I was up until nearly five this morning tying to finish this story before I lost the idea to it. I do hope you all enjoy it.

BTW, today is my 17th b-day, I'm finally of age in the land of Harry Potter!

Shards

It was finally over. The war that he had been born to fight. It was finally over.

Silence fell over the Hall. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He remained frozen in place. His adversary had finally fallen.

All at once, a wave of sound, movement, and feelings washed through the room. But for some unknown reason, he felt strangely empty. What now? What was he to do now? The wands he held- his war prizes- slipped from clammy fingers. Pain rushed through him and a heart-wrenching scream escaped his cracked lips. The scar that marked his destiny burned with a new ferocity. Shaking hands clenched his hair and pulled it from his scalp. Darkness swirled around him and he collapsed into its welcoming embrace.

::

"Harry, are you sure about this?" Hermione asked. "Ron and I really wouldn't mind if you stayed with us for a while. Just until-" she never finished the sentence, but Harry knew how it would have ended: Just until you feel better. Just until things are back to normal. Just until your memories come back.

Harry had been told that Hermione was one of his best friends. She, him, and the other boy Ron had been a part of what had been called the Golden Trio. Apparently the three of them had been inseparable since they were eleven and Ron and Hermione had helped him on his quest to win a war. He didn't remember any of this. His only memories were of darkness and screams that must have been his own.

In the month since the war he didn't remember fighting had ended people had tried futilely to help him regain his memories. Apparently he was a hero from the time he was a baby. Apparently he was brave and noble, his girlfriend was Ron's sister Ginny, he had no parents nor any real family, he was brilliant at Quidditch and DADA, and he was an icon of hope and salvation. He'd been shown pictures, told stories, been under the influence of potions and hypnosis, and still he did not know who this Harry Potter person he was supposed to be truly was.

"I'll be fine, Hermione." He tried to sound reassuring, but he wondered how obviously strained the attempt was. Regardless of what had been told to him, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of Hermione being one of his closest friends. The girl came off as too much of a know-it-all and was bit overbearing at times. She seemed nice enough and most of the time her heart was in the right place, but it still took a concentrated effort for Harry to look pass his initial annoyance of her and try to like her.

It was pretty much the same with supposed other best friend, Ron Weasley. Ron seemed like a nice guy, but he was loud, shallow, and lacked severe amounts of intelligence. Plus the red hair and freckles were laugh worthy. But still, apparently Harry had spent a great deal of his life in the company of said redhead, so he tried finding depth beneath the surface and discovering the friend he once had. But the way Ron repeatedly implied that Harry should hook up with his sister Ginny made that increasingly difficult. Ginny seemed like a sweet enough girl, but the thought of being with her more intimately than casual acquaintances made him hesitate- if not all out shudder. But then again, in the past month the thought of being with any female intimately made him shudder. He had briefly considered asking Hermione if he had been gay before he lost him memories, but then thought the better of it.

"I supposed you'd have to strike out on your own at some point, but you know I worry. I suppose staying here at Grimmauld may be of some help. A lot happened in this house, maybe being here will pull up a memory or two." Hermione was always hoping something would pull up a memory or two, but so far nothing had.

If Harry was to be completely honest, he did have more memories than he admitted to. He had little shards of memories that didn't quite make a whole picture, but were a start: shining silver eyes, a superior sounding drawling voice, smooth hoary skin, and a slightly insulting laugh. He had initially thought to share these recollections with Ron and Hermione, but immediately after that thought something screamed for him not to. These were his private memories. Ron and Hermione had no right to know of them.

"Yeah, maybe." Harry smiled halfheartedly and walked through the house that was to be his home. He had been told that his late godfather Sirius Black had willed the house to him. At the sound of the name, he'd been filled with a wave of longing and depression. He told Hermione this and she informed him the longing was most likely because of the fact he'd so desperately wanted to live with Sirius and the depression was the last remnants of guilt over Sirius' death. After being told the story of what had happened in the Department of Mysteries, Harry hadn't felt any guilt over his godfather's death at all. To him it seemed that if Sirius put himself at risk and threw himself in the middle of action to protect Harry, than he would have died happy knowing that his godson would be living even for a little while longer.

"Well, Harry, I have to run," Hermione said after they wandered the house for a while. "I would really have like to stay and help you get settled in, but I have a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall about the upcoming Hogwarts term. She wants to speak about what she should plan for with us coming back to repeat our Seventh Year. I told her to expect you there, if that's ok. Well, see you later, Harry. I'll firecall you later to see how you're doing. Ron and Ginny should be popping in a little later as well."

Harry watched silently as Hermione Floo'd out, before turning to his now empty house and wondering what he should do now.

::

Hermione had this theory about what happened to cause Harry to lose his memories. She said that his whole life had been building up to the moment he would defeat the Dark Lord and after the task was complete he was unable to cope with the loss of his purpose in life. She said his mind was put under the pressure of the loss until it finally shattered and left him with nothing. Nothing but the little shards of memory that he held secretly in his heart.

Harry had his own theory. To him it seemed that his former life was one battle after another and one betrayal after another as well. Maybe after his role as the puppet was complete his mind thought it better to forget the past in order for him to have a future. Or maybe something big happened during those last moments of the war that his mind thought the best defense against was to forget entirely. Whatever the reason, Harry knew there was a reason for his mind to chose to forget. There were factors in play that had started his life over for a purpose.

Harry had his hesitations about the information Ron and Hermione were feeding him. They kept trying to fill him with things that would shape them into being their Harry. The Harry they thought he should be, not the Harry he truly was. Ask them and he could do no wrong. He walked on water and healed the blind. They never fought. There was nothing about him they didn't like. He was a perfect person. Intelligent, brave, noble, chivalrous, and just he best friend a person could ask for. Bullshit and he knew it.

He knew he wasn't perfect. He could feel his faults hovering just beneath the surface of his forgotten life. He couldn't remember what those faults were, but he knew he had them. Everyone did.

His stay at Grimmauld Place had brought him no new memories, so now Hermione was hoping being back at Hogwarts would since apparently the castle was the first place he considered home. Harry wasn't sure, but there was something there. A memory waiting to resurface, pushing the edge, and ready to emerge.

It had started on the train where Ron and some people who claimed to be friends of his talked about 'Bloody Slytherin Prats'. The words had sounded familiar to his ears. He knew they must have been important in his past life to the Harry he used to be but doubted he would ever be again. Ron had said about someone named Malfoy and it had brought to the front of his mind the images of silver eyes filled with mischief and thin lips pulled into a superior-than-thou smirk. He was used to these memories; they were part of the shards he already knew. But a new shard also came with them: a pale slender hand extended in friendship, only to be pulled away in rejection. This memory felt at home with the other shards of recollection he retained and he kept it to himself.

The next shard was not a shard at all, but an almost complete memory. It came during the welcome feast as he watched a large group of frightened children sit under the Sorting Hat and be welcomed to their Houses. As he saw a young boy with a mess of dark brown hair who looked even more frightened than the rest, his mind super-imposed the image with one of a too thin eleven year old with a nest of black hair and his mother's emerald eyes sitting on that same stool whispering fervently 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin'. He heard a voice saying that Slytherin would do him good. But still the black haired boy plead anywhere but Slytherin. Harry knew he was remembering himself being Sorted all those years ago.

This memory was immediately overshadowed by another shard of his ever-growing image of silver eyes and hoary skin. This time he recalled hair such a pale blond one could swear it was spun from pure silver, high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and a slender neck draped with a Gryffindor tie. The aforementioned aristocratic nose wrinkled in dislike, as elegant fingers removed the Gryffindor tie and replaced it with a Slytherin one that looked more at home against the milky white skin.

"Harry, are you ok?" Hermione asked when she realized he hadn't clapped when the frightened brown haired boy had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Harry decided he should give Hermione something to be excited over. "I remember my own Sorting," he told her softly.

"Really, Harry?" He nodded. "That's wonderful!" she declared loudly before pouncing a hug onto him. "That's great. I knew being back at Hogwarts would help. This is a great start."

"What's going on?" Ron asked and Hermione was eager to share the good news. "That's great, mate," Ron said. "You'll be back to yourself in no time." Harry could only force a smile and play along in their excitement.

::

It was the first day of classes when Harry saw the boy who held the key to his fragmented memories. Harry's body knew its way around the school even if his mind didn't consciously know it. He had set out early from his dorm in an attempt to avoid Ron and Hermione and had breakfast in the kitchens instead of the Great Hall. He'd spoken with the Headmistress the previous night and had talked her into giving him his schedule early- not a hard feat since everyone seemed so eager to please the Great Harry Potter.

He made his way to the Charms classroom early and without getting lost once. He was having a light conversation with Professor Flitwick about inane things, when the door open and in walked the person who brought his shards of memory to near perfect clarity. Spun silver hair, stardust eyes, alabaster skin, refined features, a tall lithe frame that carried itself with poise and decorum, an air about him that all but screamed 'bow to me'; Harry knew this boy. He knew him better than anyone else. And something deep inside told him that this boy knew him on levels even Ron and Hermione did not.

A single word rose in his mind, ringing like bells in his head, and slipped unheeded from his lips as soft as an angel's song. "Draco." The name rolling so effortlessly off his tongue felt so right to him and accompanied with the mercury eyed stare that rested on him, his little shards of memory fitted themselves together and formed a perfect image of what they- he and this boy, this Draco, his Draco- used to be.

He recalled public displays of hatred and scorn, only to be followed by late nights spent with the exact opposite emotions and basking in each other's presence. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to love this boy. To hold him in his arms and never let him go. To call him every profanity under the sky and kiss away the retaliating remarks before they could be made. He wanted to taunt and tease the boy, while showing just how deeply he loved him. That was the kind of relationship they had. They could get under each other's skin like no other. They were connected by a certain intimacy unique to them. They were like children on the playground pulling pigtails to hide a crush.

"Harry." His name coming from those sinful lips brought to mind long intimate conversations, late night chats, friendly banter, whispered affections, gentle understandings, twisted logic, and promises of-

"If I forget everything up until now, would I disappear?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I said. If I had no recollections of anything: not my childhood, not my time at Hogwarts, not my destiny, not any of this. If I forgot everything that essentially shaped me into who I am today- would I still be me. And if not, who will I be?"

A pause... and then, "No, you wouldn't be you. Your whole personality- the entirety of your very being- is within your memories. Without them, you are only who others tell you to be. I could wipe clean all your memories and then tell you that you are an evil murderer with no conscience and that is who you will become, because that's all you'll have to shape who you are. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to forget it all and start over anew. I mean, once this war is all over there will be no need for the person I am now. There will no need for a foolhardy hero willing to sacrifice himself for a cause he was forced into. I could just forget it all and reshape myself into a completely different person. Sometimes I think that is what I'd like to happen."

"But if you forget everything, you'd forget me as well."

"I'd like to think that what we have transcends the superficial confines of memory. We have something much deeper than that. But it's really just and idea."

Silence. "If I could- if I could give you this. If I could offer you a way to forget it all, do you promise that you will come back to me, even if you don't remember why you should? I mean, this could be the ultimate test of the First Promise. If we had truly kept that Promise, even without your memories there would be something pulling you to me. If I can offer you a way to forget it all and start anew, would you promise me that even if you only have the smallest inclination to do so, you will come back to me."

"This could be the ultimate test of the First Promise for me, but how does it test you?"

"My test is would be braving letting you go and waiting whatever amount of time for you to come back and always trusting that you eventually will."

There was complete silence where all Harry and Draco did was stare at each other. Other students were starting to enter the classroom now and the friends Draco had come with were looking at them curiously. Harry pulled one corner of his lips up into a semi-smile. Draco raised one eyebrow at this. Harry wanted to bound across the room and pull Draco into a deep kiss that portrayed all the emotions he was feeling at the moment, but he couldn't do that. Instead he settled for one of their secret sayings. "I'll always catch the snitch before you."

The wave of emotion that washed through Draco's eyes at that moment was enough to make Harry's heart skip a beat. Draco schooled his features into his usual smirk and pushed passed Harry on his way to his seat. "Only because I like seeing you come before me." He said in a low tone no one else could hear.

Harry could only smile as he took his seat.

"Harry, what was that about?" Hermione asked.

"I remember playing Quidditch with him," Harry lied. Well not completely lied, he did remember playing Quidditch with Malfoy, but he remembered doing so many other things with Draco as well.

"The Ferret isn't something I'd like to remember, but at least you're getting your memories back," Ron said taking a seat of Harry's other side.

"It's a start, Ron," Hermione chastised. "We'll have our Harry back in no time."

Harry forced himself from voicing his thoughts on how he'd never be their Harry and how he'd only be Harry and Draco's Harry- for the last two were the same person and completely different from the first.

::

The Room of Requirement was done up in shades of silver, ice blue, and white. The scene was as familiar to Harry as his own name. A snow-white loveseat set before a fireplace with an ice blue fleece throw hanging over the back. A silver framed glass coffee table set before it. A queen size canopy bed with sheer curtains set in a back corner draped in a white comforter threaded through with strands of silver and blue. The walls of the room were all white and stretched up to support a dome ceiling made completely of glass that always showed a midnight sky covered in stars no matter what time of day it was.

This was his and Draco's room. They spent hours together in this room, because there was no other place where they could safely and truly be together. Harry could remember the first time they had required this room. Harry had fallen in love with the color scheme because there was something uniquely Draco about it. Draco had laughed at Harry's "princess" bed. Both of them had fawned over the midnight ceiling. They knew from the first time that this would always be the room they used and had spent the night christening every flat surface within it. Sometimes they made small changes to it, like adding a desk to study, and they never seemed able to decide between hardwood flooring or carpeting so they alternated it with each visit.

At this moment, Harry stood barefoot on hardwood floors, wearing only white satin pajama bottoms, arms spread wide, head tilted back, with eyes wide open to see the ceiling, as he spun in circles. He felt alive, invigorated, thrumming with life. He hadn't felt this way since he had regained consciousness and first realized his memories were gone. He could fill Draco's silver eyes watching him from the loveseat as he spun like a fool, but Harry didn't care. Those eyes were what filled him with such vibrant energy in the first place. He didn't care if the rest of his memories never came back. All he needed was those eyes on him and the boy they belonged to holding him.

"You're going to make yourself dizzy," Draco said getting to his feet at striding towards Harry. Harry stopped spinning and let Draco wind his arms around his waist from his behind. He leaned against Draco's solid form and hummed in contentment. This was where he belonged. In these arms, pressed against Draco's hard chest, with Draco's chin resting on his shoulder and his breath tickling his ear. "Come to bed." Harry hummed consent and allowed Draco to pull him over to the bed.

Falling onto the bed was like falling into thin air. The fluffy down comforter cradled him in such away he could easily forget he was laying on anything. Draco fell on top of him and Harry smiled at the familiar weight. He could forget the very day he was born, so long as he never forgot how it felt having Draco on top of him, hovering over him, pressing him down, and making him feel completely at home.

The kiss Draco placed on his lips was slow and sweet. His tongue expertly mapped out the territory of Harry's mouth and the gentle ministrations were filled with such love and longing it made Harry's heart ache. "I thought- I thought I'd have to wait forever," Draco said once he broke off the kiss to breathe. "I was content to wait forever- I knew you would eventually come back- but it hurt so much."

Harry had to wonder who drew the short end of the stick in this that was to be the ultimate test. For four months, Harry had felt an emptiness he didn't understand and all he had was little shards of memories to try to fill them. The emptiness hurt, but he didn't know what he was missing and probably could have fooled himself to ignore it for the rest of his life. It would have always been there, gnawing at him, but he could have moved on. Draco on the other hand and felt the same emptiness for the same amount of time, but he knew what it would take to fill the void. He just wasn't able to have it until it came to him of its own accord.

Which was worst: knowing you're missing something but not knowing what that something is, or knowing you're missing something, knowing what that something is, but not being able to have it?

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. Then Draco was kissing him again long and deep, putting all the ache he'd felt in the past four months into the action and quite literally stealing Harry's breath away.

"I want you so much," Draco panted.

"Have me then." And he did. Gentle preparations turned into deep yet gentle thrusts that filled Harry with such love and happiness he thought he would explode. Every movement Draco made inside of him told Harry the depth of their emotions. Only they could understand each other so intimately. Only they could tear each other apart with a single word and build each other back up with a single smile. Only Draco could hold him like this. Only Draco could own him. Only Draco had right to try to shape him. He was Draco's mind, body, heart, and soul.

Only Draco was worth remembering.

Draco and the First Promise.

"We've spent too much time hurting each other, because we're too much the stubborn arses to admit how much we need each other.."

"It's time for a change. Let's make a promise."

"A promise never to hurt each other again?"

"No. Something like that is shallow and easily broken. Let's promise something more. Something deeper."

"Let's fall in love. Let's promise that we'll fall in love."

"Sounds good to me. We're going to fall in love, I promise."

"I promise, we're going to fall in love."

The magic that bound these words was lost to the two boys as they sealed their promise with a kiss.

We're Going to Fall in Love