Chapter Text
Draco took off his glasses and placed them on the large pile of paperwork on his desk, sighing. There were ten certified Legilimens healers, and somehow all of the worst cases always ended up with him. His day had been fraught with endless paperwork and dreary meetings. Thankfully, that was the last meeting on his schedule, and he could retire to his house after he finished the last of his notes.
He was startled out of his daze with a subtle tug on his office wards, signifying that someone was trying to enter. He mentally prepared himself for one last meeting, pocketing his glasses and combing his fingers through his hair in an effort to appear presentable. He stacked his notes on the latest resolved curses into a neat pile and put the quill back in the ink pot. Who could that be? Not Pansy or Blaise— they’re both busy. He sighed, standing up to open the door. He crossed the room and looked through the peephole, becoming more and more confused by the second.
He opened the door for Hermione Granger, her black curls frizzier than usual. Draco blinked in bemusement. “Granger? I didn’t know you had an appointment today.” She sighed, looking exhausted and disgruntled. “Please, come in.”
“I didn’t, actually,” She said brusquely, “but I heard that you’re the best at what you do and all the other legilimens healers are booked solid. I have…a friend that needs your services.”
“A friend?” He was still confused, but he walked over to his desk to grab a muggle notebook. “No matter. What’s the problem? You seem… worn out.”
“Hah. You could say that. Between my duties as the new head of the DMLE and Har—.” she seemed to cut herself off with a small cough. “Anyways, my friend got himself obliviated. I’ve been to half the healers in London, trying to find someone who can recover a lost memory and Jesus fucking Christ it took at least thirteen visits before someone told me I needed a Legilimens specialized healer—.“ she cut herself off again, perhaps realizing she was rambling. “So to sum it up, you might be the only person who can help us. This needs to be done quickly.” She took a breath, and Draco blinked.
“That’s… ok. The healer who told you you needed someone who was legilimens certified was correct. I’m afraid that Legilimency is the only way to recover memories. However, it also depends on how bad the obliviation was,” He stated, hoping that it wasn’t too serious.
Granger looked slightly surprised by his query. “My friend is in possession of most of his memories except for one chunk that is probably around an hour.”
Draco’s shoulders relaxed, the tension in his jaw subsiding. “That’s better than I feared,” He muttered. Louder, he stated, “I cannot guarantee to you that I’ll be able to recover it, but it should be possible.”
“So…you’ll do it?” She seemed surprised, but knowing their…past, it was well deserved.
“Of course. What kind of healer would I be if I refused someone who needs help? I will go assess the situation— see if I can quickly find the memory.” He began to mentally prepare himself for one last session before he could go home. “Who is it? Is it someone I know?”
But Hermione was already leaving, gesturing for him to follow. He shrugged, letting her lead the way.
~
As soon as they left the safety of his wards, Granger grabbed his arm and pulled him into a side-along apparition. Caught off guard by the sudden unpleasant sensation, he stumbled and would have fallen, had the dark-skinned girl not grabbed his arm.
He turned to glare at her, and she grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, but you aren’t allowed to apparate into his wards unless I do it for you.” He continued to glare, but quickly straightened up and brushed himself off.
“Well, now that that’s taken care of, care to tell me where we are?” Draco looked at her questioningly.
“This is where H— my friend lives.” She appeared to be bracing herself for something. She shook herself off, taking a deep breath and leading him towards the little house ahead of them.
He turned from her to survey the grounds. He was surrounded with a beautiful mix of the reds and oranges of late fall. The air was crisp, tinged with the scents of damp earth and the faint sweetness of decaying leaves. The small house they were facing was seemingly in the middle of a forest, with no one around for miles. Probably the best, for a wizarding house, although I haven’t seen one quite this secluded… He shook his head, continuing to take in the grounds. They seemed almost overgrown, leading to a slightly run-down look to the house. In many ways, it was the polar opposite to the manor he grew up in. Instead of the ominous looming building and meticulously groomed lawn, the short home and unruly forest seemed to invite him in, as if recognizing him as a long lost friend. It was enough to temporarily take his mind off his exhaustion.
They made it to the door, and Granger steeled herself, drawing up all of her confidence as the head of the DMLE, and knocked. What could have elicited such a reaction? Is it someone I know?... But his thoughts were cut off as the door opened— and Draco froze. Harry fucking Potter was standing on the threshold, bringing all of his exhaustion rushing back.
~
Potter was just as he remembered from his trial— still surrounded by that quiet air of subtle confidence, the kind that came from years of facing danger head-on. His tan skin appeared to glow, and his bright green eyes seemed to pierce through Draco’s occlumency barrier without using an ounce of legilimency. His tattoos stood out against his dark skin, each of them seeming to tell a story of their own. He looked every bit the Auror the world saw him as, but there was an undertone of something else. The shock of seeing him hit Draco harder than he expected, like a blow to the chest that left him breathless and tense. Potter’s eyes seemed to momentarily widen and his breathing seemed to stutter, but it was over in less than a heartbeat. It’s just the shock at seeing me. It’s just his shock. His pulse fluttered uncomfortably, and before he could even acknowledge it, he forced it down, locking his traitorous feelings in a box behind the familiar, cold barrier of occlumency.
As Draco’s shock at seeing the boy-who-lived lessened, he turned to Granger, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
She smiled sheepishly back at him, but stood her ground. He sighed, and turned back to the current problem. “Auror Potter.” Draco’s voice was much smoother than the tumult going on in his head.
Harry seemed surprised , as though he could scarcely believe Draco was being civil with him. Fair enough, I suppose, but it’s been years since I last saw him— can’t he believe I’ve changed?
“Healer Malfoy,” he replied, seemingly noticing the badge on Draco’s robes. The green-eyed man turned to Hermione, fixing her with a look that would make hardened criminals tremble in their boots.
Unfazed, she sighed. “Don’t give me that look.” Impressive. “Draco is the only one who can help you, unless you want to wait months to find another legilimens healer who—”
“Wait— a legilimens healer? You must be insane if you think I'm letting him anywhere near my head,” Potter interrupted. He looked irate, and Hermione gave him a look. He calmed himself, seeming to remember that Draco was standing there.
“Harry. It’s been years since anything happened. Maybe he’s changed. Can you at least give him a chance?” Thank you, Granger. “Besides, the memory is important enough that you can’t wait for months just to find someone else who can help you.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he sighed.
Draco jumped in. “Granger, if I may,” she nodded. “I’m afraid that legilimency is the only way to recover obliviated memories. It is also true that I am one of the only healers certified in legilimency in Europe, which means I am extraordinarily busy,” at this, Potter turned to Granger, with a triumphant smile on his face. “However, you caught me just in time. I just finished with one of my most time-consuming patients and have space on my schedule for one more.” At this, the Indian man sighed, and Granger returned his look of triumph.
“Alright. Fine. Hermione, you win. Come in.” Potter turned around, leading them into his home. At this, Granger grinned victoriously at Draco.
“And this is where I leave you,” She said with a faint air of amusement. “Good luck.” She turned to leave, apparating as soon as she stepped off the doorstep.
Potter turned around. “Coming, Malfoy?”
~
The home of the illustrious Harry Potter was much smaller than one might expect, considering the size of his vaults. The space was a lot more cramped than the Manor, but it had a warmth that his childhood house had lacked. While the Malfoy Manor was always pristine, it had never felt like a home. Potter’s house was quite the opposite, with dishes in the kitchen, coats strewn on the racks, and photos lining the walls. This was the kind of thing Draco had never allowed himself to want. Hell, his father would have disowned him for even thinking about it— and yet, as much as he hated to admit it, part of him would always long for this sense of home.
His train of thought trailed off as Potter led them into a small sitting room just off the entrance hall. It had a variety of seating options, along with a small muggle telly against one wall. The dark-haired man sat down in one of the armchairs, and Draco followed, stiffly setting himself onto the one opposite Potter.
On the walls, there was a strange mix of muggle and wizard photographs of Potter’s friends, his achievements, and even a few pictures of his parents and adoptive family. Draco felt his chest tighten in envy. The dark-haired man seemed to have it all. A family that loved him unconditionally, popularity, power. All things Draco thought he had before… things happened.
His musing was interrupted by Potter’s measured voice, steady but with a flicker of something else at the edges. It made Draco’s pulse skip a beat, and he silently cursed himself. I have to keep it professional. He’s a patient, for Merlin’s sake.
“So how is this going to work? Do you have to like... dig around in my head? How will you recover the memory?” The dark-haired man said with a glimmer of distrust.
“Nothing so invasive. You see, legilimency is a way to see the mind. Using different levels of power, I can see different levels of your mind. The easiest one is to see the mindscape as a whole, and the hardest is to dig into the subconscious.” Draco paused to take a breath. “To recover a lost memory, the tactic that I use depends on how well it was hidden. If it is simply brushed to the side, I can pull it up from the mindscape. However, if whoever obliviated you did it with enough power, it could be buried deep in your subconscious. If this happens, there will be a trail of… breadcrumbs, memories that link to the one that is hidden or the intentions for hiding it. If this is in fact the case, as I suspect, we will need to go through the memories together to dig up the memory.”
Potter blinked at the onslaught of information, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait… as you suspect? How do you know? Were you using legilimency?” Draco could feel him reinforcing his occlumency barriers, his core becoming guarded.
“No! I would never do that without your permission. It goes against everything in a healer’s code of conduct, especially one with a specialization in mind work!” Potter blinked, caught off guard by the sudden passion in Draco’s voice. “I suspect that the person who obliviated you used a lot of power because your occlumency shields are so strong. Before you ask, I can tell because with doing a lot of legilimency, one becomes… sensitive to magical auras.”
Potter sighed, looking at Draco. Their eyes met across the room, and Draco felt a surge in their magic. In both of theirs. It’s just his hate of me. Nothing more. He’s a patient- and he used to be your sworn enemy.
It lasted less than a heartbeat before Draco caught ahold of the escaped feelings and shoved them in the darkest corners of his occlumency barriers, quickly breaking eye contact.
“If we’re going to do this, I need your permission to enter your mind. I won’t use too much power, simply enough to see your mindscape and if the memory can easily be retrieved,” Draco ventured.
Potter didn’t respond right away. He sat stiffly in the armchair, fingers drumming against the armrest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes— though wary— were steady.
Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Alright. You have my permission. Let’s get this over with.”
Draco blinked. He had been expecting much more resistance and distrust, not the quick grant of permission. Draco narrowed his eyes, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but he found none. Just grim acceptance, and something deeper. Almost— no. There was no way Harry Potter could— or would— ever trust him, a former death eater, his ex-nemesis.
Draco stood up slowly, brushing off his robes. “I’ll stay at the surface. If I find anything magically volatile, I will immediately pull out. The worst you will feel is a light headache— and that’s only if I brush up against a memory that doesn’t want to be found.” He stops at the slight look of confusion in Potter’s eyes.
“It… won’t hurt? But when Snape was training me it always felt like an invasion… and whenever Voldemort—” Draco flinched. “Sorry,” Potter muttered. “Whenever he got into my mind it always felt like my scar was on fire…” He trailed off, confused.
“Legilimency only hurts if the caster intends it to. For Snape, he was probably trying to train you in the way… Voldemort would, and your connection with Voldemort—though I don’t know the full story— was probably made of black magic, so it would hurt,” Draco assures. “I swear, I have no intention to harm you, Potter. Even if I did, it would break my vows as a healer and my licence would be rescinded.” He makes his way across the room to the green-eyed man. “Legilimency requires sustained eye contact, so please try to stay partially in the physical world to maintain the connection. Also, to make this easier on the both of us, please let me through your barriers. I can break them, but it will hurt and would be and invasion of your privacy. You may guard some of your memories, but I need access to the missing memory and the ability to see your mindscape.”
He stepped in closer, wand in hand. This close, he could feel the steady hum of Potter’s magic— powerful, tightly wound, and instinctively shielded. As he pulled his wand out, he could feel Potter forcefully lower his shields just enough to let Draco in. The trust it implied— however grudging… He couldn’t help but be impressed by the dark-haired man’s control over his occlumency.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
Harry nodded once, subdued.
“Three, two, one, Legilimens.”
The moment the spell connected, the room dissolved around them and Potter’s mind unfurled before him, like a storm barely held at bay.
~
Potter’s mind was… orderly, but only a battlefield is organized. Strategies and scars everywhere. Defense mechanisms lined the space like tripwires— some subtle, some pulsing with raw magic.
Draco navigated with care, as one might navigate a minefield, skirting around the memories he had no business touching. Eventually, the clamor started to fade. The rigid lines of the battlefield softened, the sharp edges of trauma lessening. The ground grew mossy, the air losing the heat of the battle. It smelt like rain— and flowers, intermingled with the scent of Potter’s magic. The dark-haired man’s memories grew wild and vivid— some were delicate petals unfurled by joy, while others dug in deep like the roots of a tree. Even the blades of grass echoed with something— laughter, touches, moments of sadness. It wasn’t a place free of grief and trauma, but it was duller, tended to.
As Draco traversed the mindscape, he caught flashes of memories. A beautiful flower with red petals that gave way to a familiar fiery-haired girl hugging Potter from behind brought on a tight feeling in his chest. No. I don’t need to see this. Draco retreated further behind his occlumency, tearing himself away. He still caught flashes of memories, all plants that made up the garden of Potter’s mind. Flowers made of small moments with friends, saplings of his relationships, huge, towering oaks of achievements. Draco couldn’t help the pang of envy that almost broke through his barriers.
Draco kept going, searching for the missing spot in the garden. He was almost at the end of the garden when he saw it. It was a strange patch that seemed to be completely devoid of life. It was so small he almost missed it, but once he noticed it he couldn’t see how. It was the single blank spot in a lucious, almost overgrown garden. It wasn’t like the spots where the plants were burnt or ahead where nothing was planted yet, no. It was a wound in Potter’s mind— cracked soil the color of ash. It seemed to be imbued with a sense of envy and malice. He instinctively recoiled, but pushed towards the origin of his disgust.
I found it, Potter. I’m going to send my magic into the space where it’s supposed to be to see if it is simply buried— or worst case— gone. Don’t worry— I can still find it if it’s gone, it will just take more time. He could feel Potter’s shock at hearing Draco’s voice inside his head.
How can I… How do you… Potter sounded confused.
Legilimency can work both ways. I can hear your thoughts— not right now, only if you project them, I'm not using nearly enough power for that— and you can hear mine. Do I have your permission to examine the spot? Draco asked.
Oh. Yes— yes, carry on. Potter paused. A thought seemed to occur to him. You sound different, in here. It seemed to slip out before he even realized he was projecting.
Draco paused in the readying of his magic. Yes, well— the mind doesn’t lie like the mouth does. He sensed Potter retreating to ruminate over what was said.
Interruptions out of the way, Draco sent a surge of magic through their connection. He felt it fill the blank spot, looking for any hints that there was something just under the surface. He felt himself frown, back in the physical world. Draco knew better than to feel anything. He was a healer. He had seen hundreds of minds— shattered, burning, lost. But something about the blank spot in the garden of Potter’s mind didn’t feel like a scar— it felt like a theft.
It’s as I feared. The memory isn’t just buried, It’s completely removed. I am going to break the connection now, Potter. You might feel slightly disoriented, but I have something that can help with that. Alright. Three, two, one.
~
Draco blinked, breath catching as the world snapped back into focus. The warmth and chaos of Potter’s mind fell away, replaced by the quiet hum of the sitting room and the steady pulse of residual magic thrumming under his skin.
He shook his head, willing away the lingering fog, and looked up, starting when he met a pair of brilliant emerald eyes.
Potter hadn’t moved. His posture was rigid, hands white-knuckled on the armrests, eyes unfocused and distant.
Draco exhaled quietly and stepped back toward his chair, giving Potter space.
“Before we do anything else,” he said calmly, “I have a meditation that can help ground you—bring you fully back into the physical world. Without it, you’ll stay like this for a while. Disoriented. Disconnected.” He paused, waiting for Potter to meet his gaze. “I’m guessing you’re already feeling it.”
Potter didn’t answer right away. His jaw twitched slightly and his fingers flexed against the armrest, but finally he nodded.
“Alright,” Draco started, sitting back in his chair, slipping into the ease of a practiced healer. “Close your eyes. Focus on your breath. In…two…three…four, out…two…three…four.”
The silence between them deepened, shifting into something steadier. The tension in Potter’s shoulders seemed to ease, however slightly.
“Good,” Draco murmured. “Now turn your focus to your body. Feel the chair beneath you. The air on your skin. Feel the way the magic in the room starts to settle—slowly.” Draco closed his eyes as well, focusing on returning to himself. It was especially taxing on the legilimens— being in someone else’s mind takes a heavy toll.
“Now, I want you to find a part of you that is uniquely yours— a scar, a mark, a tattoo. I want you to run your fingers over it, to reassure yourself that you are back in your body.”
Draco found the underside of his left forearm. The remains of the Dark Mark— though barely visible— still carried weight. He ran the tips of his fingers over the scar on his chest from sixth year. It was better than it used to be, but dark magic always leaves a mark. He pulled his hands through his hair, what used to be the only part of himself he could control. He opened his eyes to see Potter mirroring him, finding scars over his body.
“Good. Now slowly open your eyes, return to the physical word.” Harry gradually opened his eyes, blinking a bit to adjust to the late afternoon light coming in from the windows.
“Now that we’re back, I’m going to tell you what I saw,” Draco stated. “Do you need a minute? I have chocolate if you’re still feeling some of the effects.”
Potter paused, seemingly caught off guard by the offer. His eyes momentarily narrowed in suspicion, but he quickly blinked it away. “No. No thank you, I’m good.”
“Alright, if you’re sure. The missing memory is, as I feared, completely gone. I tried to dig around, see if it was under the surface, but I couldn’t find anything. This means that whoever obliviated you had time to gather their magic, and most likely meant it out of malice.” Draco paused, allowing that to sink in. “However, we can still recover it. As I said before, there will be a trail of memories that act like breadcrumbs. These breadcrumbs will either all be connected to the missing memory in some way or will be momentous occasions that led to that memory, oftentimes both.”
Potter exhaled. “How long will it take? This memory is crucial to a job— Auror business.”
“Depends on how deep-seated the memory or emotions were. It could be anywhere from 2–6 weeks, seeing as the memory is small. Some of the bigger obliviations can take up to a year to recover— you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Draco mentally braced himself for a refusal, for Potter to say that it was too long to spend with a former nemesis.
However, he eased up a little when it didn’t come. He looked at Potter to see him slumped in his chair, head in his hands, looking silently resigned.
“How long do you think it will take?” Potter questioned.
Draco exhaled slowly. “My guess? Probably closer to 6 weeks. The amount of malice in that blank spot… it had to be personal.”
“Ok. How’s this gonna work? How often and when will it be?”
“Only twice a week— the mind can’t handle too much invasion without rest. We should be able to find two or three breadcrumbs per session, so it shouldn’t take more than a few months.” Draco started to stand up, reaching for his notebook to write down the details of the session. “Should we start next Wednesday? We can do it at my office, or I could come over here. Whichever you feel more comfortable with.”
“I— yeah. Wednesday works. I’ll go over to your office. What time?” Potter rose as well, walking Draco through the house to the door.
“Come over at 10, I have notes to do before then.” They reached the door, Draco stepping over the threshold of his house.
Draco prepared himself to disapparate, but was stopped when Potter grabbed his arm. His traitorous heart skipped a beat, but he quickly schooled his facial expression into something more professional.
“Wait— you can’t apparate within the borders of my grounds. Security wards— ‘mione helped me set them up.” He winced seemingly in apology, as if having wards that blocked his former nemesis out was a bad thing. “I’ll change them later, but I can’t access the wardstone with anyone else present—sorry.” Why would he let me in? He shouldn’t trust me. I know I wouldn’t.
“For now, I can side-along you to the nearest apparition point.” At this, he holds out his arm for Draco to grab. “Ready?”
~~~
The shock of the freezing water bit into Harry's skin, almost enough for him to burn away the rest of the fog from the excursion into his mind. He swam hard, pushing himself until his burning muscles overtook the image of steady grey eyes and soft blond hair that lingered in his head.
Of all the people, it had to be Malfoy.
Harry flipped into backstroke, taking a few laps to calm his breathing. Staring at the ceiling, he let his thoughts overtake his mind.
Malfoy was… steady. Professional, even. And to be the best in his field… that takes dedication.
Their forage into his mind was… different. Malfoy was cautious. Harry felt him traversing with care, staying far away from any memories he didn’t need to see.
The thought unsettled him. The man who had once spat venom at him in the halls of Hogwarts, a former Death Eater, who looked at him today not with malice but with a healer’s focus. Harry couldn’t shake the image of his steady, focused grey eyes, so light they were almost blue.
He changed again, switching into a cruel and punishing butterfly, as if he could outswim the traitorous tug in his chest.
Malfoy is my healer. That’s all. Nothing more.
But Harry couldn’t deny the tug he felt when he laid eyes on the blond. It was as if their cores— the very magic that defined their being— were caught in each other’s orbit. Almost as if recognizing the other as a friend that had almost been lost to time.
Maybe as something more… The thought slammed into him, unauthorized. No. Not now, not ever.
Yet, as Harry pulled himself out of the water, breath ragged, he couldn’t deny how Malfoy’s voice lingered with him, even hours after they split.
And no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t forget the way his pulse betrayed him at the soft touch of Malfoy’s hand on his arm.