Never A Memory

~Remember Me This Way~

The Minister’s Suite…
***

Fast becoming a creature of habit, Draco awoke precisely twenty minutes before Hermione Granger or his godfather would arrive to supervise his 6am dose of the Markaghirelle. Draco turned on his side, following the sound of Harry’s soft snoring, and smiled as he saw the young Auror sleeping peacefully beside him.

The Wizard had disappeared for a few hours the day before, after they had rested, and returned shortly after Draco’s 10pm dose. When the clock had struck two o’clock in the morning, Harry had smiled cheekily at Severus when his godfather had come with the Markaghirelle, but offered no explanation for his presence and Severus, wisely, asked for none.

The Auror-Guard, for their part, gave them no trouble. Draco wondered if they had ever really minded at all. But their opinion was their own and Draco would never ask them to share it.

They had made love twice more during their stolen hours together, played Wizard’s Chess, and talked long into the night.

Draco watched Harry sleep, careful not to touch him lest he wake him, and once again marveled at how perfectly harmless he seemed when he slept. He was gloriously nude, lips parted, features relaxed, head propped on one folded arm and the other flung out…and that awful noise coming from his nostrils. Strangely, the snoring didn’t really bother him. It was just another little Harry Potter oddity that came with the wonder of him sleeping in his bed.

Draco’s lips twisted into a sneer. Well, not his bed, Minister Scrimgeour’s bed. But, close enough. Draco would take what he could get.

Just one more day and everything would be over. And then what?

Harry had once told him that he had his own flat in London and that he didn’t like residing in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Draco was barely thrilled about the idea of returning to Malfoy Manor. He did give the Manor to Molly Weasley in his Will…but that hardly counted because Draco was still alive. Also, he knew the Weasley’s would be even less comfortable living in Malfoy Manor than he was.

Draco frowned. Perhaps he could sell the Manor, give a percent of the liquidated funds to Molly Weasley, and use the rest to buy a new home; somewhere he and Harry could start fresh. Draco liked that idea.

The Library would still go to Hermione Granger. Draco would call it a wedding present. Though, the former Slytherin had never bothered to ask when the wedding was scheduled, he was certain Harry would know.

His godfather would always want for nothing. Draco was certain of that. Draco Malfoy would always have money, even without the Manor, and Severus Snape would have full access to those funds…whether Draco died tomorrow or no. Draco had arranged that long ago.

Draco Malfoy would be expected to re-introduce himself into pureblood Society. There would be no escaping that necessary evil. He was a natural born Socialite. The Parkinson’s would support him, to whatever end.

The rest would be left to chance, Draco supposed. Choosing to be happy, choosing to be content…ah, well. It should be interesting.

Draco sat up, the clock on the far wall signaling only a minute until six o’clock, and put on his robe. He wandered out into the hall, ready to greet his visitor bearing the Markaghirelle, and found it was Hermione Granger waiting for him in the entryway of the foyer.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” Hermione said, handing him the vial of the Markaghirelle. “Is Harry here?”

Draco tossed back the potion and handed her the empty vial when he was finished. “He’s sleeping,” Draco answered pointedly.

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, blushing to the roots of her bushy hair. “Oh. Well, um, I need to speak to him.”

“About what?”

“About how we should transport you to the Dome once you’ve stopped taking the Markaghirelle,” Hermione answered, impatiently tapping her foot.

Draco narrowed his sharp grey eyes. “What?”

“Portkey,” Harry informed Hermione, coming up behind Draco with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. Harry rubbed at his eyes. “I thought we covered that one.”

If it was even possible, and Draco supposed it had to be, Hermione turned even redder as she beheld the obviously naked-under-the-sheet Harry Potter. Despite her discomfort, Hermione responded evenly. “You may have, but Ron couldn’t remember and Anin was asking about the danger of letting Malfoy Apparate while the Markaghirelle was wearing off.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, running his hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s why we decided on the Portkey. Ron and I went over this yesterday. Four Aurors wait for Draco inside the Dome, Draco arrives by Portkey, and then the remainder of the guard Disapparate after that. It’s full proof. Must I do everything?”

“You and Ron went over a lot of things yesterday,” Hermione retorted, defending her fiancée. “I was asked to double check.”

Harry’s eyes softened a bit. “Yeah. I’m sorry ‘Mione. You know I’m a grouch first thing in the morning.”

Hermione nodded. Draco Malfoy looked wildly between them. “No…” Draco breathed as he started to piece together what they were planning. “Oh, no. You’re out of your mind.”

Harry glanced at his lover. “We’re taking every precaution.”

“You’re taking me off the Markaghirelle?” Draco asked. “Are you daft?”

“Alt said it would interfere with the exorcism,” Hermione said.

“And Cure claimed it might affect the Inversion Enchantratem,” Harry added.

“When?” Draco demanded, his face the perfect mask of fury.

Unfazed, Harry scratched under his chin. “Your last dose will be tomorrow morning at two. It’ll wear off around six and then we’ll transport you to the Dome where we’ll give you the Inversion Enchantratem and wait for it to take effect. Cure’s calculated it to start working some twelve hours later.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” Draco grated, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.

“This morning,” Harry replied with a helpless grin.

“Twelve full hours of an unrestrained, pissed off Black Tulpa roiling in my belly,” Draco said slowly, his voice a deadly quiet. “Have you prepared for the Plagues?”

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. “Yes. Last time it was just frogs and flies, Draco—“

“And locusts,” Hermione interjected. She had been there. She knew.

“Last time, Maul was under the Markaghirelle,” Draco growled, fear beginning to burn in his chest. “There are ten plagues, Harry. Ten of them. Fire will fall from the sky. Livestock will die. Boils and lice and then the worst: The death of the first born.” Draco glared at the both of them. “All three of us are firstborn.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I hardly expect Maul would kill his own Host.”

“You do not know him as well as I do,” Draco snapped darkly.

Harry placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “We’ve prepared, Draco. Whatever Maul can dish out will be restrained to the interior of the Dome. Alt will be unaffected; he is protected by his God. If it becomes too much for the Aurors, they will leave the Dome. If it comes to that, it will be just you and me and the priest. Trust me.”

Trust me.

I’ve never trusted anyone.

Trust me.

…Alright.

Draco shrugged off Harry’s hand and sighed, rubbing his hands over his pale, pointed face. “Fine.” Then he left them staring after him as he went back into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Harry rejoined him, closing the door gently behind him. Draco sat at the desk, reading a book by the Squib poet T.S. Eliot.

Recognizing the book, Harry said: “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender.”

Draco closed the book and set it back on the table. “By this, and this only, we have existed.”

Harry approached the pale wizard and wrapped his arms around him, holding him gently. “Draco…”

“How many?”

“Hm?”

“How many people will be in this Dome?”

“I don’t know the exact number. Two dozen? Maybe more.”

Draco closed his eyes. “That’s a lot of people Maul could hurt wearing my face, Harry.”

Harry rocked him lightly. “I know.”

“Will Deans be there?”

“No. He’ll stay in his cell at the Ministry.”

“Good. He’ll be safe then. And Blaise?”

“He left days ago. Heroth says he claimed asylum at the Parkinson’s.”

“Good,” Draco repeated, leaning his head back on Harry’s shoulder as the Auror rocked him like he was a child.

“Draco...” Harry placed two fingers under Draco’s chin, urging his face closer to his. Harry placed a soft kiss against Draco’s frowning mouth. He pulled away, if only just for a moment, and kissed him again, moving his mouth over Draco’s unhurriedly, gently, sweetly.

However, the second Draco began kissing him back, a strange strangled noise growled in the back of Draco’s throat and blond man pulled abruptly away, standing stiffly to his feet. “This isn’t something you can kiss away, Harry,” Draco said, beginning to stroll towards the closet to pull on some decent clothes.

Harry made an exasperated sound and lunged forward, bringing the flat of his hand to land smartly on the Draco’s rear. “Would you lighten up?”

Draco whirled around, his face incredulous, his eyes blazing. “Did you just…smack my arse?”

Harry cringed, second-guessing himself. “Ye-yes?”

Draco rolled his eyes skyward, muttering “Griffindors” mutinously under his breath before turning, once again, and disappearing into the massive bowels of the Suite’s walk-in closet. When he re-emerged, some five minutes later, he was fully dressed in a simple black turtleneck and dark slacks.

Following the sound of Harry fixing himself something for breakfast, Draco snuck into the kitchen and…smack!

One hand instinctually clutching his wand, and the other rubbing his now-sore bottom, Harry stared wildly at a laughing-eyed, grinning, Draco Malfoy.

“What the fuck, Draco?”

~*~

The hours passed swiftly, too swiftly for either of their liking. The morning was pleasant, the two young Wizards exchanging time-less insults until they were sure their snark was back in full swing. Harry could hardly keep a straight face through most of it, his mind more on jumping Draco’s bones, than the verbal task at hand.

As afternoon faded into evening, their smiles began to be forced, and their conversations crumbled into ever-too polite ones, and Harry grew apprehensive as the silence between them tensed from Draco ever-glum perspectives of the grimly task scheduled on the morrow.

After, Harry had finished supper, he joined Draco in the living room, who was more glowering at the book in his hand than reading it. Harry sat on an opposing sofa and sighed.

“Talk to me, Draco,” Harry said. The simple words hung in the air between them as Draco dragged his eyes from the pages of his book to Harry’s face. Hundreds of things seemed to pass behind Draco’s cold, grey eyes all at once.

Draco gazed at his lover, imagining the sound of wind and rain. The awful cackle of surrounding Death Eaters. The raspy laugh of Lord Voldemort. The snort of disgust from his father.

Draco remembered the doomed, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach the day he was told he had been exiled.

Run away, Draco. It is, after all, what you are best at.

Exile.

He had run. He had. Bringing books on potion-making, copies of authentic genealogies, a Pensieve, a cauldron, a Time-Turner, and a wild plan with him. He ran.

To a place where no one could find him. To a place where no one spoke his language or knew who he was. His blood pumped battery acid, thick with grief. His mind churned with vengeance and his very breath came out in wrathful gasps. The local villagers would not meet his eyes. They were a superstitious lot and knew better than to cross the powerful-seeming foreigner.

The Tien Shen Pass.

The home of the Leer Dog Root.

Blinded by fury, nauseated with grief, nourishing himself with hate, Draco set himself in to do the one task that would exact his revenge. He was alone.

He had never before been alone.

Days had dragged into even more days. His nails became cracked and dirty, his hair grew long and wild. His only consolation was that this would be the one time he chose. This would be his one good thing.

Dumbledore, Draco thought, had saved his sanity during those long years. He had faced his worst fear, and approached the Headmaster to inform him of his fate.

And he went back, again and again, until they no longer needed to talk to pass the time. Until the silence was no longer uncomfortable and Draco was content just to be in someone else’s presence.

He had dedicated years to a cause. And now, after it was finished, after it was through, he had to invest his very freedom for another.

His soul was his own.

One could exile him, force his father to murder his mother, take his freedom, slander his name, take his very life…but no one could ever take his soul.

Maul could not have it, Draco decided. No matter what. His soul was his own.

Draco had given enough. Draco Malfoy had had enough.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, Harry,” Draco said, leaning forward, his eyes suddenly blazing with the severity of his words. “No matter how Maul makes me seem, remember me this way. Remember Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, remember the boy who tormented you to make himself feel better, remember the prat you never liked but managed fall in love with; but whatever you do, don’t you believe He’s me.”

“Not for a minute,” Harry promised solemnly.

~*~

At two in the morning, after Hermione Granger had come and gone with Draco’s last dosage of the Markaghirelle, Harry and Draco settled in for the night. Harry was resolved to stay awake until dawn and Draco was content to just be held by his Auror as he attempted snatch a few hours of sleep.

Harry wrapped his arms loosely around the Malfoy heir, giving him time to get comfortable, before tightening his embrace. Harry thought of what Draco had said earlier as the heady scent of Draco’s hair filled his nostrils and their long, steady breaths became the only sound he heard.

Remember me this way. Don’t you believe He’s me.

Harry held him until the hour struck four, his lids becoming heavy, and then decided that most of the danger had passed. Maul usually struck the hardest during three in the morning, the infamous Witching Hour.

He allowed his eyes to close, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to just rest his lids for a moment.

~*~

Maul smiled, those new, wonderful, pale lips stretching to accommodate him. The black-haired man—Harry, his name was; Harry Potter—had finally fallen asleep.

Patience had never been one of Maul’s outstanding virtues. In fact, Maul was fairly certain he had no virtues.

His first instinct was to turn around, wrap his long fingers back around that slender neck of his, and throttle the life out of the Eighth Key. However, Maul knew how to be cruel, and he knew what would be a worse death for his Host’s lover. Maul longed to see the hurt and betrayal in the Eighth Key’s long-lashed, green eyes. To see him hesitate before striking the telling blow. To see him tremble in fear and helplessness.

So, Maul decided to bide his time, to wait for him to fall into a dreamless sleep. He knew the best way. He could wait.

And now, the Eighth Key was sleeping, harmlessly, beside him.

Maul shifted in his Host’s body, getting a feel for those fingers and toes, those long limbs and quick muscles. Feeling he was ready, Maul, fast as lightning, twisted in the Eighth Key’s arms, reached out with one slender hand, and grabbed the back of his neck, shoving his face into the pillow.

Maul laughed as the Eight Key struggled beneath him and used his legs to flip the body fully on his stomach. The Eighth Key let out a wild roar, muffled by the pillow smashed into his face, and reached out his hand. Maul felt the crackle of wandless magic as the Eighth Key attempted to Accio his wand. Maul laughed, swatting away the wand and allowing it to scatter harmlessly onto the ground.

Maul pressed his Host’s legs between the Eighth Key's, grabbing the man’s hip and lifting it so his bottom stuck enticingly in the air. The Eighth Key stilled for a moment before thrashing violently.

Maul could taste his panic.

Maul laughed, rubbing his fingers roughly over the plump cheeks. He leaned in close to the Eighth Key’s ear and whispered: “Vos suscipio intellego.”

The Eighth Key shouted, pushing himself up with his forearms. The Host fought against him too. There was a spark of resilience against His hold on the body and the Eighth Key managed to flip himself over.

The Eighth Key’s eyes widened when he saw the face He was wearing and Maul laughed again. “Operor non nixor,”Maul said, smiling savagely. “Is est nusquam ut rape of suus animus! Operor vos non volo intellego?” Maul laughed again, the sound horrible and unmistakably evil.

Maul’s smile faded, feeling the Host slam against him, over and over, in his valiant attempt to push him back and reclaim his body. Maul grabbed the Eighth Key’s throat, squeezing harder as his hands came up to claw at His hand. Maul watched his eyes bulge and his face change color before he leaned in, once again, so close that His hot breath dusted across the Eighth Key’s noble cheek. “Duodeviginti Key, EGO mos attero vos! EGO mos eat suus animus! Quod EGO mos planto meus abdomen pinguis per desparo!!! EGO spendo vos.”

Then, with a strangled noise, Maul receded.

~*~

Harry saw Draco’s eyes shift rapidly from black to grey and back again. Harry watched Draco begin to shudder violently and knew he had won. Harry reached out for him, but Draco looked between them, assessed their position, and he suddenly scrambled back, his hand flying to his mouth, and his eyes wide and terrified.

“Oh, God,” Draco breathed. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…”

“It’s alright, Draco,” Harry whispered, reaching out. “He didn’t hurt me. You came back in time.”

“Oh, God,” Draco breathed again, continuing his litany of shock. “Oh, God, oh, God…”

Harry tried to pull him in an embrace, but Draco violently shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!” he shrieked. “Merlin, I nearly…I nearly…”

“But you didn’t.”

Hearing the commotion, Draco’s four-Auror guard was pounding on the bedroom door. “Is everything alright?” Nadger called.

“We’re fine,” Harry called, keeping both eyes on Draco. “We’ll be out soon.”

“Very good, sir.” Nadger called back.

Harry stood and grabbed Draco’s robe, holding it out for him. “Draco…please…”

Draco hesitated, but then let Harry put his robe on him and lead him to the bathroom, where the still-shivering Slytherin could collect himself and get dressed.

Draco closed the door behind him, leaving Harry to stare around the room, his head still reeling from what had just happened.

Maul had tried to rape him.

Harry’s face darkened as he pulled his clothes on and retrieved his wand. Maul had tried to rape him using Draco’s body.

Now, it was on.

Now, it was personal.

Remember me this way. Don’t you believe He’s me…

Now, it was time.

~*~

A/N:

Vos suscipio intellego Latin “You begin to understand.”

Operor non nixor. Is est nusquam ut rape of suus animus! Operor vos non volo intellego? Latin. “Do not struggle. This is nothing to the rape of HIS soul! Do you not want to understand?”

Duodeviginti Key, EGO mos attero vos! EGO mos eat suus animus! Quod EGO mos planto meus abdomen pinguis per desparo!!! EGO spendo vos. Latin. “Eighth Key, I will destroy you! I will eat his soul! And I will make my belly fat with despair!!! I promise you.”

mariahs_fantasy: Thank you! I'm glad it was touching for you, because the next few chapters get really dark!



paigeey07 : That's actually my favorite part too! Thank you for your review!



Lilith: And you should be nervous. Hell, I'm nervous, lol. Yeah, it does get pretty dark in the next few installments. Thank you for your review!



Timothy the Paperclip: Thank you very much! I don't think I'll ever get over "&th book replacement". That makes me feel nervous and giddy at the same time. I'm glad it was worth the wait. I hope you enjoyed the update!



Paige Taylor: Ha ha. It is a little cheesy. But I'll tell, after reading your review, I went back and re-read the chapter with Celine Dione on my CD player and IT WORKS!!! Bravo! Sometimes cheesy gets the job done, eh? Thank you so much for your review and I hope you enjoyed the update!



retaro0: Thank you very much! What an incredible review! and Merry Christmas to you too!

I walked into this chanting "There's a method to the madness, there's a method to the madness" to myself and it seems to have worked out. I'm glad the sub-plots didn't bore you. that's always a risk we take when writing so many, lol.

Thank you for reviewing! It helps tickle my muse! I hope you enjoyed the update.




A/n: Thank you, Bubba, for helping me give the "umph" to this chapter.