Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would take a vacation. To the seaside, I think.

Author's note: So - here it is. The final installment of the Code series. I think I have the general story fleshed out. Let's see if it ends up anywhere close to the outline, shall we?

OoOoOoOoO

Draco was being followed.

It wasn't the first time. Not that he remembered the first time. Or if the first time had been the only time.

He didn't remember much of anything.

But he was being followed now. At least, he was pretty sure he was. There was a knot in his stomach, a prickle on the back of his neck, and a shadow of someone out of the corner of his eye – and every time he tried to turn his head fast enough to see who it was, he saw no one.

Well, just a glimpse of red hair. Which could mean nothing at all.

But he still pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, darted across the street without waiting for the crossing signal, and ducked down the nearest subway entrance.

New York City was enormous. There were plenty of people to get lost in, and Draco was deliberately living in the most densely populated area. He needed to stay hidden.

It was unfortunate, then, that he had such a distinctive appearance. He was pretty sure he was albino. No one was as pale as he was without some kind of genetic mishap. His skin and hair were practically white. His eyes were pale gray.

Disguises helped. He'd even dyed his hair on a few occasions, but the upkeep was too difficult. So knit caps and hoods helped him. And overlarge sweatshirts to hide the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

He let the presence of the gun comfort him as he took four different subways and three different cabs to get back to his flat.

Apartment, not flat.

It was also unfortunate that he had a habit of slipping out with British terms and a British accent. While it gave him a vital clue to his identity, it made him noticeable. Americans liked British accents. They remembered them.

He reached his apartment and quickly unlocked the door. He slipped inside, shut the door, and then bolted it. Eight different bolts. All ones that he had installed himself.

He let out a little sigh, dropped his forehead against the door, and wondered why he didn't feel any safer. He turned around and immediately jumped back, his hand going to the doorknob.

The red-haired man was standing in the middle of his kitchen.

"Draco," the man said, a smile stretching over his face.

Draco pulled the gun from his waistband and thumbed the safety off. He raised it, holding it with two hands – just like all the instructions said, and aimed it at the man's chest. Center mass. Easiest target to hit. "Who the hell are you?"

The red-haired man paused, blinked, and then frowned. He didn't raise his arms, like most people did when they were confronted with a gun. He just looked confused. He gestured to himself.

"It's me. Bill."

He said it like Draco should remember him. "Who?"

"Bill," the man repeated. "Draco, what's going on?" He took a step forward, and there was an expression on his face that looked like concern.

Draco sidestepped into the kitchen so he could get a little more distance between them. "Why are you here?" he asked, trying to think of the fastest way to escape. The door was out. There were too many locks on the door to get out before the man stopped him, but he could probably get to the window and the fire escape.

"I got your compass," said Bill. He reached into his jacket.

"Stop! Hands where I can see them!" Draco snapped, feeling his heart start to race.

Bill did as he was told, but he was obviously confused. That was fine. Draco had been confused for the past four years – and it was nice not to be the only one befuddled.

"You sent me the compass," Bill said. "So I could find you. I just got it."

Draco paused. "When?"

"Three days ago," said Bill.

Draco lowered the gun a fraction of an inch. "Are you here for the code?"

"What code?"

Draco bit back a sigh of frustration. "The code I've been working on for the past four years."

Bill paused. "You finished your work three days ago?"

"Yes."

"It's possible the compass was spelled to be sent to me once you were finished," Bill said.

Draco tried to parse through his words, but couldn't quite figure out what he was saying. "The code's in there." He tipped his head towards the bedroom. Well, it wasn't really a bedroom anymore. He'd converted it into an office.

Bill didn't move.

Draco raised the gun again. "Why are you here?"

"Because I've been looking for you," said Bill. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

Draco shifted his grip on the gun. "Who are you exactly?"

Bill sighed a little and deflated. "I'm your friend, Draco."

Draco wanted to believe him more than he cared to admit. Four years of running. Four years of that damned code. Four years of not knowing what it was for, or who he was, or if anyone was missing him, had taken its toll. He was tired. He was lonely. He was frustrated. And in the late hours of the night, when he had nothing to distract him from the darker thoughts, he was scared.

So he asked the only question that would mean anything to him. "What's your full name?"

Bill frowned. "I don't-,"

"Your full name!" Draco snapped.

"William Arthur Weasley," Bill said.

Draco took in a sharp breath. That was the name in the journal. He lowered his gun so that it was pointing at the man's knee, not his chest. "And you know me?"

"Yes," said Bill, almost vehemently. "We're friends, I swear to Merlin, we're friends."

Draco tipped his head to the side. "Swear to Merlin? Is that a British thing?"

A strange expression crossed over Bill's face. "You're British too," he said slowly.

"Am I?" Draco asked. "Because I speak French, German, Italian, Spanish, Gaelic and Russian. And I speak them perfectly. I speak Mandarin and Farsi as well, and a good deal of Swahili and Urdu – but obviously I'm of European descent."

"French was your first language," said Bill. "And… apparently you've been learning new languages since we've last met."

"How long has that been?"

"Five years," said Bill.

"Five," said Draco. He frowned. "I thought I'd only been gone four."

"You seem to have forgotten a lot," said Bill.

"You don't seem concerned by that," said Draco. "Is it a Manchurian Candidate thing? Or Total Recall? Are you going to tell me that I'm a secret agent for the CIA – or should I say, MI-6? Maybe I'm the real James Bond?"

Bill looked a little thrown. "I'm not entirely sure what you're asking me."

"My memories," said Draco. "Is it some high-tech mind-wipe? An advanced drug? Or just plain, old fashioned brain trauma?"

Bill rubbed his head and winced. In fact, he was looking a little pale. He pulled out a cheap metal chair from Draco's cheap, fold-up card table that he used as a dining room table and sat down.

Draco finally thumbed the safety back on the gun and sat down across from him.

"How much have you forgotten?" Bill asked, a little faintly.

"If we start there we might be here a while," said Draco.

Bill nodded. "Okay. Let's start with what you do remember."

Draco nodded back. "My name is Draco. I'm translating a code. It needs to stay secret." He stopped. "That's about all I remember. I mean, a few things I've figured out."

Now Bill was looking as if he'd had a migraine. "What have you figured out?"

"I'm a genius," said Draco. "Every couple of months, I move cities, somehow, but I don't remember moving, and I don't remember where I was before the move. I've started writing it down – all the cities I've been in. I thought I was gone for four years, but you're telling me it's five. The code I'm working on is some sort of archaic language, a weird language, I can't find it anywhere on the internet. And it's resistant to computers. I mean, I learned coding and programming specifically so I could run algorithms on that thing, but it fritzes out any type of electronic that comes near it. I burnt through three smartphones already – just by being in the same room as the damn thing."

He stopped, because Bill was grimacing and rubbing his temples.

"You don't like what I'm saying."

"I don't like what you're not saying," said Bill.

"Which is?"

Bill looked at him. His eyes were warm, friendly, but there was a tightness around his eyes that made Draco a little scared. "Draco," Bill said slowly, "what do you know about magic?"

Draco frowned. "Like – slight of hand and illusions?"

"No. Actual magic."

Draco felt his face screw up in distaste. "Magic is just a term for things science can't explain yet. Quantum physics and unrealized rules of the universe – and now you're shaking your head at me. Why?"

Bill was shaking his head, but not just in disagreement. In despair as well.

"Draco," he said, and then he paused, took a breath, and looked him straight in the eye, "you're a wizard."

OoOoOoOoO

"Draco," Bill said, and then he had to pause and take a breath – because this should not be something that he had to reveal to one of the smartest wizards from one of the oldest wizarding families. He looked Draco in the eyes and said, "You're a wizard."

He watched Draco – this foreign Draco, that Bill was just realizing that he didn't know – digest his words. And then Draco threw back his head back and laughed.

Yes, this was not the Draco that Bill knew. He'd never seen Draco laugh so openly, or so heartily. Draco shook his head as he laughed, and then he looked back at Bill. "Okay, that was a good one. Seriously, you got me."

Bill just smiled a little, and waited for Draco to catch on. He did, quite quickly.

"Wait," Draco said. "You're serious?"

"Very," Bill confirmed.

"I'm not a wizard," said Draco. "I think I'd know if I was. I'd be… I don't know, pulling rabbits out of hats and making flowers appear, and whatever else wizards do."

"Those are Muggle magicians," said Bill. "You're a wizard." He reached into his jacket – noting the way that Draco stiffened, like he was expecting a weapon – and pulled out Draco's wand.

Draco had left his wand, and a letter, before he'd disappeared. Bill had kept them both since then, and now he placed the wand on the table. Draco eyed it, and then looked up at Bill.

"That's yours," Bill confirmed.

"What is it?" Draco asked, even though Bill knew he was smart enough to draw his own conclusions. So he simply gestured to the wand.

Draco looked at it, and then leaned in to study it more. He didn't touch it, not yet, obviously wary. "I thought wizards had staffs."

"We've upgraded," said Bill.

"But does it have unlimited data?" Draco asked, a faint hint of mocking in his voice, and Bill didn't get the joke, but Draco finally reached out for it and –

Fireworks.

Draco gave a surprised shout, and recoiled, dropping the wand back onto the table and nearly tripping over his chair to get away.

Bill took in the startled, aghast look on Draco's face, and couldn't help the burst of laughter that came out of his mouth. He'd never seen Draco so unabashedly startled. The Draco that Bill knew – the Draco with all his memories – would never have been so open with his emotions, but now his eyes were wide with surprise and fright, and his mouth was gaping.

"What the hell?" Draco demanded.

"You haven't used your wand in years," Bill said. "It's not uncommon for a wand to react the same way as when you first choose your wand."

"I have no idea what you're saying," Draco informed him, but curiosity was drawing him back towards the table. He knelt on the floor to stare at the wand from the same level. "So is it bio-incandescents? A chemical reaction?"

"It's magic," Bill said.

"I don't see any LEDs," Draco continued. "And I'm not seeing any seams – so it's not electronic. Is it solar-powered?"

"It's magic," Bill said again.

Draco reached out for the wand, hesitated for a second, and then grasped the wand again. A few small sparks shot out of the tip, and then it stopped, the initial reaction finished.

"It feels… slightly warm," said Draco. "And it… thrums a little."

"Magic," said Bill.

"Would you stop saying that?" Draco asked. And then he frowned at the wand. "Okay, how does this work? Motion activated?"

"You have to say a spell," said Bill, and he pulled out his own wand and flicked it through the air. "Lumos."

Draco audibly gasped as the light filled the room, and then, because he had perfect recall, flicked his own wand and cast the exact same spell. And then he tried to figure out where the light was coming from.

"Do I need to say it again?" Bill asked.

Draco looked at him. He shook his head. "Okay," he said, sounding a little shaken. "Magic."

OoOoOoOoO

So - I"m hoping to upload at least once every other week, hopefully once a week. We'll see what happens. Please review, and let me know what you think.