" he asked innocently. Emmaline seemed to breath a silent sigh of relief, and the smile returned to her eyes. The whole notion of soul friends had been at the forefront of his thoughts for a while now, and the admission that Harry must be his soul mate was enough to make him believe in the concept wholeheartedly. "Because I think that you are all part of my soul group – you, and Jean-Paul... and I think Harry... no, I don't think, I know that Harry is. He's my soul mate." He didn't notice the sense of relief that passed very quickly over Emmaline's face, but she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Draco, that's wonderful news. I am honoured that you think I'm a part of your Anam Cara. But if you've realised that 'Arry is your soul mate, then why do you sound so dejected?"

He took a deep breath and put the journal back down on the desk. Her question opened the floodgates. "Oh Emmaline, I honestly don't know what to do! It's taken me months and a near disaster to realise that I love him. I've nearly lost him, and I honestly don't know how he'll react." Emmaline said nothing, so he continued to explain. "It's Harry I've been writing to in this journal – the one I found back in the Paris shop all those months ago. I've been pouring out my heart and soul, as has he, but we both agreed we would keep our anonymity. Somehow he helped me to overcome my prejudice, and I've fallen in love with Harry. If it weren't for this journal, I might never have realised."

"But what is your dilemma?" Emmaline sounded puzzled. "'Arry will be fine, won't he?"

"I never told him – I only realised how much I love him after he was struck down. But I never realised I was writing to him. He said something as he slept – something that made me realise that he's the one I've been writing to. I just don't know how to tell him that it's me that he's been writing to. I know him, and I think it might just come as a shock to know that we've been talking like old friends and lovers for months." The desperation was starting to sound in his voice. "I love him more than anything, Emmaline, and I couldn't bear to lose him over something like this. Not now, not when things are starting to go so well."

"If he's your soul mate, then he should understand, shouldn't he, môn chéri?"

He hung his head in embarrassment. "I'm turning this into a huge melodrama, aren't I, Emmaline?"

"Draco, finding your soul mate is one of the most important things in your life. I can understand your concerns, but you should give 'Arry a little more credit – he deserves that much. He did – after all – jump in the way of a curse that was aimed at you."

"Yes, but I certainly had no inkling that I've been writing to him for months. He is going to flip out when he realises that it's me. Trust me, I think I know him that well..."

Emmaline's eyes twinkled as she looked down at the journal, pausing thoughtfully, as if choosing her words very carefully. "Perhaps you didn't realise it was 'Arry, because you weren't ready to believe it. Perhaps you had to discover for yourself just how much 'Arry meant to you." Emmaline brushed a hand over the front of the journal. "You know, magic is funny like that. Perhaps there was some spell in this journal that prevented you from seeing the truth until you could admit it to yourself..."

Draco sat back and blinked, startled by what Emmaline was saying. Things were starting to fall into place and his eyes narrowed. "But... but you gave me this journal months ago – you gave me this journal back then – and... and you knew what it was going to do?" he raised his voice in anger. What had the meddling old witch done? "What in the levels of hell were you thinking? I don't need..."

"... On the contrary, you were miserable, and this journal will always put you in contact with your soul mate. What else could I have done? It is a Journal Intime Partagé. Your soul mate is always at the other end." Emmaline seemed reluctant to part with that piece of information, and Draco's mood darkened. "Besides, the journal chose you. I had nothing to do with it," she added as her last defence.

"You've known all these months? You've KNOWN that Harry was my soul mate, and you never told me?" he accused, but he found that his anger was flagging. What good would it do now to get angry at her?

"Keep your 'air on, môn chéri... I had no idea that 'Arry was your soul mate. Besides, if I had told you that your correspondent was your soul mate, would you have believed me?"

Draco thought about that for a bit. If she had told him that Flash was his soul mate before he actually got to know him, would it have helped, or would it have tainted their conversations? Draco would, no doubt, have put up some sort of barrier, or played some role whilst he learned about Flash. He was starting to see her point, but nevertheless, he still felt a little betrayed.

"You deserve the same 'appiness as everyone else, Draco. Don't block out what your 'eart is telling you." She placed her hand over his chest as she pleaded. Eventually, he nodded as he admitted defeat.

"I still don't know how Harry is going to take the news, Emmaline."

"Well you won't know, will you, unless you say something, Hmmm?"

Yet again, he left Emmaline's with more questions than answers. Could it really be just as easy as telling Harry the truth, and that would be that? Hi Harry, glad you're doing so well. By the way, just thought you should know that I'm Luc. So should we shag now, or later? That certainly wasn't going to do. Years of spying, lying and hiding his true feelings were making it so hard for him to express himself truthfully.

Oh Harry, why is everything so confusing when it comes to you? Why couldn't we just have a normal relationship like everyone else? I guess that by falling in love with someone so extraordinary, I have to expect that nothing will be normal, right?

---

Friday 25 July

Harry's sense of smell was about the only thing that didn't hurt. A familiar scent of cologne had brought him to consciousness and he inhaled deeply to drink of that deliciously arousing fragrance. Pain instantly wracked his body and in his shock, he jerked his eyes open, inviting more pain from the sudden movement. He voiced his pain with a feeble groan that proved that every part of his body ached. Eventually, he dared to open his eyes again. The smoky swirls on the ceiling were exceedingly familiar, even without his glasses.

Every sign indicated that he had lost a battle with a herd of Hungarian Horntails, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not think of why he was in the school infirmary. A fuzzy fog clouded his thoughts, and he couldn't honestly remember how he had ended up there.

That familiar cologne still lingered, and he remembered who wore it. What's Malfoy doing here? Please tell me I didn't end up here because we got into some sort of fight. I thought the Headmaster made sure we moved past all that. Moving anything more than his eyeballs caused pain, but he dared to look towards the bedside table. It was still quite dark, the large oil burner having burned quite low. He couldn't see his glasses, or his wand, but he doubted there was any room left on the table, for it appeared to be covered in a variety of brightly coloured potions bottles.

He lost count after the seventh bottle, which meant that he really must be in bad shape. Even in his very brief stint in the hospital after the war, he needed only four different potions. What the bloody hell did I get myself into this time? The mere thought of thinking was giving him a headache.

He lay there quietly for a while, mentally assessing which parts of his body didn't hurt. He could wiggle his toes, which was a good sign, but his skin felt as if it was on fire. The strangest sensation was coming from his right arm, but as he tried to wiggle his fingers, he felt the first hint of panic. Nothing was happening. He dared to raise his head to look down. It was a relief to see that his arm was still attached (he had momentarily expected to see a stump), but it was black and bruised and swollen. He instantly panicked as it looked just like Dumbledore's, which meant he really did do himself some damage.

But worse than that, he couldn't feel it. Groaning heavily, he tried to work his arm again, yet it remained stubbornly immobile. Any further effort to sit up was quickly put to rest as he had no strength in his upper body. Yet again he thought furiously about why he was there. He was more than a little disconcerted that he had absolutely no recollection. Did I get obliviated? What the hell happened?

His stirring and groaning must have alerted Madame Pomfrey, who seemed relieved to see him awake. "Harry," she shuffled over to the bed and forced him back against the pillows. "It's very early - not yet dawn. But I thought I told you before to try and sleep until the sun comes up."

"Where's..." he wanted to ask her a question, but found himself being forced to drink something. He hadn't braced himself for any of those vile potions, but the protest died on his lips as he realised it was only water, and he swallowed greedily. His throat was parched and it felt like days since he last drank. He wanted to ask about that smell of cologne, but he didn't quite know how to phrase it. A thought formed, but it died just as quickly, and the fog in his mind returned.

She casually waved her wand over him, silently diagnosing his condition. "feeling any better since you last woke up?" she asked, although he didn't really understand what she meant. He didn't remember waking up before – at least not in the infirmary.

"What happened?" he asked Pomfrey imploringly. "I don't... Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?" she asked in concern, avoiding Harry's directed question.

Harry thought back. Things seemed quite blurry. What was the last thing he remembered? The fact that he was here meant that he had done something either monumentally stupid, or highly dangerous. He tried to think back, and a fleeting image of a darkened cave came to the fore. Strangely enough, the image of Malfoy's pale, pale hair interrupted, but then he remembered nothing else. "Why don't you tell me what I did to end up here," he eventually asked Pomfrey.

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Harry. I'm not going to tell you again. Every time you wake up, you ask the same questions. It's time you started to remember on your own." She forced open one of Harry's eyes and shone the tip of her wand at it. His eye watered, and he tried to wriggle in protest.

"I've woken up before?" he asked in confusion. Why didn't he remember?

Pomfrey nodded. "It's becoming evident that you've had some short-term memory damage, Harry." She sighed heavily, making little attempt to hide her frustration.

"Why don't you humour me," Harry replied, not wanting to think about her words. Memory damage? "Is anyone else hurt? What could I have possibly done to end up here?" A stray thought crossed his mind. "Was it Neo Death Eaters?" he asked in concern.

The medi-witch sighed, seemingly frustrated about having to repeat herself. "Only you could be worried about others before yourself, Harry. Yes, it was Neo Death Eaters, and yes, everyone is well. You leapt in the path of a curse that was headed for someone else. Do you remember any of that?"

A vague memory seemed to flash by. He could have sworn it was of Lucius Malfoy, which definitely could not have been right. Harry could vaguely remember brilliant flashes of red, green and purple, but the details slipped away as quickly as they formed. The frustration was more than irritating and he found his head hurting from the effort of remembering. "Did I survive another killing curse?" he asked curiously. It would explain away the severity of his aches and pains.

"Well, no. You sustained pretty bad curse damage to your wand arm, and I don't want to risk anything, so I've immobilised it. You'll be resting for quite some time."

Harry snorted, "You know I love your hospitality, Madame Pomfrey."

Pomfrey sighed, uncorking another potions bottle and shoving it under his nose, forcing him to drink, "I'm not going to do this every night, Harry," she said in exasperation. "It's important you get your memories back on your own. In the meantime, you just sleep, and relax. I'd tell you to avoid doing magic, but because I've immobilised your wand arm, you couldn't do it anyway."

"Where is my wand?" he asked, afraid that he might have finally done some irreparable damage. The thought of suddenly being separated from his wand was quite unnerving.

"Don't worry, Harry. I've had it safely put away. You'll get it back when I'm sufficiently satisfied that you've healed."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "We don't want you to be tempted to try to do anything that will compromise your recovery, Harry. Don't worry, everything will be fine in a few days – weeks at the most."

Harry felt quite put out by that, and pouted petulantly. He hated being in the infirmary, but knowing that he did something, yet not remembering it made him feel even more frustrated. He looked down again at the blacked bruising and scarring on his arm.

"You say it's been cursed... like Dumbledore's," he said in distinct concern. Dumbledore's arm had never recovered from the curse that burned it during his sixth year. He remembered just how much work Snape had put in to helping remove that curse. Fortunately, the headmaster had regained full mobility in his arm and it was apparent that he had not lost any power in his spell casting. Even so, the sight of it was a constant reminder to Harry of his own mortality.

"No, Harry, those are just curse burns. Albus actually had a curse directed at him. The colour will fade, but I'm afraid there will be permanent scarring." Pomfrey looked at him in a motherly way. "You're always so impatient Harry. This time you're just going to have to rest in order to recover. You've had other injuries – serious ones as well – and they'll need time to heal also. Why not let others look after you for a change." Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn't think to question her about his other injuries, but realised he hurt in too many other places to just have been cursed in the arm.

Harry tried again to come up with memories of what happened, but like before, he found nothing but fog and a few fleeting images. His thoughts harkened back to something she said before. "Who else was with me? Who did we lose?"

"A couple of Aurors were lost, but for the most part, everyone is fine. Now, I think you should try to rest, and the memories should come back with time. If I tell you everything, then we won't know if your memory has returned fully." Harry nodded reluctantly. Somehow he knew there was someone he should be worried about, but he had no idea who. Weariness overcame him, and Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder. The loss of memories was starting to frustrate him, but he felt a wave of fatigue wash through his pain. Pomfrey had given him a sleeping potion. He yawned uncontrollably.

Madame Pomfrey carefully plumped his pillows and rearranged his sheets as he gave her a knowing glare. "I know, Harry. You hate all of this, but sleep for a few more hours, and then we will start to reduce your reliance on the sleeping and nutritive potions. I'll have some broth ready for you when you wake up again. After that, you can sleep naturally. How is the pain?" she asked in genuine concern.

"Bearable," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Which means you are in more pain than most." She poked him in the toes with her wand, and he yelped in surprise.

"What 'choo do that for?" he asked.

Pomfrey smiled. "Sorry, just checking that you can feel your toes? What about your back? How much pain is it in?"

Harry wondered at her sudden interest in that area, and knew she was checking up on another injury. He tried to shrug. "It's fine. Well, it's no more painful than my chest."

"But you can feel your legs?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes." Pomfrey patted his toes and smiled widely, a look of satisfaction on her face. Harry had a million other questions and wanted desperately to stay awake and have them all answered, but a sense of helplessness overcame him as he vainly fought the effects of the sleeping potion.

Perhaps he would have all the answers when he woke up. Anything to stop the random chunks of memory from floating around in his head, and give him a clear vision of what had happened. He was so close to sleep, he couldn't voice why he seemed so preoccupied with Draco Malfoy. Why was his blond visage popping into his memories so often? It was enough to give him a bigger headache than usual. But he was soon asleep and the answer to what he was looking for suddenly came to him in the dream images of love and care and trust and warmth.

---

Draco returned to the infirmary with a renewed spring in his step, which had absolutely nothing to do with the extra two cups of coffee he had over breakfast. He was eager to talk to Harry – to see Harry again. A day out of his presence and he was giddy with the thought of seeing him. Even so, he was desperately concerned by what Charlie had told him the day before. If all was going well, Harry would hopefully have his memories back, and they could get back on track. He was going to take Emmaline's advice, and just let their conversations flow naturally. He would know when the time was right to tell Harry that he was Luc.

The curtains drawn around Harry's bed made Draco falter momentarily. This was the first time in days that they had been drawn. Perhaps he just wants some privacy – or he and Severus have been at each other's throats. Madame Pomfrey stopped him before he could pull the curtains open, dragging him in to her office. The look on her face did not bode well, and a sense of overwhelming fear came over him. Surely not...

Pomfrey saw the look of fear on his face, and quickly dispelled any of his questions. "Harry's fine, Draco," he let out a breath he never realised he was holding, "but..." When the medi-witch got that look on her face, it could mean only one thing, and Draco knew it wasn't good.

"What's happened? Charlie said he's lost some of his memories. Is that right?"

Poppy looked a little upset, but quickly spoke. "Well, he woke up several times during the night. I had to give him a sleeping potion again, even though he really doesn't need one. Charlie was right. He does seem to have several large gaps in his memory. He claims he knows little about what happened before, or during the battle. Each time he wakes up, I have to keep reminding him why he's here."

"When he awoke the other night, he seemed completely fine. I don't understand..." He held the head of his cane so hard that his knuckles were white. "What does he remember? Has he regressed – does he even remember Hogwarts – or the war..." Draco didn't want to contemplate such a thought, and his fear was starting the gather speed.

"No, nothing that major, thank Merlin, at least I don't think it is. He mentioned earlier that he remembered quitting the Aurors and coming here to replace Hooch, but he seems to only remember bits and pieces of the past few weeks. The last time he woke up – just before dawn, he seemed even more confused."

"What's it all mean – do you think that it's permanent?" Draco voiced the fear before he could even process the thought.

Poppy smiled gently, "Oh, no, no, no! If it is only a temporary memory loss from the trauma of the curses, then it should all come back to him very soon. I just wanted to tell you first, because I have a strange suspicion that he's not aware that you two are ... well..." Poppy blushed slightly.

"You mean you don't think he knows that we're friends?" Draco asked.

"Well, more than friends," she managed to finish, the blush still rising in her cheeks. "Not that I'm passing judgement, you understand."

Draco was about to protest at her assumption and claim that they really hadn't moved past friendship yet, but from his recent behaviour, he realised she might have a hard time believing him. He simply nodded instead. "So are you telling me to stay away?" he asked, his voice hard and his mouth firm.

She sighed wearily. "I honestly don't know – I just wanted to forewarn you about that, and to make sure that if his memory loss persists, that you don't go springing any surprises on him. To truly heal, he needs the memories to return naturally."

"Well if I'm not talking to him, then you won't have any worry about that!" He spun around to leave, not sure who he was angrier at, but the medi-witch grabbed him by the arm.

"Now don't you go getting all sulky on me – this is not about you, Draco Malfoy. Harry has to remember on his own. Just remember that you don't tell him everything. If he asks you any questions, just turn them around and see if he can't remember the answers for himself." Draco was about to ask her a question, but she stopped him before he could get a word out. "And before you ask, no, I don't think this is any sort of side effect of the potion you made for him. You've done more good than you give yourself credit for, Draco. I had a bit of a look at the scars on his back, and they were... well, let's just say that it is a miracle that he's alive and will be able to walk. What a shame those curse burns will leave permanent scarring."

Poppy had correctly guessed what Draco was going to ask, and his relief was hidden behind his petulant sulk. He wanted nothing more than to rush right out there and see Harry, but knew for now that he had to step carefully. Draco didn't want to jeopardise Harry's healing in any way. The mention of scarring made him remember something that had been long forgotten.

"I can make him up some Dittany, Murtlap and Aloe Vera salve. That should help the scars."

"Aloe Vera?" Poppy asked curiously. "I didn't think we could get any of that."

"Oh, I know where I can get plenty." The Manor. He didn't really want to go back there, but what choice did he have?

"But isn't that highly poisonous?" she seemed sceptical.

"You would be surprised what the Muggles do with it. I was studying it back at L'Institut, and they apparently use it with burns, and in particular, sunburn. I did a study on it and we found that it had some ability in reducing the healing time for curse scarring."

The medi-witch was listening in fascination – all signs of her earlier displeasure gone. "You see," Draco continued, "if you combine it with Dittany, the Aloe Vera works around the magic. Because it doesn't have magical properties, the curse doesn't recognise it. It will add more elasticity to the skin. That's also why it has no effect on the Murtlap, which is notoriously fickle about being combined with anything else, and it doesn't counteract the Dittany." He stopped as he realised he had started a lecturing tone, and smiled briefly in apology.

"Do go on, Draco, I never realised this about curse scars." Poppy was still intently fascinated by the conversation.

Draco shrugged. "It isn't a tricky salve to make – a student could even do it, but it's all that I can offer now. Still, I should probably start soaking the Dittany – it works better if I let it steep in the boiled essence of Murtlap for over an hour."

The medi-witch seemed amazed. "Sometimes we forget the simple things when we are looking to the depths of complicated magic for a solution. If you could make that salve, I would be extremely grateful."

Draco nodded briefly. "For Harry, I'd do anything," he whispered. Glancing over at the closed curtains, his heart leapt and he felt drawn back to sit beside his soul mate. Poppy patted his shoulder in sympathy as she saw the pained look on his face.

"You know, you could take a couple of minutes to sit by him." she said, guiding him gently by the shoulder. Draco didn't need to be asked twice, as he quietly pulled back the curtain.

There seemed to be no hint of pain on Harry's face as he slept peacefully. Draco was tempted to hold his hand, but Poppy's words about surprising Harry came to the fore, and he figured it might be best to only do that if (no, when) Harry regained all his memories.

He reluctantly let the curtain fall, and turned to leave the hospital wing. I should be at least grateful that he's alive, shouldn't I? Why then do I have a feeling that our relationship has just gone two steps forward, only to go one step back?

The uneven footsteps were well out in the hall before Harry had dared to open his eyes. He had been floating in and out of the edge of consciousness for a while, as he overheard Madame Pomfrey deep in conversation with someone. He again recognised the smell of cologne, and somehow knew that it was Draco's. He shrugged, and assumed that Draco was just there delivering some potions. Or he could be visiting Snape. Harry knew the Potions master was also in the infirmary – he heard the dulcet tones protesting earlier as Pomfrey had tried to make him take some medication.

Was Snape injured too? Were we fighting alongside each other? I hope to Merlin I didn't leap in front of a curse to protect him. Harry pretended to sleep when he heard Draco raise his voice at Pomfrey, and he frowned at the bits of conversation that floated over to his bed.

'...Don't go springing any surprises on him...'

'...but isn't that highly poisonous?'

'...it's all that I can offer now...'

Harry didn't know what was going on, but for the briefest of moments, he thought perhaps that they might be trying to poison him. He had to dismiss that crazy notion out of hand, but then again, his memory was putting all sorts of other crazy notions in his head. The hazy fog that covered his memories was trying to tell him something about Draco, and he could not figure out what it was. He remembered having dreams about the blond, and heaven forbid, they were the most detailed erotic dreams he could ever imagine.

Surely we weren't... He didn't finish the thought, as he heard the uneven footfalls heading his way. He heard the curtain pull back and Harry unconsciously blushed as he remembered one of those dreams. It was making it difficult for him to feign sleep, and he would have pretended to roll over if he knew it wouldn't cause him to wake up screaming in more pain. He didn't need to worry, for he heard the curtain fall and the blond walk straight out of the infirmary.

But his scent lingered, and somehow Harry felt calm and relaxed by the smell. Still, it left him wondering just which images were memory, and which really were dreams. What should he believe filled those holes in his memory?

---

Draco's day certainly wasn't panning out as he had planned. He knew he was only doing it for Harry, but whether or not he would be grateful for the help was something else. It didn't bear thinking about. Draco knew exactly where he was going to find some Aloe Vera, as he made a quick trip to Malfoy Manor. With the structure gone, there was no point in his keeping up any wards or protections, and he was able to Apparate directly into the middle of the rose garden, before taking the short walk down the hill to the greenhouse.

He didn't look back at the ruins, but he could still sense the tainted scent of ash lingering in the air. The greenhouses had always been a place he could come to relax, and he quickly slipped into the oldest of them. This greenhouse was still thriving, despite the house-elves well justified fear. They discovered the hard way that the Venezuelan Carnivorous Tentacula had an appetite for house-elves. Lucius used to enjoy sending errant elves down there as a punishment. If the Tentacula didn't get them, there was always the Devil's Snare. Draco chose to go the long way around to the back corner, for he certainly didn't want any entanglements. He planned on getting away as quickly as possible.

The unassuming collection of plants in the back corner seemed to be thriving. It helped that it was summer, and this greenhouse was well placed to get the most of the sun. Draco was grateful he had chosen to wear his jeans and a thin cotton shirt, for it was exceedingly humid.

The two Aloe Vera plants had been there for as long as Draco could recall. As a child, he remembered thinking that Muggle plants held no use in the manor gardens, but he changed his mind rather quickly after a punishment from Lucius. Draco had stolen his father's broom and taken it out for a trip over the forest. He was only nine, and knew that he was a good enough flyer to make it out there and back before his father could find out.

Unfortunately, he never thought to use a sun screening charm, and the evidence of his guilt was all over his face and neck. As punishment, Lucius refused to allow his mother to do a healing charm on him, believing the pain of sunburn was suitable admonishment.

Later that day, Narcissa had dragged Draco down to the greenhouse and introduced him to the magic of nature. The soothing gel of the Aloe Vera didn't make the sunburn go away, but it did take the sting out of it, and Lucius was none the wiser. After that Draco remained rather quiet on the subject of non-magical plants. In fact, he often looked to some of the common herbs and plants without magical properties when he worked on his Wolfsbane research. He knew that there had to be a key to unlocking the mystery around lycanthropy - why would he exclude plants that were non-magical?

But for now, he was working out how to get the two rather large and spiky plants into pots so he could get them back to Hogwarts. In the end, he decided the easiest way was to just levitate them out of the ground, and into two pots he found near the door. Getting them back to Hogwarts was another matter. He failed to think of the finer details of his plan. Draco would have shrunk them, but being non-magical, the plants would not cope with the shrinking and enlargement charms.

In the end, he dragged the pots outside the greenhouse, and Apparated back to the school. He quickly located Dobby, who was only too happy to work with Gaggy to collect the plants and bring them to Professor Sprout. He was secretly pleased that Gaggy had begun to fit in at the school. He suspected that she was glad for Dobby's company, despite her constant litany to the effect that he was a 'bad elf'. No doubt she was still quite upset at the fact that all the other Malfoy elves had perished in the fire. They were all family, and Dobby was all she had left. Draco also felt the loss keenly. He had known Gaggy and her sisters all his life.

It had taken the rest of the morning for him to transfer the plants into the ground with Professor Sprout's help. She seemed keen to have the plants there, and Draco was quite open to the suggestion that she might want to take anything else that was in the Malfoy greenhouse – for he knew it wasn't going to be looked after now. Her eyes lit up like a third year's on their first visit to Honeydukes at his generous offer.

Washing up before lunch, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a complete mess. He smiled at the sight, remembering a similar image of Harry working in the greenhouses. An inelegant growl escaped his stomach, advising him that he should eat before getting back to work. The physical effort with the plants left him with an appetite, and looking through his empty cupboards, he knew the quickest meal would be down at Hogsmeade.

The weather in Hogsmeade was balmy – most unusual, even for the middle of the northern summer. Draco pulled at the uncomfortably tight collar of his shirt. A quick flick of his wand provided a cooling charm that provided the relief that was sorely lacking. A ravenous hunger was guiding him along unconsciously, and before he knew it, he was following the scent of an oily fry up coming from the Three Broomsticks.

The crowds were heavy as he stepped through the door of the pub. The sheer number of bodies crammed into such a small space added to the unseasonable heat, forcing Draco to shed his outer robe. Despite the raucous crowd, he knew he would be able to get a cheap and hearty meal that would arrive quickly. All the better so he could return quickly to the school and start working on the salve for Harry. He waved at Madame Rosmerta, who smiled at him as he slipped into an empty booth.

Within ten minutes, he was wolfing down an extremely greasy, yet completely satisfying tomato and bacon sarnie. He was so engrossed in the meal that he almost didn't notice the wizard who slipped into the opposite seat.

"Mr Malfoy, sorry to disturb you," the wizard held out his hand in greeting. Draco stared for a moment before recognising the interloper. It was Dwight Langley, the Canadian Auror who had been at the school a few days earlier. He was a little put out by the Auror's sudden appearance, and he finished chewing and swallowing before reluctantly shaking hands.

Draco didn't mean to appear rude, but he was hungry, and not really up for being sociable. He greedily chewed and swallowed another large bite before eventually speaking. "Mr Langley, what brings you to Hogsmeade to interrupt my lunch?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"I've been up to the school, and I ran into a rather eager elf who mentioned you might be down here," he replied, completely unperturbed by Draco's rash behaviour. "Please don't let me stop you eating – I understand what it's like to have a rushed lunch."

Despite his natural instincts, Draco was finding it hard to dislike this fellow. Was he always so accommodating? "Well, you had better start talking. I am rather busy."

Langley took his words to heart, nodding in understanding before glancing sideways at the other patrons. His unsure glare told Draco that something rather serious was wrong. He put down the remainder of his sandwich and gave Langley his full attention.

"Oh, you need not worry about eavesdroppers. The more patrons makes it harder for anyone to overhear." But just for good measure, he silently cast a Muffliato spell. Langley sat back in a relaxed stance, but his eyes still darted around carefully. He pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his robes. He was a little overdressed for the stuffy pub. "Do you recall our discussion about some of your, er, property that was seemingly misplaced?" Langley chose his words carefully. Why was Langley so uncomfortable about being overheard?

"I thought you were going to visit the Fiscal Investigative Goblins at Gringotts. Ron Weasley apparently knows everything about my estate," Draco snorted sarcastically. "Didn't he answer all your questions?"

Langley had a eager look on his face. "Yes, you did suggest I visit him, but I managed to speak to the head Goblin, Thufir Magroc, who apparently looked over your file. He was quite stunned to find it was full of anomalies and missing documents."

Draco looked completely stunned. "Anomalies? Well, yes, if that's what you want to call a whole house full of Malfoy belongings turning up in some backwater in the Outer Hebrides," he retorted. "But I know they have all the paperwork – I gave them charmed copies of everything – title deeds, certificates of authenticity..."

"Not according to Magroc. He seems to think that a number of items are out of order." Langley pulled out a battered parchment notepad and started to confer with his notes. He nodded as he reread his notes.

"I don't understand..." Draco pushed aside the wild speculations that washed over him. Not again. I refuse to believe it. "Just what sort of papers are we talking about?" he asked with a slightly nervous hint in his voice.

"Well Magroc would like to talk to you directly about those – they aren't my concern directly. Would you be willing to come back to London with me this afternoon?"

"Why can't he ask Weasley? He's the one who's been proudly taking an inordinate amount of care of the estate for the past few months. The git has probably misplaced them."

Langley nodded and quickly piped up. "We would love to talk to Mr Weasley. Unfortunately, he is nowhere to be found. He hasn't been to work for the past couple of days, and his wife has reported him missing just this morning." Draco blinked several times in surprise, but the wild speculations began to play in his head again.

"That's partly why we're trying to keep it all under our hats," Langley whispered. "We don't really want anyone to get wind of the fact that the Minister's youngest son has gone missing..."

Draco just sneered and shook his head in incredulous disbelief, "Of course, if the Weasel is the one responsible for these anomalies, then I'm sure the Minister is going to have more of a scandal on his hands than just a missing son." Somehow, Draco just knew exactly who was responsible for this latest drama, even if it seemed a little too obvious. "So Weasley is missing, and there's a whole castle full of Malfoy property that was previously inhabited by our Neo Death Eater friends. I don't think it would take a genius to work out where the git has gone..." Draco was quickly stopped by Langley.

"Oh, no, I don't think you understand." Langley was shaking his head. "You see, we immediately suspected that someone might try to get back into the castle, but it's been under constant surveillance ever since it was discovered. Nobody has been there besides authorised Aurors. We went to visit Mrs Weasley, and she seems to be quite in shock about the whole situation. Nobody is touching your property, Mr Malfoy, but nobody else has been near it either."

"So where does this leave my estate?" Draco really couldn't give two hoots about what might have happened to Ron Weasley, but he was infuriated at the thought he had been nobbling his funds too. I should have seen this coming. How could I have been foolish to place my trust in that git? Did I really think he wouldn't try to touch my money? He's been dreaming of this for years, I bet.

"That's why Thufir Magroc wants to talk to you." Langley rummaged around inside his robes, eventually pulling out a squashed envelope. He apologetically tried to flatten the letter before handing it over to Draco.

Draco snatched the envelope away before carefully regaining his composure. He opened it carefully and read. "What does he mean – they don't have an inventory of the Malfoy assets? I've bloody well handed Weasley an updated copy..." He suddenly realised the clinch. How could he be so stupid? He let that son of a Muggle look after his estate – he signed a bloody Wizard's contract. He felt more foolish than ever before.

Langley shrugged. "Don't worry - we have an arrest warrant out for him, and before you ask, yes, the Minister of Magic knows about this. Like I said earlier – this investigation is to be kept as quiet as possible – just like the rest of this whole Neo Death Eater affair. I can trust that you'll be discreet, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco allowed himself a mildly condescending smirk. So Ron Weasley goes off and joins the Neo Death Eaters and Langley wants me to be discreet? Draco was about to make a smart comment, but suddenly wondered how Harry would react to this news. He suspected that Harry and Weasley's friendship was wavering – it was evident after overhearing parts of their confrontation at the Manor, and from what Harry had mentioned about it in the journal. Even so, Draco suspected that Harry would find news of Weasel's demise quite disturbing. Does he even remember that they have fought? He thought absently. Instead of the smart comment he was about to make, he just nodded his head, and agreed that he would not make the news public.

Draco picked at the last of the crumbs on his plate. "I do have my original papers, including an inventory, up at the school. As I said before, I gave them a spelled copy of the papers, just in case they thought to alter them during the impending investigation."

"What investigation?" Langley asked out of curiosity.

"Gringotts and the Fiscal Investigative Goblins were investigating transactions that were made by the estate's previous trustees. They ended up in Neo Death Eater accounts and the whole estate was frozen. I was suspected of being a Neo Death Eater sympathiser, or something. Whatever, the upshot of it was that I was swindled, and now everything is out of my hands until they see fit to return things to normal, and return my stipend – at least until I turn 25."

Langley scratched his head, and sat back in his chair, seemingly in confusion. "That's... most interesting."

"Why?" Draco suddenly felt his appetite completely disappear at Langley's words.

"Well, I think you had better discuss that with Thufir Magroc. He did mention an investigation, but I think he said something about it having been cancelled when the accused trustees turned up dead – does that sound right to you?"

Draco's hands started to shake and he ran the now sweaty palms through his hair. Please tell me this is not happening again, he thought. That Weasel will be dead when I get my hands on him. He let out a slightly hysterical laugh, which made Langley a little nervous. "Oh, yes, that sounds just like the investigation... what time did you tell this Magroc that we'd be in London?" Draco was definitely going to get to the bottom of this. He had had just about enough of being treated like a fool. The fact that Weasley had been playing him for one wasn't making him any happier. How could he let himself get into another mess?

Not interested in waiting for an answer, Draco stood suddenly, making to leave. He threw a couple of Galleons on the table for Rosmerta, and started making his way out the door. Langley had to practically run to catch up as Draco swept up his cloak and was out the door.

"Wait up!" Langley called. "I took the liberty of making an appointment for half three. There's no need to rush right away. You've still got some time before then."

Draco stopped in the middle of the street, thinking. His fury was ever mounting, but as he took a deep breath, he saw that Langley seemed a little intimidated by his foul mood. Normally, Draco would not have cared, but Langley had been nothing but helpful to him. He reigned in his temper, realising that he was taking it out on the wrong person.

"I'm sorry, Langley, if I'm a little terse. Mr Weasley and I have a long history, and I should have known better than to even consider trusting him. I guess he finally got one up on me." This whole situation made him uneasy. The sooner he sorted it out, the better. "Thank you for organising this meeting, and for bringing this to my attention. It will give me a couple of hours to organise some of my papers, and to get started on some work. There are herbs that need steeping. I'm still assisting Madame Pomfrey..."

"How is Mr Potter, if I may dare to ask?" Langley interrupted hesitantly.

Draco took a deep breath. How much of Harry's condition should he tell? Realising that this Auror seemed to understand the concept of discretion, he relented. "He's improving, but he's still got a long road to recovery. I know you want to ask him some questions – but from what Madame Pomfrey says, he's got some short-term memory loss. You would do well to wait a while longer before you attempt to question him."

"Ah, that's good news, at least. I do hope he continues to get better. You will let us know when he is fit enough to talk?" Draco nodded firmly, and Langley realised he was now impatient to return to the school. Their meeting ended with a firm handshake, and before he could say any more, Draco had twirled and Apparated away.

---

Harry awoke to the sound of murmuring voices. He immediately recognised Snape's curt tone, and it cut miserably into his rather sensuous dream – completely spoiling the mood. He could still feel a high flush on his face as he remembered just what his dream self had been doing to Draco Malfoy, of all people. In an attempt to roll over on his side, a severe twinge of pain shot through him, and he was brought to full wakefulness with a jolt.

Recent memories came flooding back into his mind, and he remembered why he was there. He dared to look down at his arm. It was still bruised and burned, and he could not move it. It took every ounce of effort to slowly lift his head from the pillow and sit up.

All of his joints felt stiff and sore, and he groaned unconsciously as he reached for his glasses with his left arm. Just that much effort was enough to make him want to rest again. The murmuring voices suddenly changed timbre, and he recognised Charlie's throaty laugh, quickly followed by a sound he never expected to hear. Surely that isn't Snape laughing? I must be hearing things. Before he could lie back down, Madame Pomfrey stuck her head through the curtains, smiling warmly.

"Harry! You're awake! Excellent. How are you feeling?" She bustled around the bed in her usual no-nonsense manner. He was grateful for the silence once Snape and Charlie stopped talking. Why in the hell are they laughing? Snape wouldn't give Charlie the time of day... Harry realised that perhaps there were a great, many things that he had forgotten. Surely not?

"How are you feeling now, Harry?" Pomfrey asked.

His mind was swimming from the sheer effort of sitting up, and he tried to focus on her question. That ever present fog was still in his head, hiding so many things, but he smiled, as he recalled their most recent conversations.

"I remember you telling me what happened, but there's still... something. I know it's important, and I just can't put my finger on it. I was hit by a curse in the arm, and you've been very worried about the fact I'm having some memory loss." He seemed quite pleased to have remembered that much, and it did appear to have made Pomfrey a little happier as she cast her usual diagnostic spells on him.

"Right then Harry, if that's the case, then I think it's high time you got out of that bed." she said in that no nonsense tone. Harry wanted to protest. He wasn't nearly ready enough to sit up, let alone get up. But he was familiar with Pomfrey's methods, and no amount of argument would sway her, even if he had the energy to do so.

A half hour later, Harry had barely managed to drag his legs over the side. The sheer effort to get him to that point was enough to make him crave the pillow, but Pomfrey wanted him to actually try and walk the couple of steps to the chair. She muttered something under her breath about ungrateful children and freeloaders, but once his legs were dangling over the side of the bed he was determined to make it to the chair. Judging from the length of stubble on his cheeks, he had been in that bed for more than a few days. If he were ever to make a quick recovery, he had to get his muscles working properly.

Harry's body was shaking from the effort, but he eventually had his feet on the floor. Hesitating, he knew he had to get on with it. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, but a sudden rush of weakness down his side forced him to abort the attempt. Only then did he finally hear the contemptuous snort from behind him.

"Too much for you, Potter?" Snape's tone was a little subdued, but Harry could feel the sneer burning into his shoulder blades.

It took all his energy to turn to face the Potions master. "I don't see you trying to get out of bed," he offered in the same tone.

"Believe me, Potter. I would like nothing better than to get up and walk away from this miserable place, but our beloved medi-witch enjoys keeping me from even getting up," Snape drawled out bitterly as he turned the page of his book. Harry could see that he was looking a lot more sallow and much thinner than he could last remember. He nodded in understanding. It seemed odd that they shared a common displeasure for being in Madame Pomfrey's care for too long.

"So what happened to you? Cauldron explode on you or something?" Harry snapped back as a sudden twinge of pain shot down his leg.

Snape snorted, "It seems that your appalling memory has not improved, Potter. Still, I think it would be remiss of me not to thank you for indirectly saving my life."

"Somehow I think I'd remember saving your life, Snape," Harry replied sarcastically, but knew in all honesty that it had to be the truth. Snape would rather die than make up something like that.

Snape snorted again, but quickly began coughing. Harry saw the Potion master's hands were shaking quite noticeably as he tried to stop his fit of coughing. "Er, I didn't jump in front of a curse to save you, did I?" Harry remembered Pomfrey saying that he had taken a curse for someone, and the vague memory of being struck was getting stronger. "But you were there – you remember, don't you?" he asked, hoping that Snape might relent and tell him what happened. He was insanely curious about everything that had happened. Pomfrey told him that he had to remember what happened on his own, but he needed to know who he had been protecting so fiercely.

Harry was so intent on the fact that Snape might be able to shed some light on his missing memories that he nearly didn't realise he was standing. Unfortunately, as soon as he looked down, he lost his balance and fell back on the bed. Snape pulled himself up into a sitting position in his own bed as another bout of coughs racked through him.

"Yes, I was there, Potter, but I missed out on all the fun." Harry looked at him in confusion. Snape rephrased his words. "I was captured by Pansy and Phillip a couple of days earlier, and they were ever so keen to show me just how well they had learned the Cruciatus. I had passed out before you engaged them in battle."

"Pansy and Phillip... Parkinson? But I thought they were..." Harry was suddenly very confused. He didn't remember any of that. Was Snape just making up stories to mess even further with his head?

"Dead? We were all under that misapprehension," Snape said with a sarcastic tone.

"Why..." Harry seemed to remember something that rose up through a fog of memory, "Why do I have a vision that Lucius Malfoy was there... I know for certain he's very dead..."

"Polyjuice, or so I'm told. Seems Phillip had taken to intimidating people by parading as Lucius." Harry nodded. It seemed to make sense. "No doubt he was using it to intimidate Draco," Snape replied.

"Draco? Draco was there too?" Harry's head was hurting with the effort of remembering. Just as he thought he could grasp a thought, it would slip through his fingers like a greasy snitch. A stray thought tugged at his memory and suddenly his eyes lit up in understanding. "Draco! I was protecting Malfoy? We were both fighting the Neo Death Eaters?" Harry's mouth dropped open as he tried to make sense of that fact.

Everything seemed to be pointing back to the blond. Harry's dreams, the fact that Draco had been hanging around the hospital – what had been going on? Harry fought hard to remember something about Draco, but the huge wall of fog was blocking something. All Harry remembered of his association with Draco was that they had been forced to be nice to each other by the Headmaster, and that somehow, they were becoming more civil by the day. Feelings of sympathy and the occasional glimpse of something more flashed by, but it was quickly gone. Was this the source of his strangely erotic dreams? He wasn't sure. Even so, the more he thought about it, the less shocking it seemed.

"Is Draco all right?" he asked tentatively.

Harry was taken aback when Snape actually smiled. "Oh, he's about as well as can be expected. A little touched in the head for his own foolish antics, but I think that he'll survive. You're almost as bad as each other," he added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Draco's foolish antics? I don't understand." Harry's head seemed to be reeling from so much enlightening information. He couldn't correlate the news that he had leapt in front of a curse for Draco, with the information his memory was trying to provide. It was giving him a headache. But a part of him desperately wanted to know just how well Draco was, and whether or not he would be fine.

"My apprentice is uninjured, and has been busily brewing potions for Madame Pomfrey ever since we have been in here. Despite this, I've seen him spend an inordinate amount of time fretting over your prone form, leading me to form the conclusion that he is the one possibly suffering a mild concussion," Snape retorted.

Harry heard the heavy oak doors to the infirmary opening again, and saw the medi-witch return. He realised he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, and would be thoroughly chastised for not trying to stand up. He took a deep, controlled breath and tried to work through the pain. Long remembered control exercises broke through to the fore, and he was calm and gathered enough to stand and take two shaky steps to the comfy chair beside the bed. Sitting down had never felt so good, as every muscle was now protesting and shaking.

Pomfrey literally beamed as she noticed that he had managed to sit in the chair. "Don't get yourself too comfortable there, Harry – after all, you're going to need to get back to bed eventually. But you can rest, for now."

"You're a slave driver – I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better – not worse!" he replied in good humour. The chair was comfortable, and he allowed himself to slowly sink into the cushions.

"Ah, but if I let you lay abed for the next two weeks, you'd take ten times longer to get back on your feet. Don't even ask how long until you get back on a broom," she responded with alacrity. Her tone quickly became serious. "How is your back? Any pains as you walked?" Harry seemed surprised by the questions, but was even more surprised by the barrage of diagnostic spells she silently cast as she poked and prodded around his back.

"Ah, ow!" he exclaimed as she poked her finger in a very sensitive point on his lower ribs. "No, nothing awful. Why are you all so suddenly interested in whether or not I can walk without any pain?" he asked.

"Harry, do you remember being struck by the curse?" Pomfrey asked quietly. Harry thought hard for a moment, a headache forming behind his eyes, but nothing came to mind, so he shook his head.

"Then you'll understand why when you do remember. Ask me again when the memory comes back. But for now, I think you should try to get back to bed. This is certainly enough excitement for one day," Pomfrey seemed pleased, but her sudden change of subject put Harry on his guard.

It seemed to take twice as much effort to head back to bed, but he knew Pomfrey was right. He would have to start getting mobile, no matter how much pain it would cost him. Of course, now he was thoroughly distracted by the brief glimpse of events that had lead him there.

Getting back to be had been just as hard work, but eventually he made it there. After a while, he found himself wide awake, and bored enough to talk to Snape. He hoped to get the greasy git pumped up enough to volunteer some more information. Besides, he had no other distractions. It wasn't like anyone was going to visit him. For a moment, he wondered if anyone had visited him, but like everything else, his memory was failing him. He sighed wearily.

"Care to enlighten me about Pomfrey's concerns, Professor? Why all the sudden interest in the fact I can walk? As far as I know, I've been doing that successfully for quite a few years now."

Snape sneered as he put down his book in frustration. "It was much more fun in this place when you were at death's door and everyone was running around in a flap. I think I preferred that rather than having to listen to your incessant prattling."

"Sorry that my imminent death is no longer a source of amusement for you, Snape," he retorted.

Snape glared at him in utter disbelief. "You really don't know just how lucky you are to be alive, Potter. I suppose you are so immune to death that this all seems like a giant game to you. Just be thankful I wasn't the one brewing your cure – I may have had second thoughts about wasting such precious resources on reckless fools."

Harry wasn't sure what he meant. "If you're going to tell me half the story, Snape, then you may as well tell me everything," he said with a half grin, "You know my memory is full of holes, and I'll just keep asking you inane questions until I get answers." His smug expression belied his deep curiosity. What had been going on? How badly injured had he been? The more he thought about it, the more he recognised foreign stiffness in his back. All his concern had been focussed on his arm, and the fact that Snape mentioned a cure made him all the more curious.

"It seems that the biggest hero of the battle wasn't you – oh don't be so surprised, Potter. Draco not only despatched the main Neo Death Eaters after you foolishly leapt in front of him – but he managed to get both of us back to Hogwarts, and then he had the temerity to waste a perfectly good set of Pegasus Wingtips on you. I might have had second thoughts about giving them to him if I had any idea what he was planning to do with them." Snape's scowl widened at the thought.

Something leapt in his mind at the mention of Pegasus Wingtips. They were important and significant in some way. They had something to do with Parseltongue... a book... a potion... a limp... a cure... A vague memory tore out of his head, accompanied by a now blinding headache from the effort. Pegasus Wingtips were extremely rare – so rare that Draco had given up hope of finding any. They would have cured the curse in his knee. Memories of translating the cure and trying to help Draco came flooding back.

His head was pounding, but his heart raced as he realised the significance of Snape's words. "The curse; it was Aboleo Adesum, wasn't it?" His eyes widened and he sat up further as the incredulous look on his face widened even further. Snape nodded in assent.

"Yes, you were foolish enough to leap in front of a very dark curse. From what I've been told, it struck you clean in the spine. Technically, you should be dead right now, but then again you are always the one for the spectacular comeback, aren't you?" Snape couldn't help the snide remarks, but Harry wasn't listening.

"You found some Pegasus Wingtips... then gave them to Draco? But he should have used them for himself..."

"Precisely my point, Potter. So despite my apprentice's momentary lapse of common sense, you can see why we're all rather pleased to see that his brewing skills are more than proficient. It was rather selfless of him, actually."

But Harry closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He had become friends with Draco – that much was certain. He had leapt out to rescue him from a curse, only to have Draco use his personal salvation to cure him. It didn't seem right. A wave of guilt crashed over him.

Well it's obvious now why he's been skulking around. I leapt in front of a curse to save a friend. My over inflated sense of duty tells me to do the craziest things, sometimes. The guilt was suddenly overwhelming.

Could Draco ever forgive him for wasting his cure? Harry vowed to do everything in his power to find some Pegasus Wingtips for Draco. Only then would he know that he had absolved the debt he now owed to someone who was apparently much closer to him that Harry realised.

Please don't hate me for this, Draco, because I suspect that I no longer hate you. All this confusion was making him wish for a deep and meaningful conversation with the one person who usually helped him. Where is Luc when I need to talk to him?

---

The door slammed behind Draco as he returned home. His cane was thrown carelessly against the door as he carelessly flung his papers aside. He didn't seem to care where they landed as he headed straight for the bottle of brandy. It had been a very long and enlightening afternoon. I'm sure Weasley is the only one laughing, he fumed silently. If there is any money left by the time I can get my hands on it, I'm keeping it in a vault under my own house. Curse those Goblins for letting that stinking Weasel anywhere near my things.

It took several large gulps of brandy to settle his temper to a point where he wasn't so volatile. The meeting at the bank had not gone as badly as he expected, but his suspicion about Weasley had been correct. It seemed that the Goblins were as much in the dark about their employee's covert activities as Draco was. The Goblin in charge of the Fiscal Investigative Unit was more than upset at such a severe breach of security.

Apparently they were not conducting an investigation into the Malfoy Estate. The original query that brought the Malfoy Estate to the attention of the FIG unit was long over. It showed that Draco's trustees had absconded with Draco's money of their own accord, and without Draco's consent or knowledge. Weasley never bothered to keep Draco up to date on that decision, and he began to weave an elaborate series of fabrications that became evident when there was no record keeping to prove it. According to Magroc, the Estate was never frozen. All payments should have been going out as normal, and in fact, they saw that the payments had been made – but just not to Draco.

Draco knew not to anger the Goblins themselves – he certainly had been taught to offer them his utmost respect, but he realised that they weren't infallible. Of course, it was their trust in a wizard employee that was the weak link, and he had every confidence that there would be some rather thorough changes to come at Gringotts. The question of compensation was raised.

Thufir Magroc had been nothing but efficient, helpful and brutally honest. He found himself liking the goblin more and more as he heard the creature's mutterings over what he planned to do to Ron Weasley when he was found. Of course, it didn't make up for the fact that he could have been collecting a stipend these past few months, and he could have completed his studies at L'Institut. He could play the 'what if' game for a long time, and dismissed it as a futile gesture.

Besides, if I didn't accept Severus' offer of apprenticeship, I wouldn't be here now and I would not have had the opportunity to discover that I love Harry...

A headache was forming behind his eyes as he unconsciously relived the afternoon. It was a vicious habit – rethinking and constantly reliving events. What good was that going to do now? All he should be thinking about was the successful outcome of his talk with Magroc. The Malfoy assets currently in the Neo Death Eater lair were to be relocated to the Malfoy vault, until such time as he rebuilt the Manor.

The longer he thought about it, the more he realised that Weasley must have been working for, not with the Neo Death Eaters. Pansy or Phillip had been playing him like a fiddle. It wouldn't surprise him if Weasley didn't even know who he was working for. He was never one for seeing subtleties. The subtleties of his embezzlement had all the markings of a Slytherin plot. No, Weasley wasn't in charge. Someone had told him what to do. Still, I bet it will kill him to learn that whilst he had my accounts frozen, they were earning more interest than he could possibly even count...

That thought seemed to quell his temper somewhat, and he turned to look at the clock. It was just after dinnertime, and he really should be getting started on the salve for Harry. Draco felt a pang of worry for his recently discovered soul mate, and knew he had to see him. If anything, that would certainly help calm down his temper.

His knee was aching as he made his way into the hospital wing, but he was startled by the sight of a fully dressed Severus making his way out of the infirmary. He noticed Charlie was there and they smiled in greeting. "How are you, Severus?" he asked, seeing his mentor standing, he could see new lines on his tired and still haggard face. The set of his shoulders was still a little stooped. He was far from being completely well, but if he knew Severus as well as he thought, he was certainly well enough to escape Pomfrey and her equally forceful manner. If anything, his mentor was looking old.

"I'm well enough to be gone from this place," he retorted with a sly glance towards Pomfrey's office. Charlie snorted under his breath.

"What he means, Draco, is that he's sick of our wonderful medi-witch. If he stays any longer, he might incite a violent act upon her, and her unique method of healing. Besides, he's getting out whilst Pomfrey's gone. She won't be happy, but I think there comes a point when you start to recover faster when you are back in your own home."

Severus glared at Charlie. "Which doesn't mean I'm swapping one nursemaid for another, Charlie," he replied in a brash voice, but both Draco and Charlie knew that Severus was joking. Draco raised an eyebrow and folded his arms as he watched the silent byplay of their body language. Severus had obviously accepted Charlie's advances, and he could see that they were going to be just perfect together. Severus seemed reluctant to admit it to himself, but the very fact that he was being pleasant around Charlie showed that they had obviously overcome their differences. Draco understood the power of tragedy to bring people together. He gave them an understanding nod.

But judging from the occasional tremors in Severus' hands, he could see that his mentor was far from well. Charlie also noticed them, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Severus certainly wasn't over this last bout of the Cruciatus curse, and Draco had a dread suspicion that he might never be back to his old health. He wondered how this would affect his teaching ability. Severus hated showing weakness, especially in front of the students. It pained him to realise that, but seeing the care that Charlie was giving him, made it clear that he wouldn't have to suffer alone.

"Don't worry, Severus. I won't dream of letting you escape from my clutches now that I have you." Charlie winked slyly at Draco, who grinned. Draco looked over toward Harry's bed, but could see that he was sleeping. Charlie saw where he was looking, and answered his unasked question.

"He's been eating well, and Pomfrey's had him out of bed. Your potion obviously worked, Draco." He saw the gratitude in Charlie's eyes, and nodded.

"Does he remember yet?"

Charlie shook his head. "Severus was talking to him earlier, and got him a little worked up, but I don't think his full memory is back. At least he keeps saying he can't remember things."

Draco stood and watched Harry sleeping. He seemed to have done more of that lately than anything else. It seems that no matter what, there was always something in the way between him and Harry. Years of animosity to start with, then a blanket of anonymity as they began to explore each other's true personality. Now that he knew exactly what he wanted, Harry was still that one step out of reach.

The peaceful look on his face belied the frustration he must be suffering from not remembering things. Draco had cured the Aboleo Adesum, but he felt useless and helpless when he knew of no magic that could bring back Harry's memories. There was no spell to magically restore a memory lost in a trauma, and that was the hardest thing for Draco to accept. For all their magic, wizards were sometimes just as helpless as Muggles.

His guilt at putting Harry into this situation was creeping to the front of his conscience as he sat in the chair beside the bed. He saw that Pomfrey still had not managed to decipher the curse that had struck Harry's arm, for it was still bound under the immobility spell. He would have sat there for hours, just watching Harry sleep, but he reluctantly admitted his time would be better used in making up that salve instead. He reluctantly dragged himself away from Harry's side, but not before he placed a kiss on Harry's forehead. Harry stirred a little, and Draco was buoyed by the ever so slight smile on Harry's lips as he stirred before falling back to sleep.

---

That image helped Draco work through the afternoon to make the salve. Even though it wasn't a difficult process, he wanted to be sure he made it as perfect as possible.

Remus knocked and stuck his head around the corner. "Hey, Draco. I saw your door open – I was a little worried..." Draco looked up, realising he had forgotten to close the door behind him earlier. He waved Remus over.

"Sorry, Remus. Come in. I've been a little ... preoccupied," he admitted.

"Oh," he replied with a worried frown, "Everything all right?" He watched Draco poured the last of the vile smelling salve into the small cruse.

Draco's silence indicated to Remus that something was playing on his mind. "Okay, why don't you start from the beginning. I hear that I'm a pretty good listener and I've got nowhere else to be." Remus offered to help Draco clean up, but the blond quickly waved away the dirty cauldrons with a flick of his wand and a non verbal Scourgify.

He guided Remus to the couch beside the fire, and offered him a drink. Draco ranted, then raved, then ranted some more about what Ron Weasley had done. To his credit, Remus had seemed surprised, but was not leaping in to defend Gryffindor honour, or anything equally as rash. He was indeed a very good listener.

Remus quietly pondered Draco's concerns. "Is there a possibility he's being manipulated?"

Draco rubbed his temples; he was getting tired. "I thought about that too. It's the most plausible explanation. Of course, he'll be a dead Weasel when I get my hands on him," he said bitterly as he finished. "But I just don't know how Harry will react to that news."

"Have you seen him today?" Remus was still nursing his first drink, but Draco was well onto his second.

"Yes," Draco nodded, "but he was asleep." The stifled sigh that escaped his lips showed his seemingly desperate worry.

"What's really troubling you Draco?"

"I... oh, you'd probably think I'm being ridiculous." Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to confide completely in Remus, but in the absence of Harry, and by association, Flash, he didn't have too many other outlets. He would have talked to Severus if he knew he didn't have his own concerns right now.

Remus shrugged. "Try me... or better still, why don't you tell your friend – the one you talk to in your journal? Perhaps he might understand what it is you need to get off your chest." Draco didn't notice Remus' slightly hesitant glance in the direction of his desk.

Draco just snorted and he wore a sarcastic smirk. "Oh right," he rolled his eyes. "That will really work." He stood up and grabbed his journal – bringing it over to show Remus. The few drinks had helped calm him down somewhat, but he needed to get something off his chest.

"I'd love to tell my friend all about it, Remus – the fact that I've fallen so deeply and madly in love with Harry Potter that I can't bear to live without him. There's just one problem."

Remus' eyes widened, but he said nothing.

"You see, the problem is that it's Harry. Harry is the one I've been writing to all these months." His laugh bordered on being slightly mad. "I've spent months pouring out my heart and soul and falling in love and making friends, only to discover that it's Harry sitting at the other end."

He waved the journal in Remus' face. "This is a soul mate journal. I've been writing to my bloody soul mate, and it turns out that it's Harry. All along it's been Harry. Can you see my dilemma, Remus? Can you?" he asked with just a hint of desperation.

Remus wisely said nothing, but he couldn't maintain eye contact with Draco for long. Draco saw this and snorted, turning on his heel. "I've fallen in love with the prat. Funny how I didn't realise that I loved him until I thought I was going to lose him, and now I don't know if he even remembers that we are friends."

Draco saw Remus' lack of shocked response to his news, and nodded knowingly. "But you knew." The lack of shock in his face convinced Draco he was right. "Yes, you knew these were soul mate journals – you said as much once before, yet you never told me..."

To his credit, Remus didn't deny the charge. He eventually hung his head, nodding silently. A huge sigh escaped his lips before confessing. "For what it's worth, I did want to tell you, Draco. The thing is you wouldn't have believed me at the time. It's the same reason why you didn't realise who you were talking to."

"When did you work it out?"

Remus took a deep breath as he looked wistfully at the journal. "I had seen Harry with Sirius' old journal, and then a few days later I saw you with mine." Draco seemed to sit up at that bit of knowledge. Remus smiled. "Oh yes, that was definitely mine. I seemed to have misplaced it when I was living in Paris. I think I might have left it in a box of books I had sold to a wily old witch who ran a bookshop in the Student Quarter..."

"Emmaline," Draco just shook his head. Why was he not surprised to discover that Emmaline was somehow involved. Now that the truth was out in the open, he couldn't stay mad. "So what stopped me? How did I not realise I've been talking to Harry Potter for months and months?"

Remus finally took a large swig of the drink that lay forgotten in his hand. "Draco, you have to realise the ancient magic at work here. That set of journals is exceedingly powerful. Nothing was hidden from you. You had to overcome your pride and your prejudice. That was the lesson here. You had to learn to see who your soul mate was without all those years of baggage attached to them. If I had told you, would you have believed me? You needed to discover the truth for yourself."

Draco wanted desperately to accept Remus' apology. Deep down, he knew it was a logical explanation, but he hated feeling out of control. "How do I tell Harry? If he's forgotten everything, I'm going to have to start all over again, aren't I? He may not even remember the journal. How can I write to him knowing what I know now, Remus? I have no idea how he'll react to the truth... We were so close to being together."

Remus saw the reflected pain in Draco's eyes. "If you know him as well as you think, you should already have your answer."

Draco shrugged, the pain back in his eyes. "Maybe I misinterpreted his words... Perhaps I'm the one who thought there was more going on than met the eye."

"Trust your instincts, Draco. Harry would have to care deeply for you to do what he did in that cave. The fact that he stepped in front of a curse for you with no thought to the consequences must count for something. You have to believe that his memories will return, Draco. Please don't beat yourself up about it. If you love him, as you say, then you'll find a way to tell him."

"You know, just when I think my life can't get any more complicated, I see that the benchmark has been raised, and things become even harder. Falling in love and having a relationship shouldn't be this hard, Remus. Why is it always so difficult for me?"

It pained Remus to see his young friend in such turmoil. It wasn't often that he saw Draco so open and depressed. Was this the real Draco that Harry had spied behind the mask of bravado? He had to admit that their timing was just appalling. Just when Draco finds his soul mate, Harry ends up critically injured. It truly could not have been any more tragic. He didn't feel right giving away the knowledge that Harry already knew that he was deeply in love with Draco. It wasn't his information to tell. He hoped beyond hope that Harry would regain his memories – both of them deserved to be happy together, and finally the journals could be responsible for a match that didn't have a tragic ending.

"But your cure worked, Draco. Doesn't that count for something? I visited earlier, and Madame Pomfrey said he had been forced to get up and walk a few steps, which is a good sign." Draco wasn't sure Remus fully understood how he felt and he was still a little upset at the werewolf for his silence about the journals, even if deep down, he could understand why he did it.

Draco finally shook himself out of his maudlin mood and realised he was being a bad host, changing the subject in the process. "I'm sorry, Remus. I can only guess you came in to talk about your last Transformation. Instead you get an earful about all my problems."

Remus waved him away. "Don't worry, I understand how busy you've been, and it's late. Everything went just fine. The potion helps me to keep my mind during the whole night, and after I transform back, I feel a lot better. Still, it would be nice if it could do something to alleviate the pain of the actual transformation. That bit is the killer."

Draco had put a lot of thought into that phase of the lycanthropic curse. The actual transformation was the toughest stage. "I did some studies on the actual transformation a long time ago, but I am yet to have any success. It seems that the transformation period is the whole crux of the curse." Long repressed memories came to the fore, and he repressed a shudder. "I had the distinct displeasure of having to work alongside Fenrir Greyback my tenure with the Dark Lord."

Remus' nostrils flared and he unconsciously scratched at his shoulder blade at the mention of Greyback. "I understand your father had quite a bit to do with Greyback, but I didn't know that you had anything to do with him." Both men shuddered at their own memories of the violent and mad werewolf who was responsible for infecting so many innocent victims.

"He may have had something to do with my interest in developing something to help his victims. Goodness knows he left enough of them behind."

"Speaking of which," Remus suddenly remembered something he needed to tell Draco. "I was in Werewolf services earlier this week, and one of Greyback's victims is enrolled to start in the new school year."

Draco put down his glass. This news almost made him forget his previous worries. "Really? I didn't realise there were that many child victims left."

"Yes, there's still a few, surprisingly. I think we'll have two or three more to come through the school yet, if our records of registered werewolves are correct. That still doesn't account for all those who are still too scared to register. We try to change the laws, but the Ministry still has an element that is against people with my affliction. The fact we have to report to the registry every so often doesn't help matters. Of course, the School Board has stated that she must take Wolfsbane each month, so you'll need to account for that in your brewing."

Draco could understand the Board's reluctance, but nodded. Increasing the quantity of Wolfsbane would not be an issue. "Who is she?"

"A young lass by the name of Maggie Gadbury. Poor thing. Fenrir killed her parents and her older sister, leaving her to survive with a bite. She's been in and out of foster homes ever since. I'm actually looking forward to seeing her here - she's such a beautifully natured child. Her parents were quite talented, actually. Maggie has had problems in her domestic life – her latest foster family has barely been adequate. I'm hoping that school can help her to come out of her shell."

"Isn't it always the most innocent of victims who have to suffer the most?" he asked, his mind thinking about Harry as he spoke. He really was looking forward to meeting this Maggie Gadbury. A female lycanthrope offered her own set of challenges. He absently wondered if he would need to change the Wolfsbane potion to account for the different hormonal needs. His brain immediately went into analytical mode as he began thinking of different combinations of herbs that he could use.

"You seem a little excited by the prospect, if I do say so."

"Remus, if I never see another werewolf again, it won't be too soon. No offence intended of course – oh, you know what I mean." That had not come out as he meant, but Remus seemed to understand his sentiments.

"I have often wondered how you managed to be so near to Greyback for so long during the war without being bitten," Remus commented curiously. "He was well known for taking the odd bite at Death Eaters he had taken a fancy to."

Draco snorted at the irony. "Oh no, he was never allowed to bite his colleagues, for which I was eternally grateful. Voldemort must have made some sort of unbreakable vow with him. He was only allowed to take a bite at them if they displeased the Dark Lord. Even so, I was always wary around him. I'm just glad Greyback is dead. I really would like to shake the hand of the wizard who eventually got rid of him though. He was even more unstable than Voldemort at times."

Remus shook his head. "He was more animal than wizard, which might have accounted for some of his madness." It was then that Draco remembered that it was Fenrir who had infected Remus.

He offered an apologetic reply. "I'm sorry, Remus. I shouldn't have brought up the topic. I'm sure you think about it often enough without someone like me reminding you."

"No, don't apologise, Draco. You of all people are doing all that you can, which you never should apologise for. Is it your past run-ins with Greyback that have made you so passionate about helping those with my affliction?" Remus asked out of sheer curiosity.

Draco had to think about the question for some time. It was never a conscious decision on his part to do his research on Wolfsbane. He just needed to brew it one day during a class at L'Institut, and he became all the more curious about improving it. But he admitted that his work with it had brought back many memories of his time in the Death Eaters. "I never really thought about it, but now you ask, I guess I was thankful – I know how close I came to being bitten. Perhaps it is some unconscious desire to make up for what I had to do." His voice faded away and he closed his eyes. Still, the unbidden memories returned. "Maggie might not have been one of the lucky ones, but I'll be damned if I can't try to offer her a chance at something close to normal."

Remus gave his shoulder a firm squeeze of support. "You truly are a good man, Draco. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Harry truly deserves someone like you. He's alive, thanks to you – and that's the most important thing."

Draco nodded. He knew that Remus was right. He came along just at the right time, and he had certainly given Draco plenty to think about. "Thanks Remus. Thanks for listening."

"You're welcome." Remus was on his way out, but turned – a wry smile on his face. "Not to stir the pot, or anything, I just thought you should know it was Ron Weasley who took Fenrir down. Something about avenging his brother."

"Really?" Draco asked in surprise. The scowl at the mention of the Weasel returned to his face. "Well then, I take it back. Greyback should have bitten him first."

---

Sunday 27 July

The halls were peaceful and quiet as Draco made his way to the infirmary. It was still quite early, particularly for a Sunday, yet the weather was already wonderfully warm. Draco had finished the salve and was on his way to offer it to Harry. After his confession to Remus, he had lain awake for half the night, frightfully concerned that Harry's memory loss was a side effect of the Aboleo Adesum cure. He couldn't be sure, and he would never get a chance to brew the potion again, so the thought played on his mind and disrupted his sleep. He had so much to talk to Harry about, but he had no idea where to start – especially if Harry's memories were still vague.

The last thing he expected to see was someone sitting in his chair beside Harry's bed. His good mood soured as he recognised a familiar head of bushy hair.

"Granger," he said softly, not wanting to wake Harry, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Hermione turned to look at Draco with her swollen red rimmed eyes. She looked dreadful. "Draco," she said and shrugged offhandedly.

A surge of possessiveness overwhelmed him, and he felt like pulling her away from Harry's side. Unfortunately, his mouth moved into gear before he could think. "Shouldn't you be out looking for your Neo Death Eater of a husband instead of weeping all over Harry?" He realised how harsh he sounded the moment the words left his mouth.

His words obviously struck a nerve. Hermione's shoulders sank and tears began welling in the back of her eyes. "How… how did you know?" she asked in disbelief. "I… they said they were trying to keep the news quiet. Arthur is putting up a brave front, but Molly is a wreck…"

Draco noticed the quiet desperation in her voice. She was shaking quite visibly now, and for just a moment, he felt guilty. Despite everything that had gone on between them, this was one of Harry's oldest friends. Even though she had absolutely no taste in men, Draco could see that she was distraught.

"I'm sorry I sounded so harsh – I'm not angry at you... just a little surprised that you weren't here earlier. I would have thought that you would be here the minute you knew Harry was injured."

"Ron wouldn't let me come to see him," she bristled defensively. "They… they had an argument, and he tried to stop me seeing Harry. I have just as much right to be here as you, Draco. Besides, I just had to see him for myself. Although I should be with Molly – I don't want to give her any more cause for worry." Draco nodded reluctantly. She did have a right to be there – he was just feeling a little possessive.

"How did you know Ron is missing?" she asked again, a little more firmly.

He moved around the other side of the bed, keeping a sharp eye on Harry. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake him. His argument wasn't with Hermione, rather it was with her sneaky weasel of a husband. It struck him that if he were to be a part of Harry's future, then he was going to have to make the effort to prove his worth to Harry's friends. The last time he ran into Granger, she had been quite mature and surprisingly treated him with respect. She was obviously distraught. He pulled back his triggered response to be snarky.

He indicated that perhaps they should talk away from Harry's bedside. Hermione looked back at Harry fondly for a moment. There was no indication they had interrupted his peaceful sleep, so she nodded her head and followed Draco as he moved to the windows at the opposite end of the infirmary.

"One of the Aurors contacted me yesterday. There have been a few unaccountable transactions in relation to the Malfoy Estate. It seems a considerable number of Malfoy assets ended up in the clutches of the Neo Death Eaters, despite the fact that the estate was apparently frozen and administered by your husband." Hermione took a step back in shock at that news. "I had a very long and interesting meeting with Thufir Magroc yesterday," he continued. "It seems that your husband was working to his own agenda. His bosses certainly were not aware of his extra-curricular activities."

From Hermione's reaction, this information was news to her. She shook her head in disbelief. "I had no idea," she whispered quietly. Draco watched as she tried to hold herself together. He felt awkward and uncomfortable being civil to her – considering their history – but from the pain in her eyes he could appreciate the fact that she was suffering for love. That was certainly an emotion he could understand. He didn't know what a brilliant witch like Granger could see in a fool like Weasley, and he was under no illusion that if his feelings for Harry became public, people would keep their opinions to themselves. He just hoped to Merlin that he would get to that point of public declaration.

"You know, I was so caught up in my own studies, I barely realised that there was anything wrong. I thought his long hours were simply because he was given more responsibility at work. I knew he was involved in your estate, but I assumed that he kept the details secret because of the bank's security procedures."

"Did you notice anything odd or different about his behaviour of late?" Draco asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but sounded unsure as she spoke. "He was acting a little edgy and nervous ever since his birthday, but I just assumed it had something to do with the fact that he was nervous about the wedding." A small smile crossed her face, and Draco could see that there were tears in her eyes. "He seemed to fly off the handle more easily than usual, but you know that his temper has always been so easy to trigger." Draco just nodded in return. If he could find out as much as he could here, they might be able to find some clue to Weasley's whereabouts.

"But it was after his little stunt at his stag party that I realised something was terribly wrong. Did you know he and Harry had a huge fight?" she asked.

"I was aware that they had a little falling out over… something," he said truthfully.

"That was the first time I admitted to myself that Ron was changing. I thought perhaps it was the pressure of getting married. He suddenly seemed so aggressive - especially towards Harry. He just lost all ability to reason. I was so angry at him - and Bill - they are as bad as each other. At least Bill has an excuse for his foul behaviour at times, but Ron…" she seemed on the verge of tears again.

Draco thought carefully for a moment. There was something familiar about how she described the weasel's behaviour. It seemed almost forced… unnatural. "Did you consider the fact that someone may have been influencing him?"

Hermione sniffled inelegantly and nodded. "I keep asking myself that now, but Ron learned to resist the Imperius curse during the war. I did ask Ginny to come over and confirm that he hadn't been cursed - she's a curse breaker now. I admit it seemed silly at the time, and I just thought I was being paranoid. Ron had said I was working too hard, and I should have been home more often, but he was the one working longer and longer hours."

Draco barely flinched at the mention of Ginny Weasley, cringing slightly. "Did she check for any Dark curses?" he asked.

"If there's a curse breaker that knows her dark curses, it's Ginny. She's the best free-lancer in the whole of Europe. I trust her judgement. "

Draco didn't particularly care for any more conversation about Ginny Weasley, suffice to say that if she was only half as good at curse breaking as she was in deflating egos, then she was probably more than competent.

"But what I don't understand, is how Ron could get into a position where he could be controlled. He certainly had no love for the Death Eaters..."

"It is possible that he may have never known he was being controlled. On the other hand, he could have been blackmailed into making some sort of binding vow, and he couldn't renege. Although, if he can shake off Imperius..."

"If someone was controlling him, wouldn't the magic have been lifted after you killed the ringleaders? Shouldn't the spell have finished?"

Draco nodded, "If it was a spell, then yes, it would have stopped the moment they were killed…" He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "Unless…"

"Unless what? You don't think there are more Neo Death Eaters out there?" Hermione sounded a little intimidated by the thought.

Draco shook his head. "Sweet Merlin, I certainly hope not. ... Surely not coercive potions."

"Coercive potions? But aren't they illegal?" Hermione realised how stupid her question sounded. "Of course, they're Death Eaters - they wouldn't care about that," she shook her head. "How could I not have thought of a potion?"

"Relax, Granger. I only thought of it myself just now, and only because I remember a conversation..." A long forgotten discussion with Phillip Parkinson was resurfacing, and Draco had a horrid thought as he realised the implications of it. If Phillip had been successful…

"Did you know them?" she asked curiously. "The ones you killed. Were they Death Eaters you knew?"

He saw the serious look on her face, realising that the Neo Death Eater identities were not yet publicised. "Yes," he nodded. "But there was certainly no loyalty, or friendship."

He glanced over Hermione's shoulder to look back at Harry, and the pang of worry must have been visible in his face. Hermione followed his gaze, bringing a smile to her face.

"I worked it out, you know," she said with a hint of smugness in her voice.

"What?" Draco had no idea what she was talking about.

"Harry told me about his journal. He couldn't stop talking about his friend, Luc." She watched carefully for Draco's reaction, and his head snapped to look at her, his pale gaze directly penetrating her own as she nodded carefully. "I know that he's been talking to you, confiding in you for months now, Draco. Are you aware of the significance of the Journal Intime Partagé."

Granger knew? He started picking at some imaginary lint on the sleeve of his robe, not really knowing what to say.

"I have to say that I was a little stunned at first, but then I realised it made sense." He was startled by her statement. She grabbed at his hand and held it firmly. "If I had any doubts, then they all flew out the window when I saw what you did to help Harry. Poppy told me exactly what you gave up for him. It just goes to show how much you really do love him. I never thought I'd say it, but Harry deserves someone who will love him unconditionally, Draco. I think you'll be good for each other."

Bloody hell, she really is the smartest witch around. I didn't even believe it for myself until it was nearly too late. Unable to think of anything to say, he eventually gave in and just nodded his head.

"So did you tell Harry about your discovery?" he asked in trepidation.

"No, he has to learn about you himself. I don't know what would happen if he found out you were his soul mate, and he wasn't ready to accept that possibility. When did you realise your feelings for Harry?"

"When I thought I was going to lose him. We were getting closer, Granger, but I don't know if Harry even remembers that. It seems the missing gaps in his memory extend back to well before the summer. I doubt he even remembers that we are friends." A note of desperation crept into his voice.

"Well if that's the case, you're just going to have to make him fall in love with you all over again," she replied with a smile.

He looked up again as he finally understood what she had said. "He told you he was in love with me? You just said he didn't know who I was," he asked in disbelief. Telling someone you are in love in an anonymous journal is one thing. To tell your best friend is something else.

Hermione shook her head. "He never said that it was you, Draco. He admitted that he was in love with Luc, but I'm not sure if he worked out who you truly are. I'm sorry to get your hopes up."

Draco pursed his lips into a thin line. "Perhaps he was ashamed to tell you it was me," he said bitterly.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. I'm almost certain he never knew. He is terrible at keeping secrets, and I would have known if he was. Don't worry yourself. You're still here, and you're still helping him, which is the most important thing."

"And what do you think of that, Granger? The bane of your school existence falls in love with your best friend. Do you think you could live with that?" No matter what, if Harry was going to be a part of his life, then all of his friends and various hangers on would have to be a part as well. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he could separate Harry from that which had been important to him in the past. Just like he knew that Harry and Severus would have to learn to play nice.

He reluctantly admitted that he could stand Granger's company. He was just surprised that she already knew about the journal. Am I the only one who didn't know? How foolish do I feel?

"I honestly don't have a right to an opinion, Draco. But all I know is that if Harry is ecstatically happy with you, then I'll be happy. He is certainly old enough to make his own decisions, and I'll support those decisions as long as he is still happy about them. Besides, who ever said that love made sense?"

Draco knew that was the best he could possibly expect from someone he taunted mercilessly at school. "Thank you," he replied.

"Of course," she continued, "If you ever do anything to hurt Harry, I'll be doing more than just slapping you." They both smiled after that comment, and they turned as they heard Harry stirring.

"Do you think he'll get his memories back?" Draco asked. The look of worry on his face was palpable.

"It's a miracle he's still alive, Draco. If, as Poppy seems to think, it's only a temporary memory loss, then there is every chance it will return in time. Did he somehow get a concussion during the fight?" she asked.

"Hmmm, yes, he had a nasty fall from the portkey, but he seemed okay at first." Draco's mind wandered back to memories of the cave. It was something he didn't want to remember. A shiver ran down his spine at the thoughts. He quickly pushed aside the frightening memory of Phillip pretending to be Lucius - an image that was now haunting his dreams nightly.

"But concussion is like that at times. He might seem fine, but then he'll forget things. It will all come back soon, don't worry." Draco was relieved at the quiet confidence in Granger's tone.

He just nodded, not really knowing what to say. "Thanks, Granger."

"Hermione," she replied.

"What?"

"My name is Hermione. I'm married now, in case you had forgotten. I'm sure you really don't want to call me 'Weasley', so perhaps it's time you called me Hermione."

"That might just shock Harry back into a relapse," he replied with a wide smile and a light laugh. Hermione smiled in return. "I should go. I wish he were awake, but it's probably best that he get as much natural sleep as possible. Poppy should be back soon, but he's in good hands, for now."

"Thanks, Grang... Hermione," he offered. "Harry did well to choose you as a friend," he admitted frankly.

Hermione already had a handful of floo powder. She raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Thanks, Malfoy."

---

Harry woke slowly, thoroughly convinced he could hear voices. Surely he must have been dreaming, for it seemed impossible that Draco and Hermione would ever have a civil conversation.

"'Mione?" he mumbled, remembering from the sharp antiseptic smells that he was in the infirmary. The ever present aches and pains were still there, but he was getting used to them. He only began to fret when he found he couldn't grasp at any of his missing memories. It frustrated him more and more each time he woke, but right now, he had a more pressing need with a bladder that felt ready to explode.

"Harry," Draco's voice sounded relieved as he made his way to the bedside.

He blinked owlishly as his vision slowly adjusted. "I thought I heard 'Mione," he said.

Draco handed him his glasses. "She was just here, but had to go."

"You two weren't fighting, were you?" he asked sceptically.

"Of course we weren't fighting, Harry. She had to go and visit her mother-in-law."

Harry had a suddenly vivid flash of memory – an intense argument with Ron. His sense of anger at him was vehemently strong, and he took a deep breath in realisation. "Was she alone, or was Ron with her?"

Draco shook his head. "So you remember..."

"When your best friend for half your life suddenly turns on you, you tend not to forget. Hang on, That's only been recently. I didn't remember that yesterday." Harry's eyes widened as he realised that a memory had returned. Draco nodded, clearly pleased that Harry had a memory return, even if it wasn't a pleasant one. Harry started to make the effort to get out of bed and get to the bathroom. "Should you be trying to get up, Harry?" The look of concern on Draco's face was genuine.

"Pomfrey says I should be getting up and about. Easy for her to say," Harry snorted as he struggled to get his balance. The immobilised arm was making it nearly impossible.

"Well, I suppose if she says it is for the best, then who am I to argue?" he said, helping Harry to sit on the edge of the bed. "You had forgotten about your argument with Weasley, hadn't you?" he asked. Harry nodded. "That's a good sign."

Harry was a little frustrated as he tried to move his arm, and found it was still immobile. "What? That I've been fighting with my oldest friend?" he was starting to shout, but his frustration had nothing to do with Ron. His immobilised arm was beginning to annoy him.

"No, I mean that you're starting to remember things. Your memory should be back to normal in no time." Harry had to admit that Draco was certainly being positive. Why is he so eager for me to remember? What has happened? I am so sick and tired of being left in the dark. He almost missed Draco's question in his daydreaming. "Are you in any pain? Are you suffering any symptoms like a headache?"

Harry nodded. "A little headache, I think. I've had it for a while now, and I can't really tell if it's better or worse. It's like there's a fog in my head, and when I try to think too hard, the headache gets worse. Still, it's not nearly half as frustrating as this bloody arm," he said snappily. He hated being sick, and he really had had enough of the infirmary.

"You just concentrate on resting, and things will improve with time," Draco offered confidently.

Harry snorted. "That's easy for you to say, you're not the one who's in pain. You could save me some time by telling me what I'm forgetting. Snape was only too obliging."

"And I am sure that you were only too eager to goad him into it, weren't you?" Draco asked knowingly.

"Why would it bother you that Snape's been telling tales? I know who I was protecting when I was cursed, if that's what you're implying." Harry felt a little uncomfortable. How does Draco feel about that? The knowledge of what he did played heavily on his mind.

Draco seemed a little apprehensive and hesitated, shaking his head, but didn't voice any thoughts as he offered a helping hand to Harry.

"Take it easy, Harry. I'm not going to let you fall." Harry didn't have time to think about Draco's helpfulness as his bladder was being insistent. He reluctantly took the proffered arm and inelegantly stood up.

Draco slowly helped him take a few steps, his legs wobbling as weakly as a newborn foal's. There were still some aches and pains shooting up and down his back and legs, but he recognised them as being from days of inactivity. Luckily, the lavatory wasn't too far from his bed.

"You'll be all right on your own?" Draco asked as he watched Harry's unsure gait.

"I think I'm capable of taking a piss alone, but thanks for the offer." His words growled around his frustration at feeling so helpless. Draco nodded in understanding, and quietly left him on his own.

Harry eventually figured out the logistics of getting his cock out with only one working arm. Being right handed, he never realised how awkward things were when he tried them with his left hand. Merlin, I'll probably make a cock-up of wanking too, he thought, as he wasn't being terribly efficient at aiming. He thought about sitting down to pee, but knew he would need to stand up again, and that was going to be too hard. He allowed himself to relax momentarily as he relieved himself.

What the hell has gone on in the past few months? Draco seems almost like a different man. He's certainly being far too obliging. Harry had so many questions and the list of questions surrounding Draco was growing longer. Although, he admitted that remembering new things gave him hope that his entire memory would return.

How long have I been lying here? Is it days, or weeks? Judging from what seems to have gone on, it feels like months. But he knew it was still the school holidays – there was no sign of any students. He would have heard them by now if school were back in session.

I distinctly remember being offered the job as Remus' assistant, but things are getting a little foggy after that. I remember helping Draco by translating that potion, and I definitely recall Ron being a complete twat, and I have some vague memories of Hermione's wedding.

He was the first to admit that there was a lot of missing information between feeling sorry for Draco, and stepping in front of a curse for him. All he could remember about confronting the Neo Death Eaters was a few snatches of memory, mostly quick flashes of curses being fired back and forth. Something odd suddenly struck. Why didn't I put up a shield? Why didn't Draco, for that matter? Perhaps I am trying too hard to make my memories come out, he eventually admitted with a deep sigh. His determined curiosity hated being kept in the dark.

As he shuffled over to wash his hand, he dared a cursory glance in the mirror above the sink, and stopped in shock. The face that stared back at him seemed barely recognisable. He was pale and gaunt, with deep bags under his eyes and patchy stubble accentuating his hollow cheeks. His messy hair was getting longer and starting to curl, but he barely noticed any of that as his attention was drawn to the new and very angry looking scar on his cheek.

He had paid little attention to the tightness in his face – he had other aches and pains to be concerned about, but seeing it there, and so bright against his pale skin, he felt the enormity of his injuries. He looked at the useless arm that hung limply at his side, and wondered if it would always be like that. The bruising was fading slowly, but he saw the little starburst scars that would likely remain. He looked away, knowing that this was the price he paid. They're just more scars. So many people have lost their lives, or been permanently maimed because of this fucking pathetic war, and here I am complaining that I'm going to be left with scars. That's me – scarhead. Everyone else gets severe injuries, and I'm yet again the lucky one. Perhaps I deserve a permanent injury for putting so many people in danger.

That old guilt rose to the fore, and he bemoaned those who suffered or were injured. The knowledge that Draco had given up a cure for him only added to it, once again bringing it to his attention. Perhaps his luck had finally run out, and he was getting what he deserved.

As he slowly made his way back to his bed, he noticed how open and lonely the infirmary seemed. With Snape gone, he was the only patient left. Not that he was going to miss having the greasy git around. He distinctly remembered that Charlie had admitted a long held crush on Snape, but the idea that they were now a couple made him sit and wonder if he was dreaming all this. He couldn't imagine anything more unthinkable, but Charlie was a grown man, and he obviously knew what he wanted out of life. Somehow, he knew he was completely over his crush on Charlie, but not having any memories of it made it feel strange. It all seemed so surreal.

The early morning sun was streaming in through the hospital wing's large windows, and the birds were chirping happily as a light breeze rustled through the branches of the trees. Harry suddenly realised he should be out in the courtyard doing his T'ai Chi – something else he had forgotten. No wonder he was feeling out of sorts – his usual regimen of exercises had been forgotten.

He wasn't sure if he should be upset that he was missing such an important part of his daily routine, or whether he should be excited that he had remembered something else. The idea that memories were returning – no matter how slowly they trickled back, gave him some comfort. Still, it didn't help his impatience level. Back in his bed, he relished the cool sheets and desperately hoped one of the vials on the bedside table contained a painkilling potion.

Draco came back out of Pomfrey's office with even more potions. He handed Harry a bright yellow one – he had not seen that before, but if it tasted as bad as it looked, he would be gagging all day.

"Madame Pomfrey left that one for you. She doesn't want you having any more sleeping potions, but now you're going to need to stay awake." Harry looked sceptically at the bottle. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to poison you. If that is what I wanted, you wouldn't have even woken up in the first place."

Harry glanced from the bottle back to Draco. "I still can't work out why you're being so nice, Draco, but something tells me I should trust you. Where is Madame Pomfrey, anyway?" It suddenly struck him as quite odd that the ever-present medi-witch was nowhere in sight.

"She was taking the day off – to visit Madame Hooch and her new baby, according to Hermione." Harry wrinkled his brow, and turned his questioning stare to Draco.

"Hermione? Since when have you stopped calling her Mudblood or Granger?" he asked in all seriousness.

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps we've both realised it's silly to hold childish grudges, now, drink that potion before Pomfrey hauls me over the coals for not being helpful. If you think she's bad when you're a patient, you haven't seen her when you're supposed to be helping her."

Harry reluctantly downed the potion, and his earlier thoughts were confirmed. It tasted worse than fermented fruit juice – the acidic taste burning all the way into his stomach. "So did you just come in here to shovel ghastly potions into me, Draco?" he asked.

"I actually just came up here this morning to put this salve on you – it should help with the curse scarring on your back," he held out a small cruse filled with a thick honey coloured balm. "I was planning on just leaving it here, but Hermione said that Pomfrey wasn't around, and I thought... I can go if you want me to..." Draco sounded hesitant, and stood to leave, but Harry quickly stopped him.

"No, I don't... don't go. I'm sorry, I don't know why my temper is so short." He honestly didn't know why. He had no reason to take his ever present frustration out on Draco.

"It probably has something to do with the fact you haven't done any of your T'ai Chi, or your other exercises. Your body is probably telling you that it needs to get back into its routine. Perhaps exercising your body might make your mind remember what it has forgotten." Draco sounded a little wistful, but Harry barely noticed it.

"You're probably right. I can barely walk to the lavatory, and I don't intend to have someone help me out every time." His stomach growled so loudly, it startled both of them. "Of course, I probably might feel better if I ate something," he admitted.

Draco said nothing before heading over to the fireplace. Harry couldn't see who he was talking to, but he heard the low murmur of voices. A few minutes later he returned with a tray, the smell of soup and crusty fresh bread escaping, making his mouth water. A familiar pot of tea also sat on the side of the plate. "I didn't think you'd find Poppy's usual fare all that appealing. I know you haven't had anything but broth for the past few days. I thought some of Emmaline's own home made soup and bread might hit the spot."

Harry was completely stunned by Draco's thoughtfulness, but the fresh food distracted him enough that he merely muttered a polite thank you.

Draco shrugged. "Don't expect service like this all the time."

Harry enjoyed every mouthful. The vegetable soup wasn't too rich, but it was quite tasty, without being spicy. He was a little shaky at first, not used to working with his left hand, but with a little bit of sustenance, he was soon feeling a little stronger. Everything was still hurting, but the effort of chewing the bread was dispelled by the joy of having eaten.

He saw Draco toying with the small bowl of salve. "So what's so special about that salve, apart from the fact that you made it?" he asked curiously.

Draco shrugged again, "It's just a little something I developed. It might help with the scarring," he replied.

Harry put a hand to his cheek to the new scar. "Oh."

Draco was staring at his new scar intently, his face unreadable. "No, that one isn't a curse scar. This might help, but I thought you might want this for the scarring around where the Aboleo Adesum struck you."

"There's more scarring?" Harry only now realised the extent of his injuries.

"Well curses usually leave scars, Harry. All curses." His eyes momentarily flicked to Harry's forehead, and Harry felt extremely stupid.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I'm only just coming to terms with the possibility that this arm might not work again," he replied dolefully.

Draco shook his head. "No, your arm will get better. Pomfrey knows how impatient you get, that's why she's immobilised it. If you try to do any magic now, it would be weak – unpredictable. It would be much better if you let it heal naturally, and your magic will return, in time."

Harry found himself placated by Draco's assurances. He knew he was rash and impatient; he just didn't have to like the waiting time. He nodded and sighed, picking up the teapot and pouring a cup.

"Well," Draco's voice held just a hint of a smile. "Are you going to take your shirt off, or am I going to have to forcibly rip it from you?" He held up the salve.

Harry almost choked on his tea at the subtle tone of Draco's words. Surely he didn't mean it that way, Harry. You've certainly been thinking about him that way, if the dreams you've been having are any indication. No, something definitely has happened between us, something I can't remember. It's the only explanation. We've obviously moved beyond the enforced civility that Dumbledore put upon us.

Harry saw from the smirk on Draco's face that he understood perfectly the flirtatious tone of his words. Harry managed not to blush, and finished putting down his tea cup.

"Well?" Draco asked. "How else can I rub this salve into the scars?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Harry forgot himself for a moment as his mind was transfixed on the idea of being intimate with Draco. He wondered why the idea wasn't so abhorrent. What has happened? He fumbled clumsily with the shirt, eventually undoing all the buttons.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but it might be best if you lie on your stomach. I'm not sure exactly how the scars are scattered. You may have to whip off your pyjama bottoms as well, but we'll see." Draco seemed serious now, all hint of teasing gone in his voice.

Harry arranged himself on the bed, feeling a little awkward and extremely vulnerable. The more he allowed his thoughts to wander, the more he seemed to think that something had definitely changed in his relationship with Draco, and the only logical conclusion was that they had become intimate. Turning his head, he saw Draco staring in morbid fascination at his scars. The first touch of Draco's hand to his back was cool and gentle, and he hissed as the salve began to burn cool on his skin.

"Sorry," Draco offered. "I just never realised how badly the scars had spread." Harry couldn't tell if it was a look of disgust or pity on his face, but his mood deflated.

"How bad are they?" he asked in a firm tone.

"They're not bad."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Despite what you might think, Harry, these scars don't look nearly as bad as they should. The scars from this curse are usually ghastly – looking like a large cluster of broken blood vessels on the skin. Yours seem to have almost faded, they're still a faint pink, but I think that they might heal nicely. They should turn a silvery colour when they get old."

"Oh great," Harry remarked dryly. "Now I'll look like a giant flobberworm."

"Better than looking like a road map." Draco dared to touch one of the scars again, the faintest of touches sending a tingle through Harry. "I don't want to sound presumptuous, but I think that the cure potion may be the reason they don't look so bad. I still think this salve will do some good. You want to get elasticity into those scars as soon as possible."

The nagging ache in Harry's back seemed to be set aside as he could feel the salve sinking through his skin. Draco's hands seemed a little hesitant, but Harry didn't offer any resistance, and he was soon spreading the soothing balm across Harry's back. As he felt the soft touch, he realised the breadth and spread of the scars. Draco hesitated again as his hands worked closer to the waistband of Harry's pyjama bottoms, and he cleared his throat.

"The scars don't just conveniently stop at waist level, Harry. Unless you want to have trouble sitting down for the rest of your life, you're going to have to drop them." Draco didn't sound like he was joking, and Harry noted the hint of embarrassment in his voice. He nodded in reply, reluctantly wriggling to allow his pyjamas to lower a fraction. He could feel the blush travel all the way down his back and even further.

The feel of Draco's fingers on his skin was soothing. He could almost imagine them stroking and touching and caressing his body. As he closed his eyes, he almost imagined that it was happening – that it had happened in the past. You have amazing hands. Harry distinctly remembered saying those words, and the feel of those hands gliding over his cock was something he knew he had felt. It had been very real.

His eyes opened wide and the spell was broken. "Draco," he called out as he awkwardly tried to sit up.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain – is it burning?" Draco's hands suddenly stopped, and Harry felt bereft at the loss of touch.

He shook his head as he turned to look directly at Draco. "No, there's no pain. But... there's something I have to ask."

Draco's face was unreadable, but he nodded. "Okay, but turn around – I haven't finished putting this salve on yet. I haven't rubbed it in properly."

"I know I've lost a large chunk of my recent memories, but bits and pieces have been floating around, and things really haven't made much sense. Were we... did..." he took a deep breath. "Have we been intimate, Draco?" Harry noticed the very subtle twinkle that may have passed at the corner of Draco's eye, along with the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, but his hands only stopped for a mere moment at the question, before continuing to knead their way down Harry's lower back.

Draco's voice was more hoarse than usual as he answered. "What gives you that idea?"

"I've had dreams – at least, I thought they were bits and pieces of dreams at first, but they're not, are they? They would only make sense if we were ... lovers." Harry swallowed hard after saying the last word. The more he looked at Draco, the more he remembered that he had grown to see more about this man – that he had managed a major paradigm shift, and he knew that there was something fundamental that he was missing. It didn't seem so unbelievable now. Seeing Draco worry at his lower lip before quickly licking it made it even more real. He knew he had seen that look before, and it had been recently.

Draco thought he may have gone just a little bit too far as he started to rub the salve into Harry's back. Just being near Harry again was intoxicating, and once he started, he knew he would have difficulty stopping. From the moment that he saw the extent of the crisscross scars on Harry's back, he knew he couldn't stop himself from getting closer. For days, all he had wanted to do was touch and caress and show Harry how much he meant to him. Not being able to touch him put a real strain on his ability to do that. Touch was such an important part of showing love - his mother had shown him that. But Harry's question had taken him completely by surprise.

Is it possible that Harry's memories are returning? He dared to ask himself in hope. It would be so easy to tell him everything right now, but Pomfrey was adamant that he would have to make the memory connections on his own. If I tell Harry everything, how will he react? Should he answer Harry's question truthfully, or should he hedge?

"Lovers, Harry?" he tried not to put any emotion in his answer. He shook his head slightly. "I won't deny that I'm overwhelmed you leapt in front of a curse aimed at me, but we haven't committed to anything." Yet. "We are friends now. I've managed to pretty much get over myself, and you seem to have accepted that." It was a cop-out of an answer, but at least it was better than an outright lie, or the startling revelation of the truth.

The answer seemed to take Harry by surprise. "So we haven't had sex?" he sounded disappointed, and Draco couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sure if we had, you would never have forgotten, Harry. Trust me on that. No, we haven't had sex... not unless you count a very drunken hand job in the lavatory..." Draco immediately realised he should not be telling Harry this, but the look of amazed innocence on Harry's face was truly priceless. His green eyes were wide with wonder.

"We did what?" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be so shocked. A minute ago you just asked if we had sex. You were admittedly more drunk than I was, of course. You even offered to obliviate me after the fact, but I admit that I wasn't completely blameless. But I shouldn't be telling you these things. Pomfrey will have my guts for garters if she finds out. You're supposed to allow your memories to return naturally."

Harry shook his head firmly. "No, you answered my question honestly. I guess that if I ask a question, I should be prepared for the answer, no matter how surprising. Thanks for answering honestly, Draco. I was beginning to wonder if I was going mental. We haven't shagged, but we have done... something. I'm sure there's a lot more to it that you're not telling me, but at least I have a part of the puzzle answered. I feel like there's something there – something I should know about you – something important. It's right there, but it's being more elusive than a snitch on a foggy day, and it's driving me more insane than being unable to do magic. I'm beginning to feel utterly useless," he said in a very dejected tone.

Draco had to resist grabbing Harry by the chin and kissing him hard, but he refrained with every ounce of his own willpower. He knew he shouldn't be pushing things with Harry, but the act of just touching him was enough to make him feel that there was still hope. It pained him to see Harry struggling for answers, when he could just tell him everything.

"You aren't useless, Harry. You've been injured. You're just going to have to trust that some of us are trying to look out for you. You are probably the most incredibly powerful wizard of this age, and the idea that you won't ever wield your magic again is just ludicrous." He could see that Harry was ready to slip into the same depression that gripped him after his own recuperation. For all the amazing cures that could ensure a wizard was back on his feet quickly, there was little in the wizarding world that could help cope with long recovery times.

But despite his own desires, he was taken completely by surprise when Harry grabbed him around the back of the neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was extremely sudden, but the first touch of Harry's warm breath was enough to make his lips and tongue respond. Harry quickly broke away, a small smile quirking at the corner of his lips. Draco was speechless, and ruing the fact that the kiss was over as suddenly as it had begun.

"Sorry, I just... That was rather forward, I know, but I just had to know... We haven't had sex, but I definitely know that we have done that before." Draco could see Harry sucking in his bottom lip – savouring the last touch of that kiss. It was something he saw Harry do that night the Manor burned down.

Draco gathered his breath, reluctantly moving away from the bed. "Oh yes, you are definitely right. That certainly wasn't something new. But I'd rather not do anything too rash – at least not until you remember exactly why you wanted to do that in the first place." Draco couldn't believe he said that, when all he wanted to do was to kiss him again. Why on earth was he suggesting that they not do that again?

"I'm sorry. I guess I just don't think. But you're right. I should know why I want to do that in the first place, considering the last full memory I have of you is when I gave you the cure translation. I'm fairly certain I didn't want to kiss you then. I have so many questions. I think I should probably try and write them down. Things usually make more sense when I try to put them into written words." Draco saw a light shine in the back of Harry's eyes as he made a revelation at the last words.

Has he worked it out? Surely he must have realised that I am Luc. Perhaps that's what he's forgotten. Harry didn't say anything else, but Draco fumbled with the remaining salve and put the lid back on the cruse.

He watched as Harry looked down at his immobilised arm. "You know, writing things down is such a great idea, but, it's not going to be any help if I can't write." He just shook his head.

"What about a Dictaquill?"

"No, a Dictaquill would be totally useless. Not much use if I can't work the charm, is it?" Draco nodded. He sometimes took his magic for granted, so much so that he now felt like an idiot for suggesting it to Harry. No wonder Harry was inclined to get depressed. He had no illusions that he would feel exactly the same if he were unable to perform just the simplest of spells.

"Would you like me to stay? Or are you up for other visitors? Remus is back from London. I'm sure he wouldn't mind visiting. Charlie wouldn't mind either, although..."

"I'm sure Snape is keeping him busy." They both smiled over that. "No," Harry shook his head. "I would have liked to have seen Hermione, but I am a little tired. Thanks, Draco."

"How about some things to read? I could bring you back some of your Muggle novels."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You must have been in my room if you know about my novels."

Draco realised his slip. Yes, he had been in Harry's room, but it was Flash who had told him of his love for the Muggle fantasy novels.

"You caught me out again, Harry."

"I'd like that – for you to bring me some of the novels, that is."

"Well then, I had best let you get some rest." He grabbed something from Pomfrey's table, putting it carefully on the bedside table. "If you need anything before Poppy comes back, I'm sure Dobby will only be too happy to help you."

"Thanks, Draco. Thanks for not lying to me. And thanks for everything you've done. Will you come to visit me again?" Harry asked.

"You're not sick of the sight of me yet, Potter?" Draco asked with a wry smirk.

Harry realised that he looked forward to Draco's company. "Actually, not at all, Malfoy. Not at all."

Draco paused, considering what he wanted to do. Eventually he gave in to the temptation, and dropped a chaste kiss on Harry's forehead before leaving quickly. He had to get out of there before he could change his mind and confess everything. At least for now he knew that there was a definite hope for the future.

But little did he know that more than just his own heart had been left lighter for their conversation.

---

Harry found himself somewhat bewildered by what he had learned. Draco had explained a very large piece of the puzzle, but that begged an even greater question. How did we get to the point where we were on the verge of starting a relationship? What the hell could have possibly happened to make us both want to be together - he did want it - didn't he? Or was he just being polite in saying so?

"Was I the one who changed, or was it you, Draco?" he asked aloud, still pondering what had happened. "I wish there was someone I could talk to who would understand." It was at that precise moment that he remembered his journal, accompanied by a distinct desire to talk to Luc. Part of his apprehension washed away at that thought. Luc is the only one who would understand. He always has the answers! Things were starting to fall into place rapidly Goodness knows I've probably written it all down and told him everything. I'm certain I would have confided in him. Luc would be able to tell me why I'm feeling this way about Draco. He's bound to know everything.

He sat up quickly, suddenly spurred on by a desire to get his journal. He didn't get very far as the effort of sitting up left him feeling quite weary and a little woozy. He had to admit that the salve that Draco rubbed into his back was doing good things - he could feel a tingling sensation all over his skin. He admitted that he would be quite happy for Draco to come back and do that again, even if he had not just discovered they were almost lovers.

He touched his lips tentatively as the distracting memory of that kiss lingered. He had always imagined that Draco's mouth would be hard and unyielding, yet he found the exact opposite to be true. His lips were soft and pliant and they seemed to be untroubled by Harry's brash and forthright behaviour. But what had surprised him most was that Draco hadn't frozen when he instigated the heated kiss. The thought brought a grin to his face.

"Ooh, what's put such a grin on your face?" Madame Pomfrey smiled as she came over to his bed. "You must be feeling better, then."

Harry stretched and yawned, allowing the medi-witch to poke and prod in her usual method of diagnosis. "Well, I just don't seem to have any energy, but I'm not feeling tired. I wish you would take this spell off my arm so that I could at least try to use it," he said with a distinct tone of frustration.

Pomfrey frowned. "Which is exactly why I'm keeping it immobilised, Harry. You might think you are feeling better, but you seem to have no concept of the term 'rest'. I have every intention of keeping you from doing magic until I'm thoroughly satisfied you are better." She sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly uncertain about what to say. "Never in all my years have I known someone to go through so much. You were near death, Harry. It's good to see that you are starting to get onto your feet, but it could literally be weeks before you are in a position to do magic."

Harry didn't seem to understand what she was saying. "But I'm feeling better than I did yesterday. I've remembered a couple of things today as well. Doesn't that mean that I should remember everything in time?"

Pomfrey smiled and patted him on the knee. "Yes, that is good news. You should be starting to feel stronger every day, but that is because you aren't performing any magic. I'm assuming you've forgotten the lecture I gave about magical healing."

During the war, Madame Pomfrey tried to explain magical healing to him, but all he could remember was that it was a complex relationship between a wizard and his magic. "I remember a bit of it, Madame Pomfrey," he replied, sounding a little hurt at her assumption.

She nodded in understanding. "Which means you didn't understand a thing. Your healing strength comes from your magic. You are a strong wizard, probably the strongest alive. I'm not surprised that you seem to be healing fairly quickly. But your magic is doing that, Harry. If I were to put a wand in your hand, you would either compromise your own healing, or your magic would become unpredictable. You should remember how your magic used to get out of control when it was being influenced by Dark Magic."

Harry thought on that for a few minutes. "So you're saying that if I start casting spells, I could get sick again?"

"Precisely. Which is only one of the reasons why I'm keeping your arm immobilised. You do seem to forget that you've had more than your fair share of injuries to that arm."

"I don't remember any recent injuries to that arm," he sounded puzzled.

She had forgotten for a moment about his temporary memory loss. "You fell off a school broom, and because of that Skele-Gro incident as a child, you had to let the break heal naturally. I'm afraid you've broken the bones again. The immobilisation spell on the arm is also helping the bones to heal. I'm afraid we're just going to have to leave it like that for a while longer. It could be weeks before the bones knit back together."

He didn't seem pleased with that diagnosis. With his arm immobilised, he could do very little. He had been hoping to convince her to take the spell off, but if there was an injury that he couldn't remember, then perhaps it would be for the best. Can't do magic, can't even take a leak properly. But it then suddenly struck him - it wouldn't be possible for him to write to Luc.

So how am I going to confide in Luc if I can't even write? Just as he was about to suggest a Dictaquill, he remembered that he would need to work it with his own magic – something that wasn't possible. The thought that he couldn't confide in him just when he needed him most, left him feeling a little down.

Pomfrey saw his flagging spirits and tried to cheer him up. "I know it must seem harsh, Harry, but it is for the best. Put some of that grim determination of yours to good use. Focus on keeping your strength up and who knows, if you keep improving like this, then you might be able to go home in a few days. You may even be ready for a broom by the time the students are back."

Harry still seemed quite down at that thought, picking at the lint on the sheet as he unconsciously pouted. "So what do I do in the meantime, Poppy? I can't do magic, I can't even hold a bloody quill, and going to the lavatory was an experience that made me feel like a little boy all over again."

"Well, I'm sure there are a few people around here who would only be too happy to spend some time visiting, if that's what you would like. I'm certain Dobby would love to spend time. I hear he's quite good at Wizard's Chess these days..."

"Please no. As much as Dobby is a great house-elf," Harry said firmly. "I'd rather read 'Hogwarts, A History' before spending..."

Pomfrey was starting to get a little exasperated with his petulant behaviour. With a flick of her wand, the book in question landed in his lap, and she headed back into her office.

He sighed wearily. "You don't suppose I could get something a little lighter? War and Peace, perhaps," he chided at her retreating back.

He tried not to let his frustration anger him, but she had pointed out a few poignant things. Being prevented from doing magic literally made him feel like his arm had been chopped off. After half a lifetime in the wizarding world, Harry had grown to rely on magic for the simplest of things. Even though he sometimes reverted to Mugglish habits, he always knew he had magic to fall back on.

He flipped open the front cover of the book and sighed again, just for good measure. Anything would be more interesting than this. It suddenly occurred to ask Dobby to get some books from his room, and in the process, collect his journal. Even if he couldn't write in it, he could at least read it. Perhaps it held the answers to what he was looking for.

He checked to see that Pomfrey was out of earshot. "Dobby," he called out quietly. He never had to yell to get a house-elf, and Dobby must have had a sixth sense when it came to Harry calling out to him. As expected, the house-elf popped into view within seconds, a beaming smile across his face and eyes as wide as saucers.

"Harry Potter has called Dobby?" he said hopefully, wiping his hands down the front of his lime green braces. If Harry didn't know any better, he would have suggested that Dobby looked like a leprechaun. He was too afraid to ask where the clothes came from, for fear of the answer the elf might give him.

"How are you, Dobby?"

"Dobby is glad that Harry Potter is feeling much better, sir. Master Draco is also feeling the same," he added without any thought.

"Is he now?" Harry raised an eyebrow, but Dobby nodded his head so furiously, the pom poms on the end of his tea-cosy hat were bobbing furiously. He didn't seem to notice that he said more than he should have.

"What can Dobby do for Harry Potter, sir?" he looked around the room furtively. "If you is wanting something from the kitchens, then I can get it for you, but I can only bring it to you when Mistress Pomfrey isn't around. She doesn't like it when Dobby does things when he should not."

Harry smiled at the elf. It seemed that Madame Pomfrey's reputation extended beyond the infirmary. "I was hoping that you could go down to my rooms and bring me back some books to read. It's okay, Madame Pomfrey won't mind. Just as long as I don't try to do any magic, she will be happy – see, she even gave me a book to read, but I was hoping for something of my own. Do you think you could do that, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter must not do magic until he is well again. I understand. It would be a pleasure to get you some books, Harry Potter sir." Dobby was about to Apparate away, when Harry stopped him.

"However, there's one book in particular that I want you to get." He went on to describe the journal, and the eager house-elf seemed to understand where he would be able to find it. He popped out with a quick click of his fingers, leaving Harry feeling a little better. At least he felt a little more in control of the situation, which was the most frustrating thing about being stuck in the infirmary.

But two hours passed, and Dobby didn't return. Harry barely noticed, however, as he found himself drifting slowly in and out of a light sleep. He started reading the book given to him by Pomfrey, but he found that concentrating on the page for too long was making the headache return.

Pomfrey roused him for lunch (which wasn't nearly as appealing as the breakfast Draco brought from Emmaline's), and then made him work through what felt like hours of torture (which was, in fact, just a half hour of getting himself out of bed and walking over to the window).

By the end of it all, he was exhausted, and he was nearly asleep when he heard some muffled sobs, quickly followed by a whiney sniffle. Opening one eye, he spotted Dobby looking pale and frightened as Madame Pomfrey dressed his hands. Only then did he remember the errand he sent the elf to do.

"Dobby, what happened?" he sat up and asked.

"Oh Harry Potter, sir. Why did you not tell me about your biting bookends?" the elf asked in a querulous voice.

Harry had to think for a moment before realising what the elf was talking about. "Oh, yeah, my biting bookends." He smiled as he remembered the gift from Hagrid. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey said sharply. "They bit him, of course. I haven't seen his hands mauled quite so badly in a long time. Where on earth did you get such a thing?"

Harry nodded profusely, wondering why they bit Dobby. "I don't understand. Normally they don't bite – I made sure to charm them not long after Hagrid gave them to me. It was always wise to do that to any of Hagrid's gifts. Perhaps I only charmed them not to bite wizards..."

"Dobby is sorry he didn't get the books that Harry Potter asked for," the elf offered an apology.

Harry waved him away. "I'm sorry my bookends bit you, Dobby. It's okay. You don't have to go back and get them. They were just a few books to help me pass the time. I'll ask someone else to do it, and this time, I'll warn them first."

Dobby seemed to accept Harry's apology, but still seemed rather upset as he walked out of the infirmary, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Will Dobby be all right, Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked.

"Oh he'll be fine in a few days. I understand he used to do a lot of self inflicted damage to his hands." Harry nodded in agreement. "But I think he's just a little more frightened than anything else."

"Well I hope to goodness that my biting bookends don't get a taste for people. I would like to read something else while I'm recuperating." He thought of asking Draco to get the journal for him, but thought it might be perhaps a little too tempting. Somehow he had trusted Draco in the recent past, but he didn't think that the blond could resist reading the private thoughts of Harry Potter. Particularly when Harry was certain that he had written about Draco in the book.

No, it's probably best if I get someone else to get it. I'll ask Remus, or Charlie when I see them next. Or perhaps Hermione might visit me again, he wondered in hope. It seemed strange that she had been there that morning, but left before he woke up. When he thought about Ron, his mood soured and felt a pang of hurt. Why did she leave so soon? Has she decided to take his side in our argument? I always dreaded something like this happening. He wasn't completely sure of the details of why he had fought with Ron, but he seemed to think it might have had something to do with Draco.

Every single piece of this damn puzzle led back to Draco. Why? The question begged to be answered, and he spent the rest of the afternoon just contemplating the endless possibilities – all of which seemed to end with him locked in a fiery and passionate kiss with Draco.

It would certainly be a story to tell Luc when he was able to write again.

---

Draco managed to spend most of the afternoon in calm contemplation. In other words, he was desperately working away in his lab, trying hard to get thoughts of Harry out of his head. It was nigh on impossible, as all he had thought about for days was his soul mate. He admitted that he was taken by surprise by the kiss, but if Harry had worked that much out on his own, then he knew it was only a matter of time before Harry remembered where they left off.

Despite every inclination to the contrary, he knew he had to let Harry remember their relationship on his own. Was it really a relationship, Draco? You told Harry yourself – we have made no commitments. But why did he save you from Phillip's curse? Was it just Harry being his heroic self? You won't know until Harry remembers, so stop being so bloody analytical and be patient.

Patience wasn't Draco's strongest suit. He could admit that now. There were many things he was learning to admit, and they were all thanks to Flash – to Harry. He had cleaned, Scourgified, scrubbed and disinfected everything he could possibly find in his lab that wasn't permanently stuck down. Even the Permanent Sticking Charms found themselves hastily reset and refreshed. He doubted the place was ever cleaner. The hard work left him a little weary, but he needed the mind numbing distraction. He now found himself sitting alone by the fire; his glass of wine barely touched.

Petite Amie leapt up into his lap, disturbing his constant train of thought. Rather than curling up and getting comfortable, she decided that Draco's clothes would make a perfect scratching post.

"Hey, you can't do that – you ungrateful creature." Petite Amie just stared at him, quite putout that Draco had leapt up and that her makeshift scratching post was gone. He tugged at the pulled thread on the silk shirt and glared at her menacingly. Looking down at the cat's confused stare, he found himself talking to her. "It's silk. Muggle silk. Can't weave protective spells into it, and you most certainly can't use it as a scratching post." She blinked up at him as he ranted, but turned her nose away in disdain before walking away.

Changing into his lounge robe, he was ready to return to his comfortable seat by the fire. Feeling a little bereft, he turned toward his desk. His journal sat proudly atop the other papers, seemingly awaiting the usual Sunday night conversations. That won't be happening tonight, he thought. He touched it reverently with his hand, running his fingers over the now familiar patterns on the cover.

It was amazing how one small book could teach him so much about himself. He thought back to his life before he acquired the journal, and realised that not only had his life changed, but he had become a different man. A better man – all because he spent months baring his soul to his soul mate – to Harry. He thought he had known his place in the world and what he wanted out of life. Conversations with Harry made him see exactly what he really wanted. Their conversations were like a veil slowly lifting, revealing reality and all that it had to offer.

He opened up the page and began to reread. He considered the conversation, from earlier in the holidays. He was beginning to wonder how Harry could have possibly not known that he was Luc. He began to read the section where Flash asked him about his deepest, darkest secret. He went back a few pages, skimming again over the purple words, and he suddenly got a feeling that Flash's words changed tone slightly.

Harry must have known that I was Luc. He didn't even flinch when I mentioned my Death Eater experience. He's known, and he was just testing me. He sat there for a moment longer, still absorbing this discovery. It made him feel numb. Harry must have known. But when did he realise it? Why did it take me so long to work out that it was Harry?

Something Remus said came to the front of Draco's mind. If you know him as well as you think, you should already have your answer. It almost seemed an admission that Harry knew his identity, and that Remus was aware of that fact. How could he keep that from me? Harry knew that I am Luc, and Remus did too. He stood in a flurry, letting his journal fall to the seat, and the quill in his hand to be crushed underfoot. He felt a surge of anger towards the werewolf.

Not even bothering to change out of his lounge robe, he stormed out of his rooms and down the hall, banging furiously on Remus' door. His fist was poised ready to knock again, but it landed in mid air as Remus flung the door open. "Draco? Is everything okay? Harry..."

Draco stormed past Remus into his room. "Of course everything is fine." He turned and confronted Remus. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

Remus seemed a little confused. "Are you talking about your journal? I thought I explained..."

Draco snorted. "Oh you explained yourself well enough, but you neglected to mention that Harry already knew my identity, didn't he?"

"I..." Remus seemed to falter momentarily from Draco's confronting accusation. "Well, yes, but..."

Draco nodded, balling his fists in fury. "So Harry knew, and you knew. Who else knew? Emmaline? Bloody hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she knew." He started pacing in front of Remus' fireplace. "Was it all just some sort of game – 'Let's all have a bit of a laugh at Draco's expense?'"

Remus stepped up and tried to shake some sense into Draco. "No, it's nothing like that, Draco, as I explained the other day. I admit that I was surprised when I learned that you were writing to one other, but I have experienced the power of these journals already, and I know how powerful the magic can be. There was a very good reason why you didn't know, at least until now."

Draco didn't answer. He didn't want to hear any rational explanations. He was still having trouble moving on from the fact that Harry knew he was Luc. "So when did Harry find out I was Luc? How long has he been stringing me along? I feel like a bloody idiot, Remus. I've just found out that I'm desperately in love with him, and he's been laughing his socks off as he plays me for a fool."

"It's absolutely nothing like that, Draco." Remus turned his anger on Draco. "I know you're upset beyond belief, but you have to understand that Harry confronted me almost exactly the same way the day he found out. He wasn't happy that I knew, and he was even less happy that he couldn't tell you." Remus tried to show reason to Draco, who still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Harry would have told you, had he been able to. Perhaps I would have too, Draco. I'm sorry things had to happen this way, I truly am. I thought you, of all people would understand the dangers that lurk in meddling with old magic. Surely your family would have warned you about that at a young age." Remus seemed truly apologetic, but could think of little else to say that would appease Draco's misplaced anger.

Taking a deep breath, Draco eventually gave a reluctant nod. He did know the dangers that came with handling ancient magic, and even older magical artefacts. Who knew what curses, hexes or spells they could contain. He looked up to see that Remus seemed truly repentant.

"I would have liked nothing more than for the two of you to know the truth, and as soon as possible, Draco, but having lost my own soul mate, I couldn't bear the thought of being the one who mucked it all up for you and Harry. I meant what I said the other day. You both deserve the very best, and I can't think of a more perfect couple. I'm just as devastated as you are that Harry has lost his memories."

"Has he mentioned anything to you when you've been up to visit him?" Draco asked, still feeling a little upset at being so confrontational with Remus. He had nowhere else to vent his frustration.

"He's always been asleep whenever I've seen up to visit him. I have to dash off to London again in the morning, and I planned on seeing him today. That hasn't happened, unfortunately. Just how bad is his memory loss?"

"It's like he has holes in his memory. Everything from before he came back from Hogwarts is perfectly clear, but it gets patchy after that. He asked me today if we were lovers, then he attempted to kiss me. I think he's remembering only bits and pieces." A smile lit up his face at the thought that Harry suspected they were more than they truly had been. "So do I wait until he remembers, Remus? Or do I tell him that I know?"

A supportive hand and a warm smile from Remus made him feel a little better. "You know, you are both as bad as each other. Harry thought you were playing a game with him, and I know he was torn about having to skirt around the truth when he wrote to you. I believe he might have been avoiding writing to you for a while there."

Draco didn't answer. He was starting to suddenly realise just when Harry must have learned of his identity. It must have been around the time he admitted his spy role in the war. It seemed hard to imagine that Harry had gone through the same feelings he was now experiencing. Perhaps he will be amenable to the truth.

"You will just have to do what you feel is right. Harry isn't going to run away from you, Draco. If you think he is, well, I'm sure you'll know just what to say." For the first time, Draco noticed that Remus was dressed in a fine pair of robes, and he was regularly checking his wristwatch. The smell of fresh cologne was evident, and Draco realised how selfish he had been.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Remus – I came barging in here and being so aggressive. You were heading out, weren't you?" The guilt was written all over his face.

Remus didn't seem to mind. "No, it's fine. I still have a few minutes before I need to be in Hogsmeade. I'm not late. And stop apologising – you're starting to sound like Harry."

Draco smiled at that comparison, but didn't fail to notice that Remus had taken extra care with his appearance, and was now double checking his hair in the Muggle mirror beside the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a date, Remus Lupin."

"You could say that I do, indeed."

Draco saw the sly smile play across his lips, and knew he wasn't going to learn any more. "Anyone I know?" he asked cheekily.

Remus shrugged in a non-committal fashion. He suddenly seemed nervous. "How do I look? It's er, been quite some time since I've been on a date," he said sheepishly.

Draco would be the first to admit that the robes might not be the most fashionable, but Remus could certainly dress to accentuate his best features. "Remus, I'm sure that if this guy is interested in you, he won't give two hoots how you are dressed. More likely he'll be wanting to get you out of those robes as quickly as possible." He left Remus with a sly wink, and a slightly lighter heart for having had the conversation.

As he made it back to his room, he was still feeling a little down. He was still a little put out by the fact that Remus and Harry knew who he had been writing to, but on the other hand, he did understand the intricacies of old magic, and the fickle nature of ancient magical artefacts.

Harry had wondered if we were lovers. At least he's thinking about the idea. I just hope the truth comes back to him sooner, rather than later.

Carefully putting the journal back on the desk, he promised himself that whatever happened, he would do everything he could to make Harry fall in love with him all over again.

---

The next few days were probably some of the hardest of Harry's life. If he thought he had worked hard and been in pain during his pre war training, then he was very mistaken. He took Madame Pomfrey's words to heart, applying his determination to his recovery. He didn't know how he could have forgotten some of Lao Kuai's most important lessons, but he could have sworn that the old man visited him in one of his dreams. For once, his dreams weren't erotic, rather the old Chinese wizard was explaining the fundamental lessons about inner healing.

Harry could clearly remember everything about the dream, as if Lao Kuai had been right there, explaining it to him. It all made perfect sense. If he wanted to recover as quickly and as wholly as possible, then he was going to have to start meditating again to find his inner balance. Only then could he reach a level of calm where he could begin to touch his innate magic. It wasn't easy for a wizard to be able to do such a thing, but Harry remembered that he had achieved the feat in the early days of his training. Now all he had to do was revisit old lessons and keep himself calm enough to be successful in the meditation. It was easier said than done.

Even though he was out of practice, meditation was the only activity that he could do that didn't cause him any further pain. He was starting to get used to the aches and pains that were coursing through his system, as Madame Pomfrey was trying to ease him off the painkilling potions. The longer he meditated, the easier he found it to fall into old habits. With plenty of concentration, he was once again able to feel his inner magic. It was such a relief to know that it wasn't gone completely, despite his enforced inability to wield it.

He was so thrilled to be able to feel the magic coursing through his veins, he was a little over-eager, and tried to touch it though his meditation. That was a big mistake, as his power threw him completely out of his meditative trance, treating him harshly. Not only had his body been injured during the battle, but the curses he took must have taken a severe toll on his magic. Only now did he begin to realise the extent of his injuries. Again, Lao Kuai was in his mind, explaining that his magic was being protective, and had thrown him out of the meditation as a defensive measure.

Harry, however, was not one to back down. He persevered with further meditation, and by Tuesday morning, he made a rather startling discovery. Rather than trying to reach out for his magic, he found that could still direct it. He noticed that when he thought about his pain during his meditation, he would very quickly find relief from it. He had learned how to work with his magic, helping it to do its job by telling it where it was needed most.

On the downside, the effort left him feeling more tired than usual. Madame Pomfrey seemed thoroughly perplexed by Harry's apparently swift recovery, but he took the time to explain some of it to her. She just blinked in disbelief at his admission that he could feel and reach out to his inner magic. "I never thought that was possible," she admitted bluntly. "But if there's one thing I've learned, it's never to underestimate you or your magic, Harry. I told you that you wouldn't have anything to worry about. Just remember to get plenty of rest tonight, and make sure that you stop what you are doing if you don't feel right."

However the medi-witch didn't stop her punishing regimen of physical exercises to get Harry back on his feet. He was currently walking the few metres from his bed to the window. "You know, I really wasn't trying to do that. I just wanted to feel my magic again. You don't know how much you miss it until it's gone," he said fondly. "I just got lucky. Trust me to stumble across my magical core. At least we have learned to cooperate."

"But you have worked hard for many years to get closer to your magic, haven't you?" she added.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Surely you remember what my magic was like when it first began to get out of control. I had to go back and revisit many of Lao Kuai's lessons when the Neo Death Eaters returned, because it started to flare up again. It seems to be some sort of magnet for any type of Dark Magic."

"Which is probably why you can direct it so easily into your injuries, Harry. Most of the damage you sustained was from curses. I'm guessing that they were all fairly dark in their intent."

Harry nodded. The moment he understood what he had been unconsciously doing with his magic, he realised that it made perfect sense. Even though he had managed to somehow control it, he was still struggling to get it into focus.

"So you're suggesting that it will only heal spell damage?" he asked in concern.

"I can only assume so. Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess that would explain why it isn't helping me to recover a few more of my memories. I haven't remembered anything new in the past couple of days." That thought made him feel quite dejected. It was the only thing he was having difficulty controlling. Every time he directed his magic to his headaches, it just seemed to skim across the surface providing no relief.

"Wizards and Muggles have been trying to study the brain for centuries, Harry. Neither group has completely understood how it works. The fact that you can at least attempt to heal it with your magic speaks volumes for the amount of power that you control. I can only suspect that your concussion wasn't magically inflicted in any way. I'm afraid you're on your own with that one."

"I thought about a Pensieve. Why can't I just reach in and pull out the memories that I'm forgetting? I could then view them and know exactly what I'm missing."

Pomfrey shook her head furiously. "No, you're forgetting the two most basic things about that, Harry. You have to clearly focus on the memory before you extract it into a Pensieve. Besides, you have to extract the memory yourself, and without a wand..."

Pomfrey looked at him sympathetically – he seemed to take everything personally. She cared for each of her patients in her own way, but Harry was like a wayward nephew – for all the time he spent in her care over the years. No one person should have to go through what he had, and now he was suffering yet again. She was determined to cheer him up. Depression in long-term patients was something she saw often, and Harry was particularly susceptible to suggestion. "I think that if you can keep this up for the next couple of days, I might be able to take that immobilisation spell off your arm. The bones have knitted well enough together. If you're really good, I might even allow you to go home on your birthday."

That obviously did the trick, for she saw a sparkle in the corner of his eyes as they widened slightly. "How could I have forgotten that? I never realised it was so close to my birthday," he wondered with a smile. The thought certainly spurred him on, and he doubled his efforts to get better. Of course, daily visits from Draco did a lot to improve his general demeanour, even if he could not remember any more of his lost memories.

Unfortunately, Draco wasn't helping him gather any more memories either. Harry hoped that after their previously intimate discussion, that the blond might be forthcoming with more information. Instead, he found him to be a closed book. He visited daily on the pretext of rubbing in the salve. Harry wondered why he didn't just get Madame Pomfrey to apply it, but he sensed that Draco wanted to spend some time with him, no matter how awkward things seemed. He wouldn't deny that he did look forward to those few moments every day when he peeled off his shirt and allowed Draco to run his hands along the scars. It wasn't exactly erotic, but at every touch Harry would close his eyes and fight visions that could very easily turn into much more.

He got the notion that Draco was also enjoying his brief visits, despite the fact that their conversations were a little stifled. Harry was completely convinced that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety by his kiss. Draco made no further indication of his feelings, one way or another, although he would end up staying and talking to Harry for a couple of hours every day. Even so, they discussed very little, and their conversations alluded to nothing. Harry could only guess that the blond was reluctant to accidentally reveal any further memories, and he would guide their conversation away from Harry's questions, towards his meditation and control of his magic.

Harry suspected Draco was trying in his own way to prompt him to regain some of his forgotten memories. A few times Harry noticed Draco visibly biting back his tongue, and he found himself trying to avoid any inappropriate thoughts about that tongue, but he would often let it distract him. Images of a passionate embrace came easily, but whether it was from memory, or from his dreams, he still didn't know. On a few occasions, he sensed that Draco wanted to say something, but he would close his mouth and change the subject. He seemed to be hiding his feelings behind a mask of concerned indifference.

On Wednesday, Harry spent the entire day out of bed, and Pomfrey promised he could go home after lunch on Thursday – his birthday. This was the best news Harry had in a while. He was beginning to give up on ever getting his memories back, and he could only hope that being back in familiar surroundings would jog his memory.

Remus' visit was a pleasant surprise; he seemed all aglow and Harry suspected he was seeing someone. When cornered by Harry, he confessed to having been on a 'more than satisfactory' date. He revealed little more than the fact that it had been a very fine evening, filled with lots of promise of things to come. He wondered if it was someone he knew, as Remus was not forthcoming with a name for his mysterious date.

It seemed like ages since they talked about anything, but foremost in Harry's mind was the concern that he might be unable to do his new job. Remus convinced him that he was being ridiculous, and he seemed to think that he would be back to his old self by the start of the school year. Remus was more concerned about Snape – it was doubtful he would ever fully recover from the nerve damage suffered from repeated exposure to the Cruciatus.

Harry mentioned his meditations, and Remus seemed most interested in his achievements. He was even more pleased when Madame Pomfrey told him she would be removing the Immobulus Spell on his arm. She would do it just before he went back to his rooms, but he would need to practice his magic under supervision, at least until he could prove it was under control. He also made the promise to continue with his daily meditations, as he wanted to be back on his feet sooner, rather than later.

After Remus left, he realised that he had forgotten to ask him to pick up a few things from his rooms, namely his journal. He was still eager to talk to Luc, but every time he was around someone who could collect his journal, he would forget to ask. He even toyed with asking Draco to get it for him, but was sidetracked when they got to talking.

"I, er, was in your rooms the other day, Harry," Draco said, completely out of the blue.

"Oh?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why are you telling this to me now?"

"Well," Harry thought he might get some answers out of the blond, but was mistaken. "Madame Pomfrey says you will be out of here tomorrow, and I have it on good authority that the house-elves won't go back into your rooms after Dobby was bitten by your bookends. I have to say that those things are a piece of work. Why on earth would you keep something that is so ghastly, and so obviously dark?"

"Sentimental reasons," he offered in reply, not wanting to explain the fact that Hagrid gave them to him. He didn't know what Draco's feelings were on the old half-giant, but the last time he remembered, he was still a hairy oaf, according to Draco. "I suppose I won't find a Hand of Glory sitting somewhere on one of your bookcases?" he retorted.

Draco blanched, but was quickly smiling fondly. Harry had a fleeting memory of having glimpsed such a smile before, but it was gone before he could hang on to the thought. "I haven't seen it in years, but it was a pretty cool thing to have. Got me out of a couple of scrapes, I might add."

"It was the most hideous thing in the world, Draco. You were obsessed with getting one ever since you saw it in Borgin and Burkes. It nearly ripped my hand off once."

"How did you know I first saw it there?" he asked in surprise.

So obviously we haven't shared all our childhood secrets, Harry thought. "Er, it's a very long story, but I'm not sure if I'm remembering it correctly." Harry quickly changed the subject. "So, now that I'll be escaping Pomfrey's clutches, will I be still needing this salve? It's really doing a wonderful job. I don't feel the scars pulling at all when I stretch."

That seemed to put a satisfied smile on Draco's face. "I'm glad it's working properly. I think that it wouldn't hurt to keep using it on your scars every other day, at least until you think that you don't need it any more." Harry seemed a little disappointed that Draco was intimating that he wouldn't continue to be the one applying the salve. Apart from the opportunity to get a little closer to Draco, he didn't think he could easily reach some of those spots on his back.

"So you will keep making it?" he asked hopefully, picking up the half empty cruse.

"Well of course. I'll make it as long as you'll need it. Besides, I used it on my own scars for about a year after I was struck. It does help a lot." Harry winced at the none too subtle reminder of what Draco gave up for him. Glancing down at the cane and then across to the fabric covered knee, Harry opened his mouth to reply.

Draco quickly cut him off. "I know what you're going to say again, Harry, Please stop thinking that I gave up something that I wanted for myself. I admit that if the opportunity presented itself again, I would grab it with both hands, but I resigned myself a long time ago to living with my curse. It was sheer luck that you discovered the possibility of a cure, and for that alone, you deserved to have it."

Harry nodded reluctantly, still finding it hard to find a way to thank Draco properly. He could only hope that once his memories returned in full, he might find the answer in something he was forgetting.

"So," Draco quickly changed the subject. "I was in your rooms because the house-elves are reluctant to go there after Dobby's bite. I had to convince Dobby and Gaggy that nothing else was going to jump out and bite them if they went in there to clean up. Besides, I thought you might want some decent clothes to wear out of here when you leave. I'm sure if Peeves saw you in those hospital pyjamas outside of here, the whole school will be aware of it in no time." He pointed at a pile of clothes on the end of the bed.

Harry picked up the shirt and jeans Draco gave him. He was still surprised by Draco's thoughtfulness, but frowned as he didn't recognise the shirt. The idea of Draco rifling through his clothes kept the smile on his face. "You cleaned my rooms?" Harry turned and asked in amusement.

Draco squared his shoulders defiantly. "Well, not really. I might have cast a couple of Scourgify charms, but basically I just supervised Dobby and Gaggy until they were satisfied that they weren't going to be maimed by the furniture. Speaking of which, that ghastly green chair of yours has to be the most uncomfortable..."

"...Hey, don't go insulting my chair," Harry replied in mock indignity.

Draco smirked as he put the lid back on the now empty salve bowl. "I'm sure you probably do think it's comfortable, but I wouldn't be seen dead sitting in it. So," he changed the subject almost immediately. "Would you like me to stick around when Pomfrey lets you escape from this place tomorrow? Or would you prefer to be alone..."

"No, I would love the company. Thank you." He admitted he was rather lonely, and the surprise offer appeared to be genuine. Besides, he didn't fancy being stuck on any of the castle staircases alone.

"Well then, I'll be back here after lunch to escort you." He noticed the hint of relief in Draco's eyes at his acceptance of the offer.

"I look forward to it." It was then, he realised he meant what he said.

---

Thursday 31 July

Thursday morning dawned fine and warm, but Draco barely noticed, nor did he particularly care. He was completely consumed in trying to make sure that Harry's homecoming from the hospital wing was perfect. Every day that week Draco had been to visit Harry, hoping that it might be the day his memory would return, and every day he was disappointed. He wasn't sure who was more disappointed, himself, or Harry.

Either way, he had promised Harry that he would escort him back to his rooms. Being Harry's birthday, he knew that the owls would be attempting to come thick and fast. Birthday wishes had already started to arrive early, if the mound of mail on Harry's desk was any indication. Harry's snowy owl was already looking harried, but Draco gave it a few owl treats and put Melchett right offside as he spent some time with the beautifully natured bird.

Draco was trying not working himself into a flap. Harry had voiced a suspicion that his memories might fully return when he was back home. Draco was banking on it, because he planned to tell him that he knew he was Flash. He didn't want this to go on any longer. He wasn't going to contemplate the possibility that his memories might not return, but it wasn't fair on Harry. Not when he sensed the deep frustration that Harry felt when he couldn't quite put his finger on a memory. It wasn't fair that he knew so much more than Harry.

It wasn't fair on either of them. He was in love, and he wanted to tell Harry how much he cared. It had taken the better part of a week, but now he could readily see himself with Harry. It was a relief to know that Harry was well enough to come home. It was a very good sign. Harry's ability to meditate and to touch his inner magic was something Draco had known was theoretically possible. That Harry could do so just showed how powerful he truly was. It constantly amazed Draco that Harry seemed to show these great displays of magical power, yet remain so unassuming and unaffected by it. It was a quality that he could now appreciate. Harry never asked for it, but he certainly didn't ever try to exploit others with that power.

Their conversations in the infirmary had been awkward, but both of them seemed to be holding back. Harry's rather forward kiss still lingered, but he decided that enough was enough. He planned to let Harry settle in, then cook him a quiet dinner whilst he gave himself a chance to explain. If he was going to make Harry fall in love with him all over again, then he would do it properly. There would be no more barriers between them.

But in the meantime, he had so much to do. He needed to get a head start on the Wolfsbane base, but once that was started, he could concentrate on getting things ready for Harry. As he rummaged around in his ingredients cabinet, he noticed a bunch of Ragwort leaves he had completely forgotten about. He immediately thought of Severus, and knew he should probably go and visit him. He still felt somewhat guilty that Severus had managed to get himself entangled with the Neo Death Eaters. Would he have been there if he hadn't been chasing Pegasus Wingtips?

It was pointless playing the 'what if' game – Severus would chastise him greatly if he knew that he was concerned about that. Charlie opened the door of Severus' rooms, and greeted Draco warmly.

"How is he?" he asked Charlie.

"He is doing just fine." Despite the warmth of the day, Severus was sitting by the fire, a warm blanket wrapped around his legs.

"Glad to hear it," Draco replied with a smirk. "The Gryffindor giving you any trouble?" he asked, tilting his head towards Charlie.

"No more than usual, but it's good to see that you've managed to drag yourself away from the infirmary for five minutes." Severus put his book down carefully. Draco didn't miss the severe shake in his hands as he did so. "I hear that Potter is going to survive. I'm glad, for your sake," he added.

"Would you like some tea, Draco?" Charlie offered.

"No thanks, I really don't have a lot of time." He watched the byplay as Charlie then put a hand on Severus shoulder, asking the same question without words, and he saw the acceptance on his mentor's face as he covered Charlie's hand with his own. It was a very silent and loving communication. If Draco didn't know any better, he could have sworn they had been together for years.

"I found some Ragwort – I've got no need for it, and it needs to be used as soon as possible." Severus took the offered herb with a nod, and Draco could see that the shakes in his hands were starting to get worse. "It is a bit chilly down here," he commented, despite feeling stifled by the warm fire.

"Nonsense, Draco. You don't need to sugar coat the truth around me. The nerves in my hands and feet have been cursed to pieces. Even when I can control them somewhat, I constantly feel cold."

Charlie returned with a tea tray. "I told him that we should go somewhere warm for the rest of the summer, but he's being stubborn, Draco. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him."

"Charlie is right, Severus. I'm sure you haven't forgotten, but you are supposed to be on holidays. Go and get some sun – it won't kill you. Rest – relax. I'm sure you remember how to do both of those. I'm sure that Charlie can help you there, if you've forgotten."

"See, even Draco agrees with me. You'll listen to him, won't you?" Charlie pleaded. "Severus, you are going to have to accept that you need to make some permanent lifestyle changes. If moving out of the dungeons is one of them, then so be it. Nobody is saying you have to stop working, but you need to take stock of what you are still capable of doing. I keep telling you that my house in Romania is just perfect at this time of year."

"And I keep telling you, Charlie, that I am in no condition to Apparate or Floo anywhere for a while yet." Draco could see he had stepped into the middle of an ongoing disagreement.

"I am perfectly capable of making a portkey, Severus."

"And I'm sure you want to wait weeks to get approval to make one." Severus was digging in his heels. He was planning on wallowing in his rooms until he became more and more miserable. Charlie was good for him, but Draco knew him better than anyone else. It would take some subtle manipulations to get Severus to agree to anything. An idea formed immediately.

"Which is too bad, really," he replied, seemingly out of nowhere. "I have a portkey to my chateau that is just going to go to waste if it doesn't get used soon. It's not like I can just up and leave the country on a whim, and if I recall, this portkey is due to expire any day now."

Draco remembered the spare portkey he bought in Apt during his last visit to the chateau. Having abruptly ended his trip early, he had almost forgotten about it until he discovered it in the bottom of a trunk when he arrived at Hogwarts. With the restrictions on his travel due to his citizenship, he wouldn't be able to use it until he was out of the UK. But Severus and Charlie could use it without any problems.

Charlie looked at Severus expectantly, and Draco could see that Severus was considering the idea. "And what could I do at a chateau in France for the rest of the holidays?" he asked.

Draco just smirked. "Well, there's plenty of sun, lots of fresh food and very good wine, and I'm sure if you took Charlie along, he could find something for you to do."

He didn't answer straight away, but Charlie was enthusiastic. "What harm could it do? We would be doing Draco a favour. After all, it's such a generous offer. I understand the south of France is just perfect at this time of year."

"I insist, Severus. Go and take a real holiday. I don't know what you think you were up to these past couple of months, but holidays are for relaxing. Consider this my payment for what you did for me. Or if you must, think of it as compensation for the fact that you have indirectly helped Harry. I can't ever thank you enough for getting those Pegasus Wingtips."

Severus still seemed thoughtful. "Honestly," Draco exclaimed. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after things whilst you have a holiday. Besides, it's not a request." Draco flicked his wand at the door, silently casting a spell, and a few moments later an empty wine bottle flew through the door and into his hands.

"Take it. I'll look after the place, if that's what you're worried about." Not waiting for an answer, he turned to head back to his rooms, giving Charlie a sly wink on his way out the door. Hopefully they would both be back at school at the end of August. He didn't want to start thinking of the long-term issues with Severus' new condition, but he doubted Charlie would let him too far out of his sight. Who would have thought that someone like Charlie Weasley would be the one to tame the Potions master?

He made it back to his room and started on the Wolfsbane base. By the time he finished, he saw it was nearly time for lunch. He would have just enough time to head to Hogsmeade and buy some fresh produce for dinner. He thought it might be a nice touch to stock up Harry's pantry as well, although his motives there weren't entirely selfless. If he were lucky, Harry might offer to cook him another delicious meal.

He barely made it down the high street before a whiff of a familiar perfume and a flurry of curls assaulted him in a great bear hug. "Draco!" He would have reached for his wand, but in her exuberance, Arianna let his cane go flying, and he stumbled awkwardly in her embrace as she nearly bowled him over.

"Arianna, so... good to... see you," he managed to say in between breaths as she squeezed him tightly in her embrace. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here in the middle of Scotland?" he asked, still surprised, but very glad to see her.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy," she offered, picking up his cane and handing it back to him. "I was just with Emmaline when I caught a glimpse of your hair as you were walking down the street! Why didn't you reply to my letter? Please tell me that you did know I was coming," she sounded a little hurt, but grabbed his hand and tried to lead him towards the Leaf and Bean.

"I was just..." he pointed toward the market stalls and their inviting array of fresh produce.

"Oh, nonsense. You're coming with me. It's the least you can do for being so rude and not answering my letter," she pouted childishly.

Draco didn't want to argue with her – it was such a pleasant surprise to see her. He had missed her warm smile and her infectious personality, but her timing could not be worse, as he had promised Harry he would be with him soon. "All right, but only because it's you. I'd like to think that you've come all this way just to see me, but I doubt that's why you're here," he drawled.

Arianna playfully cuffed him across the shoulder. "Well, seeing as you didn't read my letter, I'll just have to explain myself all over again." She sounded quite put out, but her broad grin belied that look. "We had to go to London, and I thought we could just pop up here and visit for lunch. I knew you would never forgive me if I was on the same continent and didn't come to brighten your day!" She turned and hugged him again. "Ooh, it's so good to see you again, but you're looking terrible. Hasn't anyone been feeding you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Emmaline's been worrying enough for the both of you. I've had a... rough time."

"I know," she offered. "I'm so sorry to hear about the Manor. I can only begin to imagine just how you must feel. I really am sorry." It was then he realised he had not written to her since the battle with the Neo Death Eaters.

"Oh you don't know the half of it," he said, pulling out his fob watch again. He could see the pain on her face, but her natural exuberance was just so infectious. He could afford to stay and have some lunch with her, he decided. Just as they were about to enter the Leaf and Bean, he made sense of what she said earlier, stopping suddenly.

"What do you mean 'we' had to go to London? Who is with you?" he asked.

Arianna waggled her hand in Draco's face, and it was then he finally noticed the huge diamond ring on her finger. "If you had read my last letter, it wouldn't be such a surprise," she admonished. "And before you ask, yes, I've done all the spells, and that is a real diamond."

"You're getting married?" he asked, a little dumbfounded, but completely happy that she seemed to be so bright. "Congratulations. I don't know whether to be jealous, or proud." He gave her another congratulatory hug and a warm peck on the cheek. "So what made you both come to London? Were you just here for a weekend of hot sex away from your father's prying eyes? I assume that this is the nice young man you told me about in a previous letter."

"Oh please," she smiled at the rather lewd thought. "Yes, it's him, and we actually came over to celebrate his birthday, and to break the news to his Grand-mère. All I can say is that after my own father, I'm so glad that he's only got the one living relative. I don't think I could cope with any more! I don't think she likes me – I think she assumed I knew little or no English. She made a few unsuitable remarks about my family's pedigree, despite the fact we can trace our lineage back further than the Malfoys."

Draco nodded in understanding. He knew all too well that sort of pure-blood prejudice. "Still, I'm sure old Atilla will be pleased you've got yourself a nice young pure-blood fellow, and not a scoundrel like myself. And he's an Englishman to boot!"

"Yes, there's something to be said about those Englishmen," she dug her elbows into his ribs, and he smiled. "Don't think I have forgotten about you, you still have to give me all the gossip. I have a hunch that there's someone you'd rather be rushing back to, hmmm? Emmaline might have been dropping a few hints."

"That woman talks entirely too much," he said with a smirk, but quickly checked his watch again. "But she might be right," he replied mysteriously. "There is someone, and it's his birthday today, and he's coming out of the infirmary, so I was planning on surprising him. But when do I get to meet Mr Wonderful?" He was definitely sure he could spend a half hour with her, then head back to Harry. If all went well, he might be able to see Arianna later that evening. Dinner, perhaps. He had become lost in thought and nearly missed what she said next.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said that you already know my fiancée. At least he says he knows you," she added with a coy smile. "He claims you were in the same year at Hogwarts."

Draco seemed a little surprised. He did a quick take on all the surviving purebloods from his year, and could only think of a handful. Ernie McMillan, the Hufflepuff came to mind immediately. They walked into the door of the Leaf and Bean, the ever-present bell tinkling merrily at their arrival. He noticed Emmaline behind the counter, and she nodded and smiled in delight. Arianna led him to a table near the back, but he stopped dead and took a double take as he spotted the man sitting there.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Longbottom?" he asked in disbelief, unsure if this really could be the same bumbling fool he remembered from school. It had appeared that the pudgy former Gryffindor had finally grown into his body. Draco stared at him as blankly as Longbottom gave a wry smile.

"Yeah, it's me, Malfoy. Have to say I nearly keeled over when Ari told me she was friends with you," Neville said, as he stood to pull out Arianna's seat. "Took me quite a while to shut her up, actually. I thought for a while I might have had a little bit of competition there, but she set me straight." Neville seemed amused as he sat beside Arianna. He generously offered the seat opposite to Draco, who practically fell into it in his extreme surprise.

"Set him straight? What's he talking about?" he asked her. Arianna's going to marry Longbottom?

"I told him you preferred men," she stage whispered behind her hand.

Neville shrugged. "Can't tell you what a relief that was, to find that out. But Ari told me all the things you've done to help her through L'Institut. Guess I have you to thank for us meeting." Neville put out his hand to shake, but Draco was still somewhat dumbstruck.

He eventually noticed the offered hand, and took it, albeit a little reluctantly. "Er, exactly how am I responsible for you two meeting?" he asked in curiosity. He had certainly not expected this.

"Well, if you didn't help me through the basic classes, then there is no way I would have been back at L'Institut for the last term, Draco. I wouldn't have met Neville if that were the case. He's studying to be an Herbologist."

"You got into L'Institut?" Draco seemed very surprised at that. He would never have guessed that Longbottom would excel in any area that would qualify him for admittance to such a prestigious university. Its academic standards were exceedingly high for entry. He often wondered how Arianna could have been admitted, but she did know her herb lore extremely well.

Neville looked at him challengingly. "I won a scholarship. Now I get to spend the next couple of years there, with some of the best Herbologists in Europe. Professor Durand is quite amazing." Draco was keeping a close eye on the old school adversary, and he noticed that the same could be said for Longbottom, who seemed to be eyeing him especially carefully.

"Yes," Draco nodded, not looking away from Neville's gaze. "Durand is the best. But I'm surprised that the university is still standing, what with your propensity for melting cauldrons."

Arianna rolled her eyes as she watched their defensive body language. "You know Draco, there's no need to be antagonistic towards Neville," she said, mildly angry at his behaviour.

Draco was the first to break eye contact, giving a sheepish smile to his friend. "I'm sorry, old habits are a little hard to break, Arianna. I'm just having a hard time imagining that you could possibly love Neville Longbottom. You've told me so much about him in your letters... I don't know now how I'll ever get the image out of my head."

"You told him about us, Ari?" Neville asked her as an embarrassed blush crept up his face.

"You know, I don't think you're giving Neville a fair go, Draco. He told me that you weren't exactly friends at school. I did hear some stories about the nasty things he claims you did." Arianna was seething, her voice getting higher as she admonished him in French. "I would never have believed it of you, but I trust Neville and what he says. I can only assume that you've changed." She shook her head. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Draco was stunned as Arianna suddenly became quite angry with him and defensive of Neville. He had not thought of things in that way. He had changed since school – those silly pranks and the mocking seemed like such a long time ago. He barely knew Neville Longbottom, and had only remembered him from their few classes together. His ineptitude in the potions classroom only stood out because Draco was often reminded of the dangers of his work, and Neville's face always popped into his mind when he thought of potions catastrophes.

She's been writing about him for weeks, and I had no idea who it was. I've been completely happy for her – until now that I discover that it's Longbottom. Is it any different with Harry? Getting over preconceived ideas about people isn't easy. Look at how Arianna looks at him. She's head over heels in love with him. If I'm being honest with myself, I can't find anything wrong with Longbottom, his potions skill aside. He hasn't been nasty or tried to hex me. I should know that holding grudges because we were in separate houses at school was ridiculous. He has to have some redeeming features, and it would appear that Arianna has found them all.

"I'm being a git, aren't I?" he said to Arianna apologetically. "Sorry, I tend to have that response around people. Hex first; ask questions later."

"I never thought you'd admit to that, Malfoy," Neville said. "Although I have to confess that I might have misjudged you as well. I very nearly thought that there was another Draco Malfoy around who was nice. Still, all that was such a long time ago, wasn't it?"

Draco let out a deep sigh, looking apologetically to the both of them. "You're right. I barely know you, Longbottom, but I should know to trust Arianna's judgement. If you're good enough for her, then I suppose I can forget the fact I was a prat to you in school." Draco only hoped that if he and Harry got together, he would find people to be so understanding. He doubted that everyone would be happy. The reaction they got from Weasley was the sort he was expecting. He held out his hand in offering, "No hard feelings," he asked hopefully.

Neville stared at the proffered hand. For a moment, Draco didn't think the former Gryffindor would accept it, but he did, and Draco let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. He realised then that he didn't want to lose Arianna's friendship. She was a formidable witch, and he was actually now starting to pity Longbottom somewhat.

"She's got a bit of a temper," Draco stage whispered to Neville. "She's a little bit intimidating when she gets going, isn't she?"

Neville grinned. "I've already guessed that. She bosses me around a bit, but I guess I must like that, or else I wouldn't be planning on keeping her around forever," he smiled at his fiancée, and squeezed her hand. Draco could see the love in their eyes, and somehow, he knew that they were soul mates. It was just a hunch, but now that he knew who he was destined to share his future with, despite all the obstacles still in their path, he could sense that they would be more than just content with each other.

He was feeling bad that he had been so harsh and nasty to Neville, and tried to make it up to them by buying their lunch. He thought he might be losing Arianna's friendship, but he had a suspicion that Arianna was setting out on a mission to make Draco and Neville the best of friends. It was when Neville spoke that he realised that things could get uncomfortable.

"I thought I might just pop up to Hogwarts, Ari," he said as he finished his salad. "Harry wrote to me ages ago to tell me he was working there, and I might have mentioned I would be here today. I just wanted to wish him a happy birthday."

Arianna looked back at Draco. "Didn't you say that your new man was having a birthday today? Isn't that why you're so eager to rush off?"

Draco cursed under his breath at Arianna's abundant lack of thinking before she spoke. He could see the connections slowly being made as Neville began to realise what Draco said, and his eyes were widening in complete shock. Just at that moment, Emmaline came along to clear their plates. She must have overheard the tail end of their conversation.

"Ooh, is it 'Arry's birthday today, môn chéri?" she asked. "You will promise to give 'im a kiss from me. I miss him dreadfully. Oh, but wait!" she exclaimed, racing back behind the counter with their dirty plates trailing behind her as she rummaged around in the patisserie cabinet.

"So, the mystery man's name is 'Arry?" Arianna asked Draco, before looking at Neville. "Could it be the same 'Arry that you want to visit?"

Neville was still staring at Draco. "I would have said absolutely not, Ari, but the more I think about it, the more terrified I'm becoming."

Arianna didn't seem to understand what he said. "What do you mean by that."

"Well, my friend Harry also prefers men, or so he tells me. But he and Draco fought like Kneazle and Krup at school." He stared down Draco, seemingly speechless. "You had better not be having a joke at my expense, Malfoy. This isn't something to joke about. Harry would kill you if he knew you were saying things like that about him."

"Well I'll just have to tell him myself." If he previously thought Neville's eyes couldn't widen any further, then he was wrong. He smirked, "I guess there's quite a few of us who have changed since we left school."

Emmaline came rushing back to the table, a wrapped patisserie box floating behind her in her wake. "I know how much 'Arry loves that chocolate torte. I thought perhaps you might want to share it as a birthday dessert, or to celebrate his release from the infirmary?"

"Harry's been in the infirmary? What the bloody hell did you do to him?" Neville asked in shock.

Draco was ready to bury his head in his hands. Not only was Arianna pressing him for details of his relationship with Harry; he had to contend with Neville's disbelief, and Emmaline's interference. Looking at his watch, he realised that he had been there far too long, and he didn't have time to give all the explanations. He stood quickly, taking the box from Emmaline.

"Thanks for that. Harry will love it, I just know he will," he said to her. "I would love to stay, Arianna, but right now I promised I would help Harry, and now I'm late. I am very glad for you and Longbottom, truly I am." He gave her a peck on the cheek and gave his final glare to Neville. "Relax, Longbottom. I didn't hex Harry or trick him in any way. I've fallen in love with the prat, but I'm hoping that you can talk to him about it." He quickly walked out, not wanting to explain himself any more.

Now he really was running late, as he Apparated back to the school gates. Arianna had surprised him in more ways than one. He would have dearly loved to spend the whole afternoon with her, but he had a promise to keep, and he was doing a bloody terrible job at it.

Arianna's news had come as a complete shock – and it was Longbottom, to boot! Even so, there was a lingering sense of satisfaction at having been able to shock the former Gryffindor even more. Some things Draco just never grew out of, and it always felt nice to have the last word.

---

Harry pushed open the door to his rooms. He was never more glad to return home in his life as he flopped down into his chair. The room seemed strange – it felt like years since he was last there but that wasn't the first thing on his mind. Draco had promised to be there for him when he left the infirmary, but he never showed. He never even Flooed to say he was going to be late. He realised just how disappointed this made him feel.

It felt even more disappointing as he looked around his rooms. The place seemed so sterile – so clean, but he remembered Draco mentioning that he would have them cleaned before he went home. Did he really do that, or was he just full of talk? Why didn't he come to the infirmary? Should I really have wasted so much time expecting him to be there? He seems to have been hanging around the whole time I was there. Has he lost interest?

Looking around the room, he tried to see if there was any hint of forgotten memories. Nothing new came flooding back, which was a bitter disappointment. He had such high hopes for coming home and regaining his memories. A huge pile of mail sat on top of his desk, which he knew he would eventually get around to sorting. He could only guess that a large portion of it was from strangers who wanted to wish him happy birthday. He got that every birthday. Why would this one be any different. Well for starters, you aren't with anyone, so no crazy parties for you tonight, Harry. Of all the things for Harry to remember, memories of his previous birthday with Oliver were not the sort he wanted.

Freed from Madame Pomfrey's clutches, he felt somewhat more independent. He had never been more glad to see his wand, even if he could barely use it. The moment she took the immobilisation spell from his arm, he felt the intense pain that lingered after the curse. It seemed unbearable at first, but no more so than the annoyance of feeling like he only had one arm.

Under Madame Pomfrey's direct supervision, he attempted the simplest of spells. It felt good to feel the crackle of magic pouring through him and out his wand, but he certainly didn't get the result he intended. He felt like an eleven year old again as the feather merely twitched when he attempted to levitate it. A second attempt saw the feather burned to cinders. That left him feeling less than confident. Pomfrey seemed pleased, however. She insisted the fact that he could at least direct his magic to its intended target was a good sign. He would believe it when he could perform the spells properly.

He was grateful to be away from the infirmary food. Why the elves could produce lavish feasts for the students, yet tasteless and unappetising gruel for the patients, he could only begin to guess. Looking through his pantry cupboards, he found nothing but tea and an unopened packet of owl treats. He put the kettle on the small gas hob, not trusting his own spells. He would love to go down to the village to get some fresh food – a taste of something mouth-watering from the Leaf and Bean seemed very appealing. He certainly wasn't up for Apparating, and he didn't fancy being jostled through the Floo. Perhaps he could convince Dobby to get some things for him.

It took some getting used to having his arm back. He couldn't bear to look at the scars, they were hideous, Fortunately the long sleeved silk shirt that Draco gave him covered the scars. As far as his memory went, he never remembered owning such a fine shirt, nor such an expensive pair of jeans. He shrugged, assuming that he must have purchased them some time during his memory blank.

But as he sat back in his favourite chair (At least that was one fine thing about coming home), he looked around his room again – searching for... something. Anything. A sign. This was the first birthday in years that he wasn't surrounded by friends and admittedly he was feeling dreadfully lonely. Why hadn't Draco come? Was everything all right?

Dumbledore had gone away for the holidays – nobody knew where. Remus had to go back to London and would be returning in time for the full moon. He thought he might have some company from Charlie, but he showed up earlier in the day to tell him that he and Severus were heading to the warmth of southern France for the remainder of the holidays.

Not that he was jealous, he just felt the loneliness. After so long in the infirmary, he really didn't know what to expect, but this wasn't what he imagined. A familiar flurry of wings and Hedwig flew directly into him, obviously pleased to see him again. He smiled and gave her a good rub. She looked as if she had been dreadfully worried – her feathers weren't groomed as well as usual. She nipped boldly at his fingers until he convinced her that he was all right. He went back to the cupboard to fetch the owl treats, and spent a few good minutes with his oldest friend. He was glad that someone was there to give him a loving welcome.

Harry sighed deeply, wondering just what to do. Now that he was home, he knew he would have to start on his T'ai Chi. Exercise was the last thing on his mind, although he knew he should be doing some meditations. The boredom struck, but only because things were not going according to his rather ambitious plan.

He had been certain that something back home would trigger his memories, but so far he remembered nothing new. Draco's sudden disappearance left him feeling a little miffed, but he was beginning to wonder if he might have been reading too much into their interactions. Was I pursuing him, or was it the other way around? What could possibly have happened to make me want to pursue him? I know there's still something missing.

Perhaps coming home wasn't such a good idea – he was feeling almost as stir crazy as he did in the infirmary. It was times like this that he would just hop on a broom and go flying. Unfortunately, he was grounded until he could prove he could get his magic under control. Another reason to work hard at returning to all his exercises.

Looking long and hard around the room, he saw all the disparate pieces of his life. In all the years he had moved around, he found himself back where he felt he belonged – at Hogwarts, yet the place looked dreadfully temporary and he appeared to have only unpacked a few of his belongings. Was he destined to be a nomad, or was he still not ready to commit to living in one place. He dared to put down roots in Somerset, only to realise that it was not the right place after he threw Ollie out. The only thing in the whole room that looked inviting was his chair by the fire.

As he wandered over to the chair, he spotted the dish with his I Ching coins. His right hand reached out to grasp for the coins and he jingled them in his hands as he pondered his situation. Why can't I remember anything? When will I get my memories back? When will I find exactly what I'm looking for?

He barely realised he had tossed the coins, but looking down, he noticed the way they fell. Shrugging, and with nothing better to do, he went over to the bookcases to pull out the I Ching oracle. A slight growl greeted him as he came nearer to the bookcase, and he noticed the biting bookend looking somewhat worse for wear. He shook his head and smiled. He could only imagine the tussle that went on between it and Dobby, but he made a note to renew the charms on it as he stroked it lovingly down the spine. It cooed like a baby and was once again calm.

Heading back to his chair, he looked up the hexagram he had thrown.

28: Excessive Pressure. Something is out of balance. Everything is in a state of flux. You can either move in the direction of positive change and improvement or towards stagnation. This may be the moment you have been waiting for. Although the current challenge may seem to be more than you can handle, action must be taken now to ensure opportunities for success later on. You will never discover the true extent of your own abilities unless you, at least once in your life, dive into a crisis with complete abandon, dedicating every ounce of your energy, every fibre of your being, to the cause at hand.

Oh great, he thought. That really told me a lot. I think diving in with complete abandon has put me into this situation in the first place. Good to know that at least my Divination skills haven't become any better, or worse. He threw the book aside, not really expecting it to have given him an answer, but somewhat buoyed by the idea that it was partially right. He would have preferred, however, for it to have actually told him what to do.

About the only thing he knew he had to do was work his way through the massive pile of mail. He noticed the Muggle parcel peeking out from half-way down the pile, and smiled as he recognised it. More DVD's. He barely remembered the long standing order that would see new DVD's sent to a Muggle address, one that Hedwig would check regularly. Tearing it open, he found a little bit of enthusiasm for some new episodes of 'Buffy', and he had the first disc loaded into his player. At least my Muggle appliances are still working, he remembered, so he watched the first episode as he worked through his mail.

There were plenty of birthday greetings. Cards from friends, old and new. A lovely card came from Molly and Arthur Weasley, but he gave up half way through the attached letter. He didn't want to hear Molly's apologies about Ron. But before he could put the letter down, something caught his eye and he read on. Ron's gone missing? What the...

Searching back through the letters, he located the envelope in Hermione's familiar hand writing. He didn't read the front of the card, but Hermione kept it short. Love Hermione, it said at the bottom. No mention of Ron. What the hell was going on?

Within seconds, he had the Floo open, and was calling Hermione. There was no answer, so he tried again at the Burrow. It seemed strange that there was no answer there, either, and he was about to ask Charlie, when he remembered that he had gone for the holidays. He was on the verge of calling one of the other Weasley brothers, when a sudden rush of memory hit him. The stag party. Ron's strange behaviour. The punch. Their massive fight as they stood in front of a burning manor. Ron watching through the Floo as he was kissing Draco...

He held the table for support as he reeled at the onslaught of images. Ron had fought with him because he didn't want to help Draco. He refused to allow him access to Malfoy Manor to look for Pegasus Wingtips, but Harry remembered the distinct homophobia that Ron was suddenly displaying.

The image of him with Draco on the couch was now burned into his brain. We were getting pretty heated, he recalled, but Ron interrupted us... why? His memories beyond that point were lost, but he kept returning to that one moment. Draco and I were together, and we both seemed to be wanting it.

Is that why Hermione has been keeping away? Is she scared of my reaction? He was at a loss about what to think. If something had happened to Ron... How could he have gone missing? Was it Neo Death Eaters? Is that why we went looking for them? Harry was now even more frustrated. Despite having a glimpse of memory, he was given more questions that he couldn't answer.

He continued through the letters, coming across one from Neville Longbottom. Harry smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to Neville, but they always exchanged birthday letters. He would have to reply soon, for he had not done so this year. He was surprised to read that not only was he studying in Paris, but that he was getting married. That thought made him smile, but he put the thought aside as the mention of Paris reminded him of Luc.

His journal. Now he could finally explain his extended absence to Luc. As he did a quick search for the journal, he spotted his desk calendar, and noticed that he had circled the Friday – tomorrow. "Lammas" was scrawled across the date and it was then he remembered he had agreed that he would meet Luc on that day. How am I going to get there? I'm not in any state to Apparate. I'll have to write and apologise. I hope he won't think any less of me.

Pushing aside the remaining unopened letters, Harry eventually found the journal buried deep underneath the pile of mail. It was a sight for sore eyes. He was thoroughly unprepared for the flood of memories that came crashing over him like a wave the moment he opened the front cover. The hazy fog began clearing from his memory and everything started to make sense. Perfect sense, if he didn't swoon from the sheer intensity of finally putting everything into place. The night of the staff party, the discovery about Luc, his confrontation with Remus, the sight of Draco being fucked by Jean-Paul and his intense jealousy.

But most importantly, he finally remembered the missing piece of the puzzle. Draco was Luc. He was in love with them both, only to discover that they were one and the same. So caught up in the emotion of finally making that discovery, he found himself shaking. I am in love with Draco. He is Luc, and I must have told him. I leapt in front of that curse from Phillip Parkinson because we were tricked there by a portkey from Malfoy Manor... I saved his life, now he's saved mine.

His relief at the revelation of his memories was overshadowed by his emotional discovery. Quickly flicking through the pages, he had thoughts for only one thing. There it was, the entry where he realised that Draco was Luc. It was all truth. But has Draco realised the truth? The question pressed at him. Sweet Merlin, I've fallen in love with him, but has he realised the truth yet?

He found the last page, and the new entry written by Draco. The entry was nine days earlier, and Harry realised he was out of it for nearly two whole weeks. His heart started racing as he read Draco's words.

I've gone and fallen in love. Yes, truly, madly, deeply and completely in love with the man I once thought I hated. When did that happen, and why did I not realise it until it was too late? Why us? Why do we not see the truth until it is too late? I realise now that the one thing I have been looking for all my life has always been here. And I'm so afraid of losing him.

He knows he loves me, he could not help but smile. Draco really loves me.

I haven't told him yet that I love him, because I only just realised it myself. I love him.

But the further he read on, he could see that Draco was blaming himself for Harry's condition. The entry ended abruptly, and there was nothing after that, which got him worrying. Does he think that I'm not going to reply? Surely not. But what if... It suddenly occurred to him that Draco may have discovered the truth. He had no idea how, but something Remus said came to mind. "You learned the truth after you admitted to yourself your feelings for Draco. The journal showed you the truth."

Could it have done the same for Draco? He couldn't be sure, but it could explain some of Draco's behaviour. But he's just admitted that he's fallen in love with me. Why am I trying to find doubt in that? I've fallen in love with him too. How on earth am I going to tell him?

For it was then he remembered that he had been dithering over telling Draco the truth, for fear of the blond's reaction. The answer was staring him in the face, and he picked up his quill and unscrewed the top on the purple ink.

Hey Luc, Sorry I haven't been around in the longest time. You've probably given up on me by now, but it was unfortunately out of my control. I've been quite indisposed and was unable to get to my journal. I know we're supposed to meet tomorrow, but I've discovered something in recent weeks, and the irony of it is that I have to share it with you right now.

If it weren't for Hedwig alerting him to it, he would have missed the knock at the door. He put the quill down and carefully walked over to open it.

A rather frazzled looking Draco was standing there as numerous parcels bobbed up and down behind him. A brief smile lit up his face and he looked apologetic. "Thank Merlin you're here. I went up to the infirmary only to find you gone. I guess I should apologise. I promised you I would be there to see you get home."

---

Harry didn't realise just how devastatingly alluring he was as he lounged by the door. Draco could see he was a little weary, but no more so than he had in the infirmary. The new clothes Draco had purchased looked extremely good, and he was pleased. "As way of apology, I come bearing gifts." He pointed to the bags of groceries, but was a little concerned that Harry was yet to speak. He's pissed off at me. Shit.

He seemed to come to his senses, blinking rapidly. "Oh, sorry. Come on in."

Draco put the groceries on the bench and flicked his wand before they began to unpack and put themselves away. Harry watched in fascination as Draco realised his mistake. "Sorry, that was stupid of me to be flaunting spells like that. I see you have the spell off your arm."

Harry looked down at his arm before nervously running his fingers through his hair. "Don't worry about the magic. I got my wand back, but I'm feeling like a first year."

"That bad?" Draco asked in concern. He really wasn't paying attention to what he was saying. All he could focus on was the smear of purple ink across Harry's cheek as he had run his hand through his hair. It took all of his willpower not to stare directly at Harry's desk, but in a casual glance, he noticed the journal – Harry's journal open on the table, the quill and ink sitting atop the page.

"Oh, I'm not overly worried at the moment. Things will come good soon enough." Harry stared at the cake box still on the table. "Oh, you were down at the Leaf and Bean? Thanks for the food – it was a thoughtful touch. I was going to send Dobby, but I'm not sure he trusts me any more," he grinned.

"That's why I was so late. I ran into an old friend at Emmaline's, and we had a lot of catching up to do." He noticed the immediate drop in Harry's face at the mention of a friend, and he just knew Harry was thinking it was an old boyfriend. "But she had some great news – she's getting married, so I had to meet the fiancé."

The relief on Harry's face proved Draco correct. He hoped Harry could forgive him for being late. "So is there any way I can make it up to you? How about I cook you some dinner? I know it's probably not as grand a birthday feast as you might normally expect, but I just thought it was the least I could do. The cake was Emmaline's idea – she wanted you to have it."

Harry seemed distracted, but Draco sensed that Harry was watching him carefully. He really should get back to his room and see what Harry was writing. He was wary. Did Harry suspect something? For once he was at a loss until he knew what to say in the journal.

"Harry?" he asked when there was no response.

"Oh, what? Oh, sorry. I was just... thinking." Harry seemed to snap out of his daze.

"So, can I offer you dinner? I'll even let you bring your own wine – I'll cook something that goes with a nice white. I'm sure you've got a bottle or two of that."

Harry visibly swallowed, then nodded. "Sure, that would be nice. Just a quiet meal. I'm honestly not up for a crowd. Besides, I've had enough of birthday parties – I think I deserve a year off."

"Okay then, well, just come around at any time. Don't forget the wine." His robes twirled as he made his way out the door.

---

Draco couldn't get back to his room quickly enough. When he planned on helping Harry back to his rooms, he never expected one of the first things he would do would be head for his journal and start talking to Luc. As he walked into his room, he noticed the pages of his own journal fluttering as if caught in a gentle breeze. "The spell of the journal drew him in automatically as he read Harry's words.

I don't remember any meeting, he thought, but then he noticed the date and remembered their planned meeting at Lammas. The quill was in his hand before he realised, and he was writing a swift reply.

Hello Flash, No, I haven't given up on you. I must confess I was somewhat worried that you did not reply, but I assumed that you must have had a very good reason for not responding, but I am glad you are back now. Is everything okay? Oh hello, Luc. I honestly wasn't expecting you to be there right now. To be honest, I don't know what I was expecting. I have so much to tell you, but I'm just trying to work out where to start. You should probably start at the beginning. I hear that's the best place. I have missed that smart mouth of yours, Luc. I suppose that I should tell you that for the past two weeks I've been in the hospital. I'm slowly getting back on my feet, but I only just came home. The strange thing is that I kept thinking about this journal the whole time I was there, but whenever I had visitors, I would forget to ask them to bring it to me. Strange, really. You don't think the journal was probably making you forget? I've noticed it seems to have a mind of it's own. I've only just recently discovered that it likes to control things to a certain extent. Apparently this book has been hiding things on me, making me forget. But the other day, everything suddenly fell into place. It was a strange, yet perfect revelation. Oh really? So, er, you've only recently discovered something through this journal? I wasn't sure, but it's only been in the last hour or so that my amnesia has completely gone, and the final piece of the puzzle has just clicked into place. I do know exactly to what you are referring, Luc, and I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am. You've got your lost memories back? All of them? Yes, all of them.

Draco paused. A feeling from deep within told him that now was the right moment to confess. Harry's memories were back, and that could mean only one thing.

At first I wasn't sure, but then I realised you must have worked out my identity. I've been waiting for you to get your full memories back to be completely sure, but I have to say I was quite irate when I learned you knew, and you didn't tell me.

Shit, Harry thought. He knows, and he's not happy. I so badly wanted to explain this to him properly. The quill flew over the pages as an apology stumbled out.

Wait, please let me finish. I made a promise to myself that I would tell you when I could. I knew you would take it the wrong way if I kept it hidden, but I was advised that you would have to work it out on your own. You don't know how hard it has been. I nearly told you twice, but each time we were interrupted. Actually, I do know what it's like. I've been wanting to tell you all week, but I wasn't sure if it would affect your recovery, or if you really did know the truth. When I thought I was going to lose you, I realised just how much you meant to me, and it was then that I realised that you were Flash. What gave it away, Draco?

Seeing Draco's name on the page gave him pause to think. Well there's certainly no turning back now, Harry.

You talk in your sleep, Harry. What gave away my identity? It was what you wrote the day after the staff party. I'm sorry I stormed away from you that morning at the Leaf and Bean, Draco, but I needed to clear my head. I had fallen in love with Luc, but then I was falling in love with you, and that was quite a revelation. Of course, I had to find out that I really didn't hate 'you' to see that I do love 'you' – the real you. I finally admitted the truth of my feelings. It's why I jumped in front of that curse. You helped me to see the real you from this journal, not the stuck up prig that I thought you were. What I'm trying to say is that I love you, Draco. Somehow, I came to realise that a life without you is a life I no longer want to live.

Draco looked away from the journal, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing those words on the page and knowing they were Harry's true feelings made him leap out of his chair and rush to the door, paying absolutely no attention to the pain in his knee, because that didn't matter any more.

Draco, are you still there?

Harry worried that Draco wasn't answering him. Is he still angry? "Why won't you answer me, Luc?"

The door to Harry's room was ajar, and Draco stepped carefully across the threshold as the door creaked. Harry didn't notice, for he was still sitting at his desk, his entire being focussed on the pages of a familiar journal. He didn't even hear the uneven footfalls crossing the rug.

"Probably because I'm right here, Flash..."

Harry flinched at the sudden touch, as he felt a body come up from behind and wrap itself around him. A warm hand was trying to wrestle the quill from his fingers, and he somehow released it into a pale hand stained with the most familiar shade of green ink.

He spun around in his chair to realise he was now in Draco's embrace, as he dared to look into steely grey eyes. The look on Draco's face was unreadable, and it seemed to take an eternity for him to stand up, all the while not looking away from the apologetic look in Draco's eyes.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked tentatively, not sure of the reaction.

Draco shook his head slowly, staring directly into Harry's eyes. He couldn't understand the look of slight sorrow – or was it pity – but he didn't fail to see the deeper, icy blue that shone with a layer of desire shining from deep within.

"Then... why..." Harry indicated back at the journal, but Draco grabbed his jaw and kissed him with a quietly desperate hunger.

Right then and there Harry didn't care about anything else but those lips. Judging from this kiss, it seemed that the time for words was finally over. As their lips spoke to each other in silent worship, their bodies moved in closer and hands began to seek out anything firm to cling to. Harry missed the feel of that fine blond hair as it ran through his fingers, and their kiss deepened as their tongues began a slow dance.

There was no urgency in their kiss. It felt like the most perfect moment in the world, but Harry knew that this was just the start of many more kisses. Their lips broke away as he remembered that spot just below Draco's ear. He remembered the reaction the last time he dared go this far, and he was rewarded as Draco arched his neck and groaned slightly as he lapped and teased at the smooth expanse of pale skin.

Neither man wanted it to stop, but they clung to each other in their embrace, foreheads touching as they caught their breath. Draco was the first to find his voice. "I'm not angry, Harry. How could I be angry?"

Harry wasn't sure if he was hearing Draco correctly. "But I thought..."

Draco put his finger to Harry's lips. "Shhh. I don't know about you, but I have had enough of words. I didn't write an answer because I realised that we have been talking and talking about this for months. I want this... you want this. We want it. I have cherished the time we spent with those journals, slowly discovering new things and really taking our time in getting to know each other. I understand now why it had to be that way. Seeing you lying there close to death, I realised that we have wasted so much time. I don't think I want to waste another minute with words, Harry."

Draco stepped in and stopped all coherent thoughts as his mouth descending against Harry's again. One hand was curled deeply in the dark and messy locks as his lips sought out Harry's mouth. Harry automatically responded, the passion in the kiss rekindling something inexplicable as his hands came up to lock around the back of Draco's shoulders. He was too far gone with desire to keep thinking, but he knew that this was exactly what he had been searching for all his adult life.

Harry's fingers became tangled in the soft, blond locks and pulled Draco in even closer as their lips grazed and scratched and nipped with frenzied abandon. His body reacted favourably to the sudden emotional outburst, yet his mind was still in a dizzy state of confusion. Draco's tongue moved away from his mouth, and bathed a pattern of kisses across his jaw, blindly kissing the new scars on his cheek. He felt his own arousal heighten and he gasped and groaned at the feeling.

He felt a surge of desire rising from deep within his soul and knew this was also exactly what he wanted. Draco yielded as Harry took control and pushed him up against the wall. Harry stopped as suddenly, eliciting a tiny whimper from Draco as he moved back.

"Is this what you want?" Harry asked, still a little unsure if Draco was truly happy. A tiny seed of doubt was at the back of his mind as he wondered if the blond was feeling as emotionally high as he was.

A growl escaped Draco's lips. "Do you really think I could just say that I love you, Harry, and not mean it? Are you forgetting that the journal doesn't lie?" Harry just blinked rapidly, the confused look on his face blatantly obvious. Draco grinned cheekily. "I guess that you had forgotten that, huh? Wool headed Gryffindor."

Harry stared, dumbfounded for a moment. How could he forget that? Draco said he was in love with him in the journal. Everything was going to be just fine. It was all over. The anticipation, the wondering, the concern – he didn't have to worry any more. Draco was right there, in his arms and running his hands over the smooth silk of Harry's shirt as his face wore the most self-satisfied of smirks.

"So, are you just going to stand there all evening, or are you eventually going to shag me?" Harry blinked again at Draco's smart words, growled in a low voice that echoed with lust. He was obviously not reacting fast enough, as Draco pulled roughly on his shirt, bringing him back for more kisses, this time with passionate abandon. Harry finally surrendered as Draco's invitation allowed the last barrier to fall. The soul mates were finally together.

As his own hands reached for the waist of Draco's trousers, he stopped as he realised that he didn't have to rush things any more. Harry finally understood what he wanted, what they needed. Time. They suddenly had all the time in the world for exploration and discovery. But first…

Harry groaned in delight as Draco pulled open the buttons on his shirt, nipping and pinching at his sensitive nipples. "You keep that up, and I'll be the one begging you," he whispered hoarsely.

Draco laughed as he guided Harry's hands to the buttons on his own shirt. "Really? Is that all I have to do to make you beg?" he spoke softly, allowing his breath to glide over the edges of Harry's ear, before running the tip of his tongue down to the hollow of his collarbone.

"Well, for starters, I think you'll find that kissing me right there is... sure to get a reaction," he whispered hoarsely. "But what I want to know," Harry slowly ran one finger down the smooth line of Draco's cheek, over his sharp jaw bone and along the curve of his neck, "is the secrets of what makes you lose your cool. What makes you moan and twitch and catch your breath in the back of your throat?" Here Harry moved closer so that his breath flowed directly across the sensitive skin of Draco's neck. He was rewarded with the quietest of breathy gasps when he quickly flicked his tongue out to taste the hollow of flesh just behind Draco's ear. He had definitely caught Draco off guard, but the satisfied look on Draco's face told him all he needed to know. "I want to see the look of contentment in your eyes when I slide my arms around you, like this," Harry released his hold on Draco's hand and moved to embrace the blond with both arms, relishing the feelings that coursed through him as he held onto the man he loved with all his heart.

Harry's was overwhelmed by the sensations, the images, the promise of things to come and the unfathomable notion of everything he had forgotten because of his amnesia. "I want to explore you, Draco," Harry was continuing, his voice sounding somewhat deeper and raspier than normal as he leaned closer again, planting tiny, feathery kisses along Draco's cheek, jaw, ear and neck. "Explore and know every beautiful, porcelain inch of your body just as we've explored each other's minds for so long. I want," Draco shivered involuntarily as he felt Harry's moist breath ghost over his ear, followed by the warm sensation of his tongue tracing the shell before he spoke again. "To touch you, and taste you, and discover things you never knew about yourself. I want to make you feel as much physical joy and ecstasy as possible," he slid his hands down, "just as your words and your eyes and your smile make me feel indescribably desired and loved and revered."

"Merde, 'Arry…" Draco's gasp turned into loud murmurs as a stream of French flew from his mouth in a frenzy that left Harry more aroused than he could possibly imagine. Harry paused as he allowed the words to wash over him. Draco arched up and captured Harry's mouth with his own.

Harry knew on some level that a part of him was terrified of what was happening, of what would follow. He couldn't dare believe it was truly happening. After all these months, and despite recent events, he was finally with Draco, and the emotion was completely overwhelming. Just don't think about it for once in your life, Harry, he told himself. Just focus on Draco. The results of his silent demands were quite pleasing to the Slytherin in his arms as he pulled them closer, deepening the kiss and slowly fluttering his fingers along Draco's right side. He felt the quiver that went through his lover and smiled into the kiss before pulling back.

"Ticklish, are we?" The mischievous note left nothing to the imagination, and Harry was grateful for his grounding exercises, which allowed him to ignore certain sensations when the need arose.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "I can be, but I can also not be, if I want." The challenge in his voice was hard to ignore.

"Care to explain that?" Harry grinned impishly.

Draco ran his tongue along the shell of Harry's ear, "Maybe later," he whispered, sending a shudder all the way down Harry's spine.

Harry responded with a flicker of his tongue across the hollow at the base of Draco's neck, making the blond completely forget what he was going to say. His body was unconsciously guiding them across the room towards the bed. The gentle, moist movement of his tongue continued to assault Draco's throat, causing a tingling sensation to spread through him, and sending him into rapturous delight.

"Not here," Draco eventually managed to whisper, slightly pushing Harry away.

Harry stopped, suddenly confused. "But I thought you just said..."

Draco looked down at the bed they were about to occupy and he was suddenly overcome with an air of petulant stubbornness. "If you think I'm going to let you fuck me senseless in that flea riddled pile of rags, then you'll be wanking alone tonight, Potter."

He wasn't sure if Draco was serious or not, but the blond continued. "I'm beginning to wonder if you've forgotten the last time we nearly got started." Draco nodded over at the fireplace. "I have no desire to be interrupted again, and Harry Potter's Floo isn't the safest of places to shag in front of, especially not on his birthday."

Harry looked at the fireplace and nodded. "You're absolutely right."

"Of course I am," he smirked, before licking his lips in the anticipation. Harry was completely mesmerised by the sight, and he could sense the energy that was crackling around them.

Before he knew it, Harry was in Draco's room, having pinned the blond to the door with another passionate kiss. He was feeling so invigorated, he barely felt that he had been in the hospital wing for the past two weeks.

Draco's laugh was deep and throaty as Harry eagerly worked the buttons on his trousers. "Why the rush, Harry? We have all the time in the world. Actually, I thinking that it's high time I introduced you to the Tantra."

"Tantra, huh?" Harry replied, peeling the trousers from Draco's legs. "A dear friend of mine told me lots of interesting things about it," he said with a smirk. "I'm definitely up for sharing that with you, Draco, but right now... I've waited so long for this."

Before Draco could form a coherent reply, he finally felt what he had only been dreaming about. Daring to look down, he saw the face that had haunted his dreams for months. Harry looked up through tousled jet black hair with eyes half-lidded with desire. Draco was lost in incoherent murmurs.

Soft hands, hands that knew what they wanted, seemed to slide effortlessly over his thighs and hips, and it seemed that all those weeks of Tantric control were completely forgotten as he was overwhelmed with need.

It was Harry who was in charge – a concept that surprised Draco through his heavily aroused haze. Even through months of dreams, he could never imagine the sheer intensity of this encounter as Harry explored every inch of his body, leaving Draco wanting for more. Mesmerised and tantalised as he reached that perfect moment of bliss, Draco opened his eyes and cried Harry's name.

Still boneless and shaking, Harry had never felt so wanton as he could barely think coherently. Normally, he would have spent hours worshipping every inch of Draco, mapping out the planes and angles of skin as it wrapped around each bone, but right now he wanted one thing. Judging from the wanton lust that shone from those pale eyes, he knew Draco wanted the same.

--oo0oo censored for ff . net --

Their ears rang and their hearts hammered as Draco collapsed on Harry's chest. The first coherent words were a series of discontented sighs. Draco looked up at Harry with a look of total satisfaction in his eyes that belied the smug smirk on his mouth. The blond raised a hand to push a dripping strand of hair out of Harry's eyes before allowing his fingers to trace along the faint line of that scar.

"Sweet Merlin! I don't know if I could cope if I ever let you get out of control," Draco said breathlessly. Harry laughed, before placing a kiss on Draco's sweat slicked brow. "Soul mate." The words spilled from Draco's lips, but for once, Harry knew they were genuine. Draco's face was honest and he saw the look of complete satisfaction in his eyes.

Harry smiled as he acknowledge the words - finally realising all his fears could be at last put to rest. This was real, and he didn't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else – never again.

Draco was suddenly serious and lowered his eyes. "So now that you seem to have your memories back, what on earth made you leap in front of that curse? It was a crazy stunt."

Harry looked thoughtful before answering. "You're right. It was a crazy thing to do and I guess I wasn't thinking. It was a risk, but if you don't take the risk for love, then what do you take it for?" Draco's eyes widened at the mention of love. "Yes, you crazy blond. If you haven't guessed it already, I do love you." Saying the words seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"And just in case you missed the words I wrote, I love you too, Harry Potter. Even though everyone will think it's the most illogical thing in the world, I have to say that it feels so... right. We belong together and if anyone wants to doubt that, they can just go and read our journals," Draco said emphatically.

"Of course it seems illogical and incredible, but logic and reason fly out the window when love gets involved. I'm not going to pretend that we are going to change, Draco, but I just know that even if we will still fight and disagree with one another, I'll still wake up every day knowing that there will still be something new and fresh and exciting to share with you..." Draco shut him up quickly with a languid kiss.

"I had to do something to shut you up," Draco offered as an apology, but Harry leaned up and grinned as he kissed back.

"Actually, you were right," he said excitedly, bounding his elbows on the bed and grinning wildly.

"I was? What about." Harry seemed giddy, or drunk, or both, but Draco didn't really care.

"This bed is fantastic! You're going to have to work hard to get me out of it, you know."

The ever-present smirk returned to Draco's face. "Oh? Is that a challenge?"

"Always, Draco. Always." Harry was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to yawn. He was not going to admit that he was exhausted, but now that he finally found his soul mate, he knew he had all the time in the world to live that passion.

---

It was almost dark when Draco woke, but that tingling feeling in his arse and the arm that was draped around him reminded him of where he was and who was in his bed with him. He rolled carefully onto his back, not wanting to disturb Harry. Only when he looked over did he see that Harry was wide awake and staring at him as if starved for affection. "I thought you were the one who wanted to sleep?" he asked.

"I did, but I found something better to do. Watching you sleep."

Draco smiled before dropping a kiss on Harry's lips. "I promised I was going to cook you a birthday feast, didn't I?" he made to get up, but he wasn't expecting Harry to pull him back down onto the bed before kissing him hungrily. Draco melted under the kiss, enjoying the slow slide of tongues as their hands clasped.

"When did you get the tattoo?" Harry asked in all seriousness.

"Huh?" Draco was a little confused, especially since Harry stopped his kisses and pulled away completely. Was he talking about the false Dark Mark? He should have known that Draco had carried it since the war, disgusting thing that it was. If it wasn't connected to his wand arm, he would have had it removed by Muggle means years earlier. Now, it was just an unsightly blemish that he chose to always hide underneath long sleeves.

"Don't play dumb," he replied. "The snitch. When did you get that tattoo? You certainly didn't have it at the start of our last year of school."

Realisation suddenly dawned. He had completely forgotten about that tattoo. Too many years avoiding Quidditch and anything related to it made him forget it entirely. It had gone dormant somewhere over his right shoulder a few years earlier.

"Oh, well, you know. It was the thing to do at the time..." Draco didn't feel comfortable talking about it, especially not to Harry, who was now running a finger over the magical snitch. It twitched for the first time in ages, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Let me guess, you were so thrilled you caught the snitch and won the cup, you went out and got drunk. Rosmerta convinced you that all winning seekers got the tattoo..."

Draco looked at him, dumbfounded. "How..."

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. He knew that now was not the time to bring up past lovers, especially not ones who they would both be working closely with. "Let's just say I've seen one before... Don't worry, I like it... a lot."

The grin on Draco's face was wide and he sat up quickly as realisation dawned on his face. "You spied on me in the showers at school, didn't you? Here I was thinking you were new to this voyeur business."

Harry smirked. "Oh, I wouldn't say I was completely innocent, although a good friend once gave me some brilliant ideas. I was hoping I could try them out sometime, if you're interested?" He raised an eyebrow in a hopeful look.

"Hmmm, I suppose I will just have to teach you all those spells I promised, won't I?" Draco asked with a lascivious glint in his eye.

"I am a quick study, and a keen learner, or so I've been told," Harry added.

Draco smiled and turned to move closer into Harry's embrace. He momentarily forgot himself, and winced in pain as he bent his knee awkwardly. He hoped Harry had not seen it, but he looked up to see a deep frown on his face. He moved to cover over the disfigured limb, but Harry stopped him, bringing his own hand down to run his fingers over the dark and ugly scars. Draco flinched.

"Why won't you let me touch it? You've had your hands all over mine." Harry said with a slightly hurt tone. Draco said nothing. He rarely let his lovers touch that part of his body, and he always flinched away. But Harry's hand was warm and insistent and he was glad for the failing light of evening that hid the true horror of his deformed knee cap.

"I just... it makes me uncomfortable," he replied honestly, but Harry didn't seem to be listening. He had closed his eyes and appeared to be in a meditative state as his breathing became slow and deep. Draco didn't know what to do, but Harry's hand was suddenly red hot as he laid it directly on the knee. Draco yelped in surprise and Harry opened his eyes wide, gasping.

"I really should not have done that," Harry remarked.

"What the... What did you think you were doing?" Draco asked in surprise. He wanted to be angry, but he found that the ever-present twinge of pain had suddenly subsided. He sat back and out of reach of Harry as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know why I just did that," he remarked, "but you have to understand that I had to try. Don't think that I've forgotten about what you gave up for me. I can't bear to watch you limping around, so I had to see if I could direct my magic into healing it. I thought if I could manage to heal myself..." Harry stopped as he became choked up with emotion. "I can't do it, Draco. I tried, but the magic won't heal anything outside of my body."

Draco crawled back over to Harry and brought his chin up to look at him. "Listen to me, Harry. I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but if it came down to my limp or your life, I would do the same thing again." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco was firm. "I don't care any more about this limp. Yes, it can be painful at times, but I've learned to live with it. But I don't think I could live without you. This injury is not your fault, and I don't ever want to hear you thinking that it is."

"But your broom..." Harry started, but yet again Draco cut him off.

"I gave up caring about brooms and Quidditch a long time ago, Harry. The only thing I care about now is right here in this bed, and he's going to have to get used to me nipping his self sacrificing moods in the bud." With that he kissed Harry again, taking control as he ran a hand over Harry's body, their bodies stirring as their ardour awakened. A long, slow growl from Harry's stomach broke through the moment and left them both snorting in laughter.

"I guess you're hungry. Either that, or there's some sort of monster in your chest that's dying to get out."

Harry nodded fervently. "I am starving, but perhaps I might like some cake first. I could eat an entire hippogriff, but I think that could wait. It's still my birthday, and I haven't finished playing with my present yet."

"Oh, really?" Draco smirked at the thought that he was Harry's birthday present. "I thought you had all the time in the world to play with your new... present." Draco didn't care. He was right where he wanted to be, and nothing else mattered.

"So what are we waiting for?" Harry asked in a sultry voice that spoke directly to Draco's groin. Draco could feel the stirrings of renewed desire as his hands dove beneath the sheet. All in all, he knew that whatever the future held, he knew that he was never, ever going to tire of it. The adventure was only beginning.

As Draco's talented lips plied their way across his sensitive body, Harry realised that a lifetime of adventure and desire was to be had right there with his soul mate, and at that moment, he knew this was where he was meant to be. Ancient words of prophecy finally made sense... now he was free to live.

The smile on his face at that thought coincided with Draco's hands mapping their way across his body, and he submitted to them.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

---

"Nothing's happening!" Jean-Paul exclaimed as he stared into the bottom of a large rune-covered basin. It had appeared out of nowhere at the back of Emmaline's shop earlier that evening. She had eagerly Flooed Jean-Paul when she first saw it, but now the two of them stared at the murky depths in anticipation.

"I... I don't understand..." Emmaline seemed equally as confused as she watched the iridescent fog as it failed to coalesce as expected. She put her wand into the bowl and began stirring the fog, but it seemed to have little effect.

"But you said..."

Emmaline shooed him away with her hand. "I know what I said..." but she stopped suddenly as a thought struck. All confusion dropped from her face and was replaced by a wide, all-knowing smile.

"What?"

"Well, this happened once before..."

"And..." he prompted out of sheer frustration rather than curiosity. Jean-Paul was tired of all her games. As far as he knew, they were all going to end once the basin had appeared. What was the old witch up to now?

"Well it can mean only one thing, môn chéri." Emmaline sat back, her fingers steepled together as she seemed rather satisfied.

Jean-Paul didn't bother to ask her again, for he knew she had her own secrets, and would only ever volunteer what she wanted anyway. He feigned disinterest for a few moments as he willed the foggy bowl to do as it was wont.

She poked him in the ribs to gain his attention. "It means that it isn't over, at least, not yet."

"Not over? But they've been dancing around each other for months, and now they both know they are soul mates. The journals..." Emmaline cut him off quickly.

"It means that it isn't over," she said, her eyes conveying the meaning of her words.

"Oh." Comprehension dawned on Jean-Paul's face, along with a slight sense of disappointment. "Oh!"

Emmaline nodded and smiled knowingly. Indeed, things were far from over.

They were only just beginning.

---

TBC in chapter 19

Review Thank You's:

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