Author's Note: Holy crap guys, I'm so sorry. Honestly. I've always hated when authors would take forever to update and now I'm doing the same thing. I hope that this chapter makes up for my horribleness! Also, I highly recommend that you re-read the last chapter before reading this one (I've changed a few things, it may or may not be important for you to know them). I might even recommend you reread the entire thing, because some of the memories are dialogue-specific. Although I did try to make it apparent which memory it was. LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH OK. x

*As for the memories, to clear up any uncertainty – when 'Memory-Draco' is referred to, it is the Draco inside of the memories. When it is just 'Draco', then it is the Draco that is watching the memories. Hope that isn't too confusing!

Chapter 18

Harry stared at the map, frowning. Turned it this way. Turned it that way. This had to be wrong. The area that he'd been staring at for the past hour had remained exactly the same for the entire time. It was bloody infuriating. But why?

"Merlin, Harry," Neville plopped down next to him on the bed. "You've been ogling that thing for a really long time now. What's so interesting?"

Harry didn't take his eyes away from the map. "I just… I mean, it's probably nothing, but Draco's been pacing around the dungeons for a while now, and not the part of the dungeons that the Slytherin common room is located in. I mean, I would know, I've been there. Isn't that strange? It's probably nothing though," he repeated.

Neville let out a bellowing laugh. "Honestly, mate," he reached forward and patted Harry's knee. "He's a Slytherin. It's not particularly strange for him to wander around his own territory. And besides, what could he possibly get up to that would be so bad?"

Harry bit his lip. "I don't know. I just don't want him to do anything rash or stupid that would get him in trouble, or worse... hurt."

"Calm down, he's a big boy. And anyways, I'm pretty sure the 'rash and stupid' card is your thing, not his… No offence," Neville said quickly.

Harry's smile was bitter. "You'd be surprised how alike we are."

Neville pursed his lips and leaned back, plucking the map from Harry's fingers and setting it aside. Harry started to protest, but Neville stopped him. "If you're so concerned about him, Harry, why don't you go talk to him? You obviously know where he is."

"What? You know I can't." Harry looked down at his hands. Neville took one of them and squeezed it.

"And why can't you?"

"Well, Snape said…"

Neville snorted. "Since when have you ever given a damn—excuse my language—what Snape says? No, that's not the problem. How about a different question, hm? Why are you holding yourself back?"

Harry frowned. "Listen, Nev, I know you care about me and all, but I can't go and fuck everything up for Draco over the fact that I'm concerned about what he's been doing in the dungeons for an hour. It's just not fair. He's got a right to do whatever he wants down there, you said so yourself."

"Bollocks. It's so much more than that, and you know it."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to admit it, but Neville had a point. He was holding himself back. And he might keep telling himself that it was because of Snape, or because he was protecting Draco, but honestly, that wasn't completely it. Because if he were to be truly honest, he'd have to admit that maybe he was protecting himself, just a little bit. From getting hurt again. He didn't think he could take it if Draco rejected him now.

Neville seemed to see right through him. "You know, he's never going to come back if you just sit here and wallow in your own suffering. And he's not going to know to come back, since all you've done is stalk him on the map—and I know that's all you've done, don't try to lie to me, Harry Potter... He'd be yours again in a snap if you'd just try."

Harry shook his head. "You don't know that. And who says that I want him to come back? Maybe it's better that he moves on."

"You're lying to yourself. You've got to open your eyes, mate. Then maybe you'd see that everything you love about him is still in there; it never left. I promise. It's just going to be a little harder to find this time around."

Harry tried to take a deep breath, but there was a lump in his throat. "How did you know?"

"You've always loved him," Neville rolled his eyes. "But you never tried, never bothered to do anything about it before. And it took a near-death experience and severe memory loss for you to actually do it. But honestly, Harry, why make the same mistake again? Maybe I don't know, but I know that you do, to some extent. If you give up on him now, you'll never figure it all out."

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then he reached up and ruffled the top of Neville's head, the way he used to when they were a lot younger and infinitely more naïve. Or at least, when Neville was.

"When did you get so insightful?" he asked softly.

"When I realised that I can't always let you be your own hero," Neville answered, with typical gentleness. "Especially when you're the one who needs to be saved this time."

Harry leaned over and hugged his friend tightly, and Neville hugged him back because he surely knew that he needed it.

"Wise as Merlin himself," Harry teased.

"Wiser," Neville corrected, and Harry laughed.

He loved Ron and Hermione, but sometimes it was nice to get advice from somebody who wasn't disinclined to tell him the harsh truth. Now that he had both sides of the advice spectrum, the decision was entirely up to Harry.

~x~

"But why not?" Draco demanded; his arms folded across his chest in defiance.

Snape rubbed his forehead tiredly. "I told you, Draco. I am not going to let you use the Pensieve if you refuse to explain why you wish to use it. It is not a difficult task to grant."

Draco scowled. It is if I'm blatantly disobeying your orders, he countered silently. Merlin, this was going to be a lot harder than he'd expected. He'd gone to see Snape as soon as he possibly could, but then he realised that he had no idea what he would tell the man. If Draco confessed that he'd gotten a vial from an anonymous person about his past, the most he'd receive would probably be a lecture, and then Snape would take it away for sure, and with that, all of his hopes for remembering. He had had to think quickly, and attempting to be clever, Draco tried to play it off as a school assignment. But the professor clearly wasn't buying it.

"I am simply asking for your permission to get an education, sir," Draco pleaded sarcastically. "You wouldn't want me to fail, would you?"

"Of course not. I am simply asking for details."

Now Draco wanted to rub his own temples, though in frustration. "Never mind," he muttered, turning to leave. He'd find a way to get into Snape's quarters on his own, although he might need to get some extra assistance on that one (perhaps Pansy?). He wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, after all.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape called out.

Draco paused. "What?"

Snape smirked, as if reading his mind. "Don't even think about it."

Draco scowled again. Damn it. He walked away more briskly now, not really quite sure where he'd go. He'd spent almost an hour (or maybe more?) arguing with Snape, basically wasting away his whole afternoon. "Loads of success that got me," he announced out loud. Nobody heard him, or perhaps paid any attention to him. But he suspected the first option because one did not just ignore Draco Malfoy, especially when he was mumbling to himself in the middle of the corridor.

Draco shook his head and reluctantly headed towards the library, not knowing where else to go. The evening was still young, but he didn't feel like participating in any frivolities tonight; anyways it would be futile to do so, since he was essentially branded an outcast in his own House. He shook his head again. Traitors. Not that he really cared all that much. Who needed friends anyway?

Once he arrived at his destination, he went straight towards the back tables, hidden by the bookshelves, by some kind of internal instinct. This was odd, since Draco normally liked to sit at the front of the library where everybody could see him and how superiorly intelligent he was, but then again, that was before. He shrugged. Maybe that wasn't how he did things for the past year. How should he know?

Sighing, he sat down at the furthest one, pulling out a small parchment from his bag and smoothing it out on the table in front of him. It was the note that had been attached to the vial. Hmm. He read it again and again, analysing every word in attempt to figure out whom it was from and why they would send it. So far, he'd gotten nothing; except for that the person was clearly unwilling to share their identity, due to the ambiguity and obvious failure to leave a name. Perhaps they were not close to him? Another interesting factor was the use of the word 'we', with what he figured it was possible there was more than one person involved. Curious.

He took out the vial now, studying it closely before popping open the cap and peering inside. Swirls of blue and silver met his eyes, and he frowned. They were memories, yes, that much was discernible. But some were different shades of blue, lighter, and some strands were thinner than others. So they were mixed memories, Draco inferred. Now he was certain that there was more than one person in this game, because the memories had to be from at least—he peeked at it again—four or five different people. Perhaps more. But why? And who?

Before Draco could stress about it more, there was a rustle from the side of a bookshelf and he immediately glanced up, startled. Then he rolled his eyes. Lo and behold, there was Potter with his back to Draco, his bag having brushed against the bookshelf by mistake. It looked as if he had been trying to escape unnoticed. Draco almost snorted. Nice job, as per usual.

"Honestly, Potter. If you wanted to sit in this area, don't let me stop you," he snapped. "I was just leaving, anyways."

Potter turned his head a little, and slowly the rest of his body followed. He looked puzzled. "Why are you even back here anyways?" he asked. "Don't you usually sit closer to the door?"

"Gee, I didn't realise you paid such close attention to lowly little me. That's so sweet, really. I could hurl. But perhaps I wanted a change for once, you know what I mean?"

Potter frowned as if he were about to say something in retaliation, but then his gaze flicked down towards the parchment and vial in front of Draco and he was silenced. Shit. Draco had forgotten about them there. He tried to hide it with his hands, but Potter had already seen what they were. His frown grew deeper.

"What's that?"

"None of your damn business."

Potter shook his head, as if reminding himself that right, it wasn't any of his damn business. "Whatever."

Draco shoved the vial and the parchment in his bag then stood up abruptly, the noise causing Potter to jump a little. He smirked. "Well, aren't you going to sit down? Or do you have something else to say?"

Potter opened his mouth a bit, and then closed it. And opened it again. Closed it. It reminded Draco of a fish. Finally, Potter spoke. "Malfoy, I…"

"Draco!"

Both Draco and Potter turned around to find Blaise leaning against a bookshelf, a playful smirk on his face. "Not trying to hit on my man, are you?" he asked, throwing an arm over Potter's shoulder.

Draco tensed. Gods, how he hated that. And how he hated that he hated that. He grit his teeth, attempting to maintain a pleasant expression. "No, quite the opposite, in fact. I'm about to head out."

Blaise raised his eyebrows; his plastered smile rather catlike. "Right then, you should be on your way. Potter and I have some… studying to do."

Draco rolled his eyes, and he couldn't help but notice Potter doing the same, although he was trying to be discreet about it. Why would Potter be unimpressed by Blaise's antics if he was so into the other boy? And how come Ginny Weasley wasn't all over his case about it? A lot of the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together, especially now that he was regaining his senses. But why should he question it? It wasn't his life.

"Sure," he said, keeping his tone light and bored. But as he grabbed his bag, the parchment slipped out and fell on the floor by Potter's feet. Draco quickly bent down to get it, though not before Blaise saw it. He tried to ignore his friend's inquisitive look and instead peered up at Potter, who was staring down at him. His expression was odd and his mouth twisted a bit, as if biting something back; those emerald eyes seemed to speak volumes. That look, Draco thought, absently, why is it so bloody familiar? Constant, even.

Haunted, he tore away from them only to glance at Blaise, who was staring at the parchment in his hands. Then at Potter. And then at him. Something seemed to click.

"Draco," Blaise said, softly, as if expecting a certain answer. But Draco didn't know what to say. There was a long pause. Then, as if realising that nothing was going to happen, Blaise snapped out of his strange mood and grinned at Potter. "Well, let's not let him spoil all the fun," he remarked, before placing his hand on the back of Potter's neck and tugging his face forward into a proper kiss.

Potter made a small noise of surprise, but he didn't pull away, and Draco didn't blame him. He watched their lips dance, as if discovering something new and delicious, nipping and pressing and tasting with slow, languid rhythm. It was not a half-arsed kiss. It was insane. It was beautiful. It was doing… horrible things to his heart… Painful...

Oh gods, perhaps it was shattering! Draco looked down at the floor and breathed heavily, in a baffled panic.

He didn't know why, but everything seemed to unravel from that point, a point where he was slowly losing his mind. But how much more could he lose? Memories, memories, memories—what were they? Clever devices to plunge through his heart and dive into the depths and crevices, only to betray him in moments like these? He'd always thought that he was imperturbable; invincible after all the things he'd survived, so how come he was falling apart now? Never in his entire life had he ever felt so disoriented and horrified and hurt. What was it about Potter that kept him so damn weak?

All he could figure was that he needed to get the fuck away before he fell apart right there on the library floor. Without another word, Draco jumped up and sprinted for the exit, not caring that it seemed rash and stupid. Not caring that he probably looked like a wretched mess, or that maybe his chest was about to explode with feelings that he didn't understand. Because why? Why?

~x~

Harry pushed away from Zabini immediately, an intense rush of guilt and dismay spreading through him as Draco stumbled out of the library. Oh gods. It was sort of like the feeling he used to get whenever Draco had a particularly bad vision or nightmare, but this time, he couldn't be there to comfort him afterwards. Because now, Harry was Draco's nightmare. He shuddered involuntarily.

Zabini seemed to sense his distress and stepped away to create more space between them. "Now do you understand?" he murmured gently, perhaps the most subdued Harry had ever heard him.

Harry covered his face with his fingers. "I made him fall apart."

Zabini put a hand on his shoulder and he glanced up. The Slytherin's expression was very serious. "Then go put him back together," he answered, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do.

Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. "I don't know if I can."

"Well, the first step," Zabini motioned towards the exit, "is to go after him."

It had to be worth something. Harry whirled around, dashing out of the library and ignoring Madam Pince's dirty looks. He ran through endless corridors, heading down towards the dungeons before he could even question it. A snake always retreats to his lair, or at least, this snake had; he remembered just how many times he had had to come down here to make amends with the other boy. Draco may have suffered great memory loss, but he was still predictable enough. As Harry came nearer to the Slytherin common room, he could hear slight gasps coming from the closest corridor. They were definitely Draco's. But then he paused, listening for a moment. Whispers. Draco wasn't alone.

"Shh, shh, Draco, what's wrong?" Harry realised it was Pansy Parkinson.

"I don't know," Draco mumbled; his voice was low and scratchy. "I honestly don't know."

"I'm sorry." Pansy seemed to quiet for a moment, perhaps to give Draco a hug. Or maybe Slytherins didn't do hugs? Harry didn't know. "I know that it's been difficult for you. I wish I could make it all go away."

A sniffle. "It's been more than difficult, but you can help me. You can tell me what the hell is wrong with me. Why nobody tells me what's going on anymore. And I feel like I've been asleep forever, like a child, a fucking outcast every second of the day! I don't know who anybody is anymore," a choked noise. "I don't even know who I am."

Harry's heart cracked open, but he couldn't force himself to move forward and expose himself. Somehow, he knew that it would be a bad choice. Even though he might have done it before Draco took the potion, the Slytherin had an entirely different attitude now, and especially towards him. If Harry butt in, he may never understand. Draco would close himself off like a brick wall and shut Harry down forever. So he stayed put.

Pansy had paused for a long time. There was a shuffle of shoes against the stone floor. "You know I can't, Draco," she apologised softly. "It isn't my place."

"Then who's place is it?" he asked, now bitter.

Another tense pause.

"Pansy, please," Draco pleaded. "I can't do this anymore. I need help."

Her gasp was audible, and even Harry, from this place, raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was an extreme act of desperation. It was common knowledge that Draco rarely ever asked for help. From anyone. And right now, he was practically begging for it.

So naturally, Pansy gave in. "Harry Potter," she all but whispered, making it sound like it was an apology.

Draco made a strangled noise. Harry heard the sound of shoes again and then fabric scratching against a wall. He wondered if Draco was sliding down it, or if that would be too cliché. "I knew it," Draco murmured, as if to himself. "It's always him."

Pansy sighed like she had something to add to that, but after a few moments, she supposedly decided not to. "He's the only one who can give you answers."

Now it was Draco's turn to stay silent. Harry desperately wanted to know what was going through his head. Did Draco want answers? He had to work to strain his ears when the boy finally uttered his next words, his tone scarily determined. "No, he's not."

Harry frowned, but he didn't have time to analyse that last sentence because Draco had stood up sometime during that silence and now the two Slytherins were heading his way. Swearing quietly, Harry yanked his cloak out of his robe pocket and threw it over himself just in time for Draco and Pansy to round the corner.

Draco's face was slightly pink, but the colour was starting to fade and the pained expression Harry had seen earlier in the library had vanished. His blond hair flew around his face in shiny wisps and the grey eyes flashed with spirit. Harry's breath caught. It seemed that every time he looked at Draco, he was reminded of everything that was absolutely beautiful about the boy. And it wasn't always physical.

Without thinking, Harry closed his eyes. "I miss you, Draco," he murmured.

The other boy stopped abruptly.

"Who's there?" he asked out loud. His eyes began to search the area wildly and he stepped closer to where Harry was. Shit, he'd heard! Harry slapped a hand over his mouth and tried not to breathe as Pansy stared right at him.

"I'm serious," Draco announced again, voice now getting shaky. He was obviously terrified that someone had overheard his conversation. "Who the fuck is there?"

Harry tilted his head a little, taking his hand off his mouth and reaching it out towards Draco instead. The hard expression made the lines of his face severe, but Harry could still see the shimmering flecks of silver floating around in those eyes, revealing all that the owner never could. He really wished that he could tell Draco the truth. He did. But to be honest, he didn't think that Draco would believe him.

Almost wistfully, he reached his hand out further, so far that the soft fabric of the cloak brushed lightly against Draco's cheek. The boy stepped back in shock. He stared right at Harry, eyes wide and suspicious, but suspicious of what, Harry couldn't say.

Pansy grabbed Draco's arm. "Come on, let's get out of here," she urged, glancing at him and invisible Harry a couple of times. Harry was rather sure that she realised he was there.

White as a sheet, Draco complied, although he still appeared as if he'd seen a ghost. The two of them continued down the hallway until they were out of sight, and then Harry allowed himself to breathe and think properly. Eerily enough the sound of Draco's choked voice, laced with misery and bewilderment, wouldn't leave his mind. And to some extent, he knew that it was his fault Draco was like that. Harry closed his eyes. Maybe he'd been going about this whole thing the wrong way. Maybe he needed to stop thinking about himself and just let Draco go. Because maybe then, Draco wouldn't hurt like this anymore.

~x~

Draco sat very still in the Potions classroom, staring off at a wall. Class had not begun yet and students were ambling in at a relaxed pace. He was quiet, alone, his workstation already set up and ready to go with the day's assigned potion ingredients. It was just like the old days. He knew everything by heart; he'd kept his pristine notes in hand. But he couldn't help but think that he'd trade it all in just to remember five minutes of the past year. Just to understand why he felt like this all the time.

It hurt. At least he could admit it now. Despite himself, Draco kept his eyes trained at the wall even as the room filled up and Snape entered from his lab. By the time class had started, Draco knew that everybody was in the classroom and seated… and yet, he was still alone. Gods, life was rather dreary when everybody you knew was either laughing at you or afraid of you. Or both.

Sighing, he finally looked away from the wall and down at his notes, glancing at the words carelessly and setting up his ingredients in the arrangement for which he would need them. It was an old routine; he'd grown tired of it, but it was necessary. In the back of his mind he could vaguely hear Snape's sharp orders, but why listen? It wasn't like he needed the instruction. He was exceptionally bright, brighter than anybody else in the class. And so Draco didn't fully register anything until Snape's barking resulted in his name.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

His head snapped up.

"Yes, professor?" he inquired politely, mechanically.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"I, uh… Well no, professor."

Snape studied him for a moment, as if contemplating pity. He rolled his eyes on second thought. "Very well then. Mr. Potter, you will pack up and move to Mr. Malfoy's station instead."

Draco knit his eyebrows. Since when had Potter been in this class? Most of the Gryffindors in their year hadn't gotten in, and Draco didn't remember him being here before. Oh, never mind. He tried not to grimace as Potter slowly gathered his things together and moved over to the lonely workstation in the very back, away from all the others. Isolation. Gods, Draco was still experiencing the reeling effects his last encounter with Potter gave him, he really didn't need more. For some reason, it felt as if the whole room was holding its breath. Or maybe it was just him.

Potter set his bag down and sat, folding his arms over the table and tilting his chin slightly towards Draco without looking at him. He didn't seem bothered by the location, rather, he was adamantly staring at the board for directions. Draco stared. Why couldn't he shake him?

After Snape bid them good luck (although he probably hadn't meant it), Draco picked up the ingredients silently, hoping that Potter would just let him do all of the work and keep quiet. But after a few moments, Potter was invading his personal space, his finger pointed at something in Draco's notes.

"What does that say right there? Is that a five or an 's'?"

Draco gulped, suddenly intoxicated by Potter's woodsy, boyish scent. It was disorienting and... familiar. Had Potter smelled like that before? He tried to ignore it. "What, do you think the potion calls for 's' newt eyes? Use your fucking brain for once, Potter."

"I would if you had used a fucking functional quill," the Gryffindor muttered. Draco pretended he hadn't heard, and Potter thankfully moved away. Draco let out a relieved sigh, breathing properly again without feeling the need to attack Potter... or whatever.

They worked tersely for another ten minutes, not speaking or interacting unless the other needed something. The entire time, Draco felt as if Potter was holding back on him somehow, although he didn't know why that was. Normally by now, the Gryffindor would have found something unsatisfactory about Draco's high expectations or leadership skills and they would argue endlessly, leaving both feeling snappy and irritated for the remainder of class. But no, Potter was hushed. Reserved. But then again, he had been acting that way since Draco had woken up from the Hospital Wing. And why was that?

Of course, Pansy had said that Potter was the one that Draco needed to consult, so the boy must have been linked to him somehow during his lost year. But still, it couldn't be a very sensible idea. What could Potter possibly give him that he couldn't get from somebody else? Besides, Boy Wonder wasn't the only option he had. Draco patted his pocket to make sure the vial was still there. It had to work. Because to be completely honest, his conflicted feelings and emotions for Potter scared the shit out of him, and he really didn't have the time or patience to figure them out anyways. If he had, he would have done it a long time ago.

"Malfoy," Potter said suddenly, and Draco was pulled out of his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped.

"Do you need some help with that?" Draco frowned. How did Potter know? Could he read minds too? Merlin, he really was a Boy Wonder! But then he noticed that the other boy was gesturing down at his roots. "With the slicing. You still have a lot left."

Oh. Never mind. Draco shook his head. "No," he muttered. Potter shrugged and moved away again.

They completed the rest of the potion without another word, turning it into Snape early and going back to the station to sit in their seats. Unfortunately, that meant more awkward silences. Draco stared at the wall again, unwilling to start anything or even pretend to make taunting or teasing small talk.

But after a long time Potter spoke again, and his words astonished Draco. "Do you hate me?"

Draco turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"

Potter cleared his throat. "Do you hate me still?"

Draco's mind reeled as he studied Potter closely, focusing on his eyes to try and keep himself from spiraling down into insanity again. They were surprisingly warm and lovely again, despite the vibrancy of the green, and there was something in them that had Draco stumped for an answer. When had he seen that before? It was almost as if... He frowned.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to find comfort inside of his own mind instead, but he discovered that it was much too jumbled and endless to attempt. So he gave up. "I don't know," he told Potter, truthfully.

Potter looked genuinely staggered. "Why not?"

Draco didn't know where the words were coming from, but he felt that they were authentic. Although he didn't quite understand why he was being authentic with Harry Potter, or otherwise. "Because I don't know about a lot of things anymore," he confessed quietly.

Potter's gaze softened even more, if that was possible. "Don't think about—"

The bell rang, cutting off the boy's words, and suddenly a group of his friends and admirers were at his side. "Come on, let's get out of here," one of them urged, pulling Potter's arm. He appeared slightly afraid to be in Draco's presence. Potter tried to fight him for a moment, but then appeared to have given up and shot Draco a rare look of apology. He grabbed his bag and let the others lead him out of the room, out where the most important thing at the moment was what was on the menu for lunch.

Draco sat there, stunned. Baffled. Harry Potter had just had a conversation with him. He had asked Draco if he still hated him, and had been willing to add in something of his own. Wasn't that peculiar? Draco hadn't even been aware that Potter cared. But evidently, he did. And the look on his face when he'd said Draco's name… he shuddered. It was real. It was undeniable.

He sighed. Gods, this thing was really getting to him. Wasn't it simpler back in the days when he'd call Potter a little attention-grabbing shit and they'd beat each other's arses? Back when everything he did was simply a part of a hasty competition? Back when an enemy was just an enemy and there were no clouded in betweens? Back before that bludger had knocked it all out of him?

But even he knew that was a lie. Draco couldn't fool himself any longer; there had been no such 'back when's. Something about Potter continued to reel him back in, time and time again, from the very beginning. He could recall a prissy little blond boy, long ago, who only wanted a chance. He hadn't gotten it, but maybe he still could. Because now he realised that there had always been a clouded in between, he'd always had that tiny bit of him that wanted something bigger with Potter. Draco knew that he wouldn't be able to get him out of his head. He never had. But still, he didn't understand why. What was the price? What was the reason? Why had he thrown himself in the arms of Death to save his worst enemy in the first place?

Draco shook his head frantically, reaching into his pocket and gripping the precious vial tight. He didn't want to think about it anymore. Glancing around the room to make sure no one was around, he bit his lip and took the vial out to clutch it. Everybody had gone to lunch, even Snape. It was now or never.

Still cautious, he crept over to Snape's lab and pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. And to his surprise, the handle turned easily and let him in, as if expecting him. Perhaps Snape had changed his mind? Well, Draco didn't know, or care. The Pensieve sat in the back of the room, large and dusty, indicating that it had been unused for a while. Draco rolled the vial in his palm and took a deep breath.

This was it. This was moment he'd been waiting for. Now he wouldn't have to go to Potter for memory help. He wouldn't have to think about his perplexing feelings for Potter or why everything became muddled or confusing around him. He wouldn't have to go to Potter ever again, if he chose not to (although surely this would never be the case). Now Draco uncorked the vial and poured the shimmering contents into the Pensieve, the whole pond of it lighting up brilliantly. The memories swirled around like miniature fish, darting this way and that, too quickly to count. He closed his eyes, took another breath, and dove into his past.

~x~

~x~

"Potter!"

Draco glances around and discovers that the distant yell is coming from the clouded morning sky. It is eerily familiar. Blaise Zabini frowns and turns to Pansy Parkinson, who is sitting next to him. "Did you hear that?" he asks. "That sounded like Draco." Suddenly, there is a loud, sickeningly audible crack. Draco looks up to see what it is. A small figure in Slytherin green falls from the mist; another figure in red swoops down and catches him.

It is Potter and… Draco. Memory-Draco. He is bleeding profusely, unconscious as Potter brings him back down to earth and frets over his mangled body. Draco stares at himself for a long moment, almost unable to comprehend that he is dying right in front of his own eyes.

~x~

~x~

The scene changes. Blaise is standing by the common room when Potter and a dazed post-accident Memory-Draco approach him. He argues with Potter for a bit before Memory-Draco tells him that he wants Potter there. Then he calls Potter 'Harry'. He also tells Blaise that he thinks that Potter is fit! Obviously, Memory-Draco's head had been messed with from his injury. He doesn't remember anything from his years at Hogwarts. Draco is horrified by this, and he is cringing by the time Blaise has finished recounting the war.

~x~

~x~

The Gryffindor table is already buzzing with commotion despite the early hour.

"You already know who I am?"

"Yes, I saw you in my vision."

Ginny Weasley is sitting at the Gryffindor table, seemingly uncomfortable and wary of Memory-Draco, who stands in front of her and Potter. Memory-Draco is glaring at her unapologetically. Apparently, he has not forgotten his hatred for her, or perhaps has found a new motive. Draco can almost feel the waves of hostility coming off of the two of them. For some reason, it feels like competition.

~x~

~x~

Another shift. Potter barges into the Slytherin common room and yet again interrupts Blaise's reading time. Since when does he know how to get in here? Blaise sighs. "He's had a vision," Potter says, after some initial blabber. "A memory of 2nd year."

Draco frowns... they are talking about him. This isn't just an ordinary case of amnesia. Memory-Draco is reliving his own horrible memories.

~x~

~x~

It is a Hogsmeade week-end. Pansy sits in a booth in the Three Broomsticks, accompanied by Blaise, Memory-Draco, Potter, and Potter's girlfriend. The girlfriend glares at Pansy, she grins evilly back. Ugh, Memory-Draco is so obviously infatuated with Potter, Draco notes with bitterness. Why can't he be more discreet? After a few tense comments, Potter's girlfriend begins to insult Memory-Draco, and to Draco's surprise, Potter stands up for him. She leaves. Potter stays.

~x~

~x~

The throttle of blaring music and sweaty bodies surrounds Draco like a clingy wet blanket. It is a scene he's never seen before and he hardly recognises the area. Hermione Granger is pushing her way through the party for a quiet place to sit. Eventually she finds a dark corner filled with little couches, obviously for couples, but she has lost Weasley in the sea of people. Draco glances around as she does, and their eyes meet the same sight at the same time.

Memory-Draco is buried in Potter's arms, sobbing and shaking as if completely shut down. It hurts to look at. And then Draco quickly realises that they are in the Room of Requirement. Of course. Memory-Draco's had a bad vision, and although Draco cannot hear what the two boys are saying, he has a pretty good idea of what it is. But Hermione has decided to leave them alone.

~x~

~x~

The Gryffindor common room; Draco has never been here before. A few boys are spread out on the couches and tables, and they are all pissed. Even Neville Longbottom is a bit tipsy. Okay, a lot tipsy. He is laughing and joking with his friends when Potter shows up. The handsome boy is upset about something, but soon he joins the game they are playing and gets as drunk as everybody else. And that's when Potter tells his friends that he would snog Draco.

What the fuck? Draco almost dies on the spot, and evidently his Memory-self does the same thing. He has been spying, but due to his loud crash, Potter discovers him. The rest of the Gryffindors go upstairs, but Neville comes down later to check on his friend and Memory-Draco. He finds the two cuddled together on the couch.

~x~

~x~

Ginny is angry with Potter. More than angry, she is livid. As she glares at him, Draco notices that she is beautifully made up but also tragically hurt from something Potter has done. But the dolt obviously has no clue. Books on amnesia, seemingly for Memory-Draco's benefit, surround him. It appears that he has been studying for hours.

"All you think about is him!" she yells. "I always come second to him!"

Draco realises that she is talking about Memory-Draco. He doesn't know exactly when his and Potter's relationship had come to this point, but Potter doesn't deny it. He and Ginny break up, but after a while she is not angry with Potter anymore. Rather, she is relieved. And for some reason, so is Draco.

~x~

~x~

Outside the castle, Pansy watches Memory-Draco and Potter sit on the grass together. They both seem nervous. But then they get closer; suddenly they are kissing. The kiss is not short and it is not an accident. Draco gasps and stumbles backwards, bewildered. Kissing Potter? How far gone is Memory-Draco? Pansy seems amused by it, however. She grins and fumbles with a mobile phone, obviously ready to send a message.

~x~

~x~

Hermione glares at Memory-Draco, who looks uncharacteristically terrified of her. She has figured out his feelings for Potter and she yells at him for taking advantage of her best friend. Memory-Draco denies it and defends himself brazenly. Judging by the expression on his own face, Draco can tell that he is absolutely serious.

"Who are you?" she asks, after a while.

"I'm Draco Mal—"

She cuts him off. "No you're not. The Draco Malfoy I know only does things for himself. He hates Harry and Ron and me, and he'd never spend time with any of us. He doesn't give a damn about what Harry thinks of him and he'd rather die than admit that Harry means anything to him! So tell me, who the hell are you?"

Draco realises that she is right. This is exactly how he had treated Potter before. But it is obvious that Memory-Draco regrets it, and Draco has to wonder whether he does too.

~x~

~x~

Ron Weasley walks into the library with Granger, bickering with her while they look for Potter. The two of them search around until they catch Potter and Memory-Draco at a back table, holding hands. And as Memory-Draco gets up to leave, he leans in and kisses Potter on the cheek, although it appears that they are joking. Potter responds with a kiss on the nose. Well, it is all a bit too domestic for his taste, but Draco can't help but wish that he could at least remember how that felt. And he is also starting to get used to the idea of kissing Potter.

~x~

~x~

Hermione watches but doesn't say anything as Potter and Memory-Draco signal each other good-bye with their fists to their chests. She and Weasley confront Potter later on, and he admits that he and Memory-Draco are finally together. Finally!

He is speaking. "I know that you think that Draco and I are a bad idea, but I want you to understand that I can't turn away from him now. The moment I agreed to help him—I was lost… Draco is… Draco is everything."

Oh... well. Potter's eyes are earnest and warm. As if in a trance, Draco realises that these are the eyes that he's seen before; Potter must have looked at him like that sometime during his illness. Maybe he looked at him like that all of the time.

But he also realises that Potter still looks at him like that.

~x~

~x~

Ron is worried. Potter is sulking much more nowadays, and all he talks about is Memory-Draco's reluctance to open up about his flashbacks. Apparently, the visions from fifth and sixth year have begun and Memory-Draco is getting a taste of the real thing. Draco winces when he hears the Gryffindors' recount of Memory-Draco's latest breakdown. He doesn't know if he is strong enough to go through it again, but he hopes that Potter is able to handle the storm.

~x~

~x~

Pansy worries about her friend's happiness, and right now Memory-Draco is devastated. His condition has gotten worse with each new terrifying vision, but Snape's altered potion can make it all go away. Only problem is, he will lose his memories from this year if he decides to take the potion to 'cure' him. So he will lose Potter.

"Do you love him?" she asks.

Memory-Draco claims that he doesn't know. But he is flushed and he rambles and it is entirely uncharacteristic for any Malfoy. Draco knows this behaviour all too well. He's seen it once—in his mother's memory of their wedding vows, Lucius is a mess. He is a fool. Because that's what love does to a Malfoy; it renders him unprepared and vulnerable, insane enough to try something he'd never risk before. And that's how Draco is certain that Memory-Draco loves Potter.

By now, Memory-Draco has figured it out as well. "I love Harry Potter!" he exclaims loudly, for the entire common room to hear. Oh. Now Draco knows why Daphne Bintgrass was laughing at him.

~x~

~x~

Draco finds himself in the Gryffindor common room once again.

"You love him," Hermione tells Potter. They are sitting across from each other.

Potter looks angry, and then pained. He is quiet for a long time. "So what if I do," he practically rasps. Draco's heart feels as if it is about to burst. He loves him back. Still, why does Potter continue to love him even though he knows it will hurt so terribly?

After that, Potter blows up at Hermione several more times, but it is clear that his frustration doesn't lie with her. And soon, he is begging for her help. He is so desperate that he's close to crying.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she says. She cannot help him, but she does look sorry.

"I'm not strong enough," Potter whispers. Gods, and what those four words do to Draco's heart. He knows for sure that he isn't either.

~x~

~x~

Neville is concerned. Potter hasn't come out of the dorm for hours. "Just go talk to him, mate," he calls out. There is no answer. Rumour has it that Memory-Draco had taken the potion, despite their mutual love. And while he was unconscious, Potter had perched himself in the Hospital Wing, refusing to leave until the other boy woke up safe. When he had, Potter fled, and he has not left his chambers since then.

That much Draco remembers. He wonders why Memory-Draco had decided to take the potion after all. It isn't easy to say. But from the distressed look on Neville's face, he can infer that Memory-Draco had never known that Potter loved him. Draco doubts anyone truly did. Potter bottles things up even more than he does.

~x~

~x~

"You can just throw it away or something. I can't do it."

Draco recognises this area. They are outside the castle; Potter hands Blaise a small box and a scrap piece of parchment. Blaise stares in amazement as Potter begins to get emotional and his friends surround him. Because Harry Potter never breaks like this.

Before long, Draco sees himself stalking towards them and now he understands why he so easily recognised the place and time. It has only been a little while since he'd been livid over that. But it turns out that it had been over nothing, because clearly Potter and Blaise are faking it. Draco has to give them props for that.

Blaise glances at the parchment Potter has given him while Memory-Draco is pulling him away. "When the time is right," the note reads. Draco realises that the note goes with a ring. Potter is giving it back.

~x~

~x~

Potter is breaking. It is silent suffering and he hides it in his hands, but Hermione can tell that his hurt is tremendous. She does not want to see him this way, so she decides that she must take matters into her own hands, if Potter will not. Draco wonders whether her sudden spirit is linked to the fact that she had not believed in Potter and Memory-Draco before.

With the help of Blaise, Pansy, the Weasleys, and Longbottom, Hermione quickly combines their memories of Draco and stores them in a small glass vial. After making sure that everything is in order, she sends it off by school owl, so that Draco will not know that it is she or the others until he watches the memories. Until he realises that Harry still loves him.

~x~

~x~

Draco flew back from the Pensieve, the dreamland vanishing as quickly as it had come. Whoa. He stumbled a little, falling backwards onto a stool; the air around him felt thick and he couldn't breathe. What had just happened? Those couldn't have been real. Had Granger played a joke on him? Draco felt fresh tears on his cheeks and he realised that he had been crying. If Potter had really been… he thought back on the few times he'd snubbed the boy since he'd regained his early memories. How it must have hurt.

Anxious to get out of there (and not wanting to get caught by Snape), Draco got up and fled the lab and the classroom, heading towards his own dorm. He needed proof. And if he were to get it, a bit of researching would be required. He burst in with a bang and went straight for his trunk. There had to something in here; he was always so careful and meticulous about those kinds of things.

But as soon as he opened the lid, he stopped. Could it be? The small box from the memory sat right on top, as if just recently placed there. It was then that Draco recognised it as the box containing his own father's ring and normally, he had kept it at the bottom of his trunk; he had never taken it out before. There had been no reason to. But now it was right there.

He took a deep breath, then picked it up gingerly and opened the lid. A battered piece of parchment flew out. Draco didn't need to read it to know what it was, but it landed face-up so that he could see the words anyway, written in his own distinctive script.

When the time is right.

With a heavy heart, Draco closed his eyes. It was all true. Potter. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the bane of his existence... had saved him. Cared for him. Nurtured him, comforted him, befriended him, kissed him, hugged him… Loved him.

And finally, all of those feelings that Draco had never understood made sense. There was no one else who could light such a blazing fire in him, no one else who could hold such prominent permanence in his life. Potter was everywhere, everything, for as long as he could remember. It was fate. From the moment Draco had first laid eyes on Potter, he had never been able to get his mind off of him. And now… now he finally understood what he hadn't known all of these years. He knew why.

He loved Harry Potter. No matter where or when, or what state of mind he was in. Unconditionally. He always had. And maybe he was meant to realise it for a second time, because maybe the first time just wasn't enough.

Draco jumped up from the floor, now full of energy, still gripping the ring box and the note in his hand. Without thinking about it, he dashed from the dorm and through the common room, out of the dungeons and around each corridor. He couldn't wait any longer; he had to see Potter—Harry. He had to tell him that he remembered.

Upon arrival at the Great Hall, he burst open the doors with vigor and it seemed that the entire population had turned to look at him as he interrupted their lunches. But the only one that could possibly matter was Harry.

But unfortunately, Harry wasn't there. Hadn't he come here? It was still lunchtime. Draco frowned and stalked over to the Gryffindor table, causing more heads to turn. "Where's Potter?" he demanded.

Ganger looked at him suspiciously, and then with interest. "What's it to you?"

Draco glowered at her. "I need to tell him that I'm in love with him," he snapped.

She stared at him for a few moments, and then smiled. "He went to the lake."

He rolled his eyes, grateful, but still hurried. And as he exited the castle and glanced around, he discovered that Granger was right; there was a lone figure when he finally reached the lake, and it was Harry. Draco took a deep breath and composed himself as he walked towards him, determined not to chicken out. He was still a Malfoy, after all, and he couldn't afford to lose it now.

"Hey," Draco called out, still a bit breathless from running, despite his Malfoy ritual.

Harry whipped around and stared, as if unsure of Draco's amicability. "Malfoy?"

"I remember everything."

Harry looked shocked for a moment, then confused, then suspicious. "Are you okay? Have you gotten hit in the head again?"

Draco came forward and slapped his arm. "That's not funny, you bastard! I remember everything. I've seen memories—"

Harry eyes became wide with shock. "You regained them? How?" he asked, incredulously.

"No," Draco replied, with a bit of impatience. "They gave them to me. Our friends. It was their memories."

Harry was hushed for a moment. He shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. "So you don't remember."

"I just told you—"

"You only remember what they do," Harry cut in. "Nothing about us. Do you remember the dandelions? The tree we got caught in?" He looked as if he'd been standing there for a long while, thinking it over. "Do you remember the way it felt to sleep in my arms," he continued in a whisper, "or how I kissed you when you cried, when you trusted me with your entire existence? ...Do you remember any of that?"

Draco was quiet. None of that had been in the memories he'd seen, those private moments between him and Harry. And how could they be? It had only been the two of them.

"No," he said, reluctantly.

Harry closed his eyes, as if his hopes had just been crushed. "So don't say that you do," he murmured.

And it was then that Draco saw it. Saw it in the flesh, right where he could just reach out and feel it. Touch it. Love that was tangible; it was the rarest kind... that is, if it were genuine. So this wasn't a memory or a dream. Draco had been living through them for so long; he'd forgotten how it was to live in the now.

But Harry still loved him.

"None of that means anything," Draco remarked suddenly, causing Harry to open his eyes again and look at him sharply.

"What?"

"Those memories. They're not so important."

Harry shook his head. "You think that we can just pick up where we left off? Well, we can't. What we had isn't something that you can just watch or talk about, Draco; it's something you need to feel. And you don't feel any of it. I want you to remember me with your own heart and mind, not with what others show you… even if I might try to do so as well. I thought I could, but I realise now that it's never going to be the same. Because you can't remember me based on experiences you've only witnessed. And if you don't remember me… we have nothing."

Draco sighed with exasperation. How was he supposed to get through to Harry when he was so damn thick? "But we don't have nothing! It's exactly the opposite, we have everything!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I mean, honestly, what do you think we've been doing for the past eight years, huh? You think we continue this fight because we have nothing? Come on, get real, Potter! You know we can do this again. We've always been doing it. You're just scared."

Harry began to act defensive. Like always. "Didn't you hear what I just told you? You don't actually remember me at all!"

"But I do!" Draco shot back. "You're the same little shit you've always been!"

"And you're the same arrogant, condescending prat you've always been!"

"Oh, and you expect me to believe that disappoints you?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Draco put his hands on his hips. "You know you thrive off this. Sure, you liked the memory-wiped version of me, but you'd get bored of him after a while. Hello, Potter, I am the real deal here! Embrace that you've always loved it!"

"What? You're insane!" Harry shouted.

"Gods!" Draco threw his hands up. "You're so fucking stubborn! What can I do to make you see that you don't have to play martyr for me? I'm still here! I'm still the same person that you fell in love with, damn it!"

Harry looked enraged now. "So what if you are? You don't love me! You don't remember how to love me. And it'll only hurt you to try." His last words were quieter and he looked down at the ground.

Draco studied him. "You don't know that."

"I do. You've always hated me, why the hell would you change your mind?"

Draco stopped suddenly. "I never changed my mind."

"Exactly."

"I never hated you."

"Well, you never liked me."

"Bullshit. I've loved you since fourth year."

There was a long pause.

"Stop lying," Harry murmured, uncertainly.

"I'm serious."

"No you're not."

"I am," Draco argued softly. "It was fourth year. The Triwizard Tournament, do you remember that? You could have died… it was the first time I realised that I would care if you did. And trust me, it only blossomed from there. In fifth year, I started exploring my feelings, but I ignored the ones that I had for you... you see, even though I slept with loads of blokes, I would never admit that they all resembled you in some way. It was shameful. But in sixth year, I finally realised that things were truly serious and I wanted you to protect me, but I was too proud to ask. Too selfish." Draco took a gulp of air as Harry stared at him, almost unbelievingly. He continued.

"During what was supposed to be our seventh year, I was holed up in the Manor. I intensely loathed myself then, and my mistakes were far too grand to miss. When you were captured and brought in, I couldn't identify you. Not because I didn't recognise you—I knew it was you from the moment you looked at me—I just couldn't. I finally understood that if you died, I could never redeem myself. My balance would be off forever. And after the war, I desperately wanted to explain why I did the things that I did, but I hadn't known how to. And up until now, I kept telling myself that I didn't care about you. I wished that we could go back to the way we were before, as petty rivals, and nothing more."

Draco paused again. "But now I know that we can never do that. I was lying to myself; it's impossible. Something clicked into place when I took that bludger for you, a part of me that I've been struggling to figure out for all of those years before... It's you, Harry. You're my missing piece. It's always been you."

Harry's eyes were glistening, but he didn't cry. "You've always had such a way with words, Draco Malfoy," he remarked, after a while.

"And I always will," Draco promised. He reached for Harry's hand tentatively, and the other boy didn't refuse it. "You know, compared to all of that, one year is highly insignificant. It's funny, because even though I lost my memory twice, I never once forgot you. And I guess that is what's really important."

Harry lowered his eyes. "Well, fuck. Guess I'm just being an arse, aren't I?"

"Yes. But it's in your nature, so it's not completely your fault. It's just that your arse needs to be reminded that it doesn't have to save everybody else's all the time. Especially mine."

Harry laughed out loud, and Draco loved the sound of it. How he could ever forget it was unimaginable. "All this time, I thought that the bludger had given me a second chance with you," Harry whispered. "But honestly, I don't think I ever needed one."

Draco smiled softly. "You didn't," he agreed. "But…perhaps I do."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar little scrap, placing it in between their two palms. Then he took out the ring box and flicked it open as he got down on one knee, still holding Harry's hand.

"I didn't get it the first try," Draco said slowly. "But I genuinely believe that there couldn't be a more perfect time than this. Because we understand each other. We love each other. And there's nothing more right that that. So... will you marry me?"

Harry bit his lip, obviously fighting a smile. He squeezed Draco's hand playfully. "Will you forget tomorrow morning?" he teased.

"That depends. Do you have another bludger?" Draco retaliated.

Harry yanked him up by the hand and kissed him hard, letting all of the memories and dreams and visions slip away from them. Because from now on, it was about the present. And Draco knew that they could fuss and fight over the past all they wanted, and they would fuss and fight, probably every day. But it was all going to be okay just as long as they knew that they would always have a future to fuss and fight about later.

Love was a curious thing. It could heal and mend the heart, the soul, the body; it could also destroy all that it had fixed in a moment's notice. It could be patient and kind, but at the same time manipulative and cruel. Love was messy, careless, and insane. It was all kinds of crazy things. But if it was with the right person, love could conquer all of that. Anything.

And Draco knew that if he were to forget everything all over again, at least he had this, right here, right now.

Author's Note: Aaaand, scene! How did you guys like it? Did it meet your expectations? I really hope so, because this literally took me two-three days straight to write. And it's sooo long, but I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense. The whole idea of this fic was that no matter how much past they had, clean or dirty, their love could conquer it. I know it was complicated at times so thanks for sticking around!

*Also, I didn't really know how the whole memory-watching process goes, so I don't know if you can watch multiple peoples' memories in one sitting. I'm just going to pretend you can, okay?*

With that, I realize that there are some details that I didn't include. Like what happens to their friends, as well as Ginny and Neville, or Luna and Blaise, and not to mention the rest of their schooling and futures. I honestly don't know, so I thought that maybe an epilogue might happen. If so, what would you guys like to see there? How long after this moment should it be? One year, one decade? Any kinds of suggestions would be great, but if not, I can leave it at this too. Thank you guys for supporting and reading. I promise I'll be back! xo