Leave the Past Behind, H/D [R] - Part 2/3
Title: Leave the Past Behind - Part 2/3
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry is sent undercover to get Draco's testimony against two suspected Death Eaters, he finds Draco living as a Muggle with no memory of his past. Harry, determined to find out who did this to Draco, finds himself enthralled by the magic of the Isle of Skye and fascinated by the stranger he thought he knew.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry stared at the newspaper, going over the same paragraph for the third time and absorbing nothing. Madge had the day off, so he didn't have the usual banter to distract him from his thoughts, only the distant mutterings of the other guests in the dining room. He hoped Ron would have some news today.
"Mind if I join you?"
Harry started and looked up to find Draco watching him with an amused grin on his face. When had he arrived? "Not at all," he said, motioning for Draco to take a seat. Did they have plans today?
"I was in the neighbourhood," he said in explanation.
"Not difficult in a place this small," Harry mused.
Draco chuckled. "Too true."
"Their coffee isn't half bad," Harry said, motioning to the breakfast table. Draco's eyes lit up at the mention of caffeine and he sprung off his chair. Harry grinned. He'd learned early on about Draco's love for coffee in the morning. Good coffee, at any rate. He'd also learned what a bear he could be without it. A little like his old self from school, actually.
Harry swirled the dregs of his tea in his cup and looked at the leaves. Maybe they could tell him how to help Draco. He scowled at them as they looked, as always, like blobs of indistinct animals barely formed, telling him nothing.
"See something interesting?" Draco asked as he put his coffee down, placed one hand on the back of Harry's chair, and leaned over Harry's cup.
Harry resisted the urge to lean back, and instead scowled at the sludge. "I've never been able to see anything in my tea leaves," he said. "Stupid notion that soggy mush at the bottom of a tea cup could tell you your future."
Before Harry could react, Draco placed a finger beneath his chin and tilted his head up. "Very silly notion," he said, then pressed his lips gently to Harry's.
A jumble of thoughts raced through Harry's mind in quick succession: His lips are so soft. And he tastes like mint. Oh my God, he's kissing me. Draco Malfoy is kissing me.
Uncertainty nudged its way through the tenderness. No, this is Thomas Peterson kissing me. And he thinks he's kissing James Matheson.
Harry hadn't had the chance to react before Draco pulled back. He smiled tentatively down at Harry. "I thought I'd take my future in my own hands," he said. He went back to his seat and took a sip of his coffee. "And I figured if you were waiting for the tea leaves to tell you to do something, I might still be here a year from now, waiting for you to make a move."
Harry chuckled, despite his misgivings. Then he looked back at his tea leaves, because he couldn't face the hopeful look in Draco's eyes. This wasn't fair. Draco deserved to know what was going on. At the very least, he deserved to know who Harry was.
Harry gritted his teeth. Damn it if he wasn't falling for Draco. No, he was falling for Thomas. This wasn't Draco. This was someone else entirely. And fuck it if he wasn't the most amazing bloke Harry knew.
"I'm sorry." Draco's words interrupted his brooding. "I thought ... it's just that you keep watching me when you think I don't notice, and we've had such a good time together, and ... never mind. My mistake."
"No!" Harry said, and his hand, acting of its own accord, reached across the table and grasped Draco's wrist. "You weren't mistaken." He risked a glance up just as relief washed over Draco's troubled features. He nibbled his lower lip, trying to formulate some sort of explanation. "It's just ... complicated."
"Complicated?"
"Yeah." Harry tried to come up with something that could explain why he didn't want to cross that line. Only he did want to. Just not like this. "There's no one else. It's just my work right now, and ... yeah. Complicated."
Draco looked like he was going to ask for a better explanation, but changed his mind. Instead, he took a book out from his jacket and said, "Feel like going to your room?"
Harry's cheeks warmed and Draco laughed. "Relax. I only meant that I'd rather you not read my journal in such a public place."
"Oh," Harry said. He eyed the book, wondering how the world had become so out of sorts that Draco Malfoy was offering to show him his private journal. "I didn't expect--"
"It's not that personal really. The contents, I mean. But I thought you might be able to help. I know we didn't have plans today--"
"Okay," Harry agreed. He thought about the disaster of his current living quarters, but there was nothing else for it. At least that would give him a distraction, a way to stay focussed and prevent himself doing something stupid. He stood up. "Sure. Why not?"
He opened the door to his room, trying to figure out how he could surreptitiously wave his wand and make the mess disappear. Much to his chagrin, however, Draco seemed determined to stick close to him. Not so bad, really, if it weren't for the mess.
"Er ... any chance you could stay out here for a minute while I tidy up the room a bit?"
Draco raised a brow. "Not a neat freak, I gather."
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I was a bit of a slob as a kid," he said. "Never really outgrew that."
Draco peeked around Harry's shoulder. "So I see."
"Just give me a minute." Harry kicked the clothes into a pile in the corner of the room, burying yesterday's Daily Prophet in the process, covertly closed the Floo, then swept the covers over in a sorry attempt to make the bed. It was silly, really, that he had to act like he was still underage, since Draco was a wizard and all, but if he was telling the truth - and Harry was convinced he was - then Harry couldn't afford to give away the best cover he had. He cringed inwardly as his growing feelings for Draco warred with his job.
He caught Draco leaning against the doorframe, a bemused look aimed at his futile attempt at cleaning. "Go ahead and laugh," Harry said and pulled out the chair. "Here. You can sit on this." He plunked himself onto the edge of the bed closest to the chair and held out his hand.
Draco sat down but didn't hand over the book. Instead he smirked. "You do realise they have maids in such establishments."
"Yeah, well, I'm here for a few weeks and ... well, I don't like people to mess with my things. I prefer to leave my stuff lying about."
"No, really?"
Harry punched him in the arm. "It's sort of organised chaos."
"You don't say." He looked around and added, "I see the chaos. Not so much the organised."
Harry glared at him and he laughed. Harry decided he liked that sound very much. "It helps me think."
Draco looked honestly perplexed. "How on earth can that--" He waved his hand towards the pile of clothes in the corner. "--help you think?"
"Creative minds?" Harry knew it was a stretch, especially since he wasn't actually a writer, but it was all he had.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'll let it go for now. But just to be clear, I'm not remotely convinced."
Harry held out his hand. "I believe you have something to show me?"
Worry replaced playful teasing on Draco's face. Harry's hand, acting of its own accord, dropped to rest on Draco's knee. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."
He squeezed Harry's hand. "I want to."
There wasn't much to read in the book, at least not the first twenty pages or so. In fact, it was only remarkable for its lack of personal notations.
"You noticed, too?" Draco asked.
Harry flipped a few more pages. "Not much to it," he said.
"That's exactly what I thought. It's not a business journal, nor is it a diary, really. It just seems a matter-of-fact collection of details."
The entries reminded Harry of a case file, only slightly less formal. Like someone had created an identity for Draco to study. "Are you sure you wrote this?" he asked.
Draco grinned. "I see we think along the same lines. Yes, it's my writing. I've re-written the words, and the writing looks identical." He flipped ahead to the middle of the book. "See? That's the start of what I've written recently." He pointed to the page, and - though Harry was no handwriting expert - it sure looked the same. "What I remember writing anyway."
He read what Draco had scribbled on the first couple of pages:
The island feels right, but I still feel lost. Why can't I remember?
People are friendly, if a bit distant. I'm not a native, nor am I even Scottish, but they welcome me ...
I keep thinking I'll wake up one day and remember ...
Still waiting for something to trigger a memory. Even just one ...
Still nothing ...
Harry flipped ahead to the end of the writing and caught one from the day they'd met.
I met someone today. I'm not sure why or how, but I felt a connection ...
Went to Faerie Glen today and he experienced it too. I could feel the energy radiating from him like it flows from me. I knew there was something about him ...
Saw him again today ...
Draco snatched the book away before Harry could read any more.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He hadn't. Not really. But now that he'd read those entries, he wanted to read more. Wanted to know if Draco felt the same way Harry did.
Draco carefully placed the book back in his coat pocket. "My mistake. I didn't mean for you to read the rest." He shuffled about before regaining composure. "So what do you think?"
Draco's words brought him back to the present. "I don't know." Harry shrugged. "Maybe I've seen too many crime dramas, but it almost seems like someone prepared you for this. Like they knew you'd forget everything, and they've given you this as a guidebook to who Thomas Peterson is."
Draco thought about that for a minute. "Like some witness protection thing?" he asked.
That's exactly what it seems like. Only Harry knew that wasn't the case, because even if he hadn't been privy to such information, surely Kingsley would have. "Something like that, yeah. Except, you know, with the added bit about you not remembering anything."
"But it's not possible to wipe someone's brain," Draco argued. "No matter what the conspiracy theorists would have us believe."
He couldn't possibly be that good an actor. He had to be telling the truth.
Harry thought about the various spells, potions, and curses that could cause memory loss. "Yeah, right," he lied. "Of course not." As time passed, he was finding it increasingly difficult to lie to Draco. And even harder to lie to Thomas.
But he reconsidered. Was such a thing possible? Despite the numerous ways one's mind could be affected, Harry knew of nothing that could wipe out a person's identity, yet leave him otherwise functional like Draco. Such extensive wipes, as far as he knew, would cause irreparable damage, and Draco showed no signs of that.
With her Healer training, Hermione might know. Or could find out. But Harry didn't want to involve her, didn't want to tell her about Draco's condition. Not yet. He felt guilty enough telling Ron.
"Well, I'd better go," Draco said, standing up and heading for the door. Harry followed. "Thanks for everything."
"I didn't do much."
"I suppose, but it helps to get it out, to tell someone."
"Do you feel like you're remembering anything?"
He shook his head. "No. But I do feel a bit like a weight has been lifted." He swept his eyes over the room and smirked. "I should let you get back to your work." He patted Harry's chest. "You really should let the maid in here."
"I suppose."
Draco opened the door, then turned to face the room again. "One good thing about the state of your living quarters," he said.
"What's that?"
"I have to presume that you aren't inviting guests over."
Harry smiled. "No guests. You're the first."
"Good." Draco grasped the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him in.
This time when their lips met, Harry didn't resist.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry Apparated to a restaurant near the Ministry that afternoon to meet Ron. And to get away, get some perspective.
If he didn't know better, he'd swear the entire island really was magical and he was in the grasp of its spell. That kiss. Wow. Nothing overtly sexual. Not much more than a pressing of lips, really. But when he'd wrapped Draco in his arms, Harry had barely been able to remain upright, his knees threatening to give way at any moment. He hadn't felt that way in a long time. In fact, he'd possibly never felt a connection that strong before.
And then reality, led by Harry's lies, reared its ugly head. How could anything about this be real? They were two complete strangers. Only they weren't. But Draco didn't know that. And who exactly was Harry falling for?
"So, what have you got for me?" he asked Ron as soon as he sat down. Ron had gone ahead and ordered scones and tea, and Harry helped himself.
"The cottage was rented two months before he disappeared."
"Two months?" Harry tried to reconcile this with what Draco had told him, but he couldn't. "Are you saying he planned this?"
"Looks like it," Ron said. Harry's head began to throb. "He was still Draco Malfoy at the time Thomas Peterson booked the place."
Harry's heart sank. He'd been so sure. He'd believed Draco's story. Despite all their history, and the lengths Draco had gone to in the past, Harry wanted to believe him. Was it possible that Draco was making the whole thing up? Carrying on this elaborate ruse? But to what end? None of it made sense.
"There's more, mate."
Harry braced himself, drawing warmth from the his cup in his hands. "What?"
"He removed half his gold from Gringott's two weeks before he disappeared. And the amount converts roughly into the Muggle funds that appeared in Thomas Peterson's account about a week later, less a few thousand."
This was news. "Why didn't we know about the Gringott's withdrawal before?"
"We don't officially know about it now."
"Bill?"
Ron nodded. "He could get in a lot of trouble for this."
"For what?" Harry winked.
Ron gave a relieved smile. "Right."
"So Dra-- Malfoy had this all planned out. He's set up in a remote spot, living as a Muggle, where no one is likely to find him. He's got money and a stupid cover. But why? He wasn't under arrest; no one was searching for him."
Ron shoved half a scone into his mouth and washed it down with some tea. "Dunno. Maybe he just wanted to disappear."
Harry considered this. "Maybe. But why would he go to all the trouble of making up something about amnesia? Seems a lot of work. Why not just make up his past?"
"Who knows why the git does anything," Ron said. "He probably fancies himself more mysterious or something. You know how much of an attention whore he was in school."
Harry frowned. "But he hasn't told hardly anyone."
"He hasn't?"
"No." This fact troubled Harry most. "As far as I know, I'm the only one he's said anything to."
Ron leaned back in his seat, a contemplative expression on his face. "You don't think he's made you?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know." He thought back to every encounter they'd had, and his face flushed as he recalled their kiss that morning. "No," he said. "He doesn't know it's me."
"How can you be sure?" Ron asked.
"Just trust me," Harry said. Draco Malfoy wouldn't come anywhere near Harry Potter, much less kiss him.
Ron didn't look convinced, but nodded his support. "If you say so."
~ * ~ * ~
The next day it rained, so Harry and Draco took a drive around the island instead of hiking anywhere, and they packed it in early for lunch. They opted for a cozy little pub in a small town. Harry was currently not brooding.
Draco had been great all day, but Harry remained distant. He believed Draco's story - Harry could tell when he was lying, couldn't he? And yet ... Ron's news kept gnawing at him.
When Draco reached for his hand, he didn't pull away, but he didn't reciprocate. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."
Draco looked at Harry's hands and ran his thumb over Harry's ring finger. "You're not married?"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"And you are interested?"
Harry felt his cheeks warm and he nodded. "Definitely interested."
"Then what's the problem?"
Harry gazed into questioning eyes and a voice in the back of his mind - one that sounded suspiciously like Sirius' - said, No problem at all. He shrugged. "You don't know anything about me," he offered lamely. It was true, and it was the most he could say.
"I know that you're intelligent and witty. You won over Madge and Reg in less that a week, and they are incredibly good judges of character."
Harry counted himself lucky that he'd finished his tea, because surely he would have choked on it, hearing Draco Malfoy compliment him. "Oh, really?"
"They like me, don't they?" he teased. "Let's see, what else? You're not bad looking, even if you could do something about your fashion sense, and maybe tame your hair a bit."
"Hey!" Even under his glamour, Harry couldn't get his hair to cooperate.
"What? If you hung up your clothes instead of throwing them around your room, that might be a start. You can work on the slob thing. Look, I feel a connection to you, something I can't explain. What more is there to know?"
Harry watched Draco's mouth, remembering the feel of those lips on his own. His tongue reached out for the memory of his taste and Harry heard Draco draw a sharp breath.
Harry lifted his gaze to see stormy grey eyes, half black with dilated pupils, staring intently at him, and he fell into them, lost once more. When Draco whispered, "Let's get out of here," Harry nodded, unable to utter a word of resistance.
~ * ~ * ~
They went for another drive, along winding roads up to the top of one of the many mountains on Skye. The day remained grey and misty, cool and damp, but somehow the chill didn't reach inside him. Harry didn't even need to cast a spell, which made him wonder once more how deeply the island's magic affected him. Draco seemed equally unbothered by the cold.
"So, what's the story of this place?" Harry asked as they gazed out over the limited landscape they could see through the haze.
"Haven't heard one," Draco said. "It's just a place I come on particularly misty days." He didn't look at Harry when he spoke; he just gazed out over the clouds. "Reminds me of me."
Harry frowned. "Because of your stormy grey eyes?" he asked. He'd meant it as a joke, but Draco's reaction turned the tables on him.
"My, you really are a writer. Do tell, how would you describe the rest of me?"
Harry groaned. "I was teasing," he said, desperately trying to get out of what could end up being a cringe-worthy discussion. Stormy grey eyes? Honestly! What had he been thinking?
Draco linked his arm through Harry's and drew him nearer. "Relax. I was teasing too." Once again his attention returned to the landscape. "What I meant was that it's a vast unknown. Things you know are there, but you can't see them, can't grasp hold of them, can't uncover the reality."
He pulled back his arm and pushed up his left sleeve, showing a fading Dark Mark. Harry forced himself not to react.
"Take this, for instance. I have no idea what it is, what it signifies." He rubbed at it as though he could erase it with his touch. "It's disgusting, too. Nothing about it resonates with me. I don't think it suits me, and I can't imagine marking myself willingly with something so hideous."
Harry held onto Draco's left palm and looked carefully at the marred surface of the otherwise perfectly pale skin. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't suit you."
Draco looked relieved, then puzzled. "So why do I have it?"
Harry shrugged; he'd often wondered what had pushed Draco to take the Mark, or whether it had been his choice at all. "Drunken dare?" he offered.
"That's what I mean! I don't understand." He pushed down his sleeve and stared back out into the distance. "How can I not know who I am and how I got here? And why do I feel ill at the mere thought of stepping off this island?"
Harry could think of a hundred reasons why Draco Malfoy might want to stay here, but he said nothing.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to --"
Harry rested a hand on Draco's shoulder, unable to resist offering some reassurance. He didn't care what Ron's investigation had revealed. Draco wasn't faking any of this. Hermione would say that Harry was doing his saving people thing again, but Harry just felt like he was comforting a friend.
"You know," he said, "mysterious can be very sexy."
Draco laughed and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "Oh, really?"
Harry breathed in the hint of citrus from Draco's hair and sighed. "Definitely."
~ * ~ * ~
Somehow Harry found himself agreeing to have take-away at Draco's cottage. The place was large for a cottage, but a considerable down-grade from Malfoy Manor. Draco seemed to have made it his own, though. Decorated tastefully with a definite masculine flare - not a floral surface in sight and filled with warm, rich colours. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected: perhaps green and silver splashed everywhere. But the brown leather sofas, dark wooden floorboards, and mahogany furniture felt warm and inviting. Offset by light-coloured walls and a scattering of art, cushions, and a rug in light tones with hints of colour, the place drew him in.
His face must have given something away, because Draco asked, "Do you like it?"
"It's ..." Harry thought for a moment how best to describe the place. "It's you."
Draco smiled. "See? I knew we had some sort of connection. We've known each other such a short time, but you could tell at first glance that I'd decorated the place."
Harry coughed. He'd known Draco for years, he'd been to his home - well, not exactly as an invited guest, but nevertheless, he'd always known that Draco had a taste for the finer things in life. He looked around again, and reconsidered. He hadn't really known Draco at all, and hadn't he just been thinking that he'd have expected a replica of the Slytherin Common Room? No, Draco was right. He'd really only known him a short while. And there was something between them. Of that he was sure.
Draco opened a delicious bottle of wine that Harry didn't recognise. They made short work of the food, finishing more than half the bottle of wine along with it. They retreated to the living room with the last of the bottle and sat next to each other on the sofa.
Heat radiated from Draco and Harry's heart sped up. He should leave now, should go back to his room before he did something stupid, something both he and Draco would regret.
Draco took Harry's glass from his hand and placed it alongside his own on the table.
Now. Harry should leave right now.
Draco's hand found Harry's thigh and Harry drew in a sharp breath. He really needed to leave. Draco's other hand reached around to rest on Harry's cheek, before turning Harry to face him. He ran a thumb along Harry's lower lip and Harry's mouth fell slightly open.
"I'm going to kiss you now," Draco said. Harry didn't argue, only looked through heavily-lidded eyes as Draco smiled and closed the distance. He reached up to thread his fingers through Draco's hair as their lips met and his world turned upside down. His head swam and his skin tingled. God, he wanted this man desperately, ached for him. His heart raced and his arms drew Draco nearer, all rational thought gone.
Draco's tongue wrapped around Harry's and they both moaned. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered how he'd ever lived without this feeling, and how he could ever live without it again. His body thrummed with desire while his hands traced the muscles of Draco's back, eliciting a tantalising shudder from Draco.
They broke apart reluctantly, only to gasp for air and dive back in again. Draco's hand reached up to cup Harry's cheek and Harry lifted his to meet it. Their fingers intertwined, they pulled apart and rested their foreheads together. Their breath mingled, the scent of wine thick between them, and Harry caught sight of black peeking out from Draco's sleeve.
Draco tried to pull it back, but Harry trailed his finger along Draco's wrist and upwards, tracing the Dark Mark. He was surprised to find that it felt soft, no warmer or colder than the rest of Draco's skin. He laughed at himself, wondering why such a thing should take him by surprise. It's not as though his own scar felt any different from any normal scar to anyone else. He was the only one who ever felt a burning sensation. Not that anyone had touched it while Harry had writhed in pain. And Voldemort was long gone, so - like Harry's scar - there would be no reason for Draco's Mark to burn.
Harry leaned down to kiss it. Draco sucked in a breath as Harry trailed his tongue along the same path his finger had taken. Harry immersed himself in his task. It was as though he were cleansing Draco of the pain that had gone before. Of the memories associated with this blemish on his skin.
Of course, Draco's memories were already gone. So maybe Harry was doing this for himself. Whatever the reason, Draco seemed to appreciate it.
"James," Draco whimpered.
Harry stopped abruptly. He wasn't James. He was Harry. Harry Potter, Auror. The Auror sent to investigate Draco Malfoy. And here he was ...
He stood up abruptly, dropping Draco's arm. "I --" He drew in a cleansing breath, trying for some sanity. How did he keep ending up like this, lost in the moment? In Draco. "I have to go." And he left, a confused Thomas staring after him.
~ * ~ * ~
An hour later, a loud banging announced someone's arrival. Resignedly, Harry trudged over and opened the door.
Wasting no time, Draco shoved Harry inside, closing the door behind him and slamming Harry up against the wall. His mouth was on Harry's in an instant, and when his tongue plundered Harry's mouth, all resistance drained away. Harry reached around to pull Draco closer, and when he felt Draco's hardening length press against his own, Harry whimpered his submission.
Draco's hands deftly undid the buttons of first Harry's shirt, then his own, and then their bare chests met in blissful delight. Harry reached down to grab Draco's arse and pulled their groins together. They both moaned.
Harry couldn't formulate an argument, couldn't rationalise why he'd resisted this for so long. Only a few weeks, a rational part of his brain supplied, but as his body reacted to Draco's touch, he argued that it had felt much longer than that.
Draco's mouth left his own, and Harry felt immediate loss, but his protest was quelled quickly as Draco nibbled his way down Harry's neck to his chest. One hand reached up and pinched Harry's left nipple at the same time his mouth engulfed the right, suckling it to hardness. Harry clenched Draco's hair at the onslaught, his cock twitching in appreciation, and all thoughts halted as he succumbed to Draco's wicked tongue.
As Draco licked his way down to Harry's navel, Harry's body tensed, willing itself not to react like some horny teenager and come from the mere thought of Draco's mouth enveloping his length. But oh, that tongue brought visions to mind. Something gnawed at him but he suppressed that thought before it was fully formed. Draco's tongue circled his navel before dipping inside. Harry's head hit the wall as he tried to regain control over his body, and distantly he heard Draco growl.
He'd never been so turned on in all his life.
And then Draco stopped. Harry nearly slid down the wall when Draco released him from his grip, but managed to right himself just in time. His eyes fluttered open, and when Draco came into focus, grey eyes bored into Harry's.
"Have I got your attention now?"
Harry nodded, unable to speak.
"Good." Draco pressed his body against Harry's, and Harry felt a moan escape. "Now if I'm not mistaken--" He rubbed their erections together, stars danced before Harry's eyes, and he tried not to cry out "--we have something good going here." Harry nodded again.
Draco drew back abruptly and Harry scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.
"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?"
I'm not the one pulling away right now, Harry thought. He resisted reaching out for Draco, and let him carry on.
"Every time we get close, you pull back. Like there's something preventing you from following your desires."
"I--" Harry stopped, not knowing what he was about to say. What he could say. Draco was right.
"I like you, James." A bucket of ice water crashed over Harry. "And I'm pretty sure you feel the same way about me."
About Thomas, Harry corrected. I like Thomas. And you like James. He pushed himself off the wall and shook off the after-effects of lust. On shaky legs, he closed the distance between them.
"I told you before, you don't know me." His voice came out deeper and more threatening than he'd intended.
"So enlighten me," Draco challenged. "Tell me all your dark little secrets."
"And will you tell me yours?"
Draco's laugh sounded nearly hysterical. "If only I could."
"Sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "I didn't mean --"
"You know what?" Draco said. "It doesn't matter. We're adults, we're obviously attracted to each other, there's something between us. What's to stop us from enjoying ourselves? No strings, no promises, no anything."
"Just sex."
"Amazing sex."
Harry replayed every kiss, every touch, and the way both had driven all rational thought from his mind. Every time. There was definitely something between them, and passion was unquestioningly at the heart of it. "No doubt."
"Well, then?"
"I can't," he said, though it pained him to do so. "If you knew me, who I really am--"
"So tell me."
Harry shook his head and began buttoning his shirt. "You'd hate me."
Draco's laugh sounded more like an assault. "I doubt that. All things considered."
"If we did what you suggest--"
"Have sex?"
"Yeah." Harry crossed the room to put as much distance between them as he could, taking a seat on the one chair in the sitting area. "If we did that without you knowing ... well, let's just say there'd be hell to pay."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest, looking unconvinced. "I ought to be the judge of that myself, don't you think? You've said you're not married, and you're not in a relationship. I don't know what you think you know about me, but ..."
Harry's head shot up as the tone of Draco's voice changed. Someone else might not have noticed, but Harry had a feeling that Draco was piecing things together, sensing that Harry knew more than he was saying.
He watched silently as Draco pulled his own shirt closed, quickly refastening the buttons. He cast Harry a look full of disappointment. In that moment, Harry made a decision. Screw the assignment. If Draco bolted, so what. It's not like he was wanted in connection with any crimes he might have committed. And Kingsley had no idea what Draco knew, if anything, about any of the rest of them.
But Harry saw what not knowing was doing to Draco. He witnessed the pain in Draco's eyes. Harry thought he could relate, at least to some degree. He'd missed out on a lot himself, even though the circumstances were different. He'd never known his parents, but at least he knew where he'd come from. Who he was. He couldn't imagine waking up one day with no recollection of anything that went before. How utterly alone and frightened and vulnerable that would make you.
"Wait," he said. Draco raised his brows but said nothing as he tucked his shirt back into his jeans. "How about if I promise to tell you tomorrow?"
"Not now?"
"No." Harry needed to figure out how best to explain the situation. He couldn't just blurt it out, for fear he'd make things worse. "Tomorrow."
Draco took in a long breath, narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to argue, but then let out the breath and reluctantly agreed. "Very well then." He sounded so much like the old Draco in that moment that Harry wondered if something weren't triggering his memory already.
Shaking off the feeling, Harry attempted a smile. "Shall we do something nice first, while you can still stand to be near me? Say, take a trip to the Faerie Glen again after lunch?"
A hint of a smile touched Draco's lips. "I'll pick you up outside at one."
"It's a date."
As soon as Draco left, Harry second guessed himself. What was he going to do? He couldn't trust himself to just say everything at once. And what would he say? How does a person cram two decades of information into one conversation? He remembered how overwhelmed he was after finding out he was a wizard, never mind all that Draco's past held. But he also remembered how betrayed he felt each time he found out something else about his family, something that no one thought to tell him.
He could imagine it:
Your name is Draco Malfoy. Your father was the right hand man of a megalomaniac that tried to take over the world. Your father, a piece of work in his own right, was succeeded by your crazy aunt when he failed a mission the mad man sent him on. He recruited you too. You know that tattoo of yours, the one you hate? That's his mark. Ugly snake, just like him. By the way, his number one mission, besides taking over the world, was to kill me. I didn't much like that idea. He died instead. Unfortunately, so did a lot of other people. Including, not too long ago, both of your parents.
Yes, we know each other. We met when we were eleven and have hated each other ever since. In fact, we spent much of our school years trying to outdo each other, hex each other, catch each other doing something wrong. Come to think of it, we dedicated an awful lot of time to pulling each other's pigtails.
...
Moving on ...
Your dad and your aunt both tried to kill me, you and your mother saved my life, and I saved yours. You did try to kill our headmaster, though. You failed, but you nearly killed two classmates in the process, including my best friend. Oh, yeah, I nearly killed you too. Sorry about that. I swear I didn't mean to. Scary shit, all that blood. I didn't know what that spell would do when I cast it.
Oh, yeah, did I mention that we're all wizards? You know those stories about magic you've been hearing? They're true. That feeling you get when you go to those places on the island? That's magic. Real magic.
Harry's head spun at the thought of it, and he already knew all this. He'd have to write everything down, then try to tell Draco. That way, if he didn't get the whole thing out before Draco freaked out and left - a distinct possibility - he could give him the note later. Or maybe first.
Harry spent the rest of the evening trying to chronicle the life of Draco Malfoy. He frowned when he finished, and realised it was very one-sided, and didn't say much about the boy who would become the man he knew now. He wondered how Draco would take the news.
He dozed fitfully that night, ghosts of the past visiting him in his sleep. Ghosts he'd have preferred stayed away.
When he woke the next morning, it was with a fuzzy head but a sense of determination. He would give Draco the abridged version of things, then let him ask questions, which Harry would try to answer. It was the best he could do.
~ * ~ * ~
They spent the afternoon hiking up to the highest point, retracing their steps from the last time, and enjoying just being together. The upcoming conversation weighed heavily on Harry, though, and it made for a less exhilarating experience.
On the way back, Draco took a detour, then pulled off the road. "One of the best views from anywhere on the island. It's a not-so-well-kept secret among the natives." They climbed out of the car and stood overlooking a sheer cliff, watching the waves crash onto the rocky shore far below. Most of the island had barriers blocking access to the edges of cliffs, but here the worn fencing allowed a much closer look.
"Years ago, a ship got caught in a storm and crashed below," Draco said. "No survivors. Some people still look for treasure to wash up on shore."
"How do they get down there?"
Draco pointed to a spot a hundred yards to their left. "There's a path that leads down from there." They leaned over and Draco pointed out the path.
Harry shuddered. "Looks a bit dodgy to me."
"Only the fearless dare to walk that path, and never in winter. They lock the gate come November each year."
Harry breathed in the sea air. "No magic here?" he asked.
Draco shrugged. "I don't get that feeling here, no. But I wouldn't say it's not magical." Listening to the sea, and staring out at the water, Harry thought he had a point.
The tension between them had lessened since the night before, but Harry had a promise to keep. He owed Draco the truth. He couldn't keep things from him any longer, even if it meant he'd never speak to Harry again.
Draco turned and caught Harry looking. "You're staring," he said. "Again."
Harry smiled and reached for Draco's hand. Behind them tires screeched. A car came hurtling towards them. Too close. Harry knew they had no chance.
"Draco!"
He grabbed Draco's coat and leapt from the cliff, pulling Draco over the edge.
They landed with a thud in Harry's room at the hotel. Draco moaned and ran his hand through his hair. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had hit the floor. When he opened his eyes, they widened in shock.
"What the --?" Draco backed away from Harry, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "How? What?" He shut his eyes again and shook his head, hands on either side as if to hold in the thoughts bouncing around. "This isn't happening," he mumbled.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"That car was coming straight for us, and you pulled me over the cliff with you." He examined his arms, then patted his legs to be sure they were still there. "We should be dead." He looked up at Harry. "Are we dead?"
"No," Harry assured him. When he moved closer, Draco raised a hand to stop him. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight through Harry.
"And you called me Draco," he accused. "Who the hell is Draco?"
"Um ... let me explain." Harry pulled up the chair, close enough so he could speak at a low volume, but far enough away to give Draco his space. "Your real name is Draco Malfoy and you grew up in Wiltshire."
Harry spent the next hour giving Draco the condensed version of his life. Yes, they knew each other, had gone to school together. A school of magic. Yes, magic was real and they were wizards. No, Draco didn't have family left, except an aunt from whom his family had been estranged, and her grandson, Harry's godson. No, he and Harry didn't get along. Yes, there was much more to it than that.
After each new revelation, Draco took a moment to process the information. Then each time, he snarled in frustration as none of what Harry said resonated. He remembered nothing. Not his home, his family, his friends, school, Harry, or anything else.
"Maybe if I show you what I really look like," Harry suggested. With a flick of his wand, his glamours faded away.
Besides a nervous flash of his eyes, and another look of surprise, Draco didn't react. Not a hint of recognition. Not even when he stared at Harry's scar for a while. His hand twitched, as though he might reach for the scar, but he didn't. "Your name?"
"Harry Potter."
No reaction. Then he asked the question Harry feared most. "Why did you come here?"
Harry wrung his hands and willed himself the strength to tell Draco the truth, and to remain strong for him while he tried to come to terms with everything.
"There was a war."
"A war? Recently? I've never heard --"
"A wizarding war. Most Muggles - non-magical folks - didn't know about it, so you wouldn't have heard."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Harry to continue.
"Your father was on the wrong side, and ... well, you saw some things that could be used against some of the people he associated with."
Draco scowled. "And how do you fit in?"
"I'm an Auror. A wizard police officer."
Draco barked out a laugh. "So you came to investigate me?"
"Not exactly."
Draco's face hardened. "Then what exactly were you doing?"
Falling for you.
Harry's shoulders slumped as he imagined how his actions must look. "We received a report that you were here, living under an assumed name, and I was sent to try to get you to come testify."
"But I can't testify against someone I don't remember."
"I know."
"And once you knew that I had no memory of my past, why did you stay?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
He glared. "Yes, I do."
"I wanted to help you."
"Ha!" Harry blinked at the sheer force of the anger on Draco's face. "You expect me to believe that?"
"It's true."
"Oh, and you've been so truthful with me to this point, James."
"Harry."
"Whatever. Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck what your name is. I just want some answers."
Harry nodded. He'd known all along it wouldn't end well, but it didn't make the pain any easier to bear. "Whatever you want."
"Right."
"Listen, Draco--"
"My name is Thomas."
"Right. Sorry. Thomas. I meant what I said. I want to help you." He ignored the derisive grunt he received in response. "My partner, Ron, found out that your cottage was rented two months before you came here, and you'd withdrawn a hefty amount of money from Gringotts - the wizarding bank - and set up the accounts you have at Barclays in London."
Pain swept over Draco's face as Harry's words spilled forth. "Anything else you know about me?" he asked. "Where I buy my groceries, who I speak with on the phone, who I fuck?" He crossed the space between them and rested his hands on the arms of Harry's chair and leaned in. "Did you find out that I hadn't been laid for so long that you thought I'd be an easy target?"
"No!" Harry said, and reached up to - what, he didn't know; comfort him maybe?
Draco pulled back in disgust. "Don't touch me!"
"What I felt for you - feel for you is real."
"Right. We've hated each other our whole lives, or so you say, and suddenly you fall for me? Sure. I buy that. What was it you said? I don't even know you? Well, you're right about that. I didn't know you. But I think I have a pretty good indication of what you're like now. And I have to say I'm thankful for one thing."
Harry was almost afraid to ask. "Which is?"
"That we didn't --"
They hadn't. Not that Harry hadn't wanted to. Merlin, how he'd wanted to. At least he'd done something right. Even if that meant they never would.
"I guess I should be glad there are rules about that sort of thing."
There was no use trying to defend himself. "I wrote down most of what I could think of," Harry said, and fished in his pocket for the note he'd written the night before. Draco snatched it out of his hand. "But wait! Before you read it, I want you to know --"
"I don't care," Draco said. "I'm leaving."
"At least let me call you a taxi to take you back." He knew the scene would be crawling with people looking for the two men that flew off the cliff, and he couldn't Apparate.
"Don't do me any favours," he said, and he left, slamming the door behind him.
Well, that went well.
~ * ~ * ~
"We've traced the bank transactions," Ron explained when Harry arrived at the office an hour later. "Susan in Muggle Relations was able to get some details based on what you gave us." Harry's stomach churned. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "But we came up with nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"We've spoken to the cashier that opened the account, and the financial advisor that dealt with the investments, and neither of them recognised Malfoy."
Harry waved this off. "He could have cast a Memory Charm on them."
"Right. That's what we thought."
"But?"
"But it's not that they don't remember the transactions. They just don't remember Malfoy."
"So, he could have Polyjuiced himself."
Ron nodded. "Again, that's what we figured, so we managed to get access to their security tapes.
"And?"
"And look." He pushed three pictures across the desk and Harry lifted them up. "Anyone you recognise?"
"No."
Ron smirked. "This is where it gets strange."
Harry tried not to rush him, but Ron's habit of building up to his point - something that hadn't bothered Harry in the past, primarily because he was generally already privy to the details, but that infuriated Kingsley - threatened to send Harry over the edge. "Oh, really?"
Ron practically danced in his seat. "Malfoy, it seems, was elsewhere at the time in question. Here, in fact."
"Here?"
"Yes. He had an appointment with Blanchard in whatever that office is responsible for freezing assets when they think something might be dodgy. He was arranging for release of his parents' estates."
Harry winced. He'd lost no sleep over Lucius Malfoy's gruesome murder, to be sure, but Narcissa hadn't deserved to suffer that way. Their deaths had been particularly heinous and brutal, receiving front page coverage, with all the gory details and sensationalistic headlines The Prophet could muster. Thankfully the Aurors arrived on scene before the vultures could take photographs, or no doubt the entire wizarding world could have watched them writhe in pain until they took their last breaths, then watched it all over again on a never-ending loop. People in the streets rejoiced, and life for Malfoy became horrific. Harry presumed this, because he'd witnessed some of the jeering first-hand, before Malfoy had escaped the crowd and Apparated away.
"And this bloke--" Ron tapped one of the pictures "--matches the description of the second non-resident on the ferry the day Malfoy first went to Skye."
"That can't be a coincidence."
"Right you are," Ron said. "So we took the picture to the office where Thomas Peterson rented the cottage."
"And this was the man who rented it?"
"Not exactly. See, he likely adjusted the agent's recollection of the transaction, so she didn't recognise him."
Harry was about to prompt him, but realised that Ron was still doing his draw-it-out thing. He motioned with his hand for Ron to get on with the story.
"But the receptionist, who happened to be at the bank when he arrived - another coincidence - caught sight of him leaving."
"And this is the bloke?"
"She wouldn't swear to it, but she seemed pretty convinced."
Harry sat back in his seat trying to work out what all this meant. "Have you got an ID on him?"
Ron's face fell. "Sorry, mate. That's as far as we've got. For all we know, he was in disguise or Polyjuiced or something. The ferry driver acknowledged that he returned a few hours later, but no one saw the two of them together."
Harry stood up and began to pace. "It's not likely that some random stranger would go about doing Draco's business for him. But it's equally unlikely that someone with an axe to grind with him would go to such lengths to make sure he was set up before wiping his memory."
Ron cast a pitying look Harry's way. "You have to accept the possibility that Malfoy's memory is perfectly intact. In fact, it seems pretty obvious to me."
"But why the ruse? It's not like he's under arrest or anything."
Ron gathered the photos and returned them to the file. "You saw it yourself, the way people taunted him. Not that I think he didn't deserve it, but --"
"No one deserves that."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever. All I'm saying is maybe he just wanted to shed his whole identity."
"Fair enough. Set up as Thomas Peterson. But why not simply create a past for himself? No one in the Muggle world would be the wiser. There was no reason for him to make up this elaborate story. And I've not once seen him do any magic, not even surreptitiously, and I've been watching for it."
Ron folded his hands and rested them on the file. "I know I've asked you this before, but are you sure he didn't figure out who you were?"
"I'm sure," Harry said. But was he? This new information shed light on what might have happened, and it appears that Draco was complicit in the events leading him to Skye. And his new identity. And if he could do all that without rousing suspicion, what's to say he couldn't have pulled one over on Harry.
Harry touched a finger to his lips. No. Draco hadn't faked that. No matter what other lies might be between them, he at least knew that.
Part 3
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When Harry is sent undercover to get Draco's testimony against two suspected Death Eaters, he finds Draco living as a Muggle with no memory of his past. Harry, determined to find out who did this to Draco, finds himself enthralled by the magic of the Isle of Skye and fascinated by the stranger he thought he knew.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry stared at the newspaper, going over the same paragraph for the third time and absorbing nothing. Madge had the day off, so he didn't have the usual banter to distract him from his thoughts, only the distant mutterings of the other guests in the dining room. He hoped Ron would have some news today.
"Mind if I join you?"
Harry started and looked up to find Draco watching him with an amused grin on his face. When had he arrived? "Not at all," he said, motioning for Draco to take a seat. Did they have plans today?
"I was in the neighbourhood," he said in explanation.
"Not difficult in a place this small," Harry mused.
Draco chuckled. "Too true."
"Their coffee isn't half bad," Harry said, motioning to the breakfast table. Draco's eyes lit up at the mention of caffeine and he sprung off his chair. Harry grinned. He'd learned early on about Draco's love for coffee in the morning. Good coffee, at any rate. He'd also learned what a bear he could be without it. A little like his old self from school, actually.
Harry swirled the dregs of his tea in his cup and looked at the leaves. Maybe they could tell him how to help Draco. He scowled at them as they looked, as always, like blobs of indistinct animals barely formed, telling him nothing.
"See something interesting?" Draco asked as he put his coffee down, placed one hand on the back of Harry's chair, and leaned over Harry's cup.
Harry resisted the urge to lean back, and instead scowled at the sludge. "I've never been able to see anything in my tea leaves," he said. "Stupid notion that soggy mush at the bottom of a tea cup could tell you your future."
Before Harry could react, Draco placed a finger beneath his chin and tilted his head up. "Very silly notion," he said, then pressed his lips gently to Harry's.
A jumble of thoughts raced through Harry's mind in quick succession: His lips are so soft. And he tastes like mint. Oh my God, he's kissing me. Draco Malfoy is kissing me.
Uncertainty nudged its way through the tenderness. No, this is Thomas Peterson kissing me. And he thinks he's kissing James Matheson.
Harry hadn't had the chance to react before Draco pulled back. He smiled tentatively down at Harry. "I thought I'd take my future in my own hands," he said. He went back to his seat and took a sip of his coffee. "And I figured if you were waiting for the tea leaves to tell you to do something, I might still be here a year from now, waiting for you to make a move."
Harry chuckled, despite his misgivings. Then he looked back at his tea leaves, because he couldn't face the hopeful look in Draco's eyes. This wasn't fair. Draco deserved to know what was going on. At the very least, he deserved to know who Harry was.
Harry gritted his teeth. Damn it if he wasn't falling for Draco. No, he was falling for Thomas. This wasn't Draco. This was someone else entirely. And fuck it if he wasn't the most amazing bloke Harry knew.
"I'm sorry." Draco's words interrupted his brooding. "I thought ... it's just that you keep watching me when you think I don't notice, and we've had such a good time together, and ... never mind. My mistake."
"No!" Harry said, and his hand, acting of its own accord, reached across the table and grasped Draco's wrist. "You weren't mistaken." He risked a glance up just as relief washed over Draco's troubled features. He nibbled his lower lip, trying to formulate some sort of explanation. "It's just ... complicated."
"Complicated?"
"Yeah." Harry tried to come up with something that could explain why he didn't want to cross that line. Only he did want to. Just not like this. "There's no one else. It's just my work right now, and ... yeah. Complicated."
Draco looked like he was going to ask for a better explanation, but changed his mind. Instead, he took a book out from his jacket and said, "Feel like going to your room?"
Harry's cheeks warmed and Draco laughed. "Relax. I only meant that I'd rather you not read my journal in such a public place."
"Oh," Harry said. He eyed the book, wondering how the world had become so out of sorts that Draco Malfoy was offering to show him his private journal. "I didn't expect--"
"It's not that personal really. The contents, I mean. But I thought you might be able to help. I know we didn't have plans today--"
"Okay," Harry agreed. He thought about the disaster of his current living quarters, but there was nothing else for it. At least that would give him a distraction, a way to stay focussed and prevent himself doing something stupid. He stood up. "Sure. Why not?"
He opened the door to his room, trying to figure out how he could surreptitiously wave his wand and make the mess disappear. Much to his chagrin, however, Draco seemed determined to stick close to him. Not so bad, really, if it weren't for the mess.
"Er ... any chance you could stay out here for a minute while I tidy up the room a bit?"
Draco raised a brow. "Not a neat freak, I gather."
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I was a bit of a slob as a kid," he said. "Never really outgrew that."
Draco peeked around Harry's shoulder. "So I see."
"Just give me a minute." Harry kicked the clothes into a pile in the corner of the room, burying yesterday's Daily Prophet in the process, covertly closed the Floo, then swept the covers over in a sorry attempt to make the bed. It was silly, really, that he had to act like he was still underage, since Draco was a wizard and all, but if he was telling the truth - and Harry was convinced he was - then Harry couldn't afford to give away the best cover he had. He cringed inwardly as his growing feelings for Draco warred with his job.
He caught Draco leaning against the doorframe, a bemused look aimed at his futile attempt at cleaning. "Go ahead and laugh," Harry said and pulled out the chair. "Here. You can sit on this." He plunked himself onto the edge of the bed closest to the chair and held out his hand.
Draco sat down but didn't hand over the book. Instead he smirked. "You do realise they have maids in such establishments."
"Yeah, well, I'm here for a few weeks and ... well, I don't like people to mess with my things. I prefer to leave my stuff lying about."
"No, really?"
Harry punched him in the arm. "It's sort of organised chaos."
"You don't say." He looked around and added, "I see the chaos. Not so much the organised."
Harry glared at him and he laughed. Harry decided he liked that sound very much. "It helps me think."
Draco looked honestly perplexed. "How on earth can that--" He waved his hand towards the pile of clothes in the corner. "--help you think?"
"Creative minds?" Harry knew it was a stretch, especially since he wasn't actually a writer, but it was all he had.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'll let it go for now. But just to be clear, I'm not remotely convinced."
Harry held out his hand. "I believe you have something to show me?"
Worry replaced playful teasing on Draco's face. Harry's hand, acting of its own accord, dropped to rest on Draco's knee. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."
He squeezed Harry's hand. "I want to."
There wasn't much to read in the book, at least not the first twenty pages or so. In fact, it was only remarkable for its lack of personal notations.
"You noticed, too?" Draco asked.
Harry flipped a few more pages. "Not much to it," he said.
"That's exactly what I thought. It's not a business journal, nor is it a diary, really. It just seems a matter-of-fact collection of details."
The entries reminded Harry of a case file, only slightly less formal. Like someone had created an identity for Draco to study. "Are you sure you wrote this?" he asked.
Draco grinned. "I see we think along the same lines. Yes, it's my writing. I've re-written the words, and the writing looks identical." He flipped ahead to the middle of the book. "See? That's the start of what I've written recently." He pointed to the page, and - though Harry was no handwriting expert - it sure looked the same. "What I remember writing anyway."
He read what Draco had scribbled on the first couple of pages:
The island feels right, but I still feel lost. Why can't I remember?
People are friendly, if a bit distant. I'm not a native, nor am I even Scottish, but they welcome me ...
I keep thinking I'll wake up one day and remember ...
Still waiting for something to trigger a memory. Even just one ...
Still nothing ...
Harry flipped ahead to the end of the writing and caught one from the day they'd met.
I met someone today. I'm not sure why or how, but I felt a connection ...
Went to Faerie Glen today and he experienced it too. I could feel the energy radiating from him like it flows from me. I knew there was something about him ...
Saw him again today ...
Draco snatched the book away before Harry could read any more.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He hadn't. Not really. But now that he'd read those entries, he wanted to read more. Wanted to know if Draco felt the same way Harry did.
Draco carefully placed the book back in his coat pocket. "My mistake. I didn't mean for you to read the rest." He shuffled about before regaining composure. "So what do you think?"
Draco's words brought him back to the present. "I don't know." Harry shrugged. "Maybe I've seen too many crime dramas, but it almost seems like someone prepared you for this. Like they knew you'd forget everything, and they've given you this as a guidebook to who Thomas Peterson is."
Draco thought about that for a minute. "Like some witness protection thing?" he asked.
That's exactly what it seems like. Only Harry knew that wasn't the case, because even if he hadn't been privy to such information, surely Kingsley would have. "Something like that, yeah. Except, you know, with the added bit about you not remembering anything."
"But it's not possible to wipe someone's brain," Draco argued. "No matter what the conspiracy theorists would have us believe."
He couldn't possibly be that good an actor. He had to be telling the truth.
Harry thought about the various spells, potions, and curses that could cause memory loss. "Yeah, right," he lied. "Of course not." As time passed, he was finding it increasingly difficult to lie to Draco. And even harder to lie to Thomas.
But he reconsidered. Was such a thing possible? Despite the numerous ways one's mind could be affected, Harry knew of nothing that could wipe out a person's identity, yet leave him otherwise functional like Draco. Such extensive wipes, as far as he knew, would cause irreparable damage, and Draco showed no signs of that.
With her Healer training, Hermione might know. Or could find out. But Harry didn't want to involve her, didn't want to tell her about Draco's condition. Not yet. He felt guilty enough telling Ron.
"Well, I'd better go," Draco said, standing up and heading for the door. Harry followed. "Thanks for everything."
"I didn't do much."
"I suppose, but it helps to get it out, to tell someone."
"Do you feel like you're remembering anything?"
He shook his head. "No. But I do feel a bit like a weight has been lifted." He swept his eyes over the room and smirked. "I should let you get back to your work." He patted Harry's chest. "You really should let the maid in here."
"I suppose."
Draco opened the door, then turned to face the room again. "One good thing about the state of your living quarters," he said.
"What's that?"
"I have to presume that you aren't inviting guests over."
Harry smiled. "No guests. You're the first."
"Good." Draco grasped the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him in.
This time when their lips met, Harry didn't resist.
~ * ~ * ~
Harry Apparated to a restaurant near the Ministry that afternoon to meet Ron. And to get away, get some perspective.
If he didn't know better, he'd swear the entire island really was magical and he was in the grasp of its spell. That kiss. Wow. Nothing overtly sexual. Not much more than a pressing of lips, really. But when he'd wrapped Draco in his arms, Harry had barely been able to remain upright, his knees threatening to give way at any moment. He hadn't felt that way in a long time. In fact, he'd possibly never felt a connection that strong before.
And then reality, led by Harry's lies, reared its ugly head. How could anything about this be real? They were two complete strangers. Only they weren't. But Draco didn't know that. And who exactly was Harry falling for?
"So, what have you got for me?" he asked Ron as soon as he sat down. Ron had gone ahead and ordered scones and tea, and Harry helped himself.
"The cottage was rented two months before he disappeared."
"Two months?" Harry tried to reconcile this with what Draco had told him, but he couldn't. "Are you saying he planned this?"
"Looks like it," Ron said. Harry's head began to throb. "He was still Draco Malfoy at the time Thomas Peterson booked the place."
Harry's heart sank. He'd been so sure. He'd believed Draco's story. Despite all their history, and the lengths Draco had gone to in the past, Harry wanted to believe him. Was it possible that Draco was making the whole thing up? Carrying on this elaborate ruse? But to what end? None of it made sense.
"There's more, mate."
Harry braced himself, drawing warmth from the his cup in his hands. "What?"
"He removed half his gold from Gringott's two weeks before he disappeared. And the amount converts roughly into the Muggle funds that appeared in Thomas Peterson's account about a week later, less a few thousand."
This was news. "Why didn't we know about the Gringott's withdrawal before?"
"We don't officially know about it now."
"Bill?"
Ron nodded. "He could get in a lot of trouble for this."
"For what?" Harry winked.
Ron gave a relieved smile. "Right."
"So Dra-- Malfoy had this all planned out. He's set up in a remote spot, living as a Muggle, where no one is likely to find him. He's got money and a stupid cover. But why? He wasn't under arrest; no one was searching for him."
Ron shoved half a scone into his mouth and washed it down with some tea. "Dunno. Maybe he just wanted to disappear."
Harry considered this. "Maybe. But why would he go to all the trouble of making up something about amnesia? Seems a lot of work. Why not just make up his past?"
"Who knows why the git does anything," Ron said. "He probably fancies himself more mysterious or something. You know how much of an attention whore he was in school."
Harry frowned. "But he hasn't told hardly anyone."
"He hasn't?"
"No." This fact troubled Harry most. "As far as I know, I'm the only one he's said anything to."
Ron leaned back in his seat, a contemplative expression on his face. "You don't think he's made you?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know." He thought back to every encounter they'd had, and his face flushed as he recalled their kiss that morning. "No," he said. "He doesn't know it's me."
"How can you be sure?" Ron asked.
"Just trust me," Harry said. Draco Malfoy wouldn't come anywhere near Harry Potter, much less kiss him.
Ron didn't look convinced, but nodded his support. "If you say so."
~ * ~ * ~
The next day it rained, so Harry and Draco took a drive around the island instead of hiking anywhere, and they packed it in early for lunch. They opted for a cozy little pub in a small town. Harry was currently not brooding.
Draco had been great all day, but Harry remained distant. He believed Draco's story - Harry could tell when he was lying, couldn't he? And yet ... Ron's news kept gnawing at him.
When Draco reached for his hand, he didn't pull away, but he didn't reciprocate. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."
Draco looked at Harry's hands and ran his thumb over Harry's ring finger. "You're not married?"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"And you are interested?"
Harry felt his cheeks warm and he nodded. "Definitely interested."
"Then what's the problem?"
Harry gazed into questioning eyes and a voice in the back of his mind - one that sounded suspiciously like Sirius' - said, No problem at all. He shrugged. "You don't know anything about me," he offered lamely. It was true, and it was the most he could say.
"I know that you're intelligent and witty. You won over Madge and Reg in less that a week, and they are incredibly good judges of character."
Harry counted himself lucky that he'd finished his tea, because surely he would have choked on it, hearing Draco Malfoy compliment him. "Oh, really?"
"They like me, don't they?" he teased. "Let's see, what else? You're not bad looking, even if you could do something about your fashion sense, and maybe tame your hair a bit."
"Hey!" Even under his glamour, Harry couldn't get his hair to cooperate.
"What? If you hung up your clothes instead of throwing them around your room, that might be a start. You can work on the slob thing. Look, I feel a connection to you, something I can't explain. What more is there to know?"
Harry watched Draco's mouth, remembering the feel of those lips on his own. His tongue reached out for the memory of his taste and Harry heard Draco draw a sharp breath.
Harry lifted his gaze to see stormy grey eyes, half black with dilated pupils, staring intently at him, and he fell into them, lost once more. When Draco whispered, "Let's get out of here," Harry nodded, unable to utter a word of resistance.
~ * ~ * ~
They went for another drive, along winding roads up to the top of one of the many mountains on Skye. The day remained grey and misty, cool and damp, but somehow the chill didn't reach inside him. Harry didn't even need to cast a spell, which made him wonder once more how deeply the island's magic affected him. Draco seemed equally unbothered by the cold.
"So, what's the story of this place?" Harry asked as they gazed out over the limited landscape they could see through the haze.
"Haven't heard one," Draco said. "It's just a place I come on particularly misty days." He didn't look at Harry when he spoke; he just gazed out over the clouds. "Reminds me of me."
Harry frowned. "Because of your stormy grey eyes?" he asked. He'd meant it as a joke, but Draco's reaction turned the tables on him.
"My, you really are a writer. Do tell, how would you describe the rest of me?"
Harry groaned. "I was teasing," he said, desperately trying to get out of what could end up being a cringe-worthy discussion. Stormy grey eyes? Honestly! What had he been thinking?
Draco linked his arm through Harry's and drew him nearer. "Relax. I was teasing too." Once again his attention returned to the landscape. "What I meant was that it's a vast unknown. Things you know are there, but you can't see them, can't grasp hold of them, can't uncover the reality."
He pulled back his arm and pushed up his left sleeve, showing a fading Dark Mark. Harry forced himself not to react.
"Take this, for instance. I have no idea what it is, what it signifies." He rubbed at it as though he could erase it with his touch. "It's disgusting, too. Nothing about it resonates with me. I don't think it suits me, and I can't imagine marking myself willingly with something so hideous."
Harry held onto Draco's left palm and looked carefully at the marred surface of the otherwise perfectly pale skin. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't suit you."
Draco looked relieved, then puzzled. "So why do I have it?"
Harry shrugged; he'd often wondered what had pushed Draco to take the Mark, or whether it had been his choice at all. "Drunken dare?" he offered.
"That's what I mean! I don't understand." He pushed down his sleeve and stared back out into the distance. "How can I not know who I am and how I got here? And why do I feel ill at the mere thought of stepping off this island?"
Harry could think of a hundred reasons why Draco Malfoy might want to stay here, but he said nothing.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to --"
Harry rested a hand on Draco's shoulder, unable to resist offering some reassurance. He didn't care what Ron's investigation had revealed. Draco wasn't faking any of this. Hermione would say that Harry was doing his saving people thing again, but Harry just felt like he was comforting a friend.
"You know," he said, "mysterious can be very sexy."
Draco laughed and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "Oh, really?"
Harry breathed in the hint of citrus from Draco's hair and sighed. "Definitely."
~ * ~ * ~
Somehow Harry found himself agreeing to have take-away at Draco's cottage. The place was large for a cottage, but a considerable down-grade from Malfoy Manor. Draco seemed to have made it his own, though. Decorated tastefully with a definite masculine flare - not a floral surface in sight and filled with warm, rich colours. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected: perhaps green and silver splashed everywhere. But the brown leather sofas, dark wooden floorboards, and mahogany furniture felt warm and inviting. Offset by light-coloured walls and a scattering of art, cushions, and a rug in light tones with hints of colour, the place drew him in.
His face must have given something away, because Draco asked, "Do you like it?"
"It's ..." Harry thought for a moment how best to describe the place. "It's you."
Draco smiled. "See? I knew we had some sort of connection. We've known each other such a short time, but you could tell at first glance that I'd decorated the place."
Harry coughed. He'd known Draco for years, he'd been to his home - well, not exactly as an invited guest, but nevertheless, he'd always known that Draco had a taste for the finer things in life. He looked around again, and reconsidered. He hadn't really known Draco at all, and hadn't he just been thinking that he'd have expected a replica of the Slytherin Common Room? No, Draco was right. He'd really only known him a short while. And there was something between them. Of that he was sure.
Draco opened a delicious bottle of wine that Harry didn't recognise. They made short work of the food, finishing more than half the bottle of wine along with it. They retreated to the living room with the last of the bottle and sat next to each other on the sofa.
Heat radiated from Draco and Harry's heart sped up. He should leave now, should go back to his room before he did something stupid, something both he and Draco would regret.
Draco took Harry's glass from his hand and placed it alongside his own on the table.
Now. Harry should leave right now.
Draco's hand found Harry's thigh and Harry drew in a sharp breath. He really needed to leave. Draco's other hand reached around to rest on Harry's cheek, before turning Harry to face him. He ran a thumb along Harry's lower lip and Harry's mouth fell slightly open.
"I'm going to kiss you now," Draco said. Harry didn't argue, only looked through heavily-lidded eyes as Draco smiled and closed the distance. He reached up to thread his fingers through Draco's hair as their lips met and his world turned upside down. His head swam and his skin tingled. God, he wanted this man desperately, ached for him. His heart raced and his arms drew Draco nearer, all rational thought gone.
Draco's tongue wrapped around Harry's and they both moaned. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered how he'd ever lived without this feeling, and how he could ever live without it again. His body thrummed with desire while his hands traced the muscles of Draco's back, eliciting a tantalising shudder from Draco.
They broke apart reluctantly, only to gasp for air and dive back in again. Draco's hand reached up to cup Harry's cheek and Harry lifted his to meet it. Their fingers intertwined, they pulled apart and rested their foreheads together. Their breath mingled, the scent of wine thick between them, and Harry caught sight of black peeking out from Draco's sleeve.
Draco tried to pull it back, but Harry trailed his finger along Draco's wrist and upwards, tracing the Dark Mark. He was surprised to find that it felt soft, no warmer or colder than the rest of Draco's skin. He laughed at himself, wondering why such a thing should take him by surprise. It's not as though his own scar felt any different from any normal scar to anyone else. He was the only one who ever felt a burning sensation. Not that anyone had touched it while Harry had writhed in pain. And Voldemort was long gone, so - like Harry's scar - there would be no reason for Draco's Mark to burn.
Harry leaned down to kiss it. Draco sucked in a breath as Harry trailed his tongue along the same path his finger had taken. Harry immersed himself in his task. It was as though he were cleansing Draco of the pain that had gone before. Of the memories associated with this blemish on his skin.
Of course, Draco's memories were already gone. So maybe Harry was doing this for himself. Whatever the reason, Draco seemed to appreciate it.
"James," Draco whimpered.
Harry stopped abruptly. He wasn't James. He was Harry. Harry Potter, Auror. The Auror sent to investigate Draco Malfoy. And here he was ...
He stood up abruptly, dropping Draco's arm. "I --" He drew in a cleansing breath, trying for some sanity. How did he keep ending up like this, lost in the moment? In Draco. "I have to go." And he left, a confused Thomas staring after him.
~ * ~ * ~
An hour later, a loud banging announced someone's arrival. Resignedly, Harry trudged over and opened the door.
Wasting no time, Draco shoved Harry inside, closing the door behind him and slamming Harry up against the wall. His mouth was on Harry's in an instant, and when his tongue plundered Harry's mouth, all resistance drained away. Harry reached around to pull Draco closer, and when he felt Draco's hardening length press against his own, Harry whimpered his submission.
Draco's hands deftly undid the buttons of first Harry's shirt, then his own, and then their bare chests met in blissful delight. Harry reached down to grab Draco's arse and pulled their groins together. They both moaned.
Harry couldn't formulate an argument, couldn't rationalise why he'd resisted this for so long. Only a few weeks, a rational part of his brain supplied, but as his body reacted to Draco's touch, he argued that it had felt much longer than that.
Draco's mouth left his own, and Harry felt immediate loss, but his protest was quelled quickly as Draco nibbled his way down Harry's neck to his chest. One hand reached up and pinched Harry's left nipple at the same time his mouth engulfed the right, suckling it to hardness. Harry clenched Draco's hair at the onslaught, his cock twitching in appreciation, and all thoughts halted as he succumbed to Draco's wicked tongue.
As Draco licked his way down to Harry's navel, Harry's body tensed, willing itself not to react like some horny teenager and come from the mere thought of Draco's mouth enveloping his length. But oh, that tongue brought visions to mind. Something gnawed at him but he suppressed that thought before it was fully formed. Draco's tongue circled his navel before dipping inside. Harry's head hit the wall as he tried to regain control over his body, and distantly he heard Draco growl.
He'd never been so turned on in all his life.
And then Draco stopped. Harry nearly slid down the wall when Draco released him from his grip, but managed to right himself just in time. His eyes fluttered open, and when Draco came into focus, grey eyes bored into Harry's.
"Have I got your attention now?"
Harry nodded, unable to speak.
"Good." Draco pressed his body against Harry's, and Harry felt a moan escape. "Now if I'm not mistaken--" He rubbed their erections together, stars danced before Harry's eyes, and he tried not to cry out "--we have something good going here." Harry nodded again.
Draco drew back abruptly and Harry scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.
"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?"
I'm not the one pulling away right now, Harry thought. He resisted reaching out for Draco, and let him carry on.
"Every time we get close, you pull back. Like there's something preventing you from following your desires."
"I--" Harry stopped, not knowing what he was about to say. What he could say. Draco was right.
"I like you, James." A bucket of ice water crashed over Harry. "And I'm pretty sure you feel the same way about me."
About Thomas, Harry corrected. I like Thomas. And you like James. He pushed himself off the wall and shook off the after-effects of lust. On shaky legs, he closed the distance between them.
"I told you before, you don't know me." His voice came out deeper and more threatening than he'd intended.
"So enlighten me," Draco challenged. "Tell me all your dark little secrets."
"And will you tell me yours?"
Draco's laugh sounded nearly hysterical. "If only I could."
"Sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "I didn't mean --"
"You know what?" Draco said. "It doesn't matter. We're adults, we're obviously attracted to each other, there's something between us. What's to stop us from enjoying ourselves? No strings, no promises, no anything."
"Just sex."
"Amazing sex."
Harry replayed every kiss, every touch, and the way both had driven all rational thought from his mind. Every time. There was definitely something between them, and passion was unquestioningly at the heart of it. "No doubt."
"Well, then?"
"I can't," he said, though it pained him to do so. "If you knew me, who I really am--"
"So tell me."
Harry shook his head and began buttoning his shirt. "You'd hate me."
Draco's laugh sounded more like an assault. "I doubt that. All things considered."
"If we did what you suggest--"
"Have sex?"
"Yeah." Harry crossed the room to put as much distance between them as he could, taking a seat on the one chair in the sitting area. "If we did that without you knowing ... well, let's just say there'd be hell to pay."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest, looking unconvinced. "I ought to be the judge of that myself, don't you think? You've said you're not married, and you're not in a relationship. I don't know what you think you know about me, but ..."
Harry's head shot up as the tone of Draco's voice changed. Someone else might not have noticed, but Harry had a feeling that Draco was piecing things together, sensing that Harry knew more than he was saying.
He watched silently as Draco pulled his own shirt closed, quickly refastening the buttons. He cast Harry a look full of disappointment. In that moment, Harry made a decision. Screw the assignment. If Draco bolted, so what. It's not like he was wanted in connection with any crimes he might have committed. And Kingsley had no idea what Draco knew, if anything, about any of the rest of them.
But Harry saw what not knowing was doing to Draco. He witnessed the pain in Draco's eyes. Harry thought he could relate, at least to some degree. He'd missed out on a lot himself, even though the circumstances were different. He'd never known his parents, but at least he knew where he'd come from. Who he was. He couldn't imagine waking up one day with no recollection of anything that went before. How utterly alone and frightened and vulnerable that would make you.
"Wait," he said. Draco raised his brows but said nothing as he tucked his shirt back into his jeans. "How about if I promise to tell you tomorrow?"
"Not now?"
"No." Harry needed to figure out how best to explain the situation. He couldn't just blurt it out, for fear he'd make things worse. "Tomorrow."
Draco took in a long breath, narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to argue, but then let out the breath and reluctantly agreed. "Very well then." He sounded so much like the old Draco in that moment that Harry wondered if something weren't triggering his memory already.
Shaking off the feeling, Harry attempted a smile. "Shall we do something nice first, while you can still stand to be near me? Say, take a trip to the Faerie Glen again after lunch?"
A hint of a smile touched Draco's lips. "I'll pick you up outside at one."
"It's a date."
As soon as Draco left, Harry second guessed himself. What was he going to do? He couldn't trust himself to just say everything at once. And what would he say? How does a person cram two decades of information into one conversation? He remembered how overwhelmed he was after finding out he was a wizard, never mind all that Draco's past held. But he also remembered how betrayed he felt each time he found out something else about his family, something that no one thought to tell him.
He could imagine it:
Your name is Draco Malfoy. Your father was the right hand man of a megalomaniac that tried to take over the world. Your father, a piece of work in his own right, was succeeded by your crazy aunt when he failed a mission the mad man sent him on. He recruited you too. You know that tattoo of yours, the one you hate? That's his mark. Ugly snake, just like him. By the way, his number one mission, besides taking over the world, was to kill me. I didn't much like that idea. He died instead. Unfortunately, so did a lot of other people. Including, not too long ago, both of your parents.
Yes, we know each other. We met when we were eleven and have hated each other ever since. In fact, we spent much of our school years trying to outdo each other, hex each other, catch each other doing something wrong. Come to think of it, we dedicated an awful lot of time to pulling each other's pigtails.
...
Moving on ...
Your dad and your aunt both tried to kill me, you and your mother saved my life, and I saved yours. You did try to kill our headmaster, though. You failed, but you nearly killed two classmates in the process, including my best friend. Oh, yeah, I nearly killed you too. Sorry about that. I swear I didn't mean to. Scary shit, all that blood. I didn't know what that spell would do when I cast it.
Oh, yeah, did I mention that we're all wizards? You know those stories about magic you've been hearing? They're true. That feeling you get when you go to those places on the island? That's magic. Real magic.
Harry's head spun at the thought of it, and he already knew all this. He'd have to write everything down, then try to tell Draco. That way, if he didn't get the whole thing out before Draco freaked out and left - a distinct possibility - he could give him the note later. Or maybe first.
Harry spent the rest of the evening trying to chronicle the life of Draco Malfoy. He frowned when he finished, and realised it was very one-sided, and didn't say much about the boy who would become the man he knew now. He wondered how Draco would take the news.
He dozed fitfully that night, ghosts of the past visiting him in his sleep. Ghosts he'd have preferred stayed away.
When he woke the next morning, it was with a fuzzy head but a sense of determination. He would give Draco the abridged version of things, then let him ask questions, which Harry would try to answer. It was the best he could do.
~ * ~ * ~
They spent the afternoon hiking up to the highest point, retracing their steps from the last time, and enjoying just being together. The upcoming conversation weighed heavily on Harry, though, and it made for a less exhilarating experience.
On the way back, Draco took a detour, then pulled off the road. "One of the best views from anywhere on the island. It's a not-so-well-kept secret among the natives." They climbed out of the car and stood overlooking a sheer cliff, watching the waves crash onto the rocky shore far below. Most of the island had barriers blocking access to the edges of cliffs, but here the worn fencing allowed a much closer look.
"Years ago, a ship got caught in a storm and crashed below," Draco said. "No survivors. Some people still look for treasure to wash up on shore."
"How do they get down there?"
Draco pointed to a spot a hundred yards to their left. "There's a path that leads down from there." They leaned over and Draco pointed out the path.
Harry shuddered. "Looks a bit dodgy to me."
"Only the fearless dare to walk that path, and never in winter. They lock the gate come November each year."
Harry breathed in the sea air. "No magic here?" he asked.
Draco shrugged. "I don't get that feeling here, no. But I wouldn't say it's not magical." Listening to the sea, and staring out at the water, Harry thought he had a point.
The tension between them had lessened since the night before, but Harry had a promise to keep. He owed Draco the truth. He couldn't keep things from him any longer, even if it meant he'd never speak to Harry again.
Draco turned and caught Harry looking. "You're staring," he said. "Again."
Harry smiled and reached for Draco's hand. Behind them tires screeched. A car came hurtling towards them. Too close. Harry knew they had no chance.
"Draco!"
He grabbed Draco's coat and leapt from the cliff, pulling Draco over the edge.
They landed with a thud in Harry's room at the hotel. Draco moaned and ran his hand through his hair. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had hit the floor. When he opened his eyes, they widened in shock.
"What the --?" Draco backed away from Harry, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "How? What?" He shut his eyes again and shook his head, hands on either side as if to hold in the thoughts bouncing around. "This isn't happening," he mumbled.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"That car was coming straight for us, and you pulled me over the cliff with you." He examined his arms, then patted his legs to be sure they were still there. "We should be dead." He looked up at Harry. "Are we dead?"
"No," Harry assured him. When he moved closer, Draco raised a hand to stop him. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight through Harry.
"And you called me Draco," he accused. "Who the hell is Draco?"
"Um ... let me explain." Harry pulled up the chair, close enough so he could speak at a low volume, but far enough away to give Draco his space. "Your real name is Draco Malfoy and you grew up in Wiltshire."
Harry spent the next hour giving Draco the condensed version of his life. Yes, they knew each other, had gone to school together. A school of magic. Yes, magic was real and they were wizards. No, Draco didn't have family left, except an aunt from whom his family had been estranged, and her grandson, Harry's godson. No, he and Harry didn't get along. Yes, there was much more to it than that.
After each new revelation, Draco took a moment to process the information. Then each time, he snarled in frustration as none of what Harry said resonated. He remembered nothing. Not his home, his family, his friends, school, Harry, or anything else.
"Maybe if I show you what I really look like," Harry suggested. With a flick of his wand, his glamours faded away.
Besides a nervous flash of his eyes, and another look of surprise, Draco didn't react. Not a hint of recognition. Not even when he stared at Harry's scar for a while. His hand twitched, as though he might reach for the scar, but he didn't. "Your name?"
"Harry Potter."
No reaction. Then he asked the question Harry feared most. "Why did you come here?"
Harry wrung his hands and willed himself the strength to tell Draco the truth, and to remain strong for him while he tried to come to terms with everything.
"There was a war."
"A war? Recently? I've never heard --"
"A wizarding war. Most Muggles - non-magical folks - didn't know about it, so you wouldn't have heard."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Harry to continue.
"Your father was on the wrong side, and ... well, you saw some things that could be used against some of the people he associated with."
Draco scowled. "And how do you fit in?"
"I'm an Auror. A wizard police officer."
Draco barked out a laugh. "So you came to investigate me?"
"Not exactly."
Draco's face hardened. "Then what exactly were you doing?"
Falling for you.
Harry's shoulders slumped as he imagined how his actions must look. "We received a report that you were here, living under an assumed name, and I was sent to try to get you to come testify."
"But I can't testify against someone I don't remember."
"I know."
"And once you knew that I had no memory of my past, why did you stay?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
He glared. "Yes, I do."
"I wanted to help you."
"Ha!" Harry blinked at the sheer force of the anger on Draco's face. "You expect me to believe that?"
"It's true."
"Oh, and you've been so truthful with me to this point, James."
"Harry."
"Whatever. Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck what your name is. I just want some answers."
Harry nodded. He'd known all along it wouldn't end well, but it didn't make the pain any easier to bear. "Whatever you want."
"Right."
"Listen, Draco--"
"My name is Thomas."
"Right. Sorry. Thomas. I meant what I said. I want to help you." He ignored the derisive grunt he received in response. "My partner, Ron, found out that your cottage was rented two months before you came here, and you'd withdrawn a hefty amount of money from Gringotts - the wizarding bank - and set up the accounts you have at Barclays in London."
Pain swept over Draco's face as Harry's words spilled forth. "Anything else you know about me?" he asked. "Where I buy my groceries, who I speak with on the phone, who I fuck?" He crossed the space between them and rested his hands on the arms of Harry's chair and leaned in. "Did you find out that I hadn't been laid for so long that you thought I'd be an easy target?"
"No!" Harry said, and reached up to - what, he didn't know; comfort him maybe?
Draco pulled back in disgust. "Don't touch me!"
"What I felt for you - feel for you is real."
"Right. We've hated each other our whole lives, or so you say, and suddenly you fall for me? Sure. I buy that. What was it you said? I don't even know you? Well, you're right about that. I didn't know you. But I think I have a pretty good indication of what you're like now. And I have to say I'm thankful for one thing."
Harry was almost afraid to ask. "Which is?"
"That we didn't --"
They hadn't. Not that Harry hadn't wanted to. Merlin, how he'd wanted to. At least he'd done something right. Even if that meant they never would.
"I guess I should be glad there are rules about that sort of thing."
There was no use trying to defend himself. "I wrote down most of what I could think of," Harry said, and fished in his pocket for the note he'd written the night before. Draco snatched it out of his hand. "But wait! Before you read it, I want you to know --"
"I don't care," Draco said. "I'm leaving."
"At least let me call you a taxi to take you back." He knew the scene would be crawling with people looking for the two men that flew off the cliff, and he couldn't Apparate.
"Don't do me any favours," he said, and he left, slamming the door behind him.
Well, that went well.
~ * ~ * ~
"We've traced the bank transactions," Ron explained when Harry arrived at the office an hour later. "Susan in Muggle Relations was able to get some details based on what you gave us." Harry's stomach churned. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "But we came up with nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"We've spoken to the cashier that opened the account, and the financial advisor that dealt with the investments, and neither of them recognised Malfoy."
Harry waved this off. "He could have cast a Memory Charm on them."
"Right. That's what we thought."
"But?"
"But it's not that they don't remember the transactions. They just don't remember Malfoy."
"So, he could have Polyjuiced himself."
Ron nodded. "Again, that's what we figured, so we managed to get access to their security tapes.
"And?"
"And look." He pushed three pictures across the desk and Harry lifted them up. "Anyone you recognise?"
"No."
Ron smirked. "This is where it gets strange."
Harry tried not to rush him, but Ron's habit of building up to his point - something that hadn't bothered Harry in the past, primarily because he was generally already privy to the details, but that infuriated Kingsley - threatened to send Harry over the edge. "Oh, really?"
Ron practically danced in his seat. "Malfoy, it seems, was elsewhere at the time in question. Here, in fact."
"Here?"
"Yes. He had an appointment with Blanchard in whatever that office is responsible for freezing assets when they think something might be dodgy. He was arranging for release of his parents' estates."
Harry winced. He'd lost no sleep over Lucius Malfoy's gruesome murder, to be sure, but Narcissa hadn't deserved to suffer that way. Their deaths had been particularly heinous and brutal, receiving front page coverage, with all the gory details and sensationalistic headlines The Prophet could muster. Thankfully the Aurors arrived on scene before the vultures could take photographs, or no doubt the entire wizarding world could have watched them writhe in pain until they took their last breaths, then watched it all over again on a never-ending loop. People in the streets rejoiced, and life for Malfoy became horrific. Harry presumed this, because he'd witnessed some of the jeering first-hand, before Malfoy had escaped the crowd and Apparated away.
"And this bloke--" Ron tapped one of the pictures "--matches the description of the second non-resident on the ferry the day Malfoy first went to Skye."
"That can't be a coincidence."
"Right you are," Ron said. "So we took the picture to the office where Thomas Peterson rented the cottage."
"And this was the man who rented it?"
"Not exactly. See, he likely adjusted the agent's recollection of the transaction, so she didn't recognise him."
Harry was about to prompt him, but realised that Ron was still doing his draw-it-out thing. He motioned with his hand for Ron to get on with the story.
"But the receptionist, who happened to be at the bank when he arrived - another coincidence - caught sight of him leaving."
"And this is the bloke?"
"She wouldn't swear to it, but she seemed pretty convinced."
Harry sat back in his seat trying to work out what all this meant. "Have you got an ID on him?"
Ron's face fell. "Sorry, mate. That's as far as we've got. For all we know, he was in disguise or Polyjuiced or something. The ferry driver acknowledged that he returned a few hours later, but no one saw the two of them together."
Harry stood up and began to pace. "It's not likely that some random stranger would go about doing Draco's business for him. But it's equally unlikely that someone with an axe to grind with him would go to such lengths to make sure he was set up before wiping his memory."
Ron cast a pitying look Harry's way. "You have to accept the possibility that Malfoy's memory is perfectly intact. In fact, it seems pretty obvious to me."
"But why the ruse? It's not like he's under arrest or anything."
Ron gathered the photos and returned them to the file. "You saw it yourself, the way people taunted him. Not that I think he didn't deserve it, but --"
"No one deserves that."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever. All I'm saying is maybe he just wanted to shed his whole identity."
"Fair enough. Set up as Thomas Peterson. But why not simply create a past for himself? No one in the Muggle world would be the wiser. There was no reason for him to make up this elaborate story. And I've not once seen him do any magic, not even surreptitiously, and I've been watching for it."
Ron folded his hands and rested them on the file. "I know I've asked you this before, but are you sure he didn't figure out who you were?"
"I'm sure," Harry said. But was he? This new information shed light on what might have happened, and it appears that Draco was complicit in the events leading him to Skye. And his new identity. And if he could do all that without rousing suspicion, what's to say he couldn't have pulled one over on Harry.
Harry touched a finger to his lips. No. Draco hadn't faked that. No matter what other lies might be between them, he at least knew that.
Part 3