Losing Harry Chapter 22
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Twenty-Two
Word Count: 4,613 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language, mild violence; occasional and/or eventual strong language and scenes of a sexual nature
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Big thanks to cymonie for beta-ing this!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
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It was hard to travel inconspicuously with crutches, but somehow in the dead of the night, Harry managed to get Malfoy out from under any watchful eyes. They left before sunup and took a local bus, changing lines a few times and finally coming to a tiny village with a dingy-looking hostel. Harry used a false name, paid for a private room, and forced Malfoy to remain outside while he set wards and protection spells.
Aside from some nausea, the presence of the spells didn’t appear to bother Malfoy to any great extent. In any case, the upset stomach could have possibly been linked to his nervousness, regarding getting his memories back.
“Do you think I’ll remember absolutely everything?” Malfoy asked as he sat on the edge of one of the beds, anxiously surveying the room, his eyes following Harry.
“If all goes well, you should,” Harry answered, preparing the items he had brought with him which would allow him to re-make the magical smelling salt mixture to revive Malfoy after Harry cast the memory-restoration charms. He wasn’t sure how long the mixture would save and still retain its strength, so he had decided to make it again, just in case. There was, of course, always the dilemma that the well-cast Obliviation would keep the memories locked away forever. But Harry had been exposed to enough memory-theory to know that some believed even Obliviated memories could be found again - though with extreme difficulty.
“So, you just aim your wand at me, say a few words, and I’ll be me again?” Malfoy asked, eyeing Harry and his wand closely.
“More or less. But you’ll probably pass out, too,” Harry replied distractedly.
“Will it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t.” Harry ducked into the loo quickly to add the necessary spells to the reviving mixture. When he stepped out, it was ready at last, and he turned toward Malfoy.
“Maybe…er, maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “I mean, magic? Whoever heard of such a thing actually existing?”
Harry crossed the room in silence, sitting on the bed opposite Malfoy, facing him. “The Prime Minister knows,” Harry said. “But who would he tell? Who would believe him?”
Malfoy looked at him doubtfully.
“You’ll be fine,” Harry insisted. “I’m here, right?”
Malfoy offered a weak smile then, rose with effort to his feet and quickly shifted himself across the gap to the bed where Harry sat.
“You promise you’re not going to give me my memories back and then just leave me somewhere?” His voice was sweet and innocent, but underneath Harry still saw the fear and confusion.
Harry looked at him, wanting to make the promise, but also knowing that restoring him to his former life would lead Malfoy in an entirely different direction.
Then he felt Malfoy’s hand on his leg. “James?” His hand moved and found Harry’s hand and he curled his fingers around Harry’s own. Harry stared at their hands, unable to drag his eyes away as his mind jumped to what might happen when Malfoy was Malfoy again, and how it would be to finally get them both home again. His fingers twitched against Malfoy’s and Harry looked up to find grey eyes staring straight into his own. He couldn’t blink for a moment. All he could feel was Malfoy’s hand and his fingers pulling at Harry.
“Er, maybe we should get started…” Harry said. It was fortunate, then, that an owl arrived at the room’s window. Harry snapped out of whatever trance had come over him and he jumped up to answer the owl’s tapping on the glass. It was as if fate had brought it there to confirm for Malfoy that magic did indeed exist…and that it was time to see where it would take them.
“Owls really deliver the mail?” Malfoy asked in delayed disbelief. He shifted his posture, frowned, and then began to accuse: “You’re having me on. You’ve set this up!”
“What do I have to gain by pointing a stick at you if magic is not real?” Harry asked, puzzled. When Malfoy didn’t answer, Harry turned to the owl. He took the note and the owl disappeared through the now partially open window, back into the night. Harry locked the window back before glancing down at the letter.
“Huh. It’s addressed to you,” he said. It certainly explained how the owl made it through Harry’s wards. He crossed the room and handed the letter over to Malfoy, who was still watching and waiting from his seat on the bed. Harry thought the writing was familiar, however. He couldn’t help his curiosity, wondering why Hermione had written to Malfoy.
“Draco Malfoy?” he asked. “I’m Draco Malfoy?” He was gazing at Harry for confirmation; Harry nodded.
“Maybe you should read it first,” Malfoy said, offering it back. Harry shook his head.
“Go on, it’s yours.”
Harry watched as Malfoy opened the parchment up and his eyes moved back and forth along the page. His expression grew increasingly surprised and confused.
“I have a son,” Malfoy mumbled. “And there are such strange names and words for everything.” Malfoy looked up at Harry. “What the hell is Hogwarts and why is my son missing from it?”
Harry blinked in alarm, wanting to grab the letter but waiting until Malfoy offered it to him again. He did and Harry scanned it quickly.
“Hogwarts is a school for witches and wizards,” Harry said slowly. “And your son’s disappeared. Cripes, this isn’t good.”
Harry sat on the opposing bed, staring at the parchment unseeingly.
“How old is my son?” Malfoy asked, seeming a touch saddened.
“He’s fourteen. A good kid,” Harry answered, eyes scanning the letter again.
“You know him?” Malfoy tilted his head. Harry looked up and nodded. He couldn’t help wondering then about his own family, about Albus and his missing father and best friend. The boy was probably terribly upset. Harry deliberated, feeling a need to go to his son.
“I need my memories back. I need to know my own son,” Malfoy said, interrupting.
Harry nodded and stood, putting the letter away and pulling his wand out. He instructed Malfoy to lie down on the bed, just in case the spells caused him any discomfort or loss of consciousness. Harry knew he had revived Malfoy twice before in the events of spells causing adverse reactions, but he couldn’t help feeling a kind of ominous foreboding.
He turned his attention to the more prominent question at hand - Malfoy’s memories. If his memories could be restored - if by some chance the caster of the spell had not done it strongly enough - it would still provide no cure for Malfoy’s magic aversion, which was another problem Harry had yet to tackle. He had a faint, foolish hope that perhaps all of the spell damage was connected, and maybe by simply returning Malfoy’s memories, all would be solved. He would remember he could do magic, could walk without crutches, and he’d be set to duel his way back home once their opponent showed his face again.
Instinct told Harry it would not be so easy.
Obliviation Recovery spells were many and varied. Harry had read the gamut on them from the Shifting Library and had been lectured on them in Auror classes. In many cases, Obliviation spells were purposefully cast so that the memories were banished, hidden, and locked away, but for all intents and purposes, had ‘disappeared’ from mind. This was specifically useful, for example, in the event of a Ministry investigation when proof was needed in a crime or case and a subject had been Obliviated. Of course, it was possible to cast the spell in such a way that it was completely irrecoverable. However the Ministry had, centuries ago, specifically limited the access the public had to such spells. More often than one would expect, many of the amateurly-cast Obliviation spells could, with a bit of elbow grease, be recovered.
Harry was hoping the caster had not been a professional.
With Malfoy prone on the bed, Harry cast the strongest and most invasive Memory Restoration spell he had been able to lay hands on that would fit Malfoy’s condition and circumstances. He knew it needed to be strong, and that Malfoy’s case wasn’t the norm. As the incantation ended, he watched the muscles in Malfoy’s body twitch with spasms. Malfoy’s eyes closed tightly as he appeared to frown, then his eyelids relaxed into continuous tremors. After several minutes, Malfoy went completely still, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Harry jumped over to the table where he had the magic-imbued smelling salt substance. He sat on the bed next to Malfoy, placed the dish under his nose and waited for him to revive.
Nothing happened.
Harry stared at Malfoy, as if willing him to smell the magic salts and wake up. He waited for another minute, watching, but still there was no movement from his patient. Using his hand, he wafted the fumes toward Malfoy, but still he remained unmoving.
Worried, Harry headed for the loo and locked the door; aiming his wand at the substance, he recast the spells he had used before, attempting to make the reviving mixture stronger. It had to work. Harry could not have just accidentally killed Malfoy or put him in a permanent coma in his attempt to give him his life back.
Harry could feel his pulse racing faster as he tried not to think about it. It would work; it just needed to be stronger. Back on the bed, Harry again waved the dish before Malfoy’s face.
When still nothing happened, Harry swallowed, edging the dish closer. “Work, damn it,” he commanded.
Malfoy remained unresponsive and Harry gently shook him, pinched him, even shouted his name. He finally settled for lifting Malfoy’s head so it rested against Harry’s leg, then again wafted the salts before him.
Malfoy’s chest rose higher then and his cheek flinched, but he did not open his eyes. The next half hour was filled with twitching eyelids, painful expressions on a face that otherwise seemed to be asleep, and small grunts with limited twists of the body. Harry waited, the salts nearby, trying to coax Malfoy into awaking.
At last, after much worry and dread, slowly Malfoy seemed to be returning. His body stilled and his eyelashes parted as he squinted against the overhead lights shining directly down from the ceiling. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, pain evident on his features as he curled in on himself.
“I…I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Harry jumped up then, Malfoy sitting up slowing in his wake, ready for the rubbish bin that Harry thrust into his hands. He watched in discomfort as Malfoy emptied his stomach into the bin, eyes squeezed shut until it was over. Malfoy sat in an unmoving position, hunched over his knees, as Harry put the bin in the loo, grabbed a towel and shut the door.
Malfoy took the towel from Harry, pushing Harry’s hand away and wiping his face on his own.
When he seemed satisfied, Malfoy set the towel aside, a hand going immediately to his forehead as he lay back down on the bed, a small groan escaping on the way.
It was quiet for a few minutes as Harry debated what to do and whether the spell had worked. At length, he finally said, “Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s eyes opened again, and slowly he turned his head in the direction of Harry’s voice, his eyes drawing toward him.
“Potter?” Malfoy said slowly.
Harry, with wide eyes, nodded and rose from the opposite bed where he had sat waiting. It was Draco Malfoy. He was back.
Harry watched as Malfoy rose uneasily onto his elbows, head turning as he surveyed the room with difficulty. “Where the hell am I, and why are you here?” he asked, his gaze at last returning to Harry.
It was uncanny how easy it was, at that moment, to detect the change, to see the difference between Matthew and Malfoy. Immediately the guard had gone up, hardness and edge in Malfoy’s voice and demeanor, his gaze at Harry wholly other from the way Matthew had looked at him.
“Er…”
“Don’t tell me,” Malfoy decided, waving a hand at Harry to signal him to stop speaking. Malfoy fell back onto the bed. “Just give me a second.” His hand moved to his forehead and he lay there, eyes closed against the light for a minute or two before speaking.
“I…I think I recall…” Malfoy began. “We’re running from someone. And there was a memory spell. And you’re…helping me.” He sounded confused as he said it and opened his eyes, seeking Harry out again. “Why are you helping me?”
“Er,” Harry said again. “Because no one else was. And because…our sons are best friends.”
“Our sons,” Malfoy repeated, then with intensity, “Scorpius! There was a letter about him, wasn’t there?”
Harry nodded and, moving automatically, found Hermione’s letter, handing it back to Malfoy who swore under his breath as he read the letter.
“We have to find my son!” Malfoy demanded at once.
“Wait, wait. One problem at a time,” Harry insisted, moving forward and using his hands to try and urge Malfoy into calmness.
“My son!” Malfoy raised his voice, sitting up.
“I understand your concern,” Harry said slowly in a low, controlled voice, “but since we are currently being hunted, followed, spied on, and are both under attack, I hardly think we can run off and rescue your son from whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into.”
“You don’t know my son! He didn’t get himself -” Malfoy argued hotly.
“I saw him a few months ago,” Harry cut him off. “He was fine, except for missing you. And he had my Albus there with him. Wherever he’s gone, he’ll be easy enough to find, especially if Hermione is looking for him,” he reassured Malfoy.
Malfoy, however, seemed to be only half listening as he muttered under his breath in phrases Harry couldn’t quite make out.
“It’s probably better if we start with what you do remember,” Harry prompted.
“What?” Draco asked, turning toward him. Harry took a seat again on the opposite bed so they were facing each other, similar to how Harry and ‘Matthew’ had sat, only an hour before.
“You were missing your memories -”
“I know that,” Draco snapped
“So, do you remember anything? It could help us figure out who’s now targeted us and for what reason.”
Malfoy frowned. “What do you care?” There was an edge to his voice that Harry distinctly resented.
“I’ve spent half a year trying to find you and get you back to your previous life!” Harry responded angrily. “I suppose you’d rather I left you to your Muggle gardening?”
The frown on Malfoy’s features deepened and he looked away. “It’s not that,” he said tightly. “I just…don’t understand.”
“Well, I certainly don’t if you won’t tell me what you remember,” Harry responded sharply.
“It’s sort of coming in slowly,” Malfoy said with a changed tone, wincing then and rubbing at his head. Harry noted the gesture. “Like the way an hour glass lets sand in. I’m getting images back, but…not everything all at once.”
“It takes time in some situations,” Harry said quietly, nodding.
It was still for a moment as Harry thought about where to start, and wondered how long it would take to restore all the memories. Malfoy, for his part, seemed distracted. Then a thought occurred to Harry.
“Here,” he said, holding his wand out.
“What?” Malfoy asked, nose turned up as if Harry had held a rat out to him instead.
“Try it. Try some magic. We can find out if the magic aversion was at all linked to the memory block.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows lowered and he hesitantly took Harry’s wand. He held it out and muttered a Lumos spell. Nothing happened and instead Malfoy dropped the wand.
“Ouch.” Harry reached down to retrieve the wand and noticed Malfoy rubbing one hand against the other.
“Maybe something else, to be sure?” Harry suggested.
Malfoy tried a few more easy spells but nothing happened, aside from a stinging sensation he seemed to be feeling, accompanied by several winces. Harry wondered if it had to do with Malfoy trying to use Harry’s wand, rather than his own. Uneasy about casting any charms at Malfoy just yet, he decided to light the wand himself and see if the spellcasting near Malfoy had any similar affects.
“Lumos,” Harry muttered.
Malfoy moved backward on the bed, reached for his head with eyes closed and said, “Ow, damn it, stop.”
Harry frowned. Malfoy was back, his memories albeit momentarily limited, but he was magic-less and still showing aversion toward magic. When Malfoy moved back to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, he nearly fell flat on his face until Harry caught him with his Seeker-swift reflexes. Malfoy appeared disgruntled as he sat down again, pushing Harry away and instead taking the crutches from him that Matthew had used. Malfoy looked at them for a few moments as though they were a prison cell in Azkaban. He finally stood with effort and used the crutches to make his way to the loo.
One problem down, two more to go. Two hundred more. Harry was losing count.
..:..
“Let’s start with some basic things. Just tell me what you see,” Harry suggested as he and Malfoy sat at the small table on the far side of the room near the window later that evening. Malfoy grunted in response.
“Do you know who attacked you, either at your home with Astoria, or while you were with Landon?”
“Astoria,” Malfoy said quietly.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked uneasily.
Malfoy shook his head and looked up at Harry before scowling. “Sorry, not really. I remember…with Matthew,” Malfoy paused. “Whoever came to Landon’s house - I must have known him from this life, but what I remembered as Matthew is all I remember now.”
“But you do remember everything…from when you were Matthew?” Harry asked with hesitant curiosity.
Malfoy gazed at him for a long moment, eyes hard. At last he turned away, wiped a hand over his mouth and said to the window, “Yes. Mostly.”
It was quiet for a moment and Harry shifted his posture, trying to remember the direction he had been taking before.
“What about at your home? There was a broken tea kettle and traces of Dark magic on a clock,” Harry prompted.
Malfoy’s right hand toyed with the sleeve on his left wrist. “The last thing I remember from home was the week when Scorpius went to stay with Mother and Father. I remember working. Taking Astoria to dinner. Meeting with a few friends.” He shrugged.
“Which friends?” Harry asked. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.
“Just friends, Potter.” His tone matched the glare he was sending Harry.
“One of these friends could be the prime suspect in the attacks against you!” Harry emphasised.
“Why would friends attack me?” Malfoy challenged. “They’re called friends for a reason!”
Malfoy crossed his arms then, closed off as he stared through the window.
“Okay, what about Landon?” Harry tried, mentally noting that he would have to find out about these friends at some later point. “What do you know about him? How did you find him?”
Malfoy glowered at him for a moment but answered. “I just woke up and he was there. I didn’t remember anything, didn’t know who I was. He was there and after being my nurse for a while in hospital, he offered to let me stay with him until I figured out who I was or what I was going to do.”
“Do you recall what hospital you were at?” Harry asked curiously. Malfoy shook his head. “Do you remember waking up in St Mungo’s at any point, or anything like that?”
Malfoy hesitated, eyeing Harry. “I…I just remember lots of hospitals. No idea which ones. Lots of strange devices, pain, blood, restraints.” Malfoy shivered. “Merlin, I hope I never see another one.”
Harry frowned. They needed more than this.
“It’s weird…to remember not remembering,” Malfoy said quietly, frowning.
Harry watched him for a moment, wondering what images were going through his mind. “How are you feeling? Any pain or nausea?”
“Yeah, both.” Malfoy looked around then, eyes going to the crutches. He appeared to glare at them. “Is there any food in here? I’m hungry, even if it turns out that it won’t stay down.”
Harry, using his cloak, went downstairs to nick some food from the hostel’s small kitchen. He could have ordered something properly, but the less people who heard or saw them, the better.
They ate sandwiches in silence. Malfoy seemed uncomfortable and wary. Harry used the time to try to come up with a plan. It turned out to be a futile effort once Malfoy had to stop eating halfway through his meal. Harry’s sandwich paused in mid-air as he watched Malfoy’s eyes close. He grabbed his stomach with one hand and rested his head against his other, sitting stiffly until whatever it was passed. Malfoy, refusing all help from Harry, jerked away from him and toward the bed, using the crutches to take angry steps. Harry noticed how pale he looked once he was seated again on the bed.
Then Malfoy passed out.
Harry jumped up so quick that his chair over turned. He attempted to shake Malfoy and rouse him. He remained paler than usual, not a stir to be seen. Harry called his name and shook his arm. He even tried the magic salts he had saved from earlier, but nothing he did had any affect.
An hour passed, Harry pacing in the room, before he decided that drastic measures were in order.
Malfoy needed professional help, something more than what Harry could do. Harry wasn’t even sure if something he had done could have possibly further damaged Malfoy. To continue on like this was endangering his life. Harry made a quick decision, packing his satchel hastily. Focusing with severe intensity, Harry grabbed his bag with one hand, took hold of Malfoy’s arm with the other, and Apparated straight into St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Two voices gasped aloud as Harry felt his feet hit the new ground, but he was promptly dragged down by Malfoy’s dead bodyweight.
“I need a Healer!” Harry shouted, moving to his knees, on the floor next to Malfoy. “The head Healer on staff!”
Two witches made scurrying noises and soon a third witch was shoved under his nose. They got Malfoy onto a bed while Harry explained quickly what effects magic was having on Malfoy.
“Is it really him?”
Harry heard the whispers in the background but blocked them out as he watched the witch at work. “There appears to be something very…sinister,” she said, looking at the faint yellow lights over Malfoy that her medical spell had produced.
“What is it?” Harry demanded.
“Well, it seems he has merely passed out, but there is some kind of spell damage interfering with matters in his mind. I’m not sure what to make it of it yet, if it involves his memory or his brain capacity, or the nervous system… Also, I’m afraid some recent magic used on him must have affected him. You Apparated, they said?” She paused and Harry nodded. She looked displeased. “I’m afraid I will need time with this. I can’t begin to perform any magic on him in this condition. Have you tried doubling or strengthening the magical mixture you mentioned? Or perhaps something similar that would be ingested and go more quickly into the blood stream?”
Harry tried to wrack his brain and think of alterations the recipe might have included. He started to dig the book out of his bag when he heard commotion echoing down the hall.
“There!” Someone shouted. “He’s there! Go! GO!”
Harry glanced through the window of the private spell-damage room and glanced down the corridor. Four men were running straight toward Harry and the room they currently occupied.
“We have to go,” Harry said suddenly.
The witch squeaked and jumped out of the way as Harry grabbed Malfoy, throwing him over his shoulder in an undignified fireman’s carry, and darted for the door on the opposite side of the room. Another corridor was attached there and led down a ward where patients stirred behind broad windows. Healers jumped out of the way as Harry and his burden progressed to the end of the hall where a set of stairs were located. He’d not reached the stairwell door when he heard the Healers screaming behind him and men’s voices were heard overpowering them.
The door to the stairwell slammed shut and Harry cast a locking charm at it. He wasn’t sure if more magic would harm Malfoy in this state, and belatedly reminded himself to get them out safely without causing more damage to his charge. But it was hard to negotiate the stairs while carrying Malfoy and he lost precious time. The door he had previously barricaded banged open with the crash of spells hitting it, and down came a rainstorm of red lights, curses flying at Harry in an attempt to stop him.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shot back, huffing with effort, still rushing down stairs.
Suddenly more voices were added to the fray as the door two floors up banged open again.
“Stop! Ministry Aurors!” a loud voice bellowed down the stairs.
One of the four men chasing Harry shot a hex up at the Aurors, who took offense and opened fire themselves. “Impedimenta!” a voice rang out. Harry recognised it.
“Auror Miles?” Harry called upward, panting afterwards as he dodged a malicious spell and hid behind a Healer’s cart that had been stored in the stairwell hallway. The men above him shot more hexes down, pausing as they tried to get aim at Harry.
“Potter?” Miles shouted down.
A well-aimed curse came flying from the four men, exploding the cart that was hiding Harry, while another was shot upward and knocked out one of the Aurors, who groaned and lost his wand down the stairs. With no time to lose, Harry jumped up, hoisted Malfoy onto his shoulder and bolted out the nearest door. He had reached the end of the hallway before finding a dead end with no way out. He would have to turn back to the stairs and descend to the ground floor in order to go any further.
Realising at last that Apparation would be necessary to get them safely out of there, despite the harm further magic could have on Malfoy, he finally succumbed and Disapparated from St Mungo’s, four voices shouting spells at him but disappearing into a vicious twisting sensation.
They were back in Harry’s abandoned Muggle home, one block from Landon’s, and far from St Mungo’s. Perhaps it was not the most heavily protected location, but Harry’s wards and protections had stood the test so far. He had also often found that the surest way to throw a pursuant off was to go to the place they would be least likely to suspect - and often that place was one right under their noses. He thought, at least for a time, they might be safe. Safe enough to sort out Malfoy, he hoped.
He deposited Malfoy on the bed in the room Harry had used before as his own. Luckily, he had brought his bag with him when he’d taken Malfoy to St Mungo’s. He dug around inside for the book containing the salt-mixture, anxious to scan it for something ingestible, as the Healer had suggested.
He spent an hour in the book before he found something that would suffice. It took another two hours to get an unresponsive Malfoy to drink the new mixture. Harry had spilled some of it on himself and the bed, but finally got enough of it in his system for Malfoy to open his eyes.
They didn’t talk much. Harry assured him that everything would be all right, and he let the wizard sleep, hoping he would have more strength the following day.
Then Harry spent the night wide-eyed, watching Malfoy for any signs that his sleeping had turned to a loss of consciousness.
Things had not gone as he’d hoped.
Next: Chapter 23
Chapter: Twenty-Two
Word Count: 4,613 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language, mild violence; occasional and/or eventual strong language and scenes of a sexual nature
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Big thanks to cymonie for beta-ing this!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
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It was hard to travel inconspicuously with crutches, but somehow in the dead of the night, Harry managed to get Malfoy out from under any watchful eyes. They left before sunup and took a local bus, changing lines a few times and finally coming to a tiny village with a dingy-looking hostel. Harry used a false name, paid for a private room, and forced Malfoy to remain outside while he set wards and protection spells.
Aside from some nausea, the presence of the spells didn’t appear to bother Malfoy to any great extent. In any case, the upset stomach could have possibly been linked to his nervousness, regarding getting his memories back.
“Do you think I’ll remember absolutely everything?” Malfoy asked as he sat on the edge of one of the beds, anxiously surveying the room, his eyes following Harry.
“If all goes well, you should,” Harry answered, preparing the items he had brought with him which would allow him to re-make the magical smelling salt mixture to revive Malfoy after Harry cast the memory-restoration charms. He wasn’t sure how long the mixture would save and still retain its strength, so he had decided to make it again, just in case. There was, of course, always the dilemma that the well-cast Obliviation would keep the memories locked away forever. But Harry had been exposed to enough memory-theory to know that some believed even Obliviated memories could be found again - though with extreme difficulty.
“So, you just aim your wand at me, say a few words, and I’ll be me again?” Malfoy asked, eyeing Harry and his wand closely.
“More or less. But you’ll probably pass out, too,” Harry replied distractedly.
“Will it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t.” Harry ducked into the loo quickly to add the necessary spells to the reviving mixture. When he stepped out, it was ready at last, and he turned toward Malfoy.
“Maybe…er, maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “I mean, magic? Whoever heard of such a thing actually existing?”
Harry crossed the room in silence, sitting on the bed opposite Malfoy, facing him. “The Prime Minister knows,” Harry said. “But who would he tell? Who would believe him?”
Malfoy looked at him doubtfully.
“You’ll be fine,” Harry insisted. “I’m here, right?”
Malfoy offered a weak smile then, rose with effort to his feet and quickly shifted himself across the gap to the bed where Harry sat.
“You promise you’re not going to give me my memories back and then just leave me somewhere?” His voice was sweet and innocent, but underneath Harry still saw the fear and confusion.
Harry looked at him, wanting to make the promise, but also knowing that restoring him to his former life would lead Malfoy in an entirely different direction.
Then he felt Malfoy’s hand on his leg. “James?” His hand moved and found Harry’s hand and he curled his fingers around Harry’s own. Harry stared at their hands, unable to drag his eyes away as his mind jumped to what might happen when Malfoy was Malfoy again, and how it would be to finally get them both home again. His fingers twitched against Malfoy’s and Harry looked up to find grey eyes staring straight into his own. He couldn’t blink for a moment. All he could feel was Malfoy’s hand and his fingers pulling at Harry.
“Er, maybe we should get started…” Harry said. It was fortunate, then, that an owl arrived at the room’s window. Harry snapped out of whatever trance had come over him and he jumped up to answer the owl’s tapping on the glass. It was as if fate had brought it there to confirm for Malfoy that magic did indeed exist…and that it was time to see where it would take them.
“Owls really deliver the mail?” Malfoy asked in delayed disbelief. He shifted his posture, frowned, and then began to accuse: “You’re having me on. You’ve set this up!”
“What do I have to gain by pointing a stick at you if magic is not real?” Harry asked, puzzled. When Malfoy didn’t answer, Harry turned to the owl. He took the note and the owl disappeared through the now partially open window, back into the night. Harry locked the window back before glancing down at the letter.
“Huh. It’s addressed to you,” he said. It certainly explained how the owl made it through Harry’s wards. He crossed the room and handed the letter over to Malfoy, who was still watching and waiting from his seat on the bed. Harry thought the writing was familiar, however. He couldn’t help his curiosity, wondering why Hermione had written to Malfoy.
“Draco Malfoy?” he asked. “I’m Draco Malfoy?” He was gazing at Harry for confirmation; Harry nodded.
“Maybe you should read it first,” Malfoy said, offering it back. Harry shook his head.
“Go on, it’s yours.”
Harry watched as Malfoy opened the parchment up and his eyes moved back and forth along the page. His expression grew increasingly surprised and confused.
“I have a son,” Malfoy mumbled. “And there are such strange names and words for everything.” Malfoy looked up at Harry. “What the hell is Hogwarts and why is my son missing from it?”
Harry blinked in alarm, wanting to grab the letter but waiting until Malfoy offered it to him again. He did and Harry scanned it quickly.
“Hogwarts is a school for witches and wizards,” Harry said slowly. “And your son’s disappeared. Cripes, this isn’t good.”
Harry sat on the opposing bed, staring at the parchment unseeingly.
“How old is my son?” Malfoy asked, seeming a touch saddened.
“He’s fourteen. A good kid,” Harry answered, eyes scanning the letter again.
“You know him?” Malfoy tilted his head. Harry looked up and nodded. He couldn’t help wondering then about his own family, about Albus and his missing father and best friend. The boy was probably terribly upset. Harry deliberated, feeling a need to go to his son.
“I need my memories back. I need to know my own son,” Malfoy said, interrupting.
Harry nodded and stood, putting the letter away and pulling his wand out. He instructed Malfoy to lie down on the bed, just in case the spells caused him any discomfort or loss of consciousness. Harry knew he had revived Malfoy twice before in the events of spells causing adverse reactions, but he couldn’t help feeling a kind of ominous foreboding.
He turned his attention to the more prominent question at hand - Malfoy’s memories. If his memories could be restored - if by some chance the caster of the spell had not done it strongly enough - it would still provide no cure for Malfoy’s magic aversion, which was another problem Harry had yet to tackle. He had a faint, foolish hope that perhaps all of the spell damage was connected, and maybe by simply returning Malfoy’s memories, all would be solved. He would remember he could do magic, could walk without crutches, and he’d be set to duel his way back home once their opponent showed his face again.
Instinct told Harry it would not be so easy.
Obliviation Recovery spells were many and varied. Harry had read the gamut on them from the Shifting Library and had been lectured on them in Auror classes. In many cases, Obliviation spells were purposefully cast so that the memories were banished, hidden, and locked away, but for all intents and purposes, had ‘disappeared’ from mind. This was specifically useful, for example, in the event of a Ministry investigation when proof was needed in a crime or case and a subject had been Obliviated. Of course, it was possible to cast the spell in such a way that it was completely irrecoverable. However the Ministry had, centuries ago, specifically limited the access the public had to such spells. More often than one would expect, many of the amateurly-cast Obliviation spells could, with a bit of elbow grease, be recovered.
Harry was hoping the caster had not been a professional.
With Malfoy prone on the bed, Harry cast the strongest and most invasive Memory Restoration spell he had been able to lay hands on that would fit Malfoy’s condition and circumstances. He knew it needed to be strong, and that Malfoy’s case wasn’t the norm. As the incantation ended, he watched the muscles in Malfoy’s body twitch with spasms. Malfoy’s eyes closed tightly as he appeared to frown, then his eyelids relaxed into continuous tremors. After several minutes, Malfoy went completely still, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Harry jumped over to the table where he had the magic-imbued smelling salt substance. He sat on the bed next to Malfoy, placed the dish under his nose and waited for him to revive.
Nothing happened.
Harry stared at Malfoy, as if willing him to smell the magic salts and wake up. He waited for another minute, watching, but still there was no movement from his patient. Using his hand, he wafted the fumes toward Malfoy, but still he remained unmoving.
Worried, Harry headed for the loo and locked the door; aiming his wand at the substance, he recast the spells he had used before, attempting to make the reviving mixture stronger. It had to work. Harry could not have just accidentally killed Malfoy or put him in a permanent coma in his attempt to give him his life back.
Harry could feel his pulse racing faster as he tried not to think about it. It would work; it just needed to be stronger. Back on the bed, Harry again waved the dish before Malfoy’s face.
When still nothing happened, Harry swallowed, edging the dish closer. “Work, damn it,” he commanded.
Malfoy remained unresponsive and Harry gently shook him, pinched him, even shouted his name. He finally settled for lifting Malfoy’s head so it rested against Harry’s leg, then again wafted the salts before him.
Malfoy’s chest rose higher then and his cheek flinched, but he did not open his eyes. The next half hour was filled with twitching eyelids, painful expressions on a face that otherwise seemed to be asleep, and small grunts with limited twists of the body. Harry waited, the salts nearby, trying to coax Malfoy into awaking.
At last, after much worry and dread, slowly Malfoy seemed to be returning. His body stilled and his eyelashes parted as he squinted against the overhead lights shining directly down from the ceiling. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, pain evident on his features as he curled in on himself.
“I…I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Harry jumped up then, Malfoy sitting up slowing in his wake, ready for the rubbish bin that Harry thrust into his hands. He watched in discomfort as Malfoy emptied his stomach into the bin, eyes squeezed shut until it was over. Malfoy sat in an unmoving position, hunched over his knees, as Harry put the bin in the loo, grabbed a towel and shut the door.
Malfoy took the towel from Harry, pushing Harry’s hand away and wiping his face on his own.
When he seemed satisfied, Malfoy set the towel aside, a hand going immediately to his forehead as he lay back down on the bed, a small groan escaping on the way.
It was quiet for a few minutes as Harry debated what to do and whether the spell had worked. At length, he finally said, “Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s eyes opened again, and slowly he turned his head in the direction of Harry’s voice, his eyes drawing toward him.
“Potter?” Malfoy said slowly.
Harry, with wide eyes, nodded and rose from the opposite bed where he had sat waiting. It was Draco Malfoy. He was back.
Harry watched as Malfoy rose uneasily onto his elbows, head turning as he surveyed the room with difficulty. “Where the hell am I, and why are you here?” he asked, his gaze at last returning to Harry.
It was uncanny how easy it was, at that moment, to detect the change, to see the difference between Matthew and Malfoy. Immediately the guard had gone up, hardness and edge in Malfoy’s voice and demeanor, his gaze at Harry wholly other from the way Matthew had looked at him.
“Er…”
“Don’t tell me,” Malfoy decided, waving a hand at Harry to signal him to stop speaking. Malfoy fell back onto the bed. “Just give me a second.” His hand moved to his forehead and he lay there, eyes closed against the light for a minute or two before speaking.
“I…I think I recall…” Malfoy began. “We’re running from someone. And there was a memory spell. And you’re…helping me.” He sounded confused as he said it and opened his eyes, seeking Harry out again. “Why are you helping me?”
“Er,” Harry said again. “Because no one else was. And because…our sons are best friends.”
“Our sons,” Malfoy repeated, then with intensity, “Scorpius! There was a letter about him, wasn’t there?”
Harry nodded and, moving automatically, found Hermione’s letter, handing it back to Malfoy who swore under his breath as he read the letter.
“We have to find my son!” Malfoy demanded at once.
“Wait, wait. One problem at a time,” Harry insisted, moving forward and using his hands to try and urge Malfoy into calmness.
“My son!” Malfoy raised his voice, sitting up.
“I understand your concern,” Harry said slowly in a low, controlled voice, “but since we are currently being hunted, followed, spied on, and are both under attack, I hardly think we can run off and rescue your son from whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into.”
“You don’t know my son! He didn’t get himself -” Malfoy argued hotly.
“I saw him a few months ago,” Harry cut him off. “He was fine, except for missing you. And he had my Albus there with him. Wherever he’s gone, he’ll be easy enough to find, especially if Hermione is looking for him,” he reassured Malfoy.
Malfoy, however, seemed to be only half listening as he muttered under his breath in phrases Harry couldn’t quite make out.
“It’s probably better if we start with what you do remember,” Harry prompted.
“What?” Draco asked, turning toward him. Harry took a seat again on the opposite bed so they were facing each other, similar to how Harry and ‘Matthew’ had sat, only an hour before.
“You were missing your memories -”
“I know that,” Draco snapped
“So, do you remember anything? It could help us figure out who’s now targeted us and for what reason.”
Malfoy frowned. “What do you care?” There was an edge to his voice that Harry distinctly resented.
“I’ve spent half a year trying to find you and get you back to your previous life!” Harry responded angrily. “I suppose you’d rather I left you to your Muggle gardening?”
The frown on Malfoy’s features deepened and he looked away. “It’s not that,” he said tightly. “I just…don’t understand.”
“Well, I certainly don’t if you won’t tell me what you remember,” Harry responded sharply.
“It’s sort of coming in slowly,” Malfoy said with a changed tone, wincing then and rubbing at his head. Harry noted the gesture. “Like the way an hour glass lets sand in. I’m getting images back, but…not everything all at once.”
“It takes time in some situations,” Harry said quietly, nodding.
It was still for a moment as Harry thought about where to start, and wondered how long it would take to restore all the memories. Malfoy, for his part, seemed distracted. Then a thought occurred to Harry.
“Here,” he said, holding his wand out.
“What?” Malfoy asked, nose turned up as if Harry had held a rat out to him instead.
“Try it. Try some magic. We can find out if the magic aversion was at all linked to the memory block.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows lowered and he hesitantly took Harry’s wand. He held it out and muttered a Lumos spell. Nothing happened and instead Malfoy dropped the wand.
“Ouch.” Harry reached down to retrieve the wand and noticed Malfoy rubbing one hand against the other.
“Maybe something else, to be sure?” Harry suggested.
Malfoy tried a few more easy spells but nothing happened, aside from a stinging sensation he seemed to be feeling, accompanied by several winces. Harry wondered if it had to do with Malfoy trying to use Harry’s wand, rather than his own. Uneasy about casting any charms at Malfoy just yet, he decided to light the wand himself and see if the spellcasting near Malfoy had any similar affects.
“Lumos,” Harry muttered.
Malfoy moved backward on the bed, reached for his head with eyes closed and said, “Ow, damn it, stop.”
Harry frowned. Malfoy was back, his memories albeit momentarily limited, but he was magic-less and still showing aversion toward magic. When Malfoy moved back to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, he nearly fell flat on his face until Harry caught him with his Seeker-swift reflexes. Malfoy appeared disgruntled as he sat down again, pushing Harry away and instead taking the crutches from him that Matthew had used. Malfoy looked at them for a few moments as though they were a prison cell in Azkaban. He finally stood with effort and used the crutches to make his way to the loo.
One problem down, two more to go. Two hundred more. Harry was losing count.
..:..
“Let’s start with some basic things. Just tell me what you see,” Harry suggested as he and Malfoy sat at the small table on the far side of the room near the window later that evening. Malfoy grunted in response.
“Do you know who attacked you, either at your home with Astoria, or while you were with Landon?”
“Astoria,” Malfoy said quietly.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked uneasily.
Malfoy shook his head and looked up at Harry before scowling. “Sorry, not really. I remember…with Matthew,” Malfoy paused. “Whoever came to Landon’s house - I must have known him from this life, but what I remembered as Matthew is all I remember now.”
“But you do remember everything…from when you were Matthew?” Harry asked with hesitant curiosity.
Malfoy gazed at him for a long moment, eyes hard. At last he turned away, wiped a hand over his mouth and said to the window, “Yes. Mostly.”
It was quiet for a moment and Harry shifted his posture, trying to remember the direction he had been taking before.
“What about at your home? There was a broken tea kettle and traces of Dark magic on a clock,” Harry prompted.
Malfoy’s right hand toyed with the sleeve on his left wrist. “The last thing I remember from home was the week when Scorpius went to stay with Mother and Father. I remember working. Taking Astoria to dinner. Meeting with a few friends.” He shrugged.
“Which friends?” Harry asked. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.
“Just friends, Potter.” His tone matched the glare he was sending Harry.
“One of these friends could be the prime suspect in the attacks against you!” Harry emphasised.
“Why would friends attack me?” Malfoy challenged. “They’re called friends for a reason!”
Malfoy crossed his arms then, closed off as he stared through the window.
“Okay, what about Landon?” Harry tried, mentally noting that he would have to find out about these friends at some later point. “What do you know about him? How did you find him?”
Malfoy glowered at him for a moment but answered. “I just woke up and he was there. I didn’t remember anything, didn’t know who I was. He was there and after being my nurse for a while in hospital, he offered to let me stay with him until I figured out who I was or what I was going to do.”
“Do you recall what hospital you were at?” Harry asked curiously. Malfoy shook his head. “Do you remember waking up in St Mungo’s at any point, or anything like that?”
Malfoy hesitated, eyeing Harry. “I…I just remember lots of hospitals. No idea which ones. Lots of strange devices, pain, blood, restraints.” Malfoy shivered. “Merlin, I hope I never see another one.”
Harry frowned. They needed more than this.
“It’s weird…to remember not remembering,” Malfoy said quietly, frowning.
Harry watched him for a moment, wondering what images were going through his mind. “How are you feeling? Any pain or nausea?”
“Yeah, both.” Malfoy looked around then, eyes going to the crutches. He appeared to glare at them. “Is there any food in here? I’m hungry, even if it turns out that it won’t stay down.”
Harry, using his cloak, went downstairs to nick some food from the hostel’s small kitchen. He could have ordered something properly, but the less people who heard or saw them, the better.
They ate sandwiches in silence. Malfoy seemed uncomfortable and wary. Harry used the time to try to come up with a plan. It turned out to be a futile effort once Malfoy had to stop eating halfway through his meal. Harry’s sandwich paused in mid-air as he watched Malfoy’s eyes close. He grabbed his stomach with one hand and rested his head against his other, sitting stiffly until whatever it was passed. Malfoy, refusing all help from Harry, jerked away from him and toward the bed, using the crutches to take angry steps. Harry noticed how pale he looked once he was seated again on the bed.
Then Malfoy passed out.
Harry jumped up so quick that his chair over turned. He attempted to shake Malfoy and rouse him. He remained paler than usual, not a stir to be seen. Harry called his name and shook his arm. He even tried the magic salts he had saved from earlier, but nothing he did had any affect.
An hour passed, Harry pacing in the room, before he decided that drastic measures were in order.
Malfoy needed professional help, something more than what Harry could do. Harry wasn’t even sure if something he had done could have possibly further damaged Malfoy. To continue on like this was endangering his life. Harry made a quick decision, packing his satchel hastily. Focusing with severe intensity, Harry grabbed his bag with one hand, took hold of Malfoy’s arm with the other, and Apparated straight into St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Two voices gasped aloud as Harry felt his feet hit the new ground, but he was promptly dragged down by Malfoy’s dead bodyweight.
“I need a Healer!” Harry shouted, moving to his knees, on the floor next to Malfoy. “The head Healer on staff!”
Two witches made scurrying noises and soon a third witch was shoved under his nose. They got Malfoy onto a bed while Harry explained quickly what effects magic was having on Malfoy.
“Is it really him?”
Harry heard the whispers in the background but blocked them out as he watched the witch at work. “There appears to be something very…sinister,” she said, looking at the faint yellow lights over Malfoy that her medical spell had produced.
“What is it?” Harry demanded.
“Well, it seems he has merely passed out, but there is some kind of spell damage interfering with matters in his mind. I’m not sure what to make it of it yet, if it involves his memory or his brain capacity, or the nervous system… Also, I’m afraid some recent magic used on him must have affected him. You Apparated, they said?” She paused and Harry nodded. She looked displeased. “I’m afraid I will need time with this. I can’t begin to perform any magic on him in this condition. Have you tried doubling or strengthening the magical mixture you mentioned? Or perhaps something similar that would be ingested and go more quickly into the blood stream?”
Harry tried to wrack his brain and think of alterations the recipe might have included. He started to dig the book out of his bag when he heard commotion echoing down the hall.
“There!” Someone shouted. “He’s there! Go! GO!”
Harry glanced through the window of the private spell-damage room and glanced down the corridor. Four men were running straight toward Harry and the room they currently occupied.
“We have to go,” Harry said suddenly.
The witch squeaked and jumped out of the way as Harry grabbed Malfoy, throwing him over his shoulder in an undignified fireman’s carry, and darted for the door on the opposite side of the room. Another corridor was attached there and led down a ward where patients stirred behind broad windows. Healers jumped out of the way as Harry and his burden progressed to the end of the hall where a set of stairs were located. He’d not reached the stairwell door when he heard the Healers screaming behind him and men’s voices were heard overpowering them.
The door to the stairwell slammed shut and Harry cast a locking charm at it. He wasn’t sure if more magic would harm Malfoy in this state, and belatedly reminded himself to get them out safely without causing more damage to his charge. But it was hard to negotiate the stairs while carrying Malfoy and he lost precious time. The door he had previously barricaded banged open with the crash of spells hitting it, and down came a rainstorm of red lights, curses flying at Harry in an attempt to stop him.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shot back, huffing with effort, still rushing down stairs.
Suddenly more voices were added to the fray as the door two floors up banged open again.
“Stop! Ministry Aurors!” a loud voice bellowed down the stairs.
One of the four men chasing Harry shot a hex up at the Aurors, who took offense and opened fire themselves. “Impedimenta!” a voice rang out. Harry recognised it.
“Auror Miles?” Harry called upward, panting afterwards as he dodged a malicious spell and hid behind a Healer’s cart that had been stored in the stairwell hallway. The men above him shot more hexes down, pausing as they tried to get aim at Harry.
“Potter?” Miles shouted down.
A well-aimed curse came flying from the four men, exploding the cart that was hiding Harry, while another was shot upward and knocked out one of the Aurors, who groaned and lost his wand down the stairs. With no time to lose, Harry jumped up, hoisted Malfoy onto his shoulder and bolted out the nearest door. He had reached the end of the hallway before finding a dead end with no way out. He would have to turn back to the stairs and descend to the ground floor in order to go any further.
Realising at last that Apparation would be necessary to get them safely out of there, despite the harm further magic could have on Malfoy, he finally succumbed and Disapparated from St Mungo’s, four voices shouting spells at him but disappearing into a vicious twisting sensation.
They were back in Harry’s abandoned Muggle home, one block from Landon’s, and far from St Mungo’s. Perhaps it was not the most heavily protected location, but Harry’s wards and protections had stood the test so far. He had also often found that the surest way to throw a pursuant off was to go to the place they would be least likely to suspect - and often that place was one right under their noses. He thought, at least for a time, they might be safe. Safe enough to sort out Malfoy, he hoped.
He deposited Malfoy on the bed in the room Harry had used before as his own. Luckily, he had brought his bag with him when he’d taken Malfoy to St Mungo’s. He dug around inside for the book containing the salt-mixture, anxious to scan it for something ingestible, as the Healer had suggested.
He spent an hour in the book before he found something that would suffice. It took another two hours to get an unresponsive Malfoy to drink the new mixture. Harry had spilled some of it on himself and the bed, but finally got enough of it in his system for Malfoy to open his eyes.
They didn’t talk much. Harry assured him that everything would be all right, and he let the wizard sleep, hoping he would have more strength the following day.
Then Harry spent the night wide-eyed, watching Malfoy for any signs that his sleeping had turned to a loss of consciousness.
Things had not gone as he’d hoped.
Next: Chapter 23