Like Clockwork

Chapter Four

At eleven o'clock that night, when Potter was practically passed out in a pile of research on Draco's couch, Draco realised that Stonehenge was a clue.

After that, it was a simple slide from Stonehenge to the long-speculated mythological gateways to ethereal, strange features... to Fair Folk, and at that point Draco decided it was about time he retrieved the key to his liquor cabinet from behind the armoire.

He brought a bottle of vodka over to the couch and used it to wake Potter by way of knocking it into his ribs.

"Ow!" Potter burst out, sitting up and rubbing his chest. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"It's the Fair Folk," Draco said dismally and poured them both a glass.

"The—" Potter trailed off, took the glass, drained it, and tried again. "The Fair Folk? Like, fairies? I thought they were a myth."

"They are." Then Draco grinned. "Do you mean we've really stumbled on something the Unspeakables aren't aware of? Be still my beating heart."

"I'll check the records, but I think so," Potter agreed.

They fell into a strangely relaxed silence, both staring maudlin into their glasses. Mutual failure worked wonders for unity, sometimes.

"We'll have to disarm the second box," Draco said finally. "It's our only clue. It shouldn't be too hard, using our notes—we can just apply the knowledge to the new curse and get back to where we were in a matter of minutes."

"It's a shame we won't ever get our memories back," Potter said, taking another large gulp. "I don't suppose there's any chance that the identification spell will just think it's the same box and pick up where it left off? Since it's the same type of curse?"

Draco shook his head. "It's the same type of curse, but it's still a different curse, just like you and I are both human but different. Unless we can complete the original identification spell, our memories are gone. I'll have to set entirely new wards and change over the Pensieve." He shrugged. "But the curses should look the same at their core, so we'll still see what it looks like, and once we disarm this one, it will be exactly as if we had regained our memories. I doubt anything particularly important happened during the last few days that we didn't record."

A slight frown marred Potter's features, and Draco found himself agreeing. There was something just out of reach, something that made him wish he could trade all the gold in Gringotts for just one memory from the spell. But, it was impossible—the original curse was gone before they could take it apart, and any chance of regaining their memories had gone with it.

Draco caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sideboard. He looked far thinner than he remembered, eyes heavy with tiredness but brimming with a restless fury. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep, but he knew it was far too dangerous to attempt anything tonight.

Then, something caught his eye. A faint, red mark on his neck that he was certain hadn't been there before. He stood up and went to investigate, his eyes widening in shock as he realised what it was.

"Potter," he said, his voice coming out strangled.

Potter's head snapped up. "What? What is it?"

"No, it's—" Draco broke off and swallowed. "I have a hickey."

A dark expression crossed Potter's features before he looked away. "Congratulations? Why the fuck do I care?"

"You don't understand," Draco said in painfully polite tones. "I didn't have a hickey when I woke up this morning—I've had no occasion to get one in an embarrassingly long time. The only possible way that I could have this is if something happened in the last twelve hours and I forgot."