Prologue
Harry couldn't tell when it started. At first everything seemed normal – he'd just forget to put the locking spell on his house doors, or forget how to get into the Secret Section in the Ministry, even though he's been working there for almost ten years now. He blamed stress and huge amount of work that fell onto his – not so strong anymore – shoulders.
But then something weird happened. He forgot Hermione's name. Regardless, her name wasn't the easiest one to remember, but he knew her for far too long to suddenly not be able to call her by her name.
"It's Hermione", she looks at him, her eyes wide open, worried. "Are you alright, Harry?"
"Of course, I am", he blinks and forces a smile. "I am just very tired."
They are sitting in some dark muggle bar in the southern part of London, waiting for Ron to join them. It's Saturday, but the bar is dead – older, very exhausted looking bartender puts two tall glasses in front of them and disappears somewhere in the back. The ambience is… dusty and overall, quite depressing. Harry thinks for a second, that this is also because of the weather – it's been raining all week.
"Ugh," Hermione shrivels up, taking a sip out of her glass, "he made it quite strong."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry follows her example, and has to admit that yes, he indeed made it quite strong.
"So, Gold," Hermione takes another sip, "what's wrong with that bastard?"
Harry shrugs.
"Seems like he decided to flee. At least we know for sure that he's not in England anymore".
"Sneaky guy, that Gold. Never would've thought that this can happen in the Ministry. These days you never know, though", Hermione smiles, "what are you going to do about it? Try to reassign it to someone else?"
"How low you think of me," Harry smiles in response, "but no, I am not. I considered Gold to be my friend. The fact that he was brewing restricted potions and selling them to teenagers? It's personal now, isn't it?"
"True," Hermione nods, "it does seem to be very personal. I, on the other hand, never liked him and you know that."
Harry suddenly realizes that they are not supposed to be there – only two of them – but who else was supposed to be with them is now pretty much a mystery.
"What's wrong?" Hermione raises her brows, starting to look worried again, "you look as if you suddenly saw Voldemort".
"Who… where's..?" blurts out Harry and realizes that he, again, forgot the name.
"Ron?"
"Ron! Yes! Wasn't he supposed to be here?" Harry feels awkward and tries to make it out as a joke. "That asshole is so late that I forgot his name."
"Just like you forgot mine a bit earlier," Hermione doesn't look amused, "are you sure you're okay? Maybe you need a vacation?.. Or… visit St. Mungo's?"
Chapter 1
Draco is in a very good mood today: since morning everything was going smoothly. The weather was surprisingly pleasant for the end of September in London and he just had a very peaceful and delicious lunch and equally peaceful smoke break after lunch, sitting on a bench in the park near the hospital.
He even let himself to whistle a pop melody he heard on muggle radio this morning, while walking into the bright hallway of the third floor of St. Mungo's.
His good mood was an obvious indicator that everything could go wrong any minute – because happiness never lasts for long, something Draco learned a long time ago.
"Healer Malfoy, please, come by Head Healer's office," Draco hears magically enhanced announcement, as he opens the door to his department – Untreatable Muggle Diseases – and his good mood disappears almost immediately.
"Healer Malfoy, come by the head healer's office," repeats the announcer and Draco snarls:
"Okay, I heard you the first time."
He closes the door he just opened and turns around, heading back to where he came from. Princeton's office is on the first floor and he's only been there a couple of times, both times to be scolded by the boss. And he knows that this time he's not being summoned to be praised either. Not him.
"So, why does he remember Malfoy and doesn't remember us?"
Weasley's low and raspy voice makes Draco freeze with his fist up in the air, ready to knock.
"As I have already explained, I believe hatred to be a way stronger emotion than love and affection," Princeton's voice is velvety and so sweet that Draco can almost feel the stickiness.
"Your explanations are somewhat vague," spits out Weasley, "and where is Malfoy?"
"I am sure he'll be here very soon," calmly replies Princeton and Draco finally knocks, opening the door right after without waiting to be invited in.
"Summoned me?" he asks without looking at the unexpected guests. There they were: ginger and ludicrous, exactly as he remembered him – Weasley, and strangely uptight and serious – Granger.
"We did," growls Weasley before Princeton has a chance to say anything. "We've been waiting here for almost half an hour, ferret."
Draco ignores the outburst, evocatively looking at Princeton.
"Yes, Healer Malfoy," Princeton smiles, grey eyes full of empathy. He's all dry and skinny with white hair diligently sleeked back, his bright lime colored robe thrown over an expensive muggle suit – lately everyone in the magic world has been obsessing over muggle fashion.
"Am I… Is something wrong?" tentatively asks Malfoy, feeling that Weasley's eyes are burning holes in him.
"Oh, no. But our very important guests specifically asked for your consultation."
Draco finally looks at his ex-classmates trying hard not to express any emotion, and says:
"Out of all the venereal diseases I only take care of HIV. There are potions for everything else."
"Malfoy," Weasley growls, clenching his fists. "Don't push it. You know-"
Granger clears her throat and Weasley stops talking, looking at her.
"Healer Malfoy, this is a private matter – and it has nothing to do with STDs."
"I think you should lead them to your office, Draco," Princeton suggests softly, but his eyes are turning cold. "Please, don't make our respected guests wait any longer."
Draco, fighting the urge to wince, just lets out a short sigh.
"Well, okay. Let's proceed to my office."
In his office – as always – it's velvety-quiet and so weightlessly, elusively calm. Almost home-like cozy: the aroma of freshly made coffee intertwines with Malfoy's woody scented cologne and almost undetectable hint of the cigarette smoke.
Draco, sitting down beside his desk, swings his wand, casting two chairs.
"So, I am listening."
"Be nice, Malfoy," roars Weasley, "how's your daddy, by the way? The Ministry is okay with you Malfoys, but I-"
"Ronald," interrupts Granger, tiredness in her tone, "please, stop. It's not the right time to talk about old problems. We're here to ask for help."
Draco lifts his eyebrows.
"I can't help unless I know what the problem is."
"It's Harry." Granger talks monotonously, as if reporting and not talking about her best friend. "He is losing his memory. He doesn't recognize anyone: not me or Ron. But he remembers you, Healer."
She stops talking and Malfoy waits for a couple more seconds because what she just said made no sense. In this brief silence he can hear birds chirping outside.
"Ahem," Draco clears his throat trying to be very cautious with what to say next. "How… Why do you think he remembers me?"
Granger straightens her back, smoothing out her hair – which used to be big, unruly and somewhat – Draco had to admit – cute, but now is tied in a tight bun on the back of her head.
"Your picture is the only one he still recognizes," she finally says, "he… calls you «ferret»."
Weasley snorts and Draco looks at him.
"You have something to add, mister Weasley?"
"No, he doesn't," Granger says impatiently, "and since we all agree that there's nothing more to add, I think you should talk to Harry, Healer."
"So where is he, then?" Draco is feels extremely tired and all he can think about is for Granger to get the hell out of his office – and, ideally, to never see her face ever again.
"He's in the tea room," she lets out a little smile. "In the healer's tea room".
Of course, Draco thinks to himself, following Granger to the tea room, the regular tea room with all the patients is below Potter's high level of fame.
Potter is sitting in a deep velvet armchair, visibly uncomfortable. Last time Draco saw him was almost ten years ago – when Potter, looking fierce and very much sure in what he was saying in front of the court – kind of saved Malfoys from Azkaban. He didn't change much – same unruly black hair, same stupid looking glasses with circle lenses on his nose, same confused look.
"Harry," says Granger and Potter jumps then looks at her with his emerald eyes. "This is Healer Malfoy."
He takes a glance at Draco and his eyes immediately start to flicker – and before Malfoy can say anything – Potter dramatically gets on his feet, pointing his finger at the healer.
"You."
"Nice to see you too, mr Potter," Draco says with caution, swallowing remarks about how rude it is - to point fingers. "If you don't mind, I would like to continue our conversation in my office.
"Ferret," Potter completely ignores Draco's words, slightly raising his voice, and Draco can feel that other healers in the room start to throw curious looks at them. "Since when they hire ferrets to treat people?"
"Harry," intervenes Granger standing between Draco and Potter, as, for some reason very irritated, brunette starts approaching Malfoy. "Healer Malfoy is here to help. You remember, right, we are not in Hogwarts anymore, we graduated ten years ago."
Harry freezes, looking puzzled, and Malfoy can almost feel the stares of his colleagues.
"Let's go to my office," he says quietly, "we have a lot to discuss."