What's in a memory?

Chapter Eight

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Harry automatically staggered up to his room, his mind a fog. He brushed the door open but found that his bedroom was unaccountably full of clothes.

Just racks and racks of robes. Harry stared bleary eyed at this.

What the hell?

Rows of posh clothes, work scrubs, gym wear, both seasonal and occassional dressrobes, and finally his auror robes.

Harry couldn't help himself. He lurched forward and felt the material.

It was real.

It was actually real and tangiable. Right in front of him, in his bedroom -or rather his old bedroom- his robes.

All lined in a neat row: Scarlet red, with brass buttons, and black lapels for official events. Hanging just beyond that the scarlet red robes with quick fastening clasps for his everyday. It had the ministry seal embroidered into the cotton. His silver badge fastened underneath, DLME written in the centre and engraved underneath:

*Harry J Potter*

His own badge.

Harry learned that they doubled as a communication device, not dissimilar to a muggle policeman's radio. Which allowed for speedy calls for dispatch and sent signals to other aurors.

His very own badge.

Within the pockets, Harry found a pen (unaware that it was his favourite), a set magical restraint ties, and bizarrely a single thimble.

It must double as a portkey, Harry thought, returning the items back carefully, with surprisingly nimble fingers.

The robes themselves smelled freshly laundered with hints of lemongrass and lavendar.

He wondered which of them did the washing, between the busy lives of a healer and an auror.

Idly, Harry found himself dragging his fingers over the soft fabric; Despite all the waterproof and cooling charms it still felt amazing to touch. 

His robes.

He felt like he could cry. (He wouldn't, but still!). If only uncle Vernon could see him now.

Harry was distractedly exploring the garment by touch when he felt something else, a mental pin. Glancing down, he saw it. A golden plaque under his auror badge.

Holy Fuck.

He'd heard of these, they were only given to aurors of seniority...

He was a senior auror. Harry Potter, who had to fight every step of his application.

Harry was a senior auror. What had he done to be promoted to such a rank after so little time on the force?

Harry stumbled back.

This was all too overwhelming.

Harry tried to take another backwards step when he fell.

He thudded back onto the floor, landing on his arse.

Left staring dazedly at the coveted robes; the robes he tried so hard to prove he eligable for. The robes he had dreamed of wearing. The robes he'd trained and fought for. 

The same robes that hung before him now.

It felt like a dream, it was too good to be true.

He was an auror. A senior auror.

From below, Harry could hear a series of hurried footsteps and frantic mutters. He tried to scramble upright, not wanting to be caught gawking at his own robes.

Presumably he'd worn them a hundred times before.

Not wanting to seem like an idiot, sitting on his arse in front of his 'ordinary workrobes'. When the door was slammed open, the trio bursting in searching for danger. And Draco leading the bunch, stormed over.

“What do you think you're doing?!” Practically screaming in Harry's face.

Internally Draco was a flurry of thoughts:

Why had he been there in the first place? Harry was supposed to be resting. Safe in bed.

Oh Salazar, what if he's hurt? After I'd fought so hard to bring Harry home. What if he were better off on the ward? I'll never forgive myself.

What the fuck is he doing?

Before reverting back to Why is even in here? 

Unfortunately, for Harry, this worry and self-hatred poorly translated in the angry blond breathing in Harry's personal space. It was far too close for comfort and there was a crazed look in the sytherin's eyes. 

Harry felt he didn't deserve this, not for falling over.

Harry was rearing up to yell back "what the fuck is your problem!" when he was distracted by his panicked friends. 

“Did you hit your head?” Hermione cried.

"Godric Harry, don't do that! Gave us a right fright" Ron rebuked.

“Oh Harry, are you okay?” She said, moving forward as if to check for bumps herself. 

"'Mione stop crowding him" Ron tried to hold Hermione back from reaching for her wand. She was ready to start casting all sorts of diagnostic charms over Harry, who remained sat on his sore arse. 

“Merlin, I'm fine guys! Stop fussing! Ron, wouldja help me up?”

Outstretching his hand, blatantly ignoring Malfoy crouched in front of him.

Harry didn't want to touch him -his alleged husband- and have that misread in some confusing way.

Harry was already confused enough.

And he felt strange to be comforted by Draco's overwhelmingly homely scent. He didn't want to do anything embarrassing like leaning in and intentionally sniffing him. Godric, get it together.

No, Harry couldn't handle that right now.

Harry kept his gaze away from the blond, lest he somehow read the motifying thoughts bubbling beneath the surface in Harry's tired brain. 

Ron, ever the saviour, extended his freckly arm down, Harry latched on and together they pulled him upright.

“You're supposed to be resting” Draco's voice sounded weird. Anger, Harry supposed, he didn't even consider concern. 

Harry gritted his teeth. He tried to rest, after all. It's not his fault. 

“Hard to do that, without a bed.” He spat out.

All he got three bewildered stares. What now? Harry groaned.

“This is my room." The tilted heads before him made him itch. He couldn't handle their pity.  "Or it was!" 

“Harry?” Tentatively 'Mione stepped forward, moving as if not to startle him. As if he was crazy.

Oh fuck, was that wrong? He could've sworn he slept here -on the first floor for quick get away in case of... well, in case. Why were they looking at him like that?

Have I gone mad? 

Did I get confused? 

Maybe I never slept in this room at all.

Staring into all the distressed faces, Harry was less sure now.

“It was...wasn't it?” Harry hated how pathetic he sounded.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah it was." 

Thank Godric for Ron.   

"It was before your time though.” He pointed at Draco. "Man, I forgot that this was once your room."

With an awkward laugh from Ron and a corresponding sigh from Hermione, Harry was relieved.

He hadn't lost it.

This is his room, or was, at some point. It just didn't seem to be anymore.

He turned an expectant glare at Malfoy, who supposedly lived here too.

If not for all the previous evidence, Harry could, at last, see it. The proof was here.

Purely based on the obscene amount of clothes, some of which were designer.

Harry couldn't care less where his clothes were from, just as long as he had a couple of joggers, running shorts, and a robe or two. He'd be fine.

Staring at Malfoy now it made sense, all these clothes.

Whilst Harry didn't prescribe to the materialistic lifestyle, at all, he could imagine that a Malfoy wouldn't deign to wear the same outfit two days in a row.

Harry had possessions he loved, sure, but after living with the Dursleys' for so long it didn't make sense.

Harry could cope. He'd deal just like he always did.

Attention turned to the blonde for the answers he needed. Purely because he now believed the prat actually lived here. It was not because he was his-No! 

And it was not because of how stunning Malfoy looked in those sinfully tight jeans. Certainly not.

It was only because... Well, if anyone were to know where his bedroom was, his... cohabitor would know. Surely. 

As beautiful as he was, Malfoy just looked confused at Harry's stare, he raised a quizzical (and perfectly shaped) brow.

Harry folded his arms over his chest, puffing it out a little -not because he feels insecure or anything- but because it felt right. 

“So?”

“So...?”

“Where is my bed?”

Malfoy looked taken aback,like he hadn't expected this at all. But ever the perfect pureblood, he recovered squaring himself. 

“You'll find that ghastly mattress was thrown out”

“You what?”

“You can't have expected me to sleep on such secondhand filth.”

“You threw out my mattress?!”

"It had more holes than springs in it! That was the other thing, springs! that's how old that dirty thing was?"

“Harry, it was in the house for so long” Hermione interjected.

“And it was disgusting!”

“Not helping Draco!”

Harry struggled to keep up. He just wanted to sleep.

“Could someone please show me to my bedroom...please?”

“Oh yeah.” Ron volunteered. That was his best mate, he could always count on him. 

“Actually Ron, I think I need some help in the kitchen” Hermione squinted at the tall ginger.

“What?” Ron seemed to be just as baffled as Harry. When Hermione nudged him in the ribs. “-oof, alright, yeah whatever.”

“See you Harry” Hermione chimed dragging her lanky boyfriend- husband-  out.

Harry's tired brain tried to figure out what he'd witnessed.

He'd just pieced it together as he heard them retiring downstairs.

“See-? Wait!” He called after his best friends.

Refusing to believe they'd just left him.

Alone.

With Malfoy.

“Come on, Scarhead.” Malfoy beckoned as Harry realised the options were sleep here or...

Harry sighed. Before exiting what would he would later mentally dub "the completely unnecessary walk-in wardrobe".   

Malfoy lead him up the second staircase, then the next. All the way up until they were outside Sirius' room.

Harry stood shocked. No. Harry's hand already grasped on the doorknob.

“You didn't!” Harry thrust the door open, preemptively agast, expecting the worst.

If Malfoy converted Sirius' room into his...his perverted sex dungeon or something Harry would kill him.

But Harry was shocked (albeit pleased) to find it was exactly as it was. The way he remembered.

“No, Harry, we didn't. But I'm glad you think so low of me.” He said sardonically.

“So, why did you-?” Harry didn't know the end to the question. 

“You needed somewhere familar to calm down. This was the only room we haven't changed."

He added, "I would never do that."

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Feeling slightly stupid he believed Malfoy would defile Sirius' room now he could see it. 

“Whenever your ready our bedroom's across the hall. I'll leave you to it.” Then the sytherin prince quietly shut the door. Leaving Harry inside.

Harry was grateful that Draco wasn't pushing him, but was baffled.

Was he normally like this?

Was there romance at all in their relationship? Harry couldn't see it.

Sure, Malfoy was fit but that can't be all their relationship was, could it?

Just raw attraction and jibes and leaving the other in different rooms of the house.

That can't be right. But Harry couldn't make heads or tails out of it. He was so bone tired. He was thankful for Sirius' room though, so beautifully normal in the sea of crazy Harry's drowning in.

Harry sat on Sirius' bedding, flattening his hand over the familiar sheets. Taking steadying breaths Harry started to drift.

Then slowly, without realising it, he crawled up the bedding before he fell into a deep slumber.

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