Misplaced Memories - Chapter 3/10
Healer Malfoy nodded and then went back to his notes to make a few more entries. They sat in silence for a while until a thought struck Harry. "I've remembered a bit more and I've had another dream, but it's not a memory this time."
Malfoy looked up and leaned forward. "How do you know?"
Harry shrugged. "Because I died."
Harry pressed his hands against the cool surface of the sink and took a few deep breaths to chase away the slight headache behind his eyes. The morning had flown by in a rush of tests, questions and visits by people he was just beginning to remember. In all the commotion and over-stimulation of getting his eyes back, he hadn't yet taken a good look at himself.
A man stared back at Harry from the bathroom mirror. His eyes were the same, just older and a bit watery from adjusting to light again. His skin looked like he still spent a lot of time outdoors, but the small lines and faint sunspots on his face were new. His fringe hung the way it had always done, mostly in place over his scar with a few stubborn bits going off in their own direction. He ran his fingers over the stubble-covered chin and took a few steps back.
He suddenly realised how much he looked like his dad and wished he could remember more from the short time he'd spent with his parents. Hermione had shown him a few pictures of his mum and dad that she had let him keep, one of himself, Ron and Hermione at school, several of Ron's family, one of Hagrid, and a book each of Teddy and Rose.
Little glimpses of his life were coming back to him, but the experience was like catching a soap bubble - as soon as he was close enough to make out any detail the images would vanish. The only solid thing he had to hold on to was the word of others, and a faint headache, but he supposed it would have to be enough for now.
Removing his shirt revealed lean, but strong arms, a mostly-flat stomach and the necklace with the ring resting against his chest - he made a mental note to ask Mrs Weasley about it next time, since he'd forgotten - as well as a soft trail of hair that began around his navel and disappeared under the waistband of his hospital trousers.
Groping around in the dark on trips to the toilet was one thing, but now that he had two perfectly good eyes again, Harry couldn't resist pulling his pants forward to have a real look. The elastic snapped back into place and Harry gave his mirror-self a look that was a mixture of shock and victory.
~*~
"I have a question to ask," Draco said bluntly as he entered his office.
"And I have dust on my frame," said a humourless voice.
"My apologies, Severus," Draco snapped, irritated. "I've been preoccupied with my husband being attacked and all - won't happen again." He sunk into the leather chair, propped his elbows on the mahogany desk and dropped his head into his hands.
"Without your presence, I had to resort to seeking second-hand information on Potter's condition."
"What are they saying?"
"Nonsense, as always. The portraits down in Spell Damage are all embellishing gossips."
The fight left Draco as he glanced up at the portrait and saw an expression that, for Snape, passed for genuine concern. "He looks and sounds the same, except nearly two decades of his memories are missing. He's regained a few flashes of who he is-was, but he doesn't know who I am."
Snape strolled toward the painted tree in the forefront of the pastoral landscape and studied Draco. "Which brings us to your conundrum?"
Suddenly curious, Draco got up and walked closer to the frame. "Can you still perform Occlumency?"
Snape lifted an eyebrow. "And why do you think I would part with that information?"
Draco shook his head and choked out a short laugh. "Fine. Keep your secrets." He ran a hand through his hair and paced slowly. "Harry will be able to see me when I visit him in a few minutes. There's a solid chance he still won't recognise me, but if he recalls any more of Hogwarts - which he's doing, according to the reports - he might make the connection."
"All the better for you, I would think."
Draco spun toward Snape. "Not if he remembers who I was, not who I am now."
Severus brushed a fallen leaf off of his shoulder. "Are you not both?"
"You know what I mean, you old…"
Snape raised a finger to stop Draco's insult. "Now, is that any way to treat someone you haven't dusted in…"
"Fine." Draco swept his hand in an arch over the portrait. "Purgo Pulverem!"
"About time."
Draco gave up any hope of advice and turned to leave. "Alright, then. Don't wait up."
"Borrowed memories might suffice until he is able to recover his own," Severus offered.
Draco felt his brow wrinkle up. "Borrowed from where?"
"From those who've known him the longest," Snape said as he trained his black eyes on Draco. "…and from the ones who know him best."
"I'll run that past the team. It's brilliant, Severus, but I'm not sure if it will do more harm than good at this point. Erastus feels too much recall too soon may cause a curse backlash."
Snape took a seat on the scrolled iron bench under the tree. "And where exactly did he study curse-breaking?"
"The Aurors agree with him."
"And where do you stand?"
"I'd give Harry every memory I have of him, even if he never spoke to me again, but if my efforts - however noble or selfish - caused his condition to worsen or become permanent…" Draco couldn't finish his thought out of fear that it might come true.
Snape stood. "A old fool once said 'Don't panic when you see a giant's shadow - it just may turn out to be an elf in a large hat'."
Draco took a step back, confused. "You’re beginning to sound like Dumbledore. Can portraits turn senile?"
Snape raised his chin. "It means don't agonize without cause."
"Well, thank you for that first year lesson, but I have a patient to see." Disappointed in himself for expecting an earth-shatteringly clever solution from a painting, Draco gathered his papers and turned to leave.
"Draco."
Snape said his name with enough weight to slow Draco's exit. He put a hand on the door frame and looked back at Severus standing at the base of the tree, leaves chasing each other around the bottom of his dark cloak.
"Regardless of what he recollects - or which part of you he remembers - you won't lose him forever."
"How could you know that?" Draco asked in a whisper.
"Potter never could hate properly, even when he had just cause."
Draco nodded as he touched the ring resting under his shirt. "Fortunately for us."
~*~
When Healer Malfoy entered with a warm 'good afternoon', an armful of clothes and a tea tray following him in mid-air, Harry could have kissed his feet.
"Brilliant!"
"Well, that's the warmest welcome I've had in a while," he said while Harry smiled and accepted the clothes gratefully. "You get out of those pyjamas and we'll have a cup."
"Sounds good," Harry said, ducking into the bathroom and leaving the door open a crack. He pulled a faded black t-shirt over his head and was surprised by the instant comfort it brought. "Wow. Where did you get these? They fit really well."
"In a minute. Business first. How are your eyes?"
Harry fastened the jeans and finished with a grey zip-up jumper. It was a vast improvement. He took a quick peek through the space in the door and had to admit that his eyes were working just fine. Healer Malfoy sat at a table that hadn't been there a minute ago directing the tea tray to land silently down in the middle. Seeing him for the first time wasn't the surprise Harry thought it would be. He looked a lot like the new clothes felt: easy, secure, and a little worn. Harry pulled away from the door when his stomach gave a strange lurch.
"My eyes?’ he called back over his shoulder. “Good. I mean, it's weird finally seeing magic at work - not just in my memories - and meeting people who know more about me than I do, but anything is better than being in the dark." He didn't see any socks, so he reached again for his hospital slippers. He decided to leave his pyjamas in a pile on the floor and walked back into the room. "I've always worn glasses, but Healer Atwood said that my vision was corrected a few years ago. Feels strange without them, though, like I've lost a friend."
Malfoy nodded and bit his lip, looking thoughtful. "I could conjure you some frames if you'd feel more comfortable," he offered.
Harry waved him off. "It's alright. I think I'll try this for a while. Maybe if I look and act like the older me, it will help the memories to come back."
"It's worth a try, certainly. Biscuit?"
Harry popped one into his mouth as he took a seat. The biscuit looked plain when he picked it up, but it tasted like it was covered in raspberry jam. “Mmm, s’good.”
“How did your visits go this morning?” Healer Malfoy asked. He was smiling, but his eyes stayed focused on the notes he was holding.
“It was weird at first, Harry admitted. “Mrs Weasley hugged me like I’d come back from the dead or something,” he said, rubbing his still-tender ribs.
Malfoy smiled with amusement, as if he’d been on the receiving end of one of her hugs as well. “Yes, well, you are like a son to her. Molly’s fierce about her family. How was it, meeting the rest?”
Hermione and Ron...” Harry searched for the words, but the rising emotion seemed to push them all out of his reach.
Malfoy put his papers aside and touched Harry’s hand briefly before changing his mind and pulling back. “I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you better yesterday.”
Harry shook his head as he remembered his two best friends walking into his room, hand in hand, looking so... “They have a daughter,” he said, still not believing it fully, even though he’d sat through an entire photo album of her first few years. “I’m glad they have a family, but I just can’t get my head around it. They’re so old.” He said the last part quietly, disbelief hanging in his tone as he rubbed his temples. The headache was beginning to creep back into the space behind his eyes, but he tried his best to ignore it.
“And Teddy?”
Harry lifted his head and grinned, the thought of Teddy refreshing him like his few memories of playing seeker for Gryffindor. “Do you know him? He’s really cool! We got along like brothers. I just had to try to forget that I’m supposed to be his godfather. It’s wicked how he can change into just about anything, isn’t it?”
“I hear it’s gotten him into trouble a few times,” Malfoy said with a short laugh, “but I think he’ll grow up into a fine young man. I thought you might enjoy his company.”
“I did. He said he’d come back in a few days, if I was still here.”
Healer Malfoy nodded and then went back to his notes to make a few more entries. They sat in silence for a while until a thought struck Harry. "I've remembered a bit more and I've had another dream, but it's not a memory this time."
Malfoy looked up and leaned forward. "How do you know?"
Harry shrugged. "Because I died."
"Tell me," Malfoy said, unfazed. He handed Harry a steaming cup of tea. Harry accepted the offered cup, took a sip and promptly forgot the question.
"This is incredible! What's in it?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary - Lady Grey, a splash of milk and three spoons of sugar."
Harry fought between drinking the entire cup in one, or sipping it slowly to make it last longer. "Well, it's brilliant."
"You're welcome," Malfoy said with a warm smile. "The dream?"
Harry felt that strange heat in his cheeks that only seemed to surface when Healer Malfoy was around. It was embarrassing, but not uncomfortable. "Yeah, sorry. I think I've forgotten a bit, but what I remember was that Voldemort had ripped his soul apart and hidden the pieces in things that were special to him-a ring, a cup, even his old diary, which I'd already ruined with a basilisk fang. That part with the diary was real - I think." He rubbed at the growing ache behind his eyes. "It's hard to keep everything straight."
"You're doing fine, Harry."
When he didn't say anything more, Harry looked up and found Malfoy looking concerned.
"What?"
"You’re in pain."
He started to say that he was just fine when Healer Malfoy's expression turned into something that told him he had better tell the truth. Harry gave in and nodded. "Headache. It's more annoying than anything - probably just from all the lights."
"Ater Lumina.” The overhead lights dimmed to a soft, dusky glow that was much easier on the eyes. It also made the room feel a lot smaller and much less like a hospital. “That better?"
"Yeah." Malfoy tapped his wand on the edge of Harry's teacup and a few drops of dark purple liquid trickled out. Harry stared down into the drink and found it looking suspiciously normal. "What'd you do to my tea?"
"Drink. It'll help with the headache." When Harry continued to look sceptical, Malfoy added, "Stop being a baby, Potter. It won't change the taste,"
Harry sniggered at the insult, and finished his cup. As the ache faded, he smiled his thanks and continued his story.
"Anyway, Ron, Hermione and I destroyed all these Horcruxes while Voldemort was attacking Hogwarts. He called me out to the forest, and I just went. I don't know why, but it felt like the right thing to do. Then he killed me. I stood there and didn't do anything to stop him. Next thing I know, Dumbledore is telling me I'm brave and good, and that I need to get on a train. Mad, right?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed in concentration as he continued writing. "So, that makes you around seventeen now?"
"What? No, fourteen, maybe? That's what I wanted to tell you. I've remembered a tournament being set up that brought two other schools to Hogwarts. Oh, and I remember my magic now! Do you want to see? There was this time in second year when I had no clue about how to duel, but Professor Lockhart set me up with Malfoy. Hey, he's got the same last name as you, but he's horrible and stuck-up."
Malfoy sat up straight. "Wait. Harry, I think you need to…"
Harry polished off his tea and suddenly had a craving for another. “More tea, please?” he asked the table, losing focus on whatever Healer Malfoy had been trying to say. Harry sat back, once his cup had refilled itself, and took a sip. "You two actually look a lot alike. Do you know him?"
Even in the dim room, Malfoy's cheeks looked flushed. "Quite well," he said quietly.
Harry grabbed another biscuit. This one tasted like lemon. "Are you related to him?" he asked around the crumbs.
Malfoy stood up, turned his back and swore under his breath to the wall. When he turned back, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to chase away a sudden headache. The grey eyes met his, and Harry could finally see who was standing in front of him, as if the years were falling away like feather-light scales.
He could only stare.
Time had softened the angles, mellowed the harsh voice and created this man in his room, but the eyes and the way his brow creased when he was under stress… Harry inwardly scolded himself for not seeing it sooner.
He left his chair as well, took a step back and lifted his chin. "You're him." Malfoy looked at Harry with sad eyes and gave a short nod.
"You’re Draco," Harry whispered.
Malfoy closed his eyes and whispered, "Yes."
The chair suddenly seemed too far away, so Harry just sank to the floor where he was. Malfoy did the same against the wall. They sat there in silence for a while as Harry tried to make sense out of his somersaulting emotions.
"So, what do I do now? Are we enemies again? You're the one who takes care of me. I'm supposed to trust you, but you're a, I mean you were…" Harry closed his eyes and tried to separate the Malfoy he knew at school with the one sitting across from him. He opened his eyes and saw some of the same sadness and confusion reflected in Draco's expression. "The things you did, and the things you said at Hogwarts about Hermione, about me…"
Malfoy rubbed at his eyes again and swallowed before answering. He looked so sad that Harry had a hard time holding on to his anger.
"That was a long time ago, and if it's worth anything, I'm more than sorry, and I deeply regret nearly every moment. I wasn't like you at fourteen, Harry. It took me longer than it should have to pull my head out from the dragon dung and become my own man. If you get back the memories of your late teen years, I'm afraid you'll have even more reason to hate the boy I was." He paused until Harry met his eyes. "If you can believe it, you and I eventually became close friends." He laughed quietly, almost to himself. "Can you believe even Ron thinks of me as a brother now?"
Harry felt a smile begin. "That I'll have to see to believe."
Malfoy pulled himself off the floor and offered a hand to Harry who took it without hesitation.
Harry studied him. "You said you regret nearly everything?"
"I don't regret having met you."
Relief and confusion warred with each other as Harry processed the words. "Why?"
He pulled Harry to his feet wearing a crooked grin. "Because you messed up my life, Potter."
Harry laughed as he reluctantly let Draco's hand slip from his. "And that's the one thing you don't regret?"
Draco summoned his papers and walked toward the door. Harry noticed he was no longer limping. "Best thing that ever happened to me," he said, as the door swung open.
“Wait! You’re coming back, right?”
Malfoy placed a hand on the doorframe. “Haven’t had enough of me for the day?”
“This is going to sound weird - now that I’ve remembered who you are - but you make all this...” he gestured at himself and then at the room in general. “...a lot easier to deal with.” Harry’s cheeks felt hot again. “I don’t feel so lost when you’re here.”
An odd expression that Harry couldn’t identify appeared briefly before Malfoy quickly pulled it into a professional-looking smile. “Tonight, then,” he said, before slipping out into the corridor.
It was a few long moments before Harry realised he was standing there smiling at a closed door.
~*~
That night, Draco had returned after dinner for a game of chess, a few questions and one quick experiment. He had pulled a shimmering strand from his mind, and they both watched as Harry broke the surface of the water after the ordeal of the Second Task, as seen from Draco’s point of view. It was a short scene, just long enough to see Ron and Gabrielle pulled from the water and to hear the jeers from Viktor’s camp when it was announced that Harry would be awarded second place. Although the experience of sharing someone else’s memory felt a little odd, it was encouraging for Harry to think that there might be more than one way of recovering his lost moments.
Everything had gone really well until Malfoy had left for the night. Once Harry had fallen asleep, it was if a dam of memories had burst. At first, it was a wash of faces, snippets of conversations and the din of battles he couldn't quite visualise. Next, the details came, as if thrown at him from all sides: the scent of Ron’s musty tent, the cold, smooth surface of the golden egg, the icy-sweet taste of the snow cakes at Bill's wedding, the wrestling bout with Dobby over wrinkled letters, the feel of Ginny's lips on his, the shriek of spells exploding through the air, the pounding of his heart in the rotting Shrieking Shack, Buckbeak’s sharp cry, and finally, the sight of Fred, motionless on the floor of the Great Hall.
Coming out of the dream, wasn’t the release Harry had been hoping for. Opening his eyes seemed to trigger an alarming amount of pain. He shut his eyes tight and clapped his hands to his head in fear that it would split apart if he let go. He didn’t remember calling for help, but soon there were others in the room with him - talking to him, to each other - but for Harry, his world had narrowed down to the lighting bolt that seemed to be striking him over and over.
“He’s in backlash! You! Go wake Attwood!”
“...before he hurts himself. Foxlowe, administer the Hornad-Klepping potion. Double dose!”
“Mr Potter? Let go of your hair. That’s it, open your hands, dear.”
“Draco?” Harry called out, tears running from his eyes as a thick feeling of warmth travelled through him, taking the pain somewhere else as it moved.
“You heard him - better wake Malfoy as well.”
In a few more heartbeats, Harry felt as if he was back under water, warm and swimming with the Merfolk in the Black Lake. He was aware of the water muffled voices above him, but he didn’t seem to care much for what they were saying. Nothing could be more important than diving deeper and deeper.
~*~
Chapter 4
Malfoy looked up and leaned forward. "How do you know?"
Harry shrugged. "Because I died."
Harry pressed his hands against the cool surface of the sink and took a few deep breaths to chase away the slight headache behind his eyes. The morning had flown by in a rush of tests, questions and visits by people he was just beginning to remember. In all the commotion and over-stimulation of getting his eyes back, he hadn't yet taken a good look at himself.
A man stared back at Harry from the bathroom mirror. His eyes were the same, just older and a bit watery from adjusting to light again. His skin looked like he still spent a lot of time outdoors, but the small lines and faint sunspots on his face were new. His fringe hung the way it had always done, mostly in place over his scar with a few stubborn bits going off in their own direction. He ran his fingers over the stubble-covered chin and took a few steps back.
He suddenly realised how much he looked like his dad and wished he could remember more from the short time he'd spent with his parents. Hermione had shown him a few pictures of his mum and dad that she had let him keep, one of himself, Ron and Hermione at school, several of Ron's family, one of Hagrid, and a book each of Teddy and Rose.
Little glimpses of his life were coming back to him, but the experience was like catching a soap bubble - as soon as he was close enough to make out any detail the images would vanish. The only solid thing he had to hold on to was the word of others, and a faint headache, but he supposed it would have to be enough for now.
Removing his shirt revealed lean, but strong arms, a mostly-flat stomach and the necklace with the ring resting against his chest - he made a mental note to ask Mrs Weasley about it next time, since he'd forgotten - as well as a soft trail of hair that began around his navel and disappeared under the waistband of his hospital trousers.
Groping around in the dark on trips to the toilet was one thing, but now that he had two perfectly good eyes again, Harry couldn't resist pulling his pants forward to have a real look. The elastic snapped back into place and Harry gave his mirror-self a look that was a mixture of shock and victory.
~*~
"I have a question to ask," Draco said bluntly as he entered his office.
"And I have dust on my frame," said a humourless voice.
"My apologies, Severus," Draco snapped, irritated. "I've been preoccupied with my husband being attacked and all - won't happen again." He sunk into the leather chair, propped his elbows on the mahogany desk and dropped his head into his hands.
"Without your presence, I had to resort to seeking second-hand information on Potter's condition."
"What are they saying?"
"Nonsense, as always. The portraits down in Spell Damage are all embellishing gossips."
The fight left Draco as he glanced up at the portrait and saw an expression that, for Snape, passed for genuine concern. "He looks and sounds the same, except nearly two decades of his memories are missing. He's regained a few flashes of who he is-was, but he doesn't know who I am."
Snape strolled toward the painted tree in the forefront of the pastoral landscape and studied Draco. "Which brings us to your conundrum?"
Suddenly curious, Draco got up and walked closer to the frame. "Can you still perform Occlumency?"
Snape lifted an eyebrow. "And why do you think I would part with that information?"
Draco shook his head and choked out a short laugh. "Fine. Keep your secrets." He ran a hand through his hair and paced slowly. "Harry will be able to see me when I visit him in a few minutes. There's a solid chance he still won't recognise me, but if he recalls any more of Hogwarts - which he's doing, according to the reports - he might make the connection."
"All the better for you, I would think."
Draco spun toward Snape. "Not if he remembers who I was, not who I am now."
Severus brushed a fallen leaf off of his shoulder. "Are you not both?"
"You know what I mean, you old…"
Snape raised a finger to stop Draco's insult. "Now, is that any way to treat someone you haven't dusted in…"
"Fine." Draco swept his hand in an arch over the portrait. "Purgo Pulverem!"
"About time."
Draco gave up any hope of advice and turned to leave. "Alright, then. Don't wait up."
"Borrowed memories might suffice until he is able to recover his own," Severus offered.
Draco felt his brow wrinkle up. "Borrowed from where?"
"From those who've known him the longest," Snape said as he trained his black eyes on Draco. "…and from the ones who know him best."
"I'll run that past the team. It's brilliant, Severus, but I'm not sure if it will do more harm than good at this point. Erastus feels too much recall too soon may cause a curse backlash."
Snape took a seat on the scrolled iron bench under the tree. "And where exactly did he study curse-breaking?"
"The Aurors agree with him."
"And where do you stand?"
"I'd give Harry every memory I have of him, even if he never spoke to me again, but if my efforts - however noble or selfish - caused his condition to worsen or become permanent…" Draco couldn't finish his thought out of fear that it might come true.
Snape stood. "A old fool once said 'Don't panic when you see a giant's shadow - it just may turn out to be an elf in a large hat'."
Draco took a step back, confused. "You’re beginning to sound like Dumbledore. Can portraits turn senile?"
Snape raised his chin. "It means don't agonize without cause."
"Well, thank you for that first year lesson, but I have a patient to see." Disappointed in himself for expecting an earth-shatteringly clever solution from a painting, Draco gathered his papers and turned to leave.
"Draco."
Snape said his name with enough weight to slow Draco's exit. He put a hand on the door frame and looked back at Severus standing at the base of the tree, leaves chasing each other around the bottom of his dark cloak.
"Regardless of what he recollects - or which part of you he remembers - you won't lose him forever."
"How could you know that?" Draco asked in a whisper.
"Potter never could hate properly, even when he had just cause."
Draco nodded as he touched the ring resting under his shirt. "Fortunately for us."
~*~
When Healer Malfoy entered with a warm 'good afternoon', an armful of clothes and a tea tray following him in mid-air, Harry could have kissed his feet.
"Brilliant!"
"Well, that's the warmest welcome I've had in a while," he said while Harry smiled and accepted the clothes gratefully. "You get out of those pyjamas and we'll have a cup."
"Sounds good," Harry said, ducking into the bathroom and leaving the door open a crack. He pulled a faded black t-shirt over his head and was surprised by the instant comfort it brought. "Wow. Where did you get these? They fit really well."
"In a minute. Business first. How are your eyes?"
Harry fastened the jeans and finished with a grey zip-up jumper. It was a vast improvement. He took a quick peek through the space in the door and had to admit that his eyes were working just fine. Healer Malfoy sat at a table that hadn't been there a minute ago directing the tea tray to land silently down in the middle. Seeing him for the first time wasn't the surprise Harry thought it would be. He looked a lot like the new clothes felt: easy, secure, and a little worn. Harry pulled away from the door when his stomach gave a strange lurch.
"My eyes?’ he called back over his shoulder. “Good. I mean, it's weird finally seeing magic at work - not just in my memories - and meeting people who know more about me than I do, but anything is better than being in the dark." He didn't see any socks, so he reached again for his hospital slippers. He decided to leave his pyjamas in a pile on the floor and walked back into the room. "I've always worn glasses, but Healer Atwood said that my vision was corrected a few years ago. Feels strange without them, though, like I've lost a friend."
Malfoy nodded and bit his lip, looking thoughtful. "I could conjure you some frames if you'd feel more comfortable," he offered.
Harry waved him off. "It's alright. I think I'll try this for a while. Maybe if I look and act like the older me, it will help the memories to come back."
"It's worth a try, certainly. Biscuit?"
Harry popped one into his mouth as he took a seat. The biscuit looked plain when he picked it up, but it tasted like it was covered in raspberry jam. “Mmm, s’good.”
“How did your visits go this morning?” Healer Malfoy asked. He was smiling, but his eyes stayed focused on the notes he was holding.
“It was weird at first, Harry admitted. “Mrs Weasley hugged me like I’d come back from the dead or something,” he said, rubbing his still-tender ribs.
Malfoy smiled with amusement, as if he’d been on the receiving end of one of her hugs as well. “Yes, well, you are like a son to her. Molly’s fierce about her family. How was it, meeting the rest?”
Hermione and Ron...” Harry searched for the words, but the rising emotion seemed to push them all out of his reach.
Malfoy put his papers aside and touched Harry’s hand briefly before changing his mind and pulling back. “I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you better yesterday.”
Harry shook his head as he remembered his two best friends walking into his room, hand in hand, looking so... “They have a daughter,” he said, still not believing it fully, even though he’d sat through an entire photo album of her first few years. “I’m glad they have a family, but I just can’t get my head around it. They’re so old.” He said the last part quietly, disbelief hanging in his tone as he rubbed his temples. The headache was beginning to creep back into the space behind his eyes, but he tried his best to ignore it.
“And Teddy?”
Harry lifted his head and grinned, the thought of Teddy refreshing him like his few memories of playing seeker for Gryffindor. “Do you know him? He’s really cool! We got along like brothers. I just had to try to forget that I’m supposed to be his godfather. It’s wicked how he can change into just about anything, isn’t it?”
“I hear it’s gotten him into trouble a few times,” Malfoy said with a short laugh, “but I think he’ll grow up into a fine young man. I thought you might enjoy his company.”
“I did. He said he’d come back in a few days, if I was still here.”
Healer Malfoy nodded and then went back to his notes to make a few more entries. They sat in silence for a while until a thought struck Harry. "I've remembered a bit more and I've had another dream, but it's not a memory this time."
Malfoy looked up and leaned forward. "How do you know?"
Harry shrugged. "Because I died."
"Tell me," Malfoy said, unfazed. He handed Harry a steaming cup of tea. Harry accepted the offered cup, took a sip and promptly forgot the question.
"This is incredible! What's in it?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary - Lady Grey, a splash of milk and three spoons of sugar."
Harry fought between drinking the entire cup in one, or sipping it slowly to make it last longer. "Well, it's brilliant."
"You're welcome," Malfoy said with a warm smile. "The dream?"
Harry felt that strange heat in his cheeks that only seemed to surface when Healer Malfoy was around. It was embarrassing, but not uncomfortable. "Yeah, sorry. I think I've forgotten a bit, but what I remember was that Voldemort had ripped his soul apart and hidden the pieces in things that were special to him-a ring, a cup, even his old diary, which I'd already ruined with a basilisk fang. That part with the diary was real - I think." He rubbed at the growing ache behind his eyes. "It's hard to keep everything straight."
"You're doing fine, Harry."
When he didn't say anything more, Harry looked up and found Malfoy looking concerned.
"What?"
"You’re in pain."
He started to say that he was just fine when Healer Malfoy's expression turned into something that told him he had better tell the truth. Harry gave in and nodded. "Headache. It's more annoying than anything - probably just from all the lights."
"Ater Lumina.” The overhead lights dimmed to a soft, dusky glow that was much easier on the eyes. It also made the room feel a lot smaller and much less like a hospital. “That better?"
"Yeah." Malfoy tapped his wand on the edge of Harry's teacup and a few drops of dark purple liquid trickled out. Harry stared down into the drink and found it looking suspiciously normal. "What'd you do to my tea?"
"Drink. It'll help with the headache." When Harry continued to look sceptical, Malfoy added, "Stop being a baby, Potter. It won't change the taste,"
Harry sniggered at the insult, and finished his cup. As the ache faded, he smiled his thanks and continued his story.
"Anyway, Ron, Hermione and I destroyed all these Horcruxes while Voldemort was attacking Hogwarts. He called me out to the forest, and I just went. I don't know why, but it felt like the right thing to do. Then he killed me. I stood there and didn't do anything to stop him. Next thing I know, Dumbledore is telling me I'm brave and good, and that I need to get on a train. Mad, right?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed in concentration as he continued writing. "So, that makes you around seventeen now?"
"What? No, fourteen, maybe? That's what I wanted to tell you. I've remembered a tournament being set up that brought two other schools to Hogwarts. Oh, and I remember my magic now! Do you want to see? There was this time in second year when I had no clue about how to duel, but Professor Lockhart set me up with Malfoy. Hey, he's got the same last name as you, but he's horrible and stuck-up."
Malfoy sat up straight. "Wait. Harry, I think you need to…"
Harry polished off his tea and suddenly had a craving for another. “More tea, please?” he asked the table, losing focus on whatever Healer Malfoy had been trying to say. Harry sat back, once his cup had refilled itself, and took a sip. "You two actually look a lot alike. Do you know him?"
Even in the dim room, Malfoy's cheeks looked flushed. "Quite well," he said quietly.
Harry grabbed another biscuit. This one tasted like lemon. "Are you related to him?" he asked around the crumbs.
Malfoy stood up, turned his back and swore under his breath to the wall. When he turned back, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to chase away a sudden headache. The grey eyes met his, and Harry could finally see who was standing in front of him, as if the years were falling away like feather-light scales.
He could only stare.
Time had softened the angles, mellowed the harsh voice and created this man in his room, but the eyes and the way his brow creased when he was under stress… Harry inwardly scolded himself for not seeing it sooner.
He left his chair as well, took a step back and lifted his chin. "You're him." Malfoy looked at Harry with sad eyes and gave a short nod.
"You’re Draco," Harry whispered.
Malfoy closed his eyes and whispered, "Yes."
The chair suddenly seemed too far away, so Harry just sank to the floor where he was. Malfoy did the same against the wall. They sat there in silence for a while as Harry tried to make sense out of his somersaulting emotions.
"So, what do I do now? Are we enemies again? You're the one who takes care of me. I'm supposed to trust you, but you're a, I mean you were…" Harry closed his eyes and tried to separate the Malfoy he knew at school with the one sitting across from him. He opened his eyes and saw some of the same sadness and confusion reflected in Draco's expression. "The things you did, and the things you said at Hogwarts about Hermione, about me…"
Malfoy rubbed at his eyes again and swallowed before answering. He looked so sad that Harry had a hard time holding on to his anger.
"That was a long time ago, and if it's worth anything, I'm more than sorry, and I deeply regret nearly every moment. I wasn't like you at fourteen, Harry. It took me longer than it should have to pull my head out from the dragon dung and become my own man. If you get back the memories of your late teen years, I'm afraid you'll have even more reason to hate the boy I was." He paused until Harry met his eyes. "If you can believe it, you and I eventually became close friends." He laughed quietly, almost to himself. "Can you believe even Ron thinks of me as a brother now?"
Harry felt a smile begin. "That I'll have to see to believe."
Malfoy pulled himself off the floor and offered a hand to Harry who took it without hesitation.
Harry studied him. "You said you regret nearly everything?"
"I don't regret having met you."
Relief and confusion warred with each other as Harry processed the words. "Why?"
He pulled Harry to his feet wearing a crooked grin. "Because you messed up my life, Potter."
Harry laughed as he reluctantly let Draco's hand slip from his. "And that's the one thing you don't regret?"
Draco summoned his papers and walked toward the door. Harry noticed he was no longer limping. "Best thing that ever happened to me," he said, as the door swung open.
“Wait! You’re coming back, right?”
Malfoy placed a hand on the doorframe. “Haven’t had enough of me for the day?”
“This is going to sound weird - now that I’ve remembered who you are - but you make all this...” he gestured at himself and then at the room in general. “...a lot easier to deal with.” Harry’s cheeks felt hot again. “I don’t feel so lost when you’re here.”
An odd expression that Harry couldn’t identify appeared briefly before Malfoy quickly pulled it into a professional-looking smile. “Tonight, then,” he said, before slipping out into the corridor.
It was a few long moments before Harry realised he was standing there smiling at a closed door.
~*~
That night, Draco had returned after dinner for a game of chess, a few questions and one quick experiment. He had pulled a shimmering strand from his mind, and they both watched as Harry broke the surface of the water after the ordeal of the Second Task, as seen from Draco’s point of view. It was a short scene, just long enough to see Ron and Gabrielle pulled from the water and to hear the jeers from Viktor’s camp when it was announced that Harry would be awarded second place. Although the experience of sharing someone else’s memory felt a little odd, it was encouraging for Harry to think that there might be more than one way of recovering his lost moments.
Everything had gone really well until Malfoy had left for the night. Once Harry had fallen asleep, it was if a dam of memories had burst. At first, it was a wash of faces, snippets of conversations and the din of battles he couldn't quite visualise. Next, the details came, as if thrown at him from all sides: the scent of Ron’s musty tent, the cold, smooth surface of the golden egg, the icy-sweet taste of the snow cakes at Bill's wedding, the wrestling bout with Dobby over wrinkled letters, the feel of Ginny's lips on his, the shriek of spells exploding through the air, the pounding of his heart in the rotting Shrieking Shack, Buckbeak’s sharp cry, and finally, the sight of Fred, motionless on the floor of the Great Hall.
Coming out of the dream, wasn’t the release Harry had been hoping for. Opening his eyes seemed to trigger an alarming amount of pain. He shut his eyes tight and clapped his hands to his head in fear that it would split apart if he let go. He didn’t remember calling for help, but soon there were others in the room with him - talking to him, to each other - but for Harry, his world had narrowed down to the lighting bolt that seemed to be striking him over and over.
“He’s in backlash! You! Go wake Attwood!”
“...before he hurts himself. Foxlowe, administer the Hornad-Klepping potion. Double dose!”
“Mr Potter? Let go of your hair. That’s it, open your hands, dear.”
“Draco?” Harry called out, tears running from his eyes as a thick feeling of warmth travelled through him, taking the pain somewhere else as it moved.
“You heard him - better wake Malfoy as well.”
In a few more heartbeats, Harry felt as if he was back under water, warm and swimming with the Merfolk in the Black Lake. He was aware of the water muffled voices above him, but he didn’t seem to care much for what they were saying. Nothing could be more important than diving deeper and deeper.
~*~
Chapter 4