Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.
Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc. Also be warned that the rating has just shot up from PG-13 to R (or using the rating scale on this site, T to M)
Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean only attempted)
Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.
One Perfect Something
I'm Not Okay
October 18 (early morning) . . .
Candlelight shone dimly in the room where only hours ago, Harry had lost his virginity to his enemy and archrival, Draco Malfoy. The blond lay sleeping beside him, a leg thrown over Harry's, an arm wrapped around Harry's waist, and an expression on his slumbering features that Harry had never expected to see equated with him – peace.
Peace. Something not often seen in war, especially not on the face of the son of the devil's right hand man. Of course, it wasn't often seen in the tortured hero either, but there it was. Harry felt calm, contented, for the fir time in months. He looked at the boy who had been the bane of his existence for years and saw the boy who had shown him what it was like to connect with another human being in the most intimate way possible.
They were still enemies, he knew that, but he also knew that they had shared a part of themselves that even though they wouldn't remember their short time together, they would be irrevocably changed.
Malfoy's eyelids fluttered and then opened to reveal sleepy silver orbs. He caught Potter looking at him and he smirked. "See something you like, Potter?"
Harry, instead of giving a witty comeback, said, "Yeah, actually I do."
That surprised the Slytherin, and he propped himself on his elbow to observe the softly smiling teen beside him. Potter looked calm for the first time in months, his shoulders devoid of tension, his emerald eyes free of shadows. He looked almost . . . happy.
Why?" he asked the Gryffindor.
Harry shrugged. He knew Malfoy wasn't asking why he liked what he saw. "Because no matter what happens today, no one will remember anything. Because I finally have a chance to be myself."
This is my chance
This is myself
Draco froze. Potter was right. They could do anything they wanted and no one would remember a thing. He could tell Pansy to get lost without fearing that she'd spread the fact that he was gay. He could talk to Granger about that insanely hard potion Snape had assigned the day before that even he was having trouble with. He could . . . reveal his true feelings about anything and everything. The war. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His father. Potter.
Shit, Potter! The raven-haired teen had been waiting for him to say something for the past five minutes! Draco looked at him and was surprised to see hope glowing his bright green eyes. Hope for what? Either way, it made him uncomfortable. "Potter, don't look at me like that. It's disturbing."
Harry didn't become offended. Instead, he raised an eyebrow; where had he learned that distinctly Slytherin mannerism? And he said, "Why, because you don't like displays of emotion?"
Draco narrowed his impossibly deep silver eyes and replied, haughtily, "No, displays of emotion are perfectly all right as long as they are limited to anger, hatred, disdain, contempt, and superiority."
The way he'd phrased it sounded suspiciously like it had been a lesson drilled into him by his father. "So, hope, attraction, and trust are out of the question?" Harry did no add love to that list because love was not a factor in their relationship, whatever that relationship was. They did not love each other, and could never. They were too different.
The Slytherin nodded, like a satisfied teacher with their student. Then Harry said, "But what if I want to display such emotions?"
"You can't! Those kinds of emotions are weaknesses! They only lead to pain and will only get you or those you care about killed."
And Harry knew that this definitely was a lesson Lucius Malfoy had drilled into his son many times. But then again, wasn't the elder Malfoy right? Harry had displayed similar, weak emotions before and had gotten people killed because of it.
But . . . no one would remember this day and so no one would get hurt or killed. "Malfoy, I know they do, but today is an exception. No matter what you say or do, no one will remember!"
Harry didn't give him time to react; instead, he lunged at him and pinned him to the bed. "And because of this, I'm going to show you what it's like to bottom," he whispered in the stunned blond's ear.
Draco immediately attempted to push him off, unsuccessfully. He glared up into gleaming emerald eyes and growled, "Malfoys never bottom!"
In response, a warm hand gripped his erection; wait, where had that come from? Potter grinned lasciviously, "Malfoy, you won't remember being bottom after today. So, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're going to wish you'd killed me when you had the chance."
Draco, although inwardly he felt a tingle of anticipation, scoffed. "As if you know how. You were a virgin last night."
"Yes, but so were you. And besides, I enjoy a good book once in a while. Some are very informative. So, you remember how good I was at being bottom? I'm even better at topping." With that, he did something with the hand that held Draco's erection that had the blond gripping the sheets and trying hard to contain a scream of pleasure.
When he caught his breath, he hoarsely rasped, "Okay, maybe I can be topped once."
A feral grin was his response, and soon the dimly lit room was filled with sounds that if someone had been listening, they would have thought two panthers were fighting to the death.
Barely two hours later, the two boys entered the Great Hall intent on making as much trouble as they could. Draco's arm was around Harry's shoulders, the Gryffindors arm around his waist. They were both wearing the clothes they'd worn to the party, wrinkle-free and Scourgified, of course. But no one could mistake the fact that they probably hadn't been wearing those clothes most of the night, if the red marks on their necks and their swollen lips were any indication.
They parted ways almost as soon as they entered, both looking reluctant, and as Draco made his way over to the Slytherin table, he blew an exaggerated kiss to Harry. Harry pretended to catch it and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. Then he walked over to his seat at the Gryffindor table, looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Actually, he was having a hard time not bursting into laughter at the absurdity of his and Malfoy's act.
Ron was staring at him as if he'd sprouted another head and that head was attempting to eat him, and Hermione was frowning at him as if he were some great, mysterious puzzle. "Good morning," he said, cheerily, grabbing a biscuit and slathering it with butter.
Ginny glared at him from where she sat two seats down from the seat across him. He winked at her. She went red and hissed, "So, it looks like you're into ferrets, Harry. Did you get off seeing his Dark Mark?"
Well, it looked like Ginny wasn't as pure as she looked, just like he'd suspected. No offense to Ron, who was overprotective of his sister, but Ginny was a right, little bitch when she wanted to be. "Actually, Ginevra, he doesn't have one. Although, I think that may be just because tattoos aren't in vogue right now."
Of course, that was a complete lie, because he had no idea what Malfoy thought of the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. But the tattoo thing was brilliant, and he'd just had to say it.
And if the look on her face was any indication, it had royally pissed her off.
"Harry, stop irritating Ginny at the breakfast table," Hermione scolded, interrupting any retort the irate redhead may have made.
Harry glanced over at his intelligent friend and wondered why she was acting so composed. She had looked furious the night before, when he had left with Malfoy. So why was she calmly telling him to stop irritating Ginny like he was just being silly?
Ron must have thought the same thing because his mouth dropped open and he blurted out, "Hermione, are you nutters? He just came in with Draco-fucking-Malfoy and you're telling him to stop irritating Ginny at the breakfast table? You're insane!"
Hermione merely sighed and replied, "I am not insane, Ronald, you are. Causing a scene this early in the morning is ridiculous. And besides, Harry is old enough to make his own decisions, however disturbing they may be."
"Oh really? You didn't think this last night when he went off with the bloody ferret!" Ron shouted, his eyes blazing.
"Yes, but I had the entire night to think it over and I realized that I was being silly. Besides, no one will remember it anyway."
Harry choked on his biscuit and stared at Hermione. Ron was spluttering about how of course everyone would remember, but the girl was simply looking at Harry with a serene expression on her features. She knew. How in the blazes did she know?
"Hermione?" he questioned, once he managed to get the stupid biscuit down his throat.
She closed the book she had been reading earlier and stood. "It's wise to keep your private items hidden safely, or else anyone may find something very interesting. I'll see you in Potions, Harry."
The smartest girl at Hogwarts exited the Great Hall, a small smile curving her generous lips.
Harry sighed into his food; of course she would have found page 54. He ignored Ron's ranting about how Hermione was an idiot and how Harry was a bloody idiot and why wouldn't anyone tell him what the hell was going on. He quickly finished his breakfast, and then left the Great Hall as well, heading towards Gryffindor Tower to change and gather his schoolbooks for his first class, Double Advanced Potions.
Harry had no idea how he had managed to get into Double Advanced Potions, since he had only received an E in the class, but he suspected Dumbledore had coerced the greasy-haired Potions professor into letting him in. He really did not like the look of hatred Snape gave him every time he saw the older man; it was worse than before.
He entered the class right on time and slid into his seat only moments before Snape billowed into the room, a scowl twisting his features. "You've had enough time to research the potion, now it's time to see if you belong in this class. In groups of three, you will concoct it, and I will not tolerate mistakes. Understood?"
Groups of three? Harry thought that was odd, since they had been working in pairs or alone since the beginning of the year. But since this potion was harder than anything he had ever seen before, he suspected Snape was allowing it so that there was less of a chance of his precious dungeon being destroyed.
Hermione had already moved her stuff to the table Harry was sitting at, and was currently going over the list of ingredients with a fine-toothed comb to make sure she wouldn't miss anything when she went to the supply closet. They were both surprised when Draco Malfoy came up to them and asked if he could work with them. Harry instantly blurted out, "Why?"
The almighty Slytherin appeared to be wrestling with his upbringing, and it took a few moments for him to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth. "I am uncertain about a few aspects of the potion and thought that working with Granger might clarify them for me."
His eyes showed that he hated asking for help, and Harry knew the only reason he was showing this little bit of weakness was the fact that he wouldn't remember it later. Hermione realized this also, and she smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure Harry and I wouldn't mind if you worked with us."
Harry was surprised to find that he didn't mind, and was happy that Hermione didn't either. "Just make sure I don't put something in it that doesn't belong there, okay?" he said, grinning.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly stating that he would keep him far away from the cauldron while they made it. "You do the preparation while Granger and I actually make it."
A sigh of relief was the only response the blond received, and that was fine with him. He hated people who chattered too much while he was concentrating on his work. That was why he was insanely happy that Pansy wasn't in the class. Too many times he had almost messed up simply because she wouldn't shut up.
Quickly, the three of them, two Gryffindors and the Slytherin of all Slytherins, got to work. They worked quietly and efficiently; the only times they spoke were when Harry was instructed to prepare an ingredient a certain way, such as chopping it or slicing it, or when Draco asked Hermione a question, such as, "Now, I'm puzzled about why the Gorgon's talon goes in before the Veela hair. Wouldn't that destroy the potency of the talon?"
Snape was shocked, to say the least, when he saw them working together. And to see them actually working well together, that blew him away. Certainly, Draco and Granger were the smartest in the class, but they despised each other, and to have Potter working in the same group, actually working, was astonishing! Potter usually destroyed anything he got his grimy hands on, but here he was, doing exactly as he was told. He and Draco hadn't even had one word of anger shared between them, either! It was mind-boggling!
Oh, drat, he had better go stop that idiot Boot from adding the Dragon scale before he stirred the potion thirteen times counter-clockwise . . .
The rest of the day went very well for Harry, even if Ron was acting oddly around him. The redhead had conveniently blocked the fact that it was Malfoy he had slept with, and was now stuck on the fact that he was gay. "But, boys, Harry? How can you like boys?"
Harry didn't know how to explain it to him, and thus the next to youngest Weasley kept looking at him askance. And then Hermione had to say, "Well, Ron, it's just like how girls like boys. It's instinct."
"But he's a boy!"
That had ended that conversation, with Hermione now stumped, too. Ron was just a little too dimwitted sometimes and there were some things that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to understand.
At supper, that was when things got hilarious. Harry was enjoying his meal of roast chicken with garlic-mashed potatoes, when he heard a screech from the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson stood next to Malfoy, an irate expression on her pug-faced features. "You dog!" she yelled, stomping her foot.
Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, Pansy, you are the dog. A pug, to be exact."
"What did you just say!"
"You heard me, darling. You may be stupid, but you're not deaf," the Slytherin Prince told her, then took a bite of his delicious meal. Roast chicken was his favorite.
"I'm going to tell everyone you're a pouf!" she screeched, crossing her arms.
He swallowed his bite of food and set his fork down. "Pansy, you just did. You're voice is loud enough to raise the dead. Hmm, maybe that's how the Dark Lord rose again. He heard you screech and there he was, alive again."
That comment caused several of those gathered in the Great Hall to attempt to muffle their laughter. Harry didn't attempt to hide his, though. He burst out laughing, loudly, which thus caused Pansy's attention to turn to him. "Potter, I don't care if you think you're the best wizard out there, because I think you're a piece of trash half-blood who has no right to shag my Draco!"
He attempted to halt his laughter, although he still grinned broadly. "Your Draco? Parkinson, I think he's more mine than yours since I'm the one who made him scream."
"Potter!" That wasn't Pansy who shouted that. Draco Malfoy glared at him, a light flush staining his cheeks.
"Um, oops?" he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. Malfoy merely crossed his arms and scowled blackly.
A familiar voice, near Harry, mumbled, "I think I'm going to be sick. He's a boy!"
Yup. It was Ron, obviously, since he was stuck on the boy issue. "Ron, yes, he's a boy. I like boys. If he was a girl, I wouldn't like him."
"You like Malfoy! Eurgh!" Okay, so apparently he was able to move past the boy issue . . . and onto the Malfoy issue.
"Yes, Ron. I know. I just said that."
Ron looked a bit green and he shouted, "But it's Malfoy! How could you, especially after what his father did to you!"
Suddenly, the hilarity of the situation was gone. Ron had just had to bring up that, hadn't he? Seriously, he told the redhead, "Because he is not his father. I don't hold people's parents' misdoings against them."
"But he's going to turn into his father one day, you just wait and see! He's a Malfoy!"
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his best friend. "So, just because he's a Malfoy, he's going to turn into a Death Eater? So, because I'm related to the Dursleys, I'm going to start bashing on wizards and lock innocent children into cupboards?"
"No! That's different!"
"Oh really, how? Because I don't see one. We are what we choose to be. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you can't accept that, then I suggest you leave me alone."
Ron stared at him, stunned. Harry telling him to leave him alone? What was going on with him? He'd thought Harry was over Sirius' death!
Harry saw the look in Ron's eyes and scowled. "And don't you dare think this is because of Sirius! He has nothing to do with this!"
"Yes, he does. You're being like this because you miss him!" For once, Ron hit on the truth. Not Hermione, not anyone else, but him, Ron Weasley. And Harry hated him for it. Ron was supposed to stay ignorant and stay out of his business!
Harry's eyes scanned the Great Hall and noticed that everyone was watching their exchange avidly, even the teachers. He hated them all. "Oh, look everyone, poor Harry is acting out because he misses his precious godfather, who just happened to be the dangerous Azkaban escapee who supposedly murdered his parents. But didn't you know? Harry killed him, so maybe Harry is feeling guilty. Hmm, that must be it. I killed the only person who ever gave a rat's arse about me since my parents died, and so I'm behaving irrationally because I feel guilty that it was my fault. Wow, I just psychoanalyzed myself. Isn't that amazing? I must be –-"
Harry's next words were cut off by a furious blond-haired Slytherin, who picked him up, tossed him bodily over his shoulder, and carried him out of the Great Hall. Too speechless to say anything, Harry merely gave Malfoy's backside a very dark scowl.
Once they were several corridors away, Malfoy dumped Harry onto the ground, a furious light in his silver eyes. "Potter, you blood, harebrained idiot! You did not kill the mutt! I know it, you know, so get the fuck over it!"
Harry jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed with anger. "You have no right to say anything about Sirius to me!"
"You're right! I don't! But I'm going to anyway because you're being such a fag about it! I don't give a shit that it was your stupidity that made you believe the Dark Lord's vision! It was Black's decision to go after you in the Department of Mysteries! He chose to go! And I know for a fact that it was my bitch of an aunt who sent him falling into the Veil, not you! So don't go pulling that pity-me-because-I-killed-the-only-person-who-loved-me crap, because it doesn't wash!" Draco yelled, forcing the black-haired boy to listen to him.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Harry screamed, shoving at him as hard as he could. Draco went flying into the wall, his head cracking against the hard stone. He slid to the ground and stayed there, his eyes closed.
Harry's face went white as he realized just what he'd done. His anger instantly vanished and he rushed to Malfoy's side. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry, Malfoy!"
Draco's eyes opened slowly and Harry could tell that he was dazed. Weakly, he murmured, "Fuck, Potter . . . that hurt." His hand reached up to feel the back of his head and it came away wet with blood.
Harry gulped as he saw how much blood was on Malfoy's hand. "Oh fuck! I'd better get you to the infirmary!"
The other boy merely stared at his hand, frowning.
Oh yeah, he had better get him to the infirmary immediately. He lifted the blond into his arms, unsurprised when his eyes rolled into the back of the head as he fell unconscious. Harry's only thought as he carried Malfoy to Madame Pomfrey was, Holy crap, he's going to murder me when he wakes up!
Madame Pomfrey was irate when he showed up with the still-unconscious boy in his arms. After she performed the healing spells on Draco, she ordered Harry to watch over him as punishment for being the one to hurt him. She didn't know that Harry wouldn't have left Malfoy's bedside for the world.
For the second time that day, Harry looked upon Malfoy's sleeping features. Again, he wondered at the feelings seeing those aristocratic features evoked. He couldn't understand it, but his heart clenched painfully every time Malfoy's chest rose and fell. Seeing his eyelids flutter in sleep made him feel more sorrow than he had ever felt, and that was saying something, especially considering the emotional intensity of his outburst earlier.
It frightened him. He hated Malfoy, didn't he? Didn't he?
But then why was it that he couldn't find any hatred in his heart when he saw the way Malfoy's hair lay spread out on the pillow, the way his fingers clutched at the thin sheet covering him, the way . . .
Bloody hell! What was wrong with him? He wasn't supposed to be feeling like this! He was supposed to hate Malfoy! And Malfoy was supposed to hate him! But then why had Malfoy looked him so sorrowfully when he had been shouting at him earlier? Why had he cared enough to try and push his way past Harry's grief? Why?
"Potter?" Malfoy's hoarse voice jerked Harry out of his conflicted thoughts. He turned to the silver-eyed Slytherin, suddenly feeling fearful of what would happen next between them. He wanted Malfoy to yell at him for throwing him against the wall, wanted him to say how much he hated him. But he also feared that Malfoy was going to do exactly that.
Draco wondered at Potter's silence and the way he was looking at him with fear lurking in his emerald eyes. What did he have to fear from him? "Potter, say something. You're scaring me."
He didn't answer, and that made Draco even more worried. "Potter? Stop it!"
After a few moments, the Gryffindor finally spoke. "Malfoy, do you hate me?"
What an odd question, of course . . . no, wait. Fuck it all, why couldn't he find that familiar emotion skulking about in his heart? Where was it? It couldn't be gone! He hated Potter; he had to! He had to!
But he didn't.
Unable to meet Potter's knowing emerald eyes, he mumbled, "No."
"I don't hate you either, and I don't know why. I still hated you this morning, I know that much. But right now, I don't," Harry said to him, his voice puzzled.
Silence settled between the two boys until Harry spoke again a few minutes later. "You know what I just realized? I don't want to forget today. I should want to, but for some odd reason, I don't."
Draco, in that moment, knew that he didn't want to either. He had shagged Potter. He had told Pansy to get lost. He had basically announced the fact that he was gay. He had asked Granger for help. He had confessed that he no longer hated Potter. And he didn't want to forget any of it.
His eyes swung to the clock hanging on the wall across the room and gasped. It was eight o'clock! "Potter, we have ten minutes left!"
They stared at each other, their thoughts the same. They had to find a way to stop the spell!
Panicked and uncaring that he was still a little woozy, Draco leapt out of the infirmary bed and ran towards the door. Potter was close behind him, and they raced towards the library. With five minutes left until they would forget, they shoved the large doors open and headed towards the nearly hidden area where Braden Conlan's portrait hung.
Braden was in the portrait this time, a sorrowful look in his stunning violet eyes. Harry was the one to speak first, his voice breathy and his words coming out in a rush. "Braden, you have to tell us the counter spell!"
The young man looked at him with that sorrow and whispered, "There is no counter spell."
Draco clenched his hands into fists. "There has to be!"
"I'm sorry, but there isn't. In a few moments, you will forget everything that has happened these past twenty-four hours."
Harry, uncaring that he was in the Library and that he had to be quiet, shouted, "But I can't forget! You don't understand! I can't forget!"
As soon as he finished speaking, his started feeling oddly. He felt dizzy and his thought processes were slowing down. No, it was the spell!
Even as the two boys began to forget, Braden murmured, ""The spell of forgetting can only be enacted by a great desire, and it is thus with its opposite. If the desire is great enough, anything forgotten can be remembered."
But even as that was said, it was forgotten, as the powerful spell erased every last memory of the past twenty-four hours from the two boys, and everyone else.
Harry glared at the boy in front of him. He had no idea why he was in front of Braden's empty portrait, but with Malfoy there, too, it had to have something to do with him. The stupid ferret. "Leave me alone, will you? I'm sick of you bothering me when I just want to be alone!"
For some odd reason, there was a tiny whisper at the back of his mind that whispered, No, you're not. He crushed the traitorous thought immediately. Where had that come from? It was ridiculous!
Malfoy scowled blackly, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "You? Why can't you leave me alone? You're always standing there with that superior, I'm the Golden Boy, look on your stupid face!"
"What about you, with that stupid, pureblood smirk on your face that says your better because your ancestors practiced incest? I hate you!"
"I hate you, too, so you have nothing to worry about, Pot-head!" With that, the Slytherin stalked off, his movements jerky in his fury.
Harry growled, hating the prat even more. Why did Malfoy have to be so bloody rude? He could actually be handsome if his face wasn't twisted in that awful smirk! Gah! Perish the thought! The ferret could never be handsome. No, but he could certainly be beautiful, his mind whispered traitorously.
He kicked the nearest chair, furious at his thoughts. No! Malfoy was a git, and that was that! He wasn't handsome; he wasn't beautiful; he was just a pain-in-the-ass bastard who wouldn't leave him the fuck alone.
Harry collapsed into the chair he had kicked only seconds before, suddenly exhausted beyond all belief. Strangely, he felt a small thread of sadness curling through his belly. But what did he have to be sad about? Guilt was the emotion tied to Sirius, not sadness. So why did this emotion tug at him? And why did he feel so bloody awful about it?
Influences While Writing: My Chemical Romance, Cold, and Breaking Benjamin
A/N: Well, this should hold you for a while. A chapter that's over 5000 words long. It took me an entire four hours to write!
I know I should really be working on an older story, but this one is gripping me like no tomorrow. I can't stop thinking about it! Luckily, I plan on it being somewhere around seven or eight chapters long. I'd planned on six, but I just finished chapter five, and Irealized I still need to get a lot said and done before I wrap the story up.
Please review this chapter, since it took a lot out of me to write. I got a lot done in this chapter, and it shows in the fact that I'm exhausted. Plus, I've some goodies for you in Chapter Five. Something interesting in revealed about Malfoy, and you get a deeplook into Harry's thoughts.
Have a nice day!
Roslyn.
