Disclaimer: I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession. But unfortunately, JK Rowling owns everything.

A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!

Chapter 3 Moving In

He stared at the wooden stick, blood rushing to his head. The whole world seemed to fall silent the moment his eyes fell upon it, leaving only his heart thumping wildly near his ears.

This, no matter what it was, definitely belonged to him, Draco thought. It didn't just belong to him - it called to him, and he, likewise, felt drawn to it. To see this precious object of his smashed and battered drowned him in an unbearable mixture of emotions. Even as remorse washed over him, he was thusly incensed, and suffocated in his own shock. Despite this, he schooled himself, showing nothing but partially trembling lips. Frankly speaking, he was quite amazed with his level of self control, and suspected he had practiced this his whole life.

Draco reached out, pretending to have a better look. He touched the stick through the bag, restraining the impulse to hold it in his fingers.

"I think," he lied seriously after a few minutes, not knowing how correct he actually was. "I was a wizard!"

Sam smacked him on his arm.

"Hey!" cried Draco indignantly. "That hurt!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." said Sam dismissively. "You got something or not?"

"No," said Draco, acting casually. "A wooden stick? Really? It was probably just a part of a toy or something."

Sam shook his head firmly. "No, we checked. There is no product similar to this. And you know what's weird about this stick?" He lifted the bag to Draco's face. "There's a strand of animal hair in it, of which we can't find any information on."

"Ah..." Draco drawled, silently panicking. He had no idea what the stick was, but had an intuition that it was very important, to him especially. "An inexistent creature! This is definitely getting more interesting."

Sam narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you sure you can't recall anything? Because it was the only thing that was left here besides the bullets, the body, and you."

"I thought you found the suitcase." Draco pointed out.

Sam glared.

"Okay, okay." Draco held up his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. I know you need clues, and I hope I can help. In fact, I think I want to get my memory back more than anyone else. But I really don't remember." He sighed, left hand in his hair. "I'm sorry."

The frustration in Draco's voice made Sam paused. "All right," he said at last. "Don't worry; it's going to be all right. And I'm sorry for pushing you."

Draco nodded, turning around. "I think Dr. Burke might be right: I'm tired. I'm getting out of here."

Sam stared after him. He couldn't really tell whether Draco was telling the truth, but he certainly was not going to risk it.

Harry came back to the hospital the next day, and found Draco seemingly lost in deep thought. Or he was just staring blankly at the palm of his hand.

"Er...DM?" Harry hesitated, not sure whether to interrupt Draco or not. "Are you okay?" The blond didn't appear to have heard him though. So Harry called him again, louder this time.

Draco raised his head sharply. He blinked, not recognizing Harry at first. But realization soon hit him.

"Oh, hi!" he said hurriedly, getting off the bed. "How are you doing, er…,"

"Harry." Harry offered, "And I'm good."

Draco nodded. "Right, sorry."

"It's okay."

Awkward silence ensued, looming over the two. Draco thought he might be a social freak, before Harry clapped his hands, seemingly delighted. "So, when will you check out of the hospital?" he asked.

Draco shrugged, relieved that someone finally started talking. "In two or three days, I guess. You have some place for me to stay?"

"Yeah!" Harry confirmed. "Actually, you are staying with me."

Draco was taken aback. "Huh? Was there a sudden gust of wind that I mysteriously misconstrued for your words? Or did I just hear you asking me to live with you, in the same house?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. There was no wind, and you heard me correctly."

"But why should I live with you?" Draco crossed his arms. "Aren't you supposed to book me a hotel room until I get my memory back?"

"Yeah, because you're a missing royal who needs free servants." Harry said sarcastically.

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you might be right! How could I not have thought of that?"

"Because you aren't!" Harry snapped. "And it's my place or no place, your choice."

Draco glared. Harry countered with a glare of his own.

After what felt like an eternity, Draco reluctantly surrendered. He might be a jerk, but he was certainly not stupid. "Okay, you win," he smirked. "I feel extremely generous today, so I will grace you with my presence in your abode. You can go celebrate now."

Harry tightened his fist, preventing himself from punching the git in spite of being amused. He hadn't seen Draco like this for a long time, and he sort of missed it in some twisted way.

"Thank you for your kindness, your honor." Harry mocked playfully, hiding his smile.

Draco nodded. 'I like this guy,' he decided.

Harry lived in a medium sized apartment in the center of London. There was a living room, two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and one bathroom. It wasn't his real home, though, as the latter was actually the old headquarters of The Order, but for Draco only. If Harry really thought about it, it was almost as if he and Draco were having a secret place of their own.

The fact that he and Draco were going to live together didn't bother him at all, for he understood that it was just a cover-up. However, what did bother him was the fact that he had spent a lot of time decorating the place. He'd painted the walls all by himself, without magic. He had also bought a lovely bed with golden sheets and a crimson comforter, as well as a luxurious, forest green bed with a silver comforter. It had certainly taken him a lot of time if he had anything to say about it. He even bought a computer, and he had never used one in his entire life. He had no idea why he was doing this, but it made him happy.

Harry was a bit nervous the day Draco moved in. His heart quickened and his palms sweated. It was completely stupid since the apartment was not even his, but he felt so anyway.

"So" he took a deep breath and asked, "What do you think?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. He wandered from room to room with an air of pure indulgence.

"Lovely maid room," he said at last. "But I prefer to see the main room first."

Harry almost choked on his own saliva. This was unbelievable! "It is the main room!" he said through gritted teeth.

Draco blinked. "Oh!" he said. There was a pause, then he said it again. "Oh."

Harry was speechless.

Draco felt extraordinarily awkward. This place was far too small for two grown-ups in his opinion. Truth is, he and 'small room' should never appear in the same sentence! But again, life was a bitch, and he had nowhere else to go. Despite what he said, he was truly grateful for what Harry offered him. The black hair boy didn't have to, after all.

"So...which room is mine?" asked Draco calmly.

If Harry was surprised, he didn't show it. "Er..." He hesitated, not sure whether he should just let Draco choose. Was that a little weird, having the guest choose their own room?

Unfortunately, Draco took it all wrong, and froze immediately. "Oh my God!" he cried, panic in his eyes, "I don't even have a room? I'm not sleeping in the same bed with you!"

If Harry were drinking, he would have choked to death.

"What? No!" Harry squeaked, horrified. His eyes grew as wide as eggs."Of course you have a room! What kind of host you think I am?" he said defensively.

Draco smiled in satisfaction. "All right, I want the green room then."

It had only been a few days, and Harry was already exhausted. Even when he first came into the wizarding world, Harry didn't think he had been as curious as Draco Malfoy, who hadn't stopped asking questions the whole day.

"Oh! Another box. You seem to awfully like boxes, Harry." the blond pointed at the micro-wave oven in the kitchen, fingers under his chin.

"Er..., " said Harry, delicately, "It's not a box. It's a micro-wave oven, for heating food."

"Really?" said Draco in surprise. "How?"

Harry pressed the botton.

Draco looked at him in disbelieve. "That's it? But there isn't a fire in it!"

Harry winced. He didn't exactly know how to explain himself. "Um...there is microwave..."

"What wave?"

"Er..."

"All right." Draco patted his shoulder, reassuring. "No need to feel ashamed. You can tell me you don't know."

Harry so needed to lie down.

However, God was certainly not with him: he had to leave to see Hermione.

"I'm exhausted." Harry declaimed tiredly the moment he stepped out of the fire.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are such a baby." she said. "How is everything?"

"He's like a child!" sighed Harry, exasperated, collapsing on the coach in resignation. Then he thought again. 'Well, he actually was a child from a point of view.'

"Do you think he really lost his memory?" asked Hermione after offering Harry a cup of tea and settling herself beside him.

Harry considered it for a minute. "I followed him to the crime scene the other day," he said, "The detective showed him his broken wand."

"How'd he react?"

"It definitely affected him, though he hid it well." Harry answered. The image of Draco's trembling lips flashed through his mind's eye. "He knew the wand meant a lot to him, but he didn't tell the detective anything."

Hermione frowned. "You're sure?"

"I'm certain about it."

Hermione looked at her best friend. She didn't know how Harry could be so sure. Draco Malfoy was very hard to read, especially after his parents' death. His face barely betrayed a thing no matter the circumstances. Death, torture, and pain were like dust on dirt in his eyes. Truth be told, Hermione sometimes suspected he had lost all emotion. But then again, Harry always seemed to understand him more than anyone else possibly could.

"Do you know why?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not really, but I have a theory."

Hermione waited, but Harry seemed to have no intention to continue. "How about you?" he asked instead, "Anything new in Draco's notes?"

Knowing she wouldn't get anything out of him right now, Hermione didn't push Harry. She stood up, and went into her study, leaving Harry alone in the sitting room. A minute later, she came back with a black notebook in her hand.

"I went through his notebook three times already," she sighed in frustration. "It's just diary entries with some potion notes here and there. And I checked them all. They're all ordinary potions, not even a tiny bit abnormal or suspicious."

"Really?" Harry was truly surprised, because Hermione always found something. She was the most cunning person he had ever met! "But why did he have potion notes in his diary?"

"I also found it weird at first," answered the girl. "But then I found his old diary, back to when he was twelve years old. He did it then as well. So I suppose it might just be a habit of his."

"Hum..." said Harry, contemplating. "I didn't think of Draco Malfoy as the kind of person who'd write in a diary."

Hermione smiled sadly, "Me neither. But then again, I never knew him well."

There was a short silence, then something suddenly occurred to Hermione. "Wait a minute," she cried, "One of his diaries did get my attention when I was reading, but I dismissed it, as it's far from possible. But now that I think about it, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, and he is far from giving in to the impossible."

"What was it?" asked Harry immediately.

"He mentioned reading something in a book," answered Hermione excitedly, "Something about ginkgo leaf."

"Which means?" Harry prompted, frowning in confusion. He had never been good at potions.

Hermione's eyes glinted, too excited to even lecture Harry with her usual speech. She leaned towards Harry, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper. "There is a myth," she breathed, "It's said that if used wisely, a ginkgo leaf can make one immortal."

It was pouring, and Draco hated the rain. It made his shoes wet and clothes soaked, which meant he was in a terrible mood. He went into the bathroom, then took off the dirty clothes, and stepped into the shower, allowing the water to pound into his muscles. The heavy steam enveloped him and blurred his vision, but the warm liquid relieved his stress, clearing his mind as he thought about the events that had occurred thus far.

As said many times already, Draco didn't remember anything. However, like everyone else, he had his own pattern of behavior. It was like solving a puzzle. And from the days he interacted with others, he vaguely got a glimpse of himself. Among which, he found himself innately untrusting of those around him.

Maybe that's why Draco didn't tell Sam he recognized the broken stick, or at least felt that it was familiar, although he wasn't sure exactly why. There seemed to be a clear line between him and other people- Sam, Dr. Burke, the nurses - all of them. He felt extremely misplaced, like he didn't belong with them, or belong here.

But Harry, Harry was different. He instinctively liked the guy. His black, messy hair and deep green eyes made his heart leap. If Draco didn't know better, he would almost say he fell in love with the boy at first sight, yet the feeling was different somehow. It was a mixture of excitement and relief, like one had just found a long-lost family member.

However, this fondness didn't impede his nature of being cautious. He knew Harry was not telling the truth. He didn't believe the whole story of Harry being a social worker who simply had a bleeding heart for even a moment. The apartment was awfully new, too new for one who claimed to have shared the place with a friend a while back. Draco couldn't understand why Harry was helping him - or maybe he wasn't; the other boy was definitely approaching him on purpose.

That was why he decided to follow Harry when the latter stated he was going to work. Draco soon found out another fact about himself. He was a born spy.

He knew how to keep his speed, how to cover his tracks, how to change his appearance with the least amount of resources, and how to maintain a low profile.1 He moved rapidly and acted accordingly, hiding masterfully when Harry happened to glance over. In fact, when he came to think about it, these couldn't possibly be natural skills. He was definitely trained before. The question was why.

It had been a shock for him, but if Draco thought it was going to be the only surprise for that day, he was sorely mistaken.

Before he could ponder the meaning behind his newly-found skills, something unexpected happened. Harry turned sharply around a corner into an ally. Draco waited for a few minutes to keep the distance before following him in. However, when he furtively poked his head into the ally, Harry was nowhere in sight.

1 Because he's following someone, he shouldn't want any attention at all.