Title: Out of One's Mind
Rating: probably R - maybe NC-17
Paring: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Well, none I think. m/m, duh
Disclaimer: I don't own them, J.K Rowling do.
Beta: the amazing jemalfoy!

Summary: The war is over. Or at least, almost. Voldemort is dead, but one horrocrux can change that. The ministry believes that Draco Malfoy might know where it is being kept. But unfortunately... Draco Malfoy has no memories.
Harry Potter is given the task of restoring the young Malfoy's memories. Though, Harry is not happy with the arrangements.

Out of One's Mind

Chapter 2

Waking up, Harry decided, was not a pleasant experience. Especially not at, he glanced at the clock and groaned, 6.30 in the morning.

Reaching out a hand he tried to locate his alarm clock on the bedside table, but to no avail.

Retracting his arm under the warm covers, Harry let out an outdrawn whine, scolding himself at the same time for being so damn smart. He just had to move the clock further away last night, to prevent him from sleeping in.

His action, unfortunately, didn't look as bright now as it did yesterday.

Sitting up, Harry rubbed his tired eyes while his poor ears protested against the shrill sound of the alarm.

Running a hand through is messy hair he glared at his red alarm clock. Once again promising himself that he'd get a new one as soon as he could, knowing that he never would remember it.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he put his arms in the air and stretched. He let out a long groan as his shoulders let out a satisfied 'crack'.

He hadn't dreamt anything last night, fortunately. He'd lost enough sleep that way. Even if Voldemort had been killed, the link between them with it, he was still plagued with normal nightmares or twisted memories.

Covering his mouth with his hand, Harry let out a yawn. He really hated mornings.

Rising form the comfortable bed he slowly made his way into the bathroom, shutting off the alarm clock on his way.

---

Harry shuddered and tried to rub some warmth into his cold arms. It was the beginning of summer and in the middle of the day it was wonderful but the mornings were still quite chilly.

Breathing a sigh of relief when the broken-down red telephone box started to move, Harry hugged himself tighter. "Finally," he breathed.

Humming quietly to himself, just for lack of anything to do, Harry waited for the short ride down to the ministry to be over.

The phone box lift came to a stop and he made his way into the Atrium. He was greeted with the sight of a very busy crowd of people, the flames in the fireplaces lining the left side of the hall were almost constantly green, swallowing and spitting out wizards and witches.

Moving down the hall, Harry was grateful for the mass of people everywhere; he really didn't feel like drawing any attention.

Making his way through the crowd, Harry stopped in front of The Fountain of Magical Brethren, smiling at the gold statues. The house-elf always did remind him of Dobby and Hermione's SPEW.

Digging in his pocked Harry fished up three galleons and tossed them into the fountain, he knew that the money was being donated to St. Mungos and he always made sure that he tossed in couple of galleons every time he visited the Ministry.

"Show your wand, please." A tired voice greeted him as he reached the security stand at the end of the Atrium.

Bringing fourth his wand from its usual place in the back pocked of his jeans, Harry handed it over to Eric Munch. He knew that he shouldn't keep it in his pocket; Moody always told him that it could be his death one day, but it had become a habit. No mater how many times he told himself that he wouldn't put it there again, the wand always returned to his back pocket. It was almost like magic.

Snickering to himself, Harry handed over his wand, took it back when it had been clarified that he was indeed Harry Potter, completely ignored Eric's awed expression and made his way through the Golden Gates.

He immediately made his way into a crowded lift, barely managing to squeeze himself into it, but too impatient to wait for the next one.

One after one people emptied from the small claustrophobic lift, leaving only Harry, a strict looking woman, and a short little wizard with a yellow hat left.

Seeing his floor come up on the display, Harry quickly pushed the stop button, receiving a glare from the lady as he reached past her. Mentally rolling his eyes, Harry made his way out of the lift, giving a huge sigh as the doors hissed closed behind him. He hated lifts, he didn't have any problem with the confined space, the years spent in his cupboard had made him used to it after all; he just hated the famous and oh-so-awkward elevator silence.

Harry mused on what the Minister could possibly want from him as he let his legs carry him through the corridor. It couldn't be about the last horocrux, but he'd made it clear that he didn't want to track it down now when Voldemort was gone.

As far as he knew, none of his friends were hurt and if that was the case why would it be the Minister informing him?

Shoving all thoughts away, Harry came to a stop before Scrimgeour's office, knocked a few times, and entered as the Minister told him to come in.

"Remus?" Harry asked surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Smiling at him, Remus rose from his chair and gave him a short, but familiar hug. "Scrimgeour asked me and Alastor to come with you."

He hadn't noticed Moody at first, but now that he looked, he spotted him in a corner, muttering to himself as he browsed through a thick book.

Harry turned his confused eyes back to Remus, "Why are you guys here?"

"I am afraid that I'll have to interrupt you there, we do not have all day," Scrimgeour's voice rang out, a hint of impatience tinting it.

Remus leaned closer, "A support of sorts, Harry," he whispered before straightening up.

With his eyebrows slightly narrowed, the suspicious boy turned to the Minister. "Will you please tell me what I'm doing here?" not bothering much that it was far from polite.

"Yes, of course," Scrimgeour answered and rose from his desk. "Come with me."

"Scrimgeour, shouldn't we explain the situation to Harry first?" Remus asked, casting a concerned glance at the black haired boy.

The Minister snorted. "Nonsense! I do not have time for such things, as you know I have a meeting soon." And then followed Alastor, who'd disappeared without Harry's knowledge, out of the office.

Giving a sigh, Remus turned to him. "Come on then, Harry." He laid his hand on Harry's right shoulder and squeezed it in a consoled manner before they followed Alastor and Scrimgeour.

Harry didn't say anything, but walked beside Remus as question after question began bombarding his mind. He didn't try to ask anything, he wouldn't have been able anyway; his thoughts were a mess by now.

The only thing he was dead sure on was that it couldn't be good.

---

"No! Absolutely no!"

"Harry, you need to understand –"

"Don't you 'Harry' me! Don't you fucking 'Harry' me, Scrimgeour! I told you that I refused to help you with any of this!" Harry roared, spit flying.

The Minister narrowed his eyes. "You can not walk away from your duties."

Gaping at the wizard before him, Harry was quiet for a second before exploding, "Duties!" he gave a too loud and almost insane laugh, "I killed Voldemort! What more do you want from me? I've given my whole life to that duty, I don't fucking own the world anything else!"

"Voldemort will not be completely destroyed until the last horocrux is, you know this. Therefore your duty is not yet finished," Scrimgeour was practically sneering at him now. "You will agree to this, you do not have a choice in the matter."

Harry was breathing heavily by now, his face red from anger.

The Minister turned to the other occupants in the room, "Excuse me Alastor, Lupin I believe that I have a meeting to attend to. Lupin, explain the details to Mr. Potter."

He swept out of the room.

As soon as he was gone Remus embraced the young boy, because at seventeen years old he was still young. "Harry, please you need to know why it has to be you."

Harry let out a frustrated sound and balled his hands into fists. "I can't do this."

"Harry," Remus said gently, "we've been trying to pry the information out of him for two weeks now but no progress has been made. You know this is extremely important, locating the last horocrux will mean that Voldemort will have no chance to return. Ever, as far as we know."

He forced Harry's eyes up to look at him. "He has lost his memory, Harry. He doesn't remember anything about the war, his parents or even Hogwarts." To Harry's surprise Remus eyes shone with compassion. "He doesn't remember himself." His gaze bored itself into the black haired boy, who wanted to close his eyes to the intensive eyes. "He only remembers you."

The former Gryffindor swallowed and stepped away from Remus, "I won't be able to do it Remus." He looked into Remus sad eyes. "I'll kill him."

To his surprise the werewolf smiled gently. "No you won't, Harry. You're not the kind."

"I killed Voldemort," Harry muttered, the anger he'd unleashed before gone.

"I know, but there's a big different between killing and murdering." He lifted Harry's chin, "You, Harry, are not a murderer."

Closing his eyes, Harry let out a tired breath. "Care to tell me the details?" he mumbled with his eyes still closed.

Remus smiled. "Of course, Harry." But his sad eyes betrayed the gentle smile on his lips.

Harry saw neither of them.

---

The room was quiet, the news absorbed and the reasons behind it looked upon.

"He only remembers you?"

Harry signed. "Basically yes, but no, he does remember magic but no spell. He remembers how to speak, walk and such elementary stuff but he doesn't remember any people, "He let out a humourless laugh, "he doesn't even remember Voldemort." He let his head drop into his hands. "He only remembers me."

"Wow, Harry," Hermione muttered, "You must've made quite an impression on him."

Harry snorted.

"I'm serious," she told him. "Malfoy has obviously been the target of a spell, maybe 'Oblivate', but they don't know do they?"

"No," Harry answered, "they only know that he can't remember anything.

"People who loose their memory only remember basic things, things that are so deeply imprinted in their minds that nothing that we know of can take that away from them; such as walking, speaking, and magic. He doesn't remember his parents, but he does remember you."

She leaned back into her pillows. "Something isn't right about that."

Ron sighed and spoke for the first time in a long while. "Nothing's right about any of this."

"You're sure right about that, mate," Harry said, still with his head in his hands. "I just don't know what to do. I don't want to be involved again, not like before. I've given my life to that stuff, it has to end."

"What if it doesn't, Harry," Hermione suddenly said. "What if the remaining Death Eaters manage to retrieve Voldemort again? What if Lucius Malfoy is the one to do it? What if the killing starts again?" Harry had raised his head during her speaking, and she looked directly into his eyes. "What if Malfoy knows how to prevent it?"

Ron smiled slightly, with a trace of sadness. "Think of it, Harry. By working with ferret face you might save the world," he gave a humourless chuckle, "again."

---

"I'll do it."

Remus smiled at him. "Thank you, Harry."

He just looked at him. "How will I take him home?"

"Alastor and I will escort you to your apartment. We will also put up wards so that he cannot escape."

"Great," Harry muttered, "just great."

---

He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, "Get in," he growled at the blond boy, slamming the door shut as soon as Malfoy got inside.

He stared at the Slytherin for a moment, giving a smirk at the boy's lost look. "Now listen," he growled in the same manner, "you are to stay here for five months, during which you are to recover from your fucking memory loss, give us the information we need and then you are going straight to Azkaban, or hell for all I care.

"I am not your friend and I have no idea why you only remember my name but it's not because you like me, we hate each other. I hate you, Malfoy." The blond boy swallowed.

Harry carried on, "You are to stay here during the five months, you can't leave this place because if you try the ministry will notice it immediately and then it's probably back to this shit again or directly to Azkaban."

Malfoy murmured something, Harry didn't hear it. "You can be in every room here, use the kitchen and the bathroom to your liking, but don't ever enter my bedroom. Ever, Malfoy. Because if you do I won't hesitate to throw you out, and then it's no choice but to go to prison." His voice was harsh.

Malfoy nodded, barely moving. His head turned down.

"You can sleep on the couch, I'll bring some blankets." He looked the shorter boy over, a sneer grazing his face. Malfoy was still wearing the same dirty robe as he had during the battle two weeks ago. "Just take a bloody shower before you do anything, you smell like shit."

Harry turned on his heels and went into his bedroom, snatching some worn clothes and a towel from his wardrobe. When he reappeared again he found Malfoy standing in the same spot where he'd left him, his posture radiating insecurity

He thrust the clothes into Malfoy's arms, a little too much added force, making Malfoy stumble backwards. "Wear these and throw away the rags you're wearing." He eyed one of the many holes in the black, now almost grey robe. "You can find shampoo in the bathroom."

And with that Harry went back into his bedroom, came out again with a blanket and a pillow, threw them on the sofa and then left the apartment, once again slamming the door.

For a moment ice blue eyes watched the closed door, before returning to the clothes in his arms.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before feeling the worn fabric of the soft clothes; he then brought them up to his face and smelled them. They smelled just like that other boy, this 'Potter'. He didn't know who he was, but he knew now that the black haired boy hated him. He must've done something terrible to bring forth such hate.

Hugging the cloths closer to his body, Draco Malfoy made his way into the bathroom, the door giving a soft 'click' as he locked it.

End of Chapter 2