HD 'Charming' Chapter 1

Prompt Number: #169 2010 Smoochfest
Title: Charming
Author: .com/profile.com/profiletigersilver
Recipient: .com/profile.com/profilecosmic_rockstar
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco; Ron/Hermione; Blaise/Pansy
Summary: Harry Potter, Head Auror and respected public figure, has been afflicted with spell-induced amnesia by an unknown assailant. He's recovering nicely after a stay at St. Mungo's but there's this one small problem: it seems he went missing on the night of June 5th and mislaid his Muggle cell phone. Now his best mates are receiving texts 'from Harry' that are all about shagging, whipped cream, handcuffs and blackmail photos. And poetry; truly execrable poetry. Someone's text-stalking Harry, much to his mates' and the Ministry's dismay, and that oddly familiar 'someone' just won't take the hint and naff off.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): AU, approximately eight years post-Hogwarts, Aurors!Harry & Ron, Cursebreaker!Hermione, certain canon deaths disregarded or ignored altogether.
Epilogue compliant? No. Completely turns a blind eye to events of DH and canon epilogue, JKR interviews and so on, with very few exceptions.
Word Count: 21,000+/-
Author's Notes: I did my poor best, dear prompter, to give you what you wished for, and I'll cross my fingers and hope it works for you, though I did rather veer off on a tangent. Please forgive the fact that the 'crazy night' happened before the fic begins properly (off-stage, as it were) and Harry's definite lack of return texting. I admittedly fell down in those two areas, but I hope my Charm will make up for the stumbling, as well Draco's interesting take on Muggle telephony. And why is it 'Charming', you may ask? Well, that's usually the determined, well-mannered fellow on the white charger, but Malfoy does insist on doing things his own way, so, yes. We'll just have to take him as is, on the pricey broom he flew in on, and lump it, piss-poor verse, minor tantrums, whingeing and all. Beta'd by my dear-darlings 'D' and 'L', with XOXO's to CD (Bebe!) always & 4EVR.

Time Period: Post-Hogwarts/EWE or AU, something to get them into the Muggle world
Place: Muggle London
Object/Word Prompts: cell phones, odd hours of the night, text message, cryptic words, getting to know each other/hints of the past (depending if it's post-Hogwarts or AU), Chinese food
Action: Harry Potter loses his cell phone for the umpteenth time and he can't figure out where it is. Hermione and/or Ron suddenly get a text message from Harry's phone saying someone found it, but the finder isn't ready to give the phone back unless Harry follows his rules and answers his questions. After a few weeks of corresponding with the mysterious sender, Harry agrees to meet up with him and finds himself in for a weird but crazy night.
Preferences/Other Notes: Witty!Draco, determined!Harry, trio bff times, Draco being a troll...how far they go once they meet up is up to the writer, longer length is preferred but not necessary.

Chapter 1

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As noted in Head Auror Harry Potter's Required Daily Healing Diary: Sunday, a.m. Nice weather; watched three cooking programmes and another on discovering the Amazon rain forest. I appear to have dahlias outside in a rather decent border. The house itself is terribly dank and dark, though. Don't know why I live here, really.

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Received on Hermione Granger's Muggle cell phone, 10 a.m., Caller ID 'Harry Potter': Potter. Guess who? Thought that wasn't a one-off? Fucking text me back, wanker. U promised. I want to see you again. All of you. Naked. Now.

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"I'm sorry—er. Who is this again?"

"It's me, Harry—Hermione. You remember me, you do."

"Um…wait, please..." There was a pause whilst Harry apparently laid his Muggle phone's handset down on something hard and wandered off. Hermione, inured after seven solid days of continuously reminding her best friend of her existence, waited patiently. She knew Harry was likely examining the Wizarding photos on his mantle for a visual clue.

"Er—" The phone sounded muffled, and then Harry's familiar voice was back at regular volume, sans the static. "Are you the ginger-haired one that's younger or the bushy-haired one with the, er, teeth?"

"Bushy," Hermione replied shortly and tapped her biro on the kitchen counter of her London flat. Next to her, Ron Weasley muffled a snort. "And that photo's terribly old, Harry. You should replace it with one of the newer ones."

"Oh. Right, then. Yeah, I think so—why?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Was I supposed to be doing something again? You know I don't remember—"

"Yes, Harry, I do know," Hermione interrupted, not wanting to hear Harry go on and on about how he couldn't recall much of anything and had quite forgotten why that was—yet again. "Look, someone's found your personal cell phone—do you remember losing it somewhere?"

"Cell phone?" Harry's voice sounded very vague for an instant through the suddenly crackly connection. "Um…do I have one of those?" And yes, he seemed rather excited, as well, Hermione noted. "Hey, the telly has these really fascinating adverts for those, er—Harmony—Herm—Miss—Who are you again?"

"Yes, Harry, you do indeed possess a Muggle cell phone," Hermione gritted her teeth. "As do we all, as it's no longer the Dark Ages. And it's Hermione." No one could possibly claim the past seven days had been in any way pleasurable, however, despite the happy fact Harry was alive and mostly well. "And apparently you've mislaid it, because someone's sending me rude texts from it."

"Tests?"

"Texts, Harry. Short written messages."

"On the phone? I thought they were only meant for speaking over, Harmony—"

"Merlin! Not that again! It's Hermione, Harry—Her-mi-o-nee. Look, er, just stop, Harry—I can't take talking to you when you're like this! Not without more caffeine in my system, at least. Here, speak to Ron instead. He wants to ask after you anyway."

Having borne all the usual frustration with Harry's bland blankness she reasonably could (without grinding her long since corrected and utterly lovely white teeth to so much plaque-free dust), Hermione gratefully switched on the counter speaker with a wave of her wand and turned the conversation over to her helpmeet and live-in boyfriend, Ronald Weasley. Her research books were calling her insistently and somewhere, buried in one of them, there had to be a counter spell that would foreshorten Harry's natural healing process by days, if not weeks. Harry's Healer said it might exist, although St, Mungo's hadn't fussed over it, as he'd recover his memories naturally and with no ill effects. But Harry wasn't a regular patient. By no means. He was the Head Auror and Hermione was of the staunch opinion that if she didn't find a way to fix this situation soon, they'd all go bloody spare.

"Hi, Rob! Harmony said to chat with you, instead. How're you doing? How about those Cannons?" Harry's cheerful though somewhat tinny voice came through the magicked Muggle speaker-phone and Hermione Granger let her head fall onto the kitchen table with an audible, dispairing groan.

An Obliviate was one thing—and fully understandable and thus reversible with a simple incantation—but this on-again, off-again spotty memory loss of Harry's infuriated her sensibilities beyond all that was reasonable. Harry, for instance, recalled the oddest facts (the Cannon scores for three seasons running) and then couldn't remember a single sodding thing about the more important stuff: his job, his friends, his daily life. It was all the fault of an unidentified Dark Wizard; of that, Hermione Granger was totally convinced. But how Harry had ended up being so careless as to allow it to happen and whatever he'd been doing the night of June 5th that rendered him so sadly vulnerable, Hermione couldn't begin to second guess. There'd been no witnesses and no evidence of assault whatsoever and Harry, as he'd said over and over when questioned, simply couldn't recall.

He'd been found in Muggle Battersea, of all strange places, wandering the Park Rail station, babbling on about 'white knights in shining armour' and 'impossible gits', along with a load of other miscellaneous nonsense. Seeing him in his bed at St. Mungo's, his eyes confused and unknowing, she'd never been so frightened in her life, at least not since the days of Voldemort. But the worst was over; Harry was safe and sound and she'd sworn to herself she'd get to the root of this whole imbroglio-somehow, some way-and find him a cure for this rare and obscure Charm the St Mungo's Healers said Harry had been cursed with.

So, the bugger was similar to an Obliviate, yes, but instead utilized Blood Magic and was therefore not easy to be rid of in the absence of the caster. It would fade all on its own, Harry's Healer informed them, and then rabbitted on calmly about not being concerned as there'd be no residual damage. But it was a time-consuming process, remembering a life of twenty-five odd years, and Harry had a crucial post in the Ministry that was going hanging in the meantime, with huge responsibilities the Healers likely couldn't even begin to imagine.

Yes, she'd do this, Hermione swore again silently, her Cursebreaker's soul full of fervour. She'd damned well free Harry, even if it sent her barking in the process!

Whether Harry cooperated or not.

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