Chapter Text
Going to work on Monday as if nothing is wrong is one of the harder things Harry has had to do. He’s immediately swamped with calls and Owls from Angelina and Parvarti about campaign activities, but he begs off claiming he’s coming down with something.
“Just give me until Wednesday,” he pleads and hopes it sounds convincing. “I’ll have shaken this off cold by the party, and then we can concentrate on the final push.”
As if to confirm his worst suspicions, Dawlish more or less immediately calls by their office to check on him.
“Heard you weren’t well, lad,” he says, eyeing Harry carefully.
“Nothing a day in bed and some Pepper Up won’t fix,” Harry says, blowing his nose noisily and swiping at streaming eyes.
Dawlish screws up his face and nods, muttering something along the lines of “Get well soon” as he leaves.
“Thank Rose for me,” Harry sighs, tossing the Skiving Snackbox back in Ron’s direction. “She should get useful sweets confiscated more often.”
“You should get out of here,” Ron says, frowning after Dawlish. “Until we know who’s involved in this mess. Merlin knows what they might make you do.”
And Harry’s forced to agree, leaving him at home for two days with Kreacher complaining almost constantly about the plans for the party. It’s a relief to have Kingsley and Ron and a cadre of Aurors he doesn’t know well turn up on Wednesday afternoon.
“I’m very glad you’re here, sir,” he says to Kingsley, even as it makes his temples throb to say it.
“If what Ronald is describing turns out to be true, then we’re facing a crime of unprecedented severity,” the Minister says gravely. “But I for one will be very glad to learn that you haven’t meant the things you’ve been saying lately.”
Harry nods, unable to even be embarrassed, feeling nothing but furious agreement.
Luna arrives, wearing a gorgeous pale green gown and a matching leafy brooch. “Can’t be too careful,” she murmurs, tucking another small handful of leaves into one of Harry’s pockets. Ron stations two Aurors at the Floo to cast the diagnostic traces, and she demonstrates to them exactly what they’re looking for. Harry shows the Minister and the other Aurors to the library to wait, checking that Kreacher is under strict instructions to ensure they’re well-fed.
Harry tugs at his shirt cuffs and tries to tame his hair a little in the mirror. He feels extremely nervous and also a little exhilarated that they might finally be at the end. That his memories will soon be restored and his mind his own again.
As the guests start to arrive he finds himself drifting back and forth between the Floo and the garden, watching as his friends and family arrive. If anyone is puzzled about being scanned by Aurors, they don’t seem to show it. Even Dawlish barely blinks at the standard trace before striding out to the garden. He snatches up a flute of champagne and downs it quickly, but doesn’t otherwise seem particularly on his guard.
Harry glances at Ron, who mouths back, “No rune.”
Even though he was pretty sure going in, it’s still horrible to have it confirmed in this way.
Almost everyone he’s expecting has arrived when the Floo wooshes to life again and Angelina, Parvati and Dennis step through, with two older wizards Harry doesn’t recognise.
Kreacher takes this moment to wander out of the kitchen with another tray of vol au vents and mutters under his breath. “Exactly like last time. Uninvited. No manners.”
Harry glances at Ron, who is trying to school his face into a neutral expression, and Harry knows for certain without even asking that not one of them is showing a rune. It’s a crushing feeling that leaves him short of breath. To have spent so much time over the last few weeks with these people, day in and day out, thinking he was doing the right thing and have it turn out to have all been manipulated. Nothing but lies.
“Good to see you feeling better, Harry,” Angelina says smoothly, and Harry realises she expects him to be compliant. To not be at all surprised to see her and her co-conspirators in his home. Harry’s head throbs so hard trying to struggle against the disconnect that it’s hard to stay standing. He draws on every ounce of inner strength as he shakes her hand and pastes on a smile.
“It’s good to get things back on track.”
They all smile broadly as he ushers them out to the garden. “Come on through, I’m about to make a speech.
Behind him, Ron disappears into the library, and Harry hopes that this will all go as easily as they planned.
He steps out into the garden and taps a fork against his glass to get everyone’s attention. His headache is splitting, as if the spell can physically detect his attempts to resist it.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says, a gentle Sonorus making sure everyone can hear him. “I’m sorry to make you all attend two birthday parties for me, it is a little greedy.”
The assembled group titter awkwardly, glancing at one another in confusion. Not Dawlish, of course, who is staring at Harry with a piercing expression.
“I wanted one more guest to join us,” he says, looking over his shoulder, as Draco comes out of the house. The guests gasp, and Harry sort of wants to as well, but for a completely different reason. Draco’s midnight blue shirt shows off his pale skin to best advantage, and it’s open at the neck giving Harry too many reasons to concentrate on his collarbones. Draco keeps his eyes on Harry, giving him a small smile of encouragement, and Harry feels steeled by the bravery it's taken for him to step out here in front of a group of people who think they hate him and want him imprisoned, or worse. He turns back to the crowd.
“The truth is, the last time we all gathered here, six interlopers cast a spell on all of us.”
Dawlish is reaching for his wand now and out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Angelina and Parvati trying to flee, but the Aurors are flooding out of the house casting rapidly and have all of the suspects restrained before they can attempt anything.
“Harry, what is the meaning of this?” cries Molly, echoing the shocked expressions of all of his guests. Fortunately Kingsley takes that moment to step to Harry’s side.
“We won’t keep you here long,” he says. “The Aurors are going to take the wand signatures of these suspects and we’ll shortly cast the countercurse.”
Murmurs of disbelief and indignation spread across the garden, and Harry sinks gratefully to sit on a stone bench and rest. Draco comes to sit beside him, a careful distance between them, but somehow it’s still enormously comforting.
The Aurors bundle Dawlish and the others inside the house, and a few moments later Ron emerges and passes a piece of parchment to Kingsley. The Minister lifts his wand and with a few careful movements, casts up toward the sky over the centre of the garden. A shower of blue sparks explodes from the tip of his wand, showering down over everyone like rain. Harry feels them, warm and tingling against his skin, and then he blinks slowly, as if waking from an intense dream.
It feels so much lighter, like a dark storm has passed over and left a bright summer afternoon in its wake. All around him, his friends and family are gasping and hugging one another and looking horrified and confused. Harry feels like steel bands have been loosened from around his chest.
“Kingsley, thank god,” he says. The Minister gives him a careful look.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry rushes on. “I never wanted to oppose you. Merlin, I can’t think of anything worse than being Minister for Magic.”
This prompts a startled laugh out of Kingsley. “I’m very glad to hear it, Harry.”
“I’ll give a press conference, first thing,” Harry offers quickly. “Withdraw from the race, renounce everything I’ve said. Whatever you need.”
The Minister nods. “I think we’ll need to be announcing a few things in the morning, given it seems the Head Auror is destined for Azkaban. If you’ll excuse me, I need to start getting some answers.”
He leaves with Ron and the Aurors.
Around them, Harry’s guests are starting to chatter animatedly, piecing together what must have happened. It feels almost like a party again, particularly now that the horrible weight of suggestion has lifted off his shoulders. Harry turns to Draco to say as much and is startled to find him looking bereft, twirling an empty champagne flute in his fingers.
“We did it,” Harry says, leaning a little closer to press his arm against Draco’s, feeling the warmth of him through their shirtsleeves.
“Part of it,” Draco counters, but doesn’t draw his arm away.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Harry, it’s lovely that your nearest and dearest don’t want to throw me in a dungeon any more, but that was only part of the problem, wasn’t it?” He gives a sad little laugh and Harry very much wants to comfort him.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know about you, but I have no more recollection of our weekend in Brighton than I did this morning. Or our plans to remodel your bathroom. Or that hike we went on.”
Harry’s heart sinks. He’d felt so relieved to have the political pressure come off his mind, and so glad to have Draco at his side and no longer under threat, that he hadn’t noticed the memories hadn’t returned as well.
“I have good news and bad news,” Ron says, tugging open the fastenings at the neck of his uniform as he comes up the steps from the house. He looks tired and a little sad.
“The good news is that they’re all singing like canaries. Part of a conservative sect that believe adamantly we’ve gone too far down the path of forgetting the War.” Ron gives a little snort, as if to say were that even possible. “Apparently when you told Dawlish you were going to go public with your relationship with Malfoy at your birthday party, they decided to set this whole thing in motion. Two birds with one stone, really. They’d get to stop their war hero’s relationship with someone they revile, and they’d get a political puppet to advance their agenda. Disgusting.”
At least the truth is coming out, Harry thinks. As horrifying as it might be. But his relief is short-lived.
“The bad news is the memory modification is irreversible.”
“What?”
Draco tenses beside him, and Harry reaches out without looking to take his hand, lacing their fingers together. He waits for some sort of negative reaction from Ron, but Ron glances down and then just rolls his eyes at Harry, before his face settles into a more sympathetic expression.
“I’m really sorry, mate. Obviously we’ll get the Healers and the Unspeakables to look it all over, but these arseholes seem to be being pretty honest about what they did. I don’t think the memories are coming back. They were startled we even worked it out, but it seems like their ancient spellwork just didn't catch Muggle things like a pair of sodding trainers.”
Hermione comes over to join them. She hugs Harry tightly, forcing him to drop Draco’s hand, but then she reaches over and hugs Draco as well, prompting a slightly startled look.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “We’d never have solved this without you.”
Draco nods, looking awkward but pleased.
“Do you feel alright now?” Harry asks her.
“I mean, yes, the pressure has lifted. But it feels awful, Harry.” Hermione seems stricken. “I’m going to have to go back over all my legal cases for the last couple of months with a fine-toothed comb. I’m horrified about what I might have done thinking it was in service of this awful cause.”
“You’re not the only one,” sighs Ron.
“Well, at least you won’t be facing that pile of paperwork alone,” Harry says to him with a small smile. It does feel like a relief, to be staying in a role he knows he’s good at, Ron at his side. It’s a small consolation, given all the things he apparently won’t be getting back.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Draco says, and pats Harry’s knee as he leaves.
“I really am sorry, Harry,” Hermione says. “I’m going to share all my memory charm research with Luna and the team. Maybe there’s a way.”
Maybe, Harry thinks. It makes him heartsore: the tantalising glimpse through the photos and emails of a version of himself that had been so happy.
“Were you very shocked?” Harry asks, his voice small. He’s not even really sure which of them he’s addressing the question to.
“That you’ve found yourself the least suitable boyfriend in the wizarding world?” Hermione asks with a smile that clearly signals she’s teasing.
“Not really, mate,” Ron says, knocking his fist gently against Harry’s arm. “It was always Malfoy with you, wasn’t it?”
And now that Harry can think clearly again, he reckons that’s about as close to the truth as he’s getting.
~
Harry sees Draco’s bright shock of hair coming up the escalator before he can even pick him out of the crowd.
“Did it go okay?”
Draco shrugs, his hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets. “I’m going to have a devil of a time catching up before the end of term exams, but the conjured medical records certainly helped. My supervisor is giving me extra tutoring because of my recent traumatic brain injury.”
They make their way along the crowded street, Harry tugging Draco close with a hand in the crook of his arm.
“You’ll pass easily,” he assures him.
Draco hums noncommittally in that way Harry’s learning he always does when complimented. For someone so frightfully vain it’s very difficult to get him to accept something nice said to his face.
“Did you see Luna again today?” Draco asks.
“Yeah, no news though. Another battery of tests. One of them made purple smoke come out of my ears. And I recalled a Muggle nursery rhyme I’d forgotten since before school, but nothing more useful than that.”
Draco tugs at his lower lip with his teeth, but says nothing.
“Are you very disappointed that we won’t get the memories back?” Harry asks. He’s willing to let Luna, and the Unspeakables, and Hermione, and anyone else they can think of have a crack at their latest theories on restoring them, but it seems like a fading hope.
“Frustrated, maybe,” Draco replies, and gives him a smug little smile. “I feel like we probably had a pretty good time.”
Harry laughs, and tugs on his arm as they veer into the sidelane and through a door.
“We’ll just have to work extra hard to make new ones then, won’t we?”
The bartender looks up as they come in and gives them a broad grin. “There you two are. You’re too pale to have been sunning yourselves in the Med, what on earth have you been up to?”
Draco smiles in return, leaning in to press a warm kiss to Harry’s jawline, making him blush outrageously as the bartender sets up their drinks.
“We have absolutely no idea.”
~~~