What's in a memory?

Chapter Twenty-Two

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Draco needed space. 

He may just kill Harry if he stayed within 20 feet of him. He genuinely might strike him down with the way he was feeling right now, unless he regained some semblance of control and forgiveness to revive Harry... which may take hours in his current state of mind. 

It'd be easily done, Harry had died before, after all, and came to no long-term physical harm. And Draco was an extremely skilled healer. He could do a miraculous job of it....

No! This was the utter madness, Potter-madness. He knew this feeling he'd suffered it at Hogwarts for years, (in between crushing on the speccy git, naturally). 

So, not death then ~ But maybe he could just go back, kick the sidekicks out the Floo and hex the hell out of his sodding husband.

Merlin, but he knew some fabulous hexes that would really express the depths of his feelings right now. And he may just cast a few surreptitious hexes on the smug Weasel as he left too.

Changed the bloody wards on his OWN HOUSE!

Without even the common courtesy of mentioning it to him! 

This wouldn't have happened at the manor. They wouldn't have done this to Harry. Harry, in turn, wouldn't have done this to Hermione. If the roles were reversed...

He paused in his mindless stride toward his potion lab in the sub-basement, which they had had to keep hidden from Teddy to avoid any accidents, obviously.

Twirling his wand, watching idly as it sparked lovingly in his hands, he could almost feel Harry writhing under a volley of his favourite hexes until he begged forgiveness for all the worry and stress he had caused him. For the thoughtless, idiotic, irresponsible actions he had knowingly pursued, regardless of the present dangers. Running ... on his own, for Salazar's sake! 

I mean, Godric, what was he thinking?

Draco was now shaking. Hands trembling.

Circe's tits, he could've been hurt.

Kidnapped. 

Killed.

But then again, starting a hexing match could lead to a duel if Harry wasn't feeling properly remorseful. It had before, he recalled wincing, on more than one occasion when one of them completely lost their shit over something and the other failed to remain calm, which resulted in all hell breaking loose, which could be both messy and painful.

Until they finally quit; through sheer exhaustion, one of them besting the other, or someone actually getting really hurt which always instantly brought them crashing back to their senses.

And inevitably falling on each other in desperate, heated desire, moments later ...

And that, he reflected unwillingly amused, was also usually messy and painful too.

Merlin, He swore under his breath, he was instantly hard at just the memories ...

Memories

Memories Harry didn't have. Salazar, this was so fucked up. 

So, anyway, a hexing match probably wasn't the best plan of action right now.

Unless...

Unless, he simply disarmed Harry first this time, brilliant.

Which, he could do of course...

Probably.

Maybe.

I mean, If he wasn't expecting it ... which he wouldn't be if he played nice, Harry was only 20 at the moment after all, and Draco traditionally played dirty. 

A wicked, secretive smile stole over his face as his feet started quietly to carry him back toward his unsuspecting husband and friends. Wand humming warmly in his hands, soft green magic spilling from its tip, no longer a separate lifeless object, now a living conduit of his livid emotions.

Three strides into his mission, Kreacher interrupted his march to vengeance, popping out of the air asking, of all things, about lunch preparation as if Draco cared one jot at this time! He dispatched the house elf summarily with utter disregard, but the mood was broken, his wand had ceased its mesmerizing dance in his hands and unwelcome reality seeped into Draco's emotion-riddled brain little by little. 

Potentially hexing the arse off his befuddled husband was not the right vibe on the day he had first confessed his love to him.

No, there would sadly be no hex-fest today, no matter how much his deplorably foolish husband deserved it. Rather he needed to reinforce and restore their bond. 

And return Harry his bloody wedding ring, right now, when he would most likely accept and wear it again. Hence, allowing Draco access to his locator spell. So. He. Would. Never. Lose. Him. Again.

Accordingly, Draco blew out a long slow breath. He prided himself on his ability to remain calm.

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

It should be working, he's done this a hundred times before at work. 

That was his job, remaining calm and collected amongst the chaos. 

Someone bleeding out?

Someone charmed into uncontrollable dancing? 

Be it burnt victims, cursed, or blunt force trauma; he remains in control.

The blood and guts, the internal organs splayed across the hospital bed, or people splinched within an inch of their life. None of it phased him, Draco was always measured and calculated. If he took a minute to even his breath, he could handle it all. He was not shocked by half the things he had witnessed, he just sucked in a deep breath and continued his role. He breathed in and out and focused on the task at hand. 

The secret to his successful marriage to his impulsive, gryffindor husband. 

Because despite the chaotic, tumultuous mess surrounding him, he always remained calm, like a buoy in an ocean during a storm; It rocked him, it shifted him, but Draco remained floating above the troubled waters. 

On more than one occasion, he had been summoned in the night by a desperate patronus asking for his assistance because one of the healers had struggled to keep their cool. 

But as he once more resumed his now unhurried walk back toward his study, he found something still prickled uncomfortably at the back of Draco's mind, something Harry had blurted out whilst defending himself ~ what was it he had said again?  

Ah there! That was it! 

Unpicking the thought from his niggling subconscious, as he did with complex patient histories, he found it and slotting the pieces together like the most satisfactory puzzle.

Spirals!

Harry had suggested that without his grueling daily exercise regime, his immense magical control and ability to channel his excess magic effectively wasn't possible.

Since when?

Was this a new development after the attack? Had something in the attack rendered his magical control unstable as a side effect? Or indeed had this been the primary purpose of the dark curse?

Draco needed more information to work with. But Harry had clammed up the second he had blurted out that nugget of information, looking for just the merest instant, stricken by his accidental confession.

No, it hadn't sounded to Draco like this was a new development as he replayed the interaction over in his mind. By the guilt-laden look, Harry had shot him, it sounded like this was a normal part of Harry's routine of channeling and controlling all his power; something he had incidentally, successfully hidden from Draco for seven years.

Salazar! Just how powerful was his bloody husband? 

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Meanwhile, back in the study...

"What just happened?" Harry's face crumpled in confusion, turned wide-eyed to his friends.

"Oh Merlin, did it happen again?" Ron worried, voice small. 

"What? No." Harry vehemently shook his head. "No. I mean I remember what happened. Just now. I just mean... I experienced it, I just don't know...God, what happened?"

"You went out." Ron offered.

"And that causes this?" Again, Harry gestured almost helplessly to the former mess that had been the study. The shards of glass, the charred bits of papers and pottery that had littered the grey carpet.

"He was worried about you," Hermione interjected. 

"Whatever for! I was just running!" Harry felt his pulse begin to rise.

"Out. Alone" Hermione pointed out stubbornly. 

"Mate, that wasn't exactly your best plan." Ron reasoned.

"But I always go running!" Harry flung out exasperatedly, still fighting his cause, he began to pace the small office. Feeling increasingly hedged in.

"We know, Harry." Hermione agreed placatingly "And so does Dray, He's just... confused." 

"He's confused!" Harry huffed. "How am I supposed to feel? I'm the one who has goddamn memory loss."

"Harry, calm down."

Sparks were starting to fly out around him. His skin was itching, and his pulse rate was still rising. Ron stood quickly, facing his best friend, careful NOT to touch him.

"Mate, come on calm down, take some deep breaths."  

"I thought the running would help," Harry whispered meekly. Staring down at his hands, still emitting sparks of magic, helplessly. "It usually does". 

"So that helps?" Hermione inquired, pensively mentally taking notes.

"Well yeah! why did you think I was such a nut about it?"

"Thought you were worried about being trapped behind a desk all your life. Thought it was a health thing." Ron shrugged

"A health thing? What about the many, many burgers we have snuck around to eat between Hermione and training, leads you to think that I'm a health nut?" Harry demanded baffled

"Ronald." Hermione rounded on her husband with narrowed eyes

"What? m'ione, You're mad, that was seven years ago!" Ron protested valiantly.

"Right," she muttered, the glare in her eyes didn't fade though, as if she hadn't quite let it go. Ron glared back defiantly, crossing his arms.

"The point is, what about that means I have ever, ever given a crap about my health!" Harry continued, despite the squabble his now glaring friends were having in front of him.

"He's got a point, he still practically inhales his food," Ron commented.

There was a tense moment where no one spoke.

They both knew Harry's painful history, they had both experienced that pain whilst on the run nine years ago.

"But the running," Hermione rambled on as if they had never stopped that line of questioning. "It helps Harry?"

Harry's magic fizzled and cracked under his skin, like water droplets falling onto burning firewood. It stung for a moment, then Harry flexed his fingers and the vase on the windowsill exploded again.

"Crap," Harry whispered, flailing. 

"Reparo." Ron swished his hand in the familiar pattern. Harry gave him a quizzical look, "Living with toddlers, you know?" He shrugged.

"I can usually control it." Harry was staring intensely at his traitorous hands as if they were now stained and dripping in blood.

"At least it wasn't the window." Ron chuckled "Those were always bitch to fix."

Ron had lost count of the number of times they'd come home, after an Auror shift, to find Draco hexing the crap out of his locked office, Usually after losing a patient, sometimes when he was stuck in a research loop that he couldn't break out of. Harry had always merely broken the door down -surprisingly easy to fix Ron reflected - Grabbed his partner, forcibly pulling him down into his arms and held him, whispering softly to him, stroking his blonde hair until Draco eventually just gave in and stopped, sagging against Harry. and then began to clear up the mess. Finally, they would manage to send the exhausted, ( and usually sleep-deprived), Draco up to bed; Upon which they then reparo-ed everything in sight, before they collapsed together.  

"But Harry, help me understand the running-?" 

"Yes. Bloody hell Hermione, it helps." Harry snapped. "I don't know why. Energy or something, the kinetic -am I saying that right? -" Hermione nods. "Right, the kinetic action helps drain it, control it. Allows me to... I don't know, live without accidents." He gestures mournfully at the repaired vase. 

"Thanks." He swallowed as if it were a huge piece of toffee gluing his mouth together.

"No problem." Ron shrugged, "Just last week, Rosy broke Hermione's grandmother's necklace and I had to chain it back together."

"She what?" Hermione squealed.

"Got pretty good at Wandless then?" Harry asked, unperturbed. As Hermione continued: "She knows she isn't allowed-" 

"Hermione, it's okay. I fixed it. And took away her favourite pencil as an adequate punishment." Ron answered, grinning cockily.

"What kind of child has a favourite pencil?" Harry inquired incredulously.

"I did/Hermione did" Hermione and Ron answered at the same time.

They all looked at each other and collapsed into laughter.

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From outside the study door, Draco listened quietly. Mentally urging Hermione back to the subject that he so desperately wanted to explore. 

The magic, Hermione, he whispered internally, ask about his bloody magic.

But it seemed as if the topic was lost, as beyond the door, the laughter dispelled into a conversation about the oldest Weasley-Granger.

Irritated, and out of patience, Draco pushed through the door, interrupting the golden trio mid-sentence.

"And then he doused her in porrid-"

"We need to talk," Draco stated unrepentantly, his steely gaze firmly fixed on Harry, who studiously refused to meet his husband's eyes.

"Yeah," Harry sighed pushing his sock-clad toe across the carpet resignedly, "I guess we do." He nodded, then turned to his friends.

"We'll just... go to work then," Hermione said, summoning her outer robes, and beginning to pull them on. 

"Call us if you need us." Ron chimed in. "You can still cast a patronus, right?"

"Er, I guess?" Harry answered.

"Expecto Patronum." he murmured softly swishing his wand inelegantly in time, not sure where his magic was at, at the moment. Predictably, the brilliant white stag appeared, larger than comfortable in the small space. Ron and Hermione backed up instinctively against the couch. It turned its head to and fro, before glancing at Draco. At which point it advanced, and began to nuzzle in the crook of his neck. Draco was overwhelmed that Harry's magic responded that way. He couldn't exactly feel the incorporeal patronus, but rather the familiar tingle and warmth of Harry's magical signature pressing against him. Touched that it still sought him out, clearly centered on him even amongst this select group, all the same. He raised his hand to softly, stroke the outline of the stag's magic, which preened under the attention. 

They all stared for a second. Transfixed.

A silent, I missed you too, fell from Draco's lips. 

But was heard all the same. 

Before Harry disbursed the spell with a wave of his wand.

"Seems to be working." He commented breaking the room's frozen tableau

"Magic is still a little strong though." Hermione hummed thoughtfully as she finished redressing for work.

"Yeah," Harry scratched at his neck embarrassed. "Yeah, it is. I may need to go out again."

"No!" Ron and Dray shouted in unison. 

"Not without someone with you," Ron stated firmly. 

"Right, cos' there's a madman on my tail." Harry's voice joked, but his companions all nodded solemnly. 

"YOU can use the gym," Draco stated darkly.

"We have a gym?" asked Harry incredulously, looking at his husband directly for the first time since he had re-entered the study. 

"Complete with kick-arse hand-to-hand combat space" Ron chuckled. "Not that I'M volunteering," he added hastily backing away from Harry, hands up in mock surrender.

"Don't look at me. I haven't been able to take him on since I had Hugo." Hermione shook her head and hands simultaneously.

"You and me both." Ron agreed solemnly

"Oh for pity's sake, would you leave already? I am perfectly capable of taking on my husband." Draco snapped

Hermione snorted suggestively, Ron gagged and Harry turned instantly red. "Oh, get out the lot of you, I meant in combat. Get your head out of the gutter."

"When have you ever cleared out a gutter?" Ron shot back.

"Oh fuck off already before I hex you Weasly! I need to talk to Harry."

Harry gulped audibly, "Right."

"So, you'll call?" Hermione pressed.

"Tonight. I may need a place to stay if he stays like this." Harry whispered.

"You are not leaving my sight, Malfoy-Potter," Draco growled darkly.

"Go on. Get to work Granger-Weasleys' your precious saviour is, as always, safe with me."

"If you don't lose him" Ron muttered under his breath.

"OUT!" yelled Draco, wand suddenly in hand in what the old friends all knew was an idle threat, Ron grinned evilly at Draco behind Harry's oblivious back.

"Dray, No" yelped Harry alarmed, leaping without thought between his husband and Ron, Draco's wand flying into his outstretched hand, unwittingly as a result of all the pent-up excess magic, thrumming through Harry.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other and then at Harry who was staring down at Draco's wand now in his possession for the second time that morning sympathetically; Draco in a temper was nothing to be underestimated but then, Harry had married him and some things needed to be worked out privately. So shrugging helplessly Hermione placed a chaste kiss on Ron's lips and firmly disapparated them both to the ministry.

"And this... is yours." Harry spoke disjointedly, delicately presenting the proferred wand back to it's rightful owner.

Harry didn't even dare to look up.

"You wanted to talk?" After too long a silence, still staring at his sock-clad feet.

"Did you just-?

"Er, I might've." 

"Did you just wandlessly disarm me? By accident."

A tentative, "Maybe?"

"Right," swiping the wand back. "Give me your wand."

"What?"

"Your wand, now Harry."

"Er," Harry said fumbling to get it from his waistband. "I am going to get it back, aren't I?"

"Did you, or did you not, just disarm me wandlessly? You do not need your wand right now."

"Er, okay." Reluctantly handing his precious wand over to his enraged husband.

"Now, let's get to the gym before you destroy the entire house." 

And much like a dog with its tail between its legs, Harry trailed after Draco's tall form as he stalked up the stairs.

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