Author's Note: This fic was written for winnet, as a pinch-hit for Beltane 2008. Her request: Flangst, UST, happy endings, snarky Slytherins, characters being in character. Threesome! I would really, really like to get a H/D/S threesome! That being said, I want to let you be as creative as you can be, so go with whatever works for you at the time. If you want a prompt, how about my favorite general themes: Friends turn lovers, working together to get out of a trap or solve a mystery, and memory/magic loss.

Co-written with scrtkpr, the brains behind the entire plot. I just showed up to write some of the scenes :)

ooo000ooo

"Draco! Will you stop being an arse and..." Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he began again, closing his eyes and pressing down on the spot that had begun to throb in the middle of his forehead. "I understand this must be fright--erm, disorienting. But I'm not asking you to do anything dangerous. All I am asking is that you come into this room."

"Not a chance, Potter." Draco crossed his arms, the gesture more defensive than stubborn. "I don't believe a word you've said."

"You don't believe..." Harry trailed off, shaking his head. It was strange, seeing that expression on this Draco's face. "Just—look at me. How do you explain this?"

"You could have given yourself an aging potion."

"Do you think I gave you one too?"

Draco looked down at himself, then back up at Harry in confusion. "You might have," he finally said. "I wouldn't put it past you." But the uncertainty was clear in his voice.

"Look." Harry kept his voice calm, but consciously stopped himself from showing too much friendliness or sympathy. "Snape's portrait is in this room. I'm going to see if he can help us." He shook his head again. "Help you."

"Why would his portrait be at Hogwarts?" Draco said suspiciously. "Your side won. As if they'd keep a Death Eater's portrait here."

"They did. They offered him a place in the Heroes Hall."

"Then why are we in the dungeons? Even if it had been built already, the Heroes' Hall would be on the first floor."

"It is on the first floor. Snape's portrait didn't get along with the others in the Hall. He asked to be moved down here to the dungeons." And nobody was sorry to see him go, he didn't say out loud.

Draco's eyebrows went down, and Harry knew he'd finally managed to say something right. Possibly Draco was remembering that Snape never had been the most sociable of men.

"Will you please just come in here?" Harry asked.

"Where's my family?"

Harry had to bite back a completely inappropriate and unexpected smile. He hadn't expected that question, but he should have. And had Draco really been this easy to read four years ago? "I haven't got a clue." Damn, Draco's eyes when he said that. He reached out to place a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder, but Draco flinched away. "The sooner we get you sorted out, the sooner you'll remember. I'm sure they're fine. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not worried."

What an admirable attempt at cool nonchalance--trying to gloss over the fact that he'd just given in to the need to ask for his Mummy. "I don't know what you think I'm going to do to you, but please, let me just take you inside. Look, you've got your wand--" Harry stopped himself on the verge of offering Draco his own wand, as a gesture of non-hostility. This wasn't the Draco that Harry knew. This was a younger, sneakier, and less trusting version of his colleague and...yes, friend. If he gave this Draco his own wand, Draco would most probably hex him with it.

Draco scowled at him, and Harry could sense his uncertainty, his intense suspicion. Draco raised his wand and slowly approached the door, eyes glued to Harry's, then took a deep breath as Harry opened it.

They stepped into the small, dank room, and Draco stopped in his tracks.

Harry followed his gaze and couldn't blame him. Snape's portrait took some getting used to, he supposed, for anybody who'd known the man well or spent much time with him. It wasn't a bad portrait, he thought as Draco approached it. It was just...not quite what one would expect. The painter hadn't been unrealistic, but he'd painted Snape on a good day, in a good light. The golden glow of the potion before him, and the low lights of the candles made his sallow skin look almost warm. The shine in his hair seemed more to do with the oils it was painted in than with greasiness, and his nose somehow looked strong and not just hooked.

The background was different from what one might expect too. If Harry were to imagine a background for Snape, he would think of something...not unlike this room, he realized—something in the dungeons, dimly lit, sparsely furnished. The setting of this portrait was a potions room, but there was no stone surrounding him, no vaguely greenish dim lights. It looked more like a Slughorn potions lab; gleaming surfaces, small details here and there to make it look comfortable and homey. You could almost smell the Amortentia in the air, though what Snape would smell in Amortentia, Harry had no desire to find out or even think about. His brain skittered frantically away from the idea of what scent his mother might have worn.

Portrait Snape raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Yes?"

Draco gaped at him, then at Harry. "He's here!"

Harry nodded, amused at the shocked expression on Draco's face and the bewildered one on Snape's.

"Where else should I be?" Snape asked.

"You... he told me they'd done a portrait of you, but--"

"Let me explain," Harry cut him off, then turned to Snape. "Draco's done something. I have no idea what. He was brewing a potion, and it's somehow taken away his memory. He's lost the last four years. As far as he's concerned, he's eighteen and the war has only been over for two months. I need you to help me reverse whatever it is that he did."

"Why would you want to help me, Scarhead?" sneered Draco. Harry suppressed an eyeroll with great difficulty.

"Because we're colleagues, and friends," he said patiently.

Snape did roll his eyes at that one. "Potter, is there a reason why you brought him to me, instead of Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry pressed his lips together; damn, but Snape had a knack for pissing him off, even post mortem. "I'm not sure this is anything he'd want Madam Pomfrey involved with."

"Because..."

"Because. I think he might have been trying to brew a potion for..." He glanced at Draco again, not wanting to break his confidence, then felt a stab of impatience at himself. Break his confidence? How? By telling Snape's portrait what he'd been working on? "I'm fairly sure he was trying to brew that potion for his mother," he said, and Snape's gaze went from condescending and impatient to concerned in an instant.

"What?" Draco was staring at him, baffled. "You think I was brewing a potion for my mother? Why?"

"Your mother isn't doing well," Harry said. "As I said, I don't know where she is, aside from travelling abroad. You haven't told me that much--"

"As if I would tell you anything--"

"--but you have told me that you're worried about her, and you've been thinking of brewing a potion for her."

Draco stared at Harry, wearing the same disbelieving expression that had been on his face ever since the word "friends" had crossed Harry's lips.

Harry glanced at Snape, and it felt distinctly bizarre to share an understanding gaze with him. "Professor..."

Snape nodded and turned to Draco. "Potter is correct. Your mother hasn't been doing well," he said in what was--for Snape--a surprisingly gentle voice. "She and your father have had... problems. She's been nervous and depressed, and has been suffering from nightmares of the time that the Dark Lord spent at your home."

Draco scowled at him. "If that's the best story you can come up with," he sneered, "you might want to try again." Harry hid a smile at the way Snape's eyebrows approached his hairline at the belligerent tone Draco was taking with him. "My mother's hardly a delicate flower. She'd be the last one in our family to--" He suddenly cut himself off, eyes darting between Snape and Harry, his cheeks taking on a rosy glow.

"You stopped having nightmares within a year or two after the war," Harry told him.

Draco's eyes widened.

"Your mother is strong," said Snape. "Very much so. You know that." Snape cleared his throat. "What you are forgetting," he continued in a brisker voice, "is that even the strongest people can find their strength fails them eventually. Your mother came very close to losing all that was important to her. She held your family together for four years, helped you get where you are today, but your absence this year has not been easy for her." He turned to Harry. "We can't assume we know for certain what potion he was brewing. Were there are any hyssop seeds, or verbena, in his lab? I don't suppose you thought to bring anything with you." Harry shook his head, and Snape rolled his eyes. "How did you find him?"

"I was going in to talk to him about the Quidditch practice we were running tonight," Harry said, ignoring Draco, whose mouth was hanging open and who clearly could not decide what to comment on first. "There was steam all over the room--"

"What did it smell like?"

"Erm..."

"Did it smell like something sweet, like honey?"

"Yeah, I... I think so." He paused, waiting for more questions, and eventually Snape gave an impatient huff.

"Do go on."

"He was coughing, and confused. I helped him up, and--well, I thought maybe, you know, it was the potion he'd been talking about, but he was too confused to understand me when I asked so I just decided to bring him to you. He started to wake up a bit on our way here, and by the time we reached the hallway he was--well, he was like this." Harry made a wave at Draco, whose expression and body language were still screaming suspicion and defensiveness.

Snape was gazing at Draco very seriously, mind obviously running along at top speed. "How do you feel, Draco?"

Draco frowned at them both. "This... doesn't make any sense. Why would I talk to him? And why would he not want to take me to Madam Pomfrey, why--"

"Why you would talk to him is a mystery to me as well, I assure you," said Snape, his voice pained, "but the fact is that you did. As to why he would hesitate to take you to Madam Pomfrey, that is less mysterious. The potion you were attempting to brew almost certainly contained illegal ingredients."

"Why would I--" Draco began, before cutting himself off and glancing at Harry.

Ignoring Draco's obvious desire for discretion, Snape continued. "Your mother's health has deteriorated in recent months as her abuse--yes, abuse--of Dreamless Sleep potions has taken its toll. You discovered a potion that--if it were brewed correctly--would minimize or entirely negate the ill effects by preventing only certain dreams and allowing her to sleep normally at night. Some of the ingredients, unfortunately, are by their nature sensitive and dangerous, and require a great deal of legal oversight." Snape paused. "Knowing that you would be unlikely to receive it, you decided to proceed without Ministry approval. You knew what would happen if you were discovered; you would almost certainly lose your position here, and there would be even more scandal attached to your family." He glanced at Harry. "For reasons known only to yourself, you confided this to Potter. Who, for reasons known only to himself, apparently wishes to help you."

Harry looked away from Snape's keen gaze.

"I don't believe a word of this," said Draco.

"You would be no proper Slytherin if you did," said Snape, then turned to Harry. "Gryffindors, on the other hand, are famous for jumping to conclusions without bothering to gather or consider evidence."

Harry bristled. "I was more concerned with getting him here than picking up after him. I thought..."

"You thought that if you brought him to me, I would be able to help you counteract the effect of a potion, based on nothing but your eloquent narrative and Draco's appearance." He sighed. "Quite a compliment to my talents. Or, more likely, a demonstration of the tactical brilliance that brought you fame and success at such a young age."

Snape took a deep breath. "Potter, go to Draco's workroom and gather up any ingredients you see lying around. Also bring me his cauldron--you'll want to stop the flames under it, as I'm sure it didn't occur to you to do so--and bring a flask of the air near the cauldron. The spell to gather it is Vaporo Encapsulo. If there are any written notes in sight, bring them as well."

Harry moved to follow the directions, still seething at Snape's condescending tone, then paused. "What about Draco?"

"Draco can stay here. If he's as addled as you seem to think he is, he'll hardly miss your company, will he?"

"I'm not addled," said Draco. "And I'm not going to take any 'antidotes' the two of you try to foist on me without a better explanation for...for all of this. Can you give me even one good reason I should trust either of you?"

"I can give you several," said Snape. "We should have time for a lengthy discussion. Particularly since Potter seems determined to loiter in the doorway rather than gather information as I asked him to do."

Harry cleared his throat and hurried from the room.

ooo000ooo

"So I pick the hellebore leaves, then?" asked Harry. "Not the flowers?"

"Not like that," said Snape, with the air of a man who is only restraining the urge to throttle because the alternative is looking like an idiot trying to scramble out of his portrait. "Pick the leaves slowly and carefully, unless you'd like to ensure Draco only gets back memories involving indigestion."

Harry bit his tongue and slowed down the leaf-picking. Only half an hour in, Snape's attitude was already getting tiresome. And all they'd done so far was identify the ingredients Harry had brought back from Draco's lab and begin gathering the necessary ingredients for the cure.

"And Mother?" Draco asked, leaning against the opposite table and determinedly ignoring Harry. "Other than her nightmares and the side-effects from the potion, she's in good health?"

"She is, yes," said Snape.

Draco glanced at Harry guardedly.

"Don't worry, I know most of this already," said Harry, plucking the hellebore leaves carefully.

"What?" Draco frowned.

"You told both of us about your mother."

Draco scowled and pointedly turned away again. "So you've claimed." But after a slight pause, he continued. "Why is she travelling?" he asked Snape.

"Because she does not wish her difficulties to become common--STOP that!"

"What?" said Harry.

"Use the silver knife to crush the leaves, Potter. Silver is a greyish metal, and gold is yellowish," he said slowly and clearly. "I realize it's confusing, but we will be far more likely to succeed if you can keep such fine distinctions straight."

Harry allowed himself a few seconds of blissful contemplation of what Snape would look like if Harry set his portrait on fire.

"And don't crush those leaves," said Snape. "That is Helleborus lividus. You are supposed to be using Helleborus foetidus."

"What's the difference?"

"If you didn't notice a pungent odor when you crushed the leaves, you are working with lividus. The use of the word foetidus no doubt means absolutely nothing to you, but if you'd like to ask any random first-year Potions student, they will tell you that it means malodorous."

Harry put the hellebore down. "Why don't I go to Poppy or Pomona, and ask them?"

"They'll want to know what you're doing with hellebore," Draco said scornfully.

"I figured that part, thanks--" Harry began.

"--as it's hardly a secret that you're a complete incompetent when it comes to Potions."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're forgetting that my incompetence at Potions isn't quite as absolute as it was before sixth year." He gave Snape a grim smile. "Thanks to you."

Snape's lips compressed into a thin line. "How considerate of you to bring that up. What a clever way of making our working relationship that much more pleasant."

"As clever as calling me an incompetent with every other breath?"

"Why don't I just do this?" said Draco, stepping closer and reaching for the hellebore.

"No," said Harry and Snape at the same time.

"You've already been in one potions accident today, Draco," said Harry. "Just sit down."

"I know at least as much as you!"

"Even when you are not suffering from memory loss, there are a great many things about potions you remain ignorant of," said Snape.

Draco blinked at Snape's tone. "I'm a Potions professor, aren't I? Obviously I must know something."

"And you're here being treated for a potions accident," said Harry impatiently, "because you obviously didn't know as much as you thought you did." He picked a single leaf, gave it a sniff, then very pointedly picked up the silver knife. "Like this?"

"If you crush the leaves like that, Draco will likely begin to remember things that have never happened," said Snape. "Dolt," he muttered under his breath.

"So I'll ask again," said Harry, putting down his knife. "Would you rather I go to Poppy with this?"

"Maybe we should," Draco said to Snape. "Potter is a complete incompetent. He only succeeded in convincing Slughorn otherwise because he had your book to cheat with." He glared at Harry, with a 'so there' expression on his face.

Harry suppressed a smile. "You told me that you knew about me using Snape's Potions book several months ago," he said, and it was a pleasure watching Draco's face fall. "Besides, as I've got the man himself here, and we all know I can follow his directions, that should be enough, right? Unless he wants to keep treating me like a bloody house-elf."

"I'd rather go to Pomfrey anyway," said Draco angrily.

Harry blew the hair off his forehead. "Don't be stupid."

"Don't call me stupid!"

"He's right," Snape said, looking most put out at those words.

Draco stared at him in shocked indignation, and Snape rolled his eyes. "Not about being stupid--about going to Pomfrey. Your job depends on Potter's discretion and intelligence. A dismal prospect for anyone."

"Almost as dismal as having to work with the two of you. I'm doing you a favor," Harry reminded Draco. "I seem to recall having done quite a few for you over the years. I don't have to be doing this, and I won't continue if you two keep pissing me off."

Snape was looking at him with narrowed eyes, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Draco, though... Draco was an open book. Resentment, distrust, anger, a bit of fear... it was all laid out clearly, and Harry couldn't understand how he could have ever thought that teenage Draco was anything resembling self-possessed.

Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself. Bringing up the fact that he'd helped Draco, throwing it in his face. Threatening to leave him high and dry, which he had no intention of doing. It was as though all the progress he and Draco had made over the last year had been wiped away with just a few sneering prods.

He was better than this. Draco might be a scared eighteen-year-old, but Harry certainly wasn't, and he had no business letting himself be irritated into this kind of behavior.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "All right. Now. Can we try to do this civilly? Pretend we're all grown-ups?"

Silence was as good as consent. Once again, he began picking leaves.

Glancing over, Harry was amused to see that Draco had moved closer to the mirror at the end of the room and was surreptitiously examining his older body. Draco frowned, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. That body wasn't anything to be disappointed about.

"Pass inspection?"

Draco jerked in surprise, then amused Harry further by attempting to cover the movement in a quick smoothing of his robes and hair.

"You may not have standards, Potter, but that's no reason for the rest of us to follow suit."

"That's all right. If my body was suddenly four years older, I'd be curious too."

Draco pinched his lips together and seemed for a moment to consider outraged denial, before abandoning the idea and turning to examine himself more openly.

"I'm still taller than you," he finally said.

"Congratulations."

Draco turned away from the mirror, and Harry felt himself flush as Draco's eyes trailed over his body. "You don't look much different, really."

"Is that a surprise?"

"You never know. Some people change so much in four years you can hardly recognize them."

"Yeah, like Dudley." Draco gave him a blank stare. "Oh. You don't remember about Dudley. Right."

"Who's Dudley?" Draco asked.

"Potter's loutish Muggle cousin, Dudley Dursley," said Snape. "With whom he actually maintains an irregular and no doubt thoroughly uninteresting and poorly spelled correspondence."

Harry and Draco gaped at him.

"How do you know that?" Draco asked.

"Because you told me," Snape said.

Harry and Draco exchanged a bewildered glance. "Why would I have talked to you about his cousin?"

"No idea," said Snape dryly. "Potter. Are you planning on asking the potion ingredients to prepare themselves?"

Harry turned back to his task, thinking about Dudley as he worked. He and Draco really had been similar in some ways. Both spoiled brats, both bullies.

Which was why he hadn't been friends with Draco in school, Harry reminded himself. He'd wondered a few times, after they'd started working together and building what had really felt like a genuine camaraderie, how he could have ever loathed Draco as much as he had. It wasn't so hard to remember today.

This Draco, though, was different. An intermediate version, of sorts--still lacking in maturity, but not quite so certain in his opinions as he liked to pretend he was. Harry really hadn't interacted with Draco at all in the months following the war. He wouldn't pretend he would miss this Draco, as he already did his colleague, but he had to admit it was... interesting... getting to meet him.

A moment later, Snape spoke again. "You said that you and Draco are expected to manage a Quidditch practice tonight. Have you made alternative arrangements?"

Harry nodded, and began yet another attempt to crush a leaf with the silver knife. "Ran into Neville. He's going to--"

"Longbottom? What's he doing back here?"

"He never left," Harry said. "He runs the greenhouses and helps teach Herbology. Should be teaching it full-time in about two years."

Draco's mouth fell slightly open.

"Pomona was injured in the war," Snape told him. "Longbottom has been here ever since. Use the flat of the blade to apply uniform pressure."

Harry nodded. "Anyway, I asked him to cancel Quidditch practice for me. Told him I was going to be helping Draco clean up after a Potions accident, but I made it sound like a spill. The lab is closed, by the way, and nobody's going to come looking for us."

"You told him you were helping me? And he believed that?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he did. Unlike you, he still has memories of the last few years. We're friends, I told you."

Draco appeared somewhere between horrified and fascinated by the idea. "What, so we mark essays together, head over to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint..."

"You prefer the Hog's Head," said Harry, deadpan.

"What?!"

Harry ignored him as Snape made an impatient noise. "It's the Three Broomsticks, as a matter of fact, and the two of you are there about once a week."

Draco frowned darkly at this mention of the Three Broomsticks, and Harry realized what Draco's problem must be. Apparently the same realization had occurred to Snape.

"Madam Rosmerta no longer works there. Perhaps I should bring you up to speed, as it will undoubtedly never occur to Potter to do anything but watch you flail about with no idea of what's going on."

"He'll remember once he's been cured--"

"Potter, please attempt to focus on the task at hand. We're relying on your skill at following simple instructions," said Snape heavily. "I've no idea why, but I am less than fully optimistic." He turned to Draco. "Potter has been gracing us with his presence for two very long years. You started teaching here in September. You began socializing with Potter by early November. It is now May. Your Potions classes are going well, with the exception of your seventh-year class, which is infested with Ravenclaws who regularly attempt to push back the boundaries of Potions knowledge and more often than not end up almost blowing up the lab. Potter's excuse for your absence from Quidditch is in fact the most believable of all the scores of pathetic excuses I have been fortunate enough to hear from him since he first arrived at Hogwarts."

"Right, fine, that's lovely," said Draco. "Potter and I are...are best mates. We love each other. I'm sure his friendship fills up the empty spaces in my life and gives my existence meaning. Now that we've established that, can we just get back to work?"

"Excellent idea," said Snape.

We love each other.

All right, now that was stupid, that little thrill he'd just felt, hearing Draco say those words. Even knowing full well they were being spoken by a petulant, sarcastic teenager.

Inwardly shuddering at what Snape--or Draco--would say if they knew, Harry pushed down the inappropriate response and continued with his task. And tried not to notice how Draco made a point of seating himself as far away from Harry as he possibly could. Or how Draco watched him work, an odd expression on his face, whenever he thought Harry wasn't looking.

ooo000ooo

"You're trying to kill me," Draco moaned. "I knew it."

Harry winced in sympathy as Draco finally sat back from the basin. That was more spewing than he'd seen since the week he'd briefly been a regular at the Hog's Head, after he and Ginny had split up. Mesmerizing, too. Like a train wreck that you just couldn't look away from--a multicolored, projectile train wreck, with that uniquely acidic smell.

"You didn't stir it quickly enough," Snape was saying.

"I stirred it as fast as I could. My arm nearly fell off, the bloody spoon was too heavy--"

Draco grimaced and leaned forward again. "The spoon was too heavy?" he muttered into the basin. "That's the most bloody ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life."

This was patently unfair--the spoon Snape had insisted Harry use had been unnaturally heavy--but when Harry opened his mouth to retort, Draco retched again, and Harry couldn't bring himself to argue the point. "It was heavy," he said again to Snape.

Snape's lip curled. "It's a poor craftsman who blames his tools."

"Well since you're the one giving instructions here, I would say that makes me your tool, doesn't it? In which case, who's the poor craftsman here?"

Draco wiped his mouth, disgusted, and Harry vanished the contents of the basin and cast a discreet air freshening charm. Snape had left off glaring and was now staring at the wall across from his portrait, brow furrowed.

"So should we...should we try again?"

"Not a chance," said Draco weakly.

Harry felt another twinge of sympathy but kept his attention on Snape, who was frowning. "Snape?"

"Be quiet. I'm thinking."

"Take your time," said Draco, who was staring at the basin, a miserable expression on his face. Harry extended his arm, intending to pat him on the shoulder, before remembering that a comforting gesture would not be welcomed. He pulled back at the last moment, but Draco caught the movement and looked up suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothing," said Harry, and Draco narrowed his eyes further.

"I don't want you standing so close to me," said Draco. "Go stand over there."

Harry rolled his eyes but took several steps away from Draco. "There. Happy?"

"It's not going to work," said Snape.

"What?"

"I said it is not going to work," Snape repeated. He sounded angry, which was nothing new, but Harry suspected Snape was angry at himself this time, or perhaps at his limitations. "That potion was the only chance we had of purging the effects from Draco's system."

"It seemed like purging was exactly..." Harry cut himself off abruptly, suddenly glad for the distance between himself and Draco. He hadn't seen an expression that vindictive on Draco's face since sixth year. "Right, not funny." He sighed. "Look, you said I didn't stir it right..."

"It doesn't matter," Snape said tightly. "Despite your blunders, I intervened before you did anything too disastrously wrong. The potion you produced should have been...passable. It wouldn't have worked this poorly if it were going to work at all. There were two explanations for Draco's memory loss. One of them I could have done something about. The other..."

For the first time since this whole mess had begun, Harry felt a stab of real fear that this was not just a momentary inconvenience--that this could have permanent and very damaging implications. Draco appeared alarmed as well, until he noticed Harry looking at him and gave a half-hearted sneer before turning back to Snape. "What do you mean?"

"Your symptoms could have been caused by the presence of larkspur in your system. It is a risky and unpredictable ingredient--which is why its use is restricted. But if that were the cause of your symptoms, you would have regained your memory."

"Rather than lost my lunch?" Draco interjected, more than a hint of accusation in his voice.

Harry suspected it was only the seriousness of the topic at hand that prevented Snape from rolling his eyes. "It appears that you had progressed further in brewing the potion than I suspected. I'm afraid it may have acted upon your memory in ways that would be much more difficult to reverse."

"What exactly do you think the potion did to me?" Draco finally asked.

"The potion you were attempting to brew would have gone to the source of your mother's nightmares and--shut the door on them, as it were. If her mind were the manor, perhaps the drawing room and the cellar below it would have been closed off. The rest of her mind would have been left untouched. You appear to have shut the door on the last four years of your life."

"Were the last four years of my life so bad?" Draco asked. "I suppose I must be miserable, working with Potter."

"You are not," said Harry indignantly.

"You told me just two weeks ago that this year has been the happiest of your adult life," Snape said to Draco.

"Well, I can't imagine why," said Draco, glowering weakly at Harry, and Harry didn't have the heart to stay indignant.

"I would rather not speculate on that either," said Snape, casting a dark look at Harry, "or I might just lose my lunch as well. Now as I believe I have mentioned, your potion was misbrewed. Adding blackthorn, which would have restricted the effects of the potion to nightmares only, would have been the final step. You obviously never got that far. The memories you lost have nothing to do with the happiness or unhappiness of recent years and everything to do with the amount of time you were exposed. In another few minutes, you'd likely have forgotten everything you ever knew. As much as it pains me to say it, you are...fortunate Potter happened upon you when he did."

Harry, alarmed over what Snape had just said, ignored the grudging compliment. "You say the memories are lost. But this wasn't an Obliviate--they aren't gone entirely. We'll be able to get them back...won't we?"

"That is yet to be determined," said Snape, and Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. Snape looked at Draco accusingly. "You should have come to me in the first place. Assisting you in brewing this potion would have been far easier than attempting to undo the damage now."

Draco stared at him.

"You said the door is closed," said Harry. "Can't you brew a potion that will open it?"

"You do realize there are no actual doors inside my head, don't you Potter?"

Snape and Harry both ignored him.

"The difficulty is creating a potion that will release the memories Draco is missing, and only those memories. I could perhaps brew a potion that would blast every "door" in his mind off its hinges, cause him to remember, in excruciating detail, every experience of his life. But I doubt that would be helpful. No one could function like that. If given the choice, any sane person would rather lose the ability to remember than the ability to forget."

Harry stared at Snape, thinking of all the things the man must have wanted to forget over the years. For once, Snape looked away first.

"Well, what about...Legilimency?" Harry finally suggested. "Can't we just...go in, find the right door, and open it ourselves?"

"Even assuming you could find this 'door,' Legilimency would merely allow you to look at it. Opening the door would require the ability to change memories rather than simply view them."

Harry thought about Slughorn, whose attempts to modify his own memories had been so badly botched. Of Lockhart, whose memories were gone forever. Of Hermione's parents, whose original memories had still remained, perfectly intact, beneath the false memories she had superimposed over them. Memories could be erased, and they could be hidden, but he'd never heard of a way to successfully change them. He looked at Snape.

"What, you don't have a potion for that either?"

Snape opened his mouth to respond, then paused and closed it again.

"As if I would allow Potter anywhere near my head," said Draco.

Snape turned and looked at Draco speculatively.

"No," said Draco, eyes widening. "No way is that happening."

ooo000ooo

"This is the final ingredient?"

"Yes. You have fifteen minutes to prepare it. When you add it, stir counter-clockwise."

"That's something I've never understood. Why stir counter-clockwise?"

"Because counter-clockwise calls upon the magic of opposition." Snape paused. "Did you never ask yourself any of these questions while you were using my textbook?"

"You might think so, but no, actually." That had been an astonishingly civil exchange. Perhaps the two of them could work together after all.

"The Gryffindor brain. Every bit as useful as a navel on a newt." Or perhaps not. Harry pressed his lips together as Snape continued. "It is incomprehensible to me how Miss Weasley remained besotted with you for as long as she did."

"Why's that?" asked Draco from the corner, where he was poking at the suit of armor, trying to get it to move.

"Miss Weasley had, as I recall, a glimmer of intellect. Rather uncommon in her house or her family."

"And she's not with Potter anymore?" Draco smirked. "What happened? The dream didn't live up to the reality?"

Harry scowled at him. "None of your business."

"Wasn't it supposed to be the predictable end to the fairy tale? Hero gets his girl?"

Harry ignored him and went back to chopping.

"He got his girl," said Snape. "He just didn't know what to do with her once he had her. But then girls aren't what Potter dreams about these days. Are they, Potter?"

Harry slammed the knife down and glared at Snape. "How the hell do you know--"

"I'm a portrait. If you think there are any secrets kept from portraits in this castle, you're deluding yourself."

Harry stared at him. He hadn't kept his attraction to men a secret, exactly, but he hadn't wanted to advertise it either. No help for it now, though. If the portraits knew, it was only a matter of time before it ended up in the Daily Prophet. "I liked you much better when you were a book," he finally muttered.

"You never liked me."

"I did, actually," said Harry tightly. "I thought of you as a friend. A mentor. When you were the Prince."

Snape stared at him. Once again, Harry had no idea what the man was thinking. And wonderful, Draco was staring at him too.

Right. Because Harry had just admitted to being gay. Marvelous.

He'd never been certain of Draco's preferences, never known how the adult Draco would have responded to Harry's own preferences being confirmed so directly, and he had no idea what to expect from this teenager. But if Draco was going to have a problem with it, Harry really wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

"What?"

Draco actually appeared flustered. "Nothing. I mean..." He straightened his back. "I'd wondered why you didn't bother to answer my mother's owls. Turns out you were too busy having a sexual crisis to acknowledge someone who saved your life."

"Yes, and you're the expert on life debts and proper demonstrations of gratitude, is that right?"

Bright spots of pink appeared on both of Draco's cheeks, and he pressed his lips together tightly.

Harry sighed. "Look, Draco. I was busy during the first weeks after the war. But I've done plenty for your mother since. Getting you this job here, for one. If you had your memory, you'd know that." Of course, if Draco had his memory, they wouldn't be having this argument. They'd be laughing together over their drinks, as Draco made witty observations about the performance of the Quidditch teams, and Harry struggled not to be too obvious about watching Draco's fingers as he traced patterns in the condensation on his glass.

And he wouldn't have that Draco back, ever, unless he got this potion right. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his knife and returned to chopping roots.

Draco, however, didn't appear nearly as ready to drop the subject. "So we're friends, is that right?" Draco said, his voice taking on a derisive, mocking quality as he lingered over the word 'friends.' "Tell each other everything? Did you tell me about this? Did I know you liked men?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Can we just drop the subject?"

"No, I don't think we can. Tell me, did you make your intentions clear when you convinced me to socialize with you every week?"

"God, Malfoy, I don't have any-- We're not-- And you were the one who asked me that first time." He shook his head. "You know what? We're not talking about this. In fact, let's just not talk at all."

"That," said Snape, "is the most intelligent suggestion I have ever heard you make. If I have to listen to you prattle on for another minute, my ears will begin to bleed."

"Yes, because you're not interested in what I might have to say, only what you might be able to learn by spying on me."

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, I do have better ways to occupy my time than to lurk in the landscape in your bedroom hoping to overhear something interesting."

Harry froze. "How do you know there's a landscape in my bedroom?"

"I didn't say that every portrait in this castle has better things to do. I do speak with other portraits on occasion."

Harry felt his face flushing. That painting was coming down tonight. And the still life in the sitting room, too. He glanced at Draco, fully expecting another mocking comment, but Draco's attention, he was relieved to see, was focused on Snape.

"Why did you ask to move out of the Heroes' Hall?" Draco asked.

Snape gave him a look of disbelief. "Do you know who's in the Heroes' Hall?"

"No, but I can imagine."

There was a brief moment of silence before Snape realized that Draco was waiting for him to continue. He made an impatient gesture. "Colin Creevey flashes that ridiculous camera of his incessantly, and chatters inanely, also incessantly. Fred Weasley flirts with every female portrait in that wing of the castle, including the singing nuns around the corner, and can be counted on to draw a fake nose and moustache on any portrait foolish enough to fall asleep near him. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks spend most of their time behaving like a pair of hormonal adolescents, to the point of nausea, and Sirius Black either sulks and looks jealous, or joins Weasley and his nuns. Dobby's voice is like nails on a chalkboard and his favourite topic is Harry Potter." His mouth twisted into a sneer. "Even a portrait's patience has limits."

"My patience has limits too," Harry said, with a dark look at Snape.

"Then you had better hope you've prepared the heather roots correctly. Time is almost up."

"Just finished, actually. Do they pass inspection?" Harry asked, with a sarcastic, sweeping gesture at the chopped roots.

"They'd better," said Draco. "If you make me vomit again, I'm using your shoes instead of the basin."

"As entertaining as that might be," said Snape, "the roots appear perfectly adequate. When you add them, don't forget to--"

"Stir counter-clock-wise, yes, I know," said Harry, as he added the roots to the cauldron. The three of them remained silent as Harry stirred, and they all watched for the anticipated shift in color.

"It's blue," Draco finally said. "But is that the right shade? I don't think it is. I'm not drinking that."

"It's exactly the right shade." Harry ladled up a dose. "Cerulean blue. Isn't that cerulean?" Harry asked Snape.

"It is cerulean, yes," said Snape.

Harry offered the glass to Draco, who just stared at Harry, eyes narrowed. Feeling the edges of exhaustion, and now running into yet another obstacle on this most trying of days, Harry found himself suddenly pushed to his limits. "Fine, then," he said, slamming the glass onto the table in front of Draco. "We know you need to take this potion within the next twenty minutes or it will be rendered ineffective, and I just spent the last four hours preparing it, but that's all right. I'm sure sitting around and staring at it will do just as well. Then you and I can get back to our beds, sleep for a whole...five and a half hours, and then you can get up and teach Potions. How does that sound?"

"I understand your concerns, Draco," said Snape, with a withering glance at Harry. "Believe me, I understand. But Potter has done an...admirable job preparing this potion." Harry stared at Snape, who was now refusing to look at him.

"The potion is safe," Snape continued. "You must take it."

"I don't want to," said Draco, sounding much the same as he had in the corridor several hours ago--lost, confused, and distrustful. And very young.

"We've been over this, Draco," said Snape. "If you do not restore your memories tonight, you run every risk of losing your job, your respectability, everything you've worked for these last years."

"Yes, you've explained that all to me. It's just, now that it comes down to it, I'm finding the idea of turning my head into a Pensieve for Potter to play around in to be the less desirable of the two options."

Harry sighed, already regretting his earlier outburst. "Draco," he said, and Draco tensed further, glaring defiantly at Harry. But Harry could see the nervousness in his eyes. "I can do this. Trust me."

Draco finally looked down. "Why are you doing this? Why do you care?"

"As strange as this may sound, I've come to like you. You git."

A muscle near Draco's jaw twitched, and he ran a hand abruptly through his hair. "And two months ago? I mean...four years...you know when I mean. Don't try to tell me you liked me then."

"I won't try to tell you that," Harry said. "But I've never regretted it. In fact, I've had nightmares before about...about not getting to you in time."

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Well, I'm not going to thank you."

Harry couldn't help smiling at that. "You already did--several months ago. Better drink that potion, or you'll never remember it."

"As if that's any motivation," Draco muttered, sinking into a chair and staring at the glass in front of him.

"If you focus properly on the appropriate memory," said Snape, "there is no need for Potter to see any others."

Draco stared at Snape for a moment, then closed his eyes and appeared to be concentrating as if his life depended on it. Grimacing, he grabbed up the glass and swallowed the potion.

For a moment, Harry was afraid they were going to need the basin again after all, as Draco leaned forward, groaning softly and shoving the emptied glass away from him. But then he sat back, took several deep breaths, and his face went slack. He appeared to be sleeping, except that his eyes were still open. It was disturbing.

"Is he..."

"He's fine, yes," said Snape. "His eyes need to be open for Legilimency to take effect. You'll need--"

"Eye contact, right."

"Do not interrupt me," Snape said angrily. "I told Draco you could be trusted not to damage him, that this was the most advisable course of action. You will not make me regret that decision. If you do, I promise you, portrait or not, I will make you regret your very birth."

"I'm not going to damage him, Snape, for fuck's sake. I care more about him than you do."

"Do you? And what makes you think that is in your favor? It's your emotional, reckless impulsiveness that is most likely to cause problems here. This should be a simple task--if you can maintain your focus on remaining invisible. If you can avoid being influenced by anything you might see. If you can remember to find the appropriate memory, remove the blockage that is preventing access to his more recent memories, and get out before you--"

"I thought you said that if he focused on that memory, it would take me straight there?"

"And I thought I told you not to interrupt me. Yes, if his focus was perfect when he took the potion, that is the first memory you will see. If his focus was not perfect, you may find yourself in a related, but different memory. It is vital that you remember enough of what he told us to recognize his last memory. Do you remember?"

"Lucius, two months after the war, spouting off about obtaining Ministry positions within three years. Yes, I remember."

"Do you remember what room he said they were in? Do you remember what glasses he said they were drinking from?"

"Yes, yes, I remember all that. But once I get there. When I need to free up those other memories. Will there...actually be a door?"

Snape frowned at him. Harry was used to this, but he got the impression Snape was actually considering Harry's question.

"If you are really that literal-minded, perhaps there will be."

"What do you mean?"

"I have already explained to you the degree of defenselessness this potion will have placed him in. You can act upon his memories, change them at will. It is your intention to free the memories that renders whatever action you take meaningful. If, to your mind, that action is opening a door, then opening a door will likely work. Just make certain you are opening the correct door."

"Right," said Harry, crossing the room to Draco and kneeling on the floor in front of him. "I think we've covered that."

"Which is why it is vital," Snape continued, "that you maintain your focus on remaining unseen. Although the memories should feel and appear much like Pensieve memories, you can interact with them if you so choose, permanently inserting yourself into whatever memory you take it into your head to damage."

"You've told me that already too. If you don't have anything new to add, we're just wasting time."

Brushing Draco's hair back from his eyes, Harry leaned forward and gazed into them intently.

"Legilimens."