Losing Harry Chapter 19
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Nineteen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild violence; occasional and/or eventual strong language, mild violence, 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.
Written: 23 September 2009
Notes: Written in British English. Thanks to cymonie for beta-ing!
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 |
--
Harry was considering the fact that he might be forced to break his own wards and make contact with Ron and Hermione. He was running out of resources and had scanned nearly every book of relevance in the Shifting Library - and that was saying something, since Harry wasn’t what one would call a reader.
He had paid another visit to the hospital where Landon worked, searching to find evidence of a colleague having visited him during off hours, but so far no one working at the hospital seemed to match the figure of the person Harry had seen through the sitting room window.
Next he’d had a talk with Landon, who had undeniably been nervous during the entire interrogation. He insisted that the man who had visited them was an old friend of Matthew’s, from his previous life, and apparently he held some grudge against Matthew. He had seen the man before but hadn’t thought it best for Matthew’s mental state of mind to reveal the unpleasantness of whatever grudge the two had held before Matthew’s accident. Landon also maintained that he didn’t know the subject of the grudge, nor who the man had been to Matthew.
Even more peculiar was that Landon, despite having time to get a good look at the wizard, couldn’t seem to recall anything about the man’s features or appearance.
“I told you, I don’t remember!” Landon persisted. “It all happened so quick, it was a blur. I remember talking to him and then he assaulted Matthew and fled. I just remember he was tall.”
When Harry asked about the use of magic, Landon had blinked as if Harry had spoken a foreign language.
“You know, the wand the man used?” Harry prompted.
“Wand? What wand?” Landon asked. “And how would you know what happened while he was there? You didn’t show up until after he had left!”
Harry chose not to reveal any information about himself, but let the matter go. Something wasn’t adding up. In addition, Harry had been regularly picking up local copies of the Welsh Magicking News which he believed to have infinitely more reliable and well-sourced information than the Daily Prophet these days. For the last month, Harry had ceased even bothering to pick up a copy of the Daily Prophet, if the cover held nothing of interest. Inside a recent issue of the Welsh Magicking News, the paper had announced the finalised divorce between Draco and Astoria Malfoy, a well-publicised event because of Malfoy’s notoriety on the Potions scene. It seemed the divorce paperwork had been approved, despite Malfoy’s absence.
After questioning Landon and receiving the incongruous responses, Harry had spent a week tailing him from home, to hospital, to shop, to home. Unfortunately, the man was as Muggle as they came. No mysterious wizards held secret rendezvous with him, and all was perfectly normal.
It was late at night when Harry was walking home from a brief visit to the pub around the corner. He could cook his own meals, of course, but he had fancied having something more substantial, made by someone else’s hands, as he sat in the back of the pub mulling over what options he had left. He needed access to the Auror files, or he needed Ron or Hermione to access them for him. He needed to run a second trace on the clock and teakettle from the accident in Malfoy’s home and see what information it could provide about a wizard capable of this kind of damage. Possibly he could even compare samplings from Landon to be certain that he was ruled out as a suspect. He also wanted to access the files of every wizard who had ever known Malfoy to search for a motive or some kind of vendetta. For all he knew, it could be someone they had gone to school with at Hogwarts - someone who knew them both.
Harry turned down the street to his house, not bothering to pass by Malfoy’s this time, as it was late and too dark to see much of anything. He was sure Malfoy and Landon would already be asleep at this hour. He frowned, then, as his mind wondered, without permission to do so, what ‘going to bed’ looked like for Malfoy and Landon. He pushed away thoughts about whether they shared a bed or a room, and continued on his way.
Suddenly Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he ducked, spinning around just in time to see a red flash soar overhead. In the distance stood a tall, dark wizard, his arm outstretched and wand raised.
Harry whipped his own out in a flash, jumping sideways to avoid a second hex. He shouted ”Protego!” as the third came sailing at him.
The duel was on as the two wizards shouted hex after hex, spell upon spell. A door from a house nearby opened as a curious neighbour poked their head out, and Harry quickly cast a spell to close and block the door. At just the precise moment, the opposing wizard shouted “Diffindo!”
Harry felt gashes erupt on his upper arm and he grunted loudly, dashing aside to a nearby tree.
“Incarcerous!” Harry shouted. The wizard deflected it as he approached Harry.
“Locomotor mortis!” the other wizard shouted, but the spell shot past Harry.
“Stupefy!” Harry returned. “Expelliarmus!”
Both spells missed their target. “Expulso!” the wizard yelled, his wand aimed at the tree next to Harry. Just in time Harry got a Shield Charm up to protect both the tree and himself.
“What the hell-!” a cranky middle-aged man shouted down the street.
Harry cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm quickly at the angry old man perched out of his window, then barred the window shut.
“Confringo!” the wizard cast his spell, just missing Harry and catching the bush next to him, which exploded at once, blowing thorny branches all over the street, including several that smashed immediately into Harry with all the momentum of a bullet shot from a pistol.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, arm still raised from shielding his face. “Impedimenta!”
He heard the other wizard groan and his steps cease along the ground, and then the man shouted, “Incarcerous!”
Ropes flew through the air and tightened quickly around Harry; he struggled against them, trying to cast a Severing Charm on them immediately. It was working until the next curse came.
“Crucio!” the wizard shouted angrily. Harry looked up in time to see the dark blur of the wizard’s face before he felt the stinging, piercing, fiery stabs of the Cruciatus Curse. He screamed and convulsed, and when it was lifted moments later, he breathed deeply, straining for air.
“Stupefy,” Harry muttered weakly.
“I warned you,” the wizard growled. “Leave immediately, never come back, never say a word about anything you’ve seen here. Or you’ll regret it. The Boy Who Lived won’t live forever, Potter.”
Harry attempted to cast another Disarming Charm, but instead felt a second Cruciatus Curse ripping through him, down his back, under his flesh, across his head, even down to his toes. He shook with pain and cried out, the sound lost to his own ears as the blood pounded through his skull, set afire and ravaging his insides.
When the curse lifted what felt like ten minutes later, Harry found the street abandoned, the wizard gone, and several frightened Muggles standing in their gardens nervously.
Slowly Harry rose to his feet, using all his effort to push himself up. He glanced around at the onlookers, wincing as he limped toward the nearest one. He adjusted his shirt and immediately registered the streams of blood cascading down his left arm. The wounds pulsated their pain and Harry grimaced, casting a quick spell to gather the exploded bush limbs into a rubbish bin near the street.
“Everyone,” Harry began, voice sounding hoarse. “Everyone gather ‘round.” He waved the Muggles over, and they moved cautiously together, watching Harry with apprehensive interest.
Without any pretense at all, Harry cast a Memory Charm on the lot of them, sending them off to their homes with the belief that some noisy stray dogs had woken them all. He stowed his wand swiftly and then he hobbled down the road toward his own home, exhausted and spent. He had not lost a duel in a very long time. And he had not heard the Cruciatus Curse cast since he was seventeen years old.
Once inside, Harry shed his coat and jumper immediately, freeing his aching arm from all the layers of fabric. His skin prickled in the chilly air, covered only by his undershirt, but it was infinitely better than the irritation his arm had been suffering. He then sat on the floor, exhausted, and his mind reeling. He had been sitting there in the entryway, back leaning against the door for probably near ten minutes when he felt a sharp rap on the door behind him. The wood vibrated against his back and he jumped up in alarm, spinning around in preparation for round two. The wizard was back to finish the job. Harry drew his wand, threw open the door and shouted: “Incarc-er-erm…. Malfoy?”
“It’s terrible, James! I can’t believe it! What’s going on?” Malfoy asked, practically begged, as he shoved himself inside the door and Harry quickly closed it behind him.
“Landon was attacked! I don’t know by who, but it was only a bit ago! The man just burst into the house and started shouting and shooting things, some kind of weapon I couldn’t see with these bright flashes of light! Landon told me to get out before the man saw me. I was near the back door and sneaked out as fast as I could. I don’t think they heard me, but I just left Landon! I left him there! What’s going on?” Malfoy pleaded, alarm and fear in his voice.
Harry blinked, putting the information together.
“What happened to you?” Malfoy blurted out, lurching forward to reach Harry’s left arm. Harry jerked away by instinct but then returned to his original stance and let Malfoy clutch gently at his arm.
“I was in a fight,” Harry said, glancing down at the blood still seeping out of the deep gashes.
Malfoy quickly turned back toward the front door and hit the light switch, casting the entranceway into stark light that hurt Harry’s eyes.
“My god,” Malfoy muttered. “This is bad!” His fingers were already stained with Harry’s blood.
“Sit down,” Harry instructed. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Are we even safe here?” Malfoy asked, fear in his voice.
“For now we are. But we shouldn’t stay here,” Harry told him.
“We have to back for Landon- !” Malfoy insisted.
“We can’t go back to your house.” Malfoy’s eyes grew large in alarm, and Harry continued, “I’m sorry, but we can’t. They’ll expect you to come back.”
“Me? But why? I don’t understand.” Malfoy gazed at him, fear, hope, and expectancy in his eyes. Harry was sure that Malfoy’s knowing Harry was a Secret Intelligence Service agent - or the like - wasn’t helping him any at the moment.
“They’re looking for you, whoever it is,” Harry replied shortly. “Now sit down on the sofa, I’ll pour us a drink and patch my arm up,” Harry ordered.
“But Landon!” Malfoy argued. “We can’t leave him there!” His pitch had risen with frustration and fear.
“NO!” Harry bellowed, stepping closer to Malfoy to emphasise his point. “We cannot go back! When I am able, I can send someone for Landon, but neither you nor I are going back to that house. Is that clear?”
Harry stared him down, and finally Malfoy nodded numbly and moved to the sitting room.
Harry headed for his kitchen, reaching for the first bottle of Firewhisky he could get to. He poured a shot and immediately drank it before glancing again at his arm. He knew the basics in healing spells. They had taught them in Auror training. The only problem was Malfoy. The last time Harry had cast a spell at or around Malfoy, the man had collapsed and gone unconscious. He wasn’t sure that he should use any magic at all when Malfoy was in the vicinity.
At last he decided that if Landon had been attacked earlier and none of the spells had harmed Malfoy when not directed at him, it was likely that a few minor healing spells performed in a separate room would be safe to do. Hoping he was right, Harry cast a few spells that stopped the bleeding from his arm and sealed some of the layers of torn flesh, but he needed a couple of potions or a stronger healing incantation to complete the job.
When he heard no sounds of adverse reactions from the adjacent room, Harry proceeded to reach the cabinet and grab a second glass, pouring two shots of Firewhisky before reminding himself that Firewhisky was magic in nature. He drank Malfoy’s serving, found another clean glass and dug around in his cabinets until he found some regular whiskey.
“Do you have a cloth? I can clean that for you,” Malfoy offered as Harry entered the sitting room and handed a glass to him. Malfoy sipped from its contents at once.
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Harry shook his head. Though the bleeding had stopped, there was still dried, and some wet, blood covering his arm.
“Or maybe a bandage? Something to cover it with? Landon…er, Landon says wounds shouldn’t be left open and unclean.” Malfoy blinked at him, still appearing numb as he sipped from his glass.
Harry gazed at Malfoy for a minute, taking in his disheveled appearance, the small sweat stains near his underarms, the strain in his countenance. Harry sighed lightly, stood from his chair and went in search of something suitable for a bandage. He had nothing of the sort, of course, but he found some old, clean linens in the cupboard, and shredded one quickly into long strips. He secured himself in the loo before casting a Cleaning Spell for the blood on his arm, trusting the magic not to affect Malfoy, several rooms over.
When he returned to the sitting room, Malfoy said quietly, “I would have cleaned it for you.”
“Tie the cloth on?” Harry asked, sitting on the sofa next to Malfoy.
Malfoy nodded, took the strips of linen and wove them under Harry’s arm and around his gashes again and again. At moments, his flitting touch tickled, but Harry ignored it and drank from his Firewhisky. Malfoy secured the bandage with a knot, but his fingers lingered along the bandage and Harry’s arm, slowly trailing over his skin.
Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy let go if his arm, reaching for his drink instead.
“What is this stuff?” Malfoy asked after another sip, looking at the glass in his hand.
“Whiskey.”
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever had it,” he admitted.
“Would you remember if you had?” Harry questioned.
“Well, no, good point.”
The room grew quiet and Harry tried to figure out what had happened that evening. He had been attacked and so had Landon. It seemed obvious to him that Malfoy was probably the intended target - as well as himself - but that Landon had been in the way, or was simply the way to Malfoy.
He had to wonder, though, if the two attacks had occurred at the same time, by two different wizards, or if one wizard had done both deeds. It was possible, depending on how long it had taken Malfoy to sneak around on his crutches to Harry’s house that the two might have been conducted by the same wizard. In fact, Harry wondered if the wizard who had attacked him, had meant to find Malfoy instead.
But then, there had been the wizard’s urgent warning. Threat.
“Why did someone attack you and Landon?” Malfoy asked, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Why are they looking for me? What do I have to do with anything?”
His gaze was expectant. Harry shook his head, again drinking from his glass. He didn’t know what to tell Malfoy anymore. And he was out of options, short of kidnapping Malfoy and taking him to the Ministry himself. They could deal with the memory loss later. They needed to figure out who had caused it in the first place, and stop them from killing the both of them.
“James,” Malfoy said, edging closer to him on the sofa and grabbing Harry’s hand. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to!” Malfoy shouted suddenly. Harry’s eyes grew wide. “This is obviously about me, and the only two people I have in this life that I care about were both attacked tonight and you seem to think it’s because the attacker wants me, and I don’t even know what the hell for!”
Harry studied him for a moment and felt the squeeze on his hand.
“If I tell you, I can’t un-tell you,” Harry said solemnly.
Malfoy frowned, but nevertheless reached forward and took hold of Harry’s face with both hands, petting softly against his cheek. Harry’s gaze was unfocused, but finally came to see Malfoy’s face in front of him, and they stared at each other for several minutes. Then Malfoy let go of him and sat back, waiting.
“You must be one hundred percent sure you want to know. It will forever change your life, and it can’t be undone.”
Malfoy hesitated, took a deep breath, and then said, “I want to know. I need to know. I’m ready.”
Harry swallowed another gulp of Firewhisky anxiously, and looked down and back up again at Malfoy.
“You were a wizard, Matthew.”
Malfoy’s brow immediately furrowed and his expression showed that he thought he must have heard wrong.
“What?”
“A wizard. Someone who can do magic.”
Malfoy blinked at him.
“And you have a family. A wife and a son.”
“A wife?” Malfoy squeaked. “But I’m gay!”
“Apparently,” Harry mumbled.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Malfoy exclaimed, sounding much like an accusation.
“I never said it would,” Harry returned. “But it’s the truth.”
“Me? A wife? And a son?” Malfoy looked at Harry as if hoping he would say something different, say it was a lie.
“Your wife’s name is Astoria. Your son is Scorpius.”
“What asinine names!” Malfoy spat.
Harry quirked his eyebrow at him, enduring him as he had often endured temper tantrums from his young children.
“So if I can supposedly do magic, does that mean you can do magic?” Malfoy asked sceptically.
“Yes.”
“Magic?” Malfoy asked. “Magic!” He repeated it as if it were ludicrous.
Harry waited wordlessly. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him.
“The attacks,” Harry continued at last, “against you, Landon, and me - they were done by wizards. With magic.”
“You’re having me on!” Malfoy accused, sounding angry.
“I’m not. The bright flashes you saw were spells, hexes, or curses.”
“And this all has something to do with me? With who I was before?”
Harry nodded.
“Then I want my memories back,” Malfoy seemed to decide at once. “If you can really do magic, then you can give me my memories. And if this is all true then… I… I have to know what’s going on.”
Harry again studied him, at a loss for what to say, or even what to feel. His arm was still throbbing, he had a massive Cruciatus Curse headache, even his skin still thrummed in aftershocks.
“It might not be possible,” Harry said slowly. “And if it is possible, it could injure you in the process.”
“Aren’t I injured already?” Malfoy snapped.
Harry didn’t answer.
“I’m serious. Whatever it is, let’s do it.”
“All right,” Harry agreed. “But first we have to get out of here, before sunup tomorrow morning.”
Next: Chapter 20
Chapter: Nineteen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild violence; occasional and/or eventual strong language, mild violence, 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.
Written: 23 September 2009
Notes: Written in British English. Thanks to cymonie for beta-ing!
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 |
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Harry was considering the fact that he might be forced to break his own wards and make contact with Ron and Hermione. He was running out of resources and had scanned nearly every book of relevance in the Shifting Library - and that was saying something, since Harry wasn’t what one would call a reader.
He had paid another visit to the hospital where Landon worked, searching to find evidence of a colleague having visited him during off hours, but so far no one working at the hospital seemed to match the figure of the person Harry had seen through the sitting room window.
Next he’d had a talk with Landon, who had undeniably been nervous during the entire interrogation. He insisted that the man who had visited them was an old friend of Matthew’s, from his previous life, and apparently he held some grudge against Matthew. He had seen the man before but hadn’t thought it best for Matthew’s mental state of mind to reveal the unpleasantness of whatever grudge the two had held before Matthew’s accident. Landon also maintained that he didn’t know the subject of the grudge, nor who the man had been to Matthew.
Even more peculiar was that Landon, despite having time to get a good look at the wizard, couldn’t seem to recall anything about the man’s features or appearance.
“I told you, I don’t remember!” Landon persisted. “It all happened so quick, it was a blur. I remember talking to him and then he assaulted Matthew and fled. I just remember he was tall.”
When Harry asked about the use of magic, Landon had blinked as if Harry had spoken a foreign language.
“You know, the wand the man used?” Harry prompted.
“Wand? What wand?” Landon asked. “And how would you know what happened while he was there? You didn’t show up until after he had left!”
Harry chose not to reveal any information about himself, but let the matter go. Something wasn’t adding up. In addition, Harry had been regularly picking up local copies of the Welsh Magicking News which he believed to have infinitely more reliable and well-sourced information than the Daily Prophet these days. For the last month, Harry had ceased even bothering to pick up a copy of the Daily Prophet, if the cover held nothing of interest. Inside a recent issue of the Welsh Magicking News, the paper had announced the finalised divorce between Draco and Astoria Malfoy, a well-publicised event because of Malfoy’s notoriety on the Potions scene. It seemed the divorce paperwork had been approved, despite Malfoy’s absence.
After questioning Landon and receiving the incongruous responses, Harry had spent a week tailing him from home, to hospital, to shop, to home. Unfortunately, the man was as Muggle as they came. No mysterious wizards held secret rendezvous with him, and all was perfectly normal.
It was late at night when Harry was walking home from a brief visit to the pub around the corner. He could cook his own meals, of course, but he had fancied having something more substantial, made by someone else’s hands, as he sat in the back of the pub mulling over what options he had left. He needed access to the Auror files, or he needed Ron or Hermione to access them for him. He needed to run a second trace on the clock and teakettle from the accident in Malfoy’s home and see what information it could provide about a wizard capable of this kind of damage. Possibly he could even compare samplings from Landon to be certain that he was ruled out as a suspect. He also wanted to access the files of every wizard who had ever known Malfoy to search for a motive or some kind of vendetta. For all he knew, it could be someone they had gone to school with at Hogwarts - someone who knew them both.
Harry turned down the street to his house, not bothering to pass by Malfoy’s this time, as it was late and too dark to see much of anything. He was sure Malfoy and Landon would already be asleep at this hour. He frowned, then, as his mind wondered, without permission to do so, what ‘going to bed’ looked like for Malfoy and Landon. He pushed away thoughts about whether they shared a bed or a room, and continued on his way.
Suddenly Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he ducked, spinning around just in time to see a red flash soar overhead. In the distance stood a tall, dark wizard, his arm outstretched and wand raised.
Harry whipped his own out in a flash, jumping sideways to avoid a second hex. He shouted ”Protego!” as the third came sailing at him.
The duel was on as the two wizards shouted hex after hex, spell upon spell. A door from a house nearby opened as a curious neighbour poked their head out, and Harry quickly cast a spell to close and block the door. At just the precise moment, the opposing wizard shouted “Diffindo!”
Harry felt gashes erupt on his upper arm and he grunted loudly, dashing aside to a nearby tree.
“Incarcerous!” Harry shouted. The wizard deflected it as he approached Harry.
“Locomotor mortis!” the other wizard shouted, but the spell shot past Harry.
“Stupefy!” Harry returned. “Expelliarmus!”
Both spells missed their target. “Expulso!” the wizard yelled, his wand aimed at the tree next to Harry. Just in time Harry got a Shield Charm up to protect both the tree and himself.
“What the hell-!” a cranky middle-aged man shouted down the street.
Harry cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm quickly at the angry old man perched out of his window, then barred the window shut.
“Confringo!” the wizard cast his spell, just missing Harry and catching the bush next to him, which exploded at once, blowing thorny branches all over the street, including several that smashed immediately into Harry with all the momentum of a bullet shot from a pistol.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, arm still raised from shielding his face. “Impedimenta!”
He heard the other wizard groan and his steps cease along the ground, and then the man shouted, “Incarcerous!”
Ropes flew through the air and tightened quickly around Harry; he struggled against them, trying to cast a Severing Charm on them immediately. It was working until the next curse came.
“Crucio!” the wizard shouted angrily. Harry looked up in time to see the dark blur of the wizard’s face before he felt the stinging, piercing, fiery stabs of the Cruciatus Curse. He screamed and convulsed, and when it was lifted moments later, he breathed deeply, straining for air.
“Stupefy,” Harry muttered weakly.
“I warned you,” the wizard growled. “Leave immediately, never come back, never say a word about anything you’ve seen here. Or you’ll regret it. The Boy Who Lived won’t live forever, Potter.”
Harry attempted to cast another Disarming Charm, but instead felt a second Cruciatus Curse ripping through him, down his back, under his flesh, across his head, even down to his toes. He shook with pain and cried out, the sound lost to his own ears as the blood pounded through his skull, set afire and ravaging his insides.
When the curse lifted what felt like ten minutes later, Harry found the street abandoned, the wizard gone, and several frightened Muggles standing in their gardens nervously.
Slowly Harry rose to his feet, using all his effort to push himself up. He glanced around at the onlookers, wincing as he limped toward the nearest one. He adjusted his shirt and immediately registered the streams of blood cascading down his left arm. The wounds pulsated their pain and Harry grimaced, casting a quick spell to gather the exploded bush limbs into a rubbish bin near the street.
“Everyone,” Harry began, voice sounding hoarse. “Everyone gather ‘round.” He waved the Muggles over, and they moved cautiously together, watching Harry with apprehensive interest.
Without any pretense at all, Harry cast a Memory Charm on the lot of them, sending them off to their homes with the belief that some noisy stray dogs had woken them all. He stowed his wand swiftly and then he hobbled down the road toward his own home, exhausted and spent. He had not lost a duel in a very long time. And he had not heard the Cruciatus Curse cast since he was seventeen years old.
Once inside, Harry shed his coat and jumper immediately, freeing his aching arm from all the layers of fabric. His skin prickled in the chilly air, covered only by his undershirt, but it was infinitely better than the irritation his arm had been suffering. He then sat on the floor, exhausted, and his mind reeling. He had been sitting there in the entryway, back leaning against the door for probably near ten minutes when he felt a sharp rap on the door behind him. The wood vibrated against his back and he jumped up in alarm, spinning around in preparation for round two. The wizard was back to finish the job. Harry drew his wand, threw open the door and shouted: “Incarc-er-erm…. Malfoy?”
“It’s terrible, James! I can’t believe it! What’s going on?” Malfoy asked, practically begged, as he shoved himself inside the door and Harry quickly closed it behind him.
“Landon was attacked! I don’t know by who, but it was only a bit ago! The man just burst into the house and started shouting and shooting things, some kind of weapon I couldn’t see with these bright flashes of light! Landon told me to get out before the man saw me. I was near the back door and sneaked out as fast as I could. I don’t think they heard me, but I just left Landon! I left him there! What’s going on?” Malfoy pleaded, alarm and fear in his voice.
Harry blinked, putting the information together.
“What happened to you?” Malfoy blurted out, lurching forward to reach Harry’s left arm. Harry jerked away by instinct but then returned to his original stance and let Malfoy clutch gently at his arm.
“I was in a fight,” Harry said, glancing down at the blood still seeping out of the deep gashes.
Malfoy quickly turned back toward the front door and hit the light switch, casting the entranceway into stark light that hurt Harry’s eyes.
“My god,” Malfoy muttered. “This is bad!” His fingers were already stained with Harry’s blood.
“Sit down,” Harry instructed. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Are we even safe here?” Malfoy asked, fear in his voice.
“For now we are. But we shouldn’t stay here,” Harry told him.
“We have to back for Landon- !” Malfoy insisted.
“We can’t go back to your house.” Malfoy’s eyes grew large in alarm, and Harry continued, “I’m sorry, but we can’t. They’ll expect you to come back.”
“Me? But why? I don’t understand.” Malfoy gazed at him, fear, hope, and expectancy in his eyes. Harry was sure that Malfoy’s knowing Harry was a Secret Intelligence Service agent - or the like - wasn’t helping him any at the moment.
“They’re looking for you, whoever it is,” Harry replied shortly. “Now sit down on the sofa, I’ll pour us a drink and patch my arm up,” Harry ordered.
“But Landon!” Malfoy argued. “We can’t leave him there!” His pitch had risen with frustration and fear.
“NO!” Harry bellowed, stepping closer to Malfoy to emphasise his point. “We cannot go back! When I am able, I can send someone for Landon, but neither you nor I are going back to that house. Is that clear?”
Harry stared him down, and finally Malfoy nodded numbly and moved to the sitting room.
Harry headed for his kitchen, reaching for the first bottle of Firewhisky he could get to. He poured a shot and immediately drank it before glancing again at his arm. He knew the basics in healing spells. They had taught them in Auror training. The only problem was Malfoy. The last time Harry had cast a spell at or around Malfoy, the man had collapsed and gone unconscious. He wasn’t sure that he should use any magic at all when Malfoy was in the vicinity.
At last he decided that if Landon had been attacked earlier and none of the spells had harmed Malfoy when not directed at him, it was likely that a few minor healing spells performed in a separate room would be safe to do. Hoping he was right, Harry cast a few spells that stopped the bleeding from his arm and sealed some of the layers of torn flesh, but he needed a couple of potions or a stronger healing incantation to complete the job.
When he heard no sounds of adverse reactions from the adjacent room, Harry proceeded to reach the cabinet and grab a second glass, pouring two shots of Firewhisky before reminding himself that Firewhisky was magic in nature. He drank Malfoy’s serving, found another clean glass and dug around in his cabinets until he found some regular whiskey.
“Do you have a cloth? I can clean that for you,” Malfoy offered as Harry entered the sitting room and handed a glass to him. Malfoy sipped from its contents at once.
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Harry shook his head. Though the bleeding had stopped, there was still dried, and some wet, blood covering his arm.
“Or maybe a bandage? Something to cover it with? Landon…er, Landon says wounds shouldn’t be left open and unclean.” Malfoy blinked at him, still appearing numb as he sipped from his glass.
Harry gazed at Malfoy for a minute, taking in his disheveled appearance, the small sweat stains near his underarms, the strain in his countenance. Harry sighed lightly, stood from his chair and went in search of something suitable for a bandage. He had nothing of the sort, of course, but he found some old, clean linens in the cupboard, and shredded one quickly into long strips. He secured himself in the loo before casting a Cleaning Spell for the blood on his arm, trusting the magic not to affect Malfoy, several rooms over.
When he returned to the sitting room, Malfoy said quietly, “I would have cleaned it for you.”
“Tie the cloth on?” Harry asked, sitting on the sofa next to Malfoy.
Malfoy nodded, took the strips of linen and wove them under Harry’s arm and around his gashes again and again. At moments, his flitting touch tickled, but Harry ignored it and drank from his Firewhisky. Malfoy secured the bandage with a knot, but his fingers lingered along the bandage and Harry’s arm, slowly trailing over his skin.
Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy let go if his arm, reaching for his drink instead.
“What is this stuff?” Malfoy asked after another sip, looking at the glass in his hand.
“Whiskey.”
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever had it,” he admitted.
“Would you remember if you had?” Harry questioned.
“Well, no, good point.”
The room grew quiet and Harry tried to figure out what had happened that evening. He had been attacked and so had Landon. It seemed obvious to him that Malfoy was probably the intended target - as well as himself - but that Landon had been in the way, or was simply the way to Malfoy.
He had to wonder, though, if the two attacks had occurred at the same time, by two different wizards, or if one wizard had done both deeds. It was possible, depending on how long it had taken Malfoy to sneak around on his crutches to Harry’s house that the two might have been conducted by the same wizard. In fact, Harry wondered if the wizard who had attacked him, had meant to find Malfoy instead.
But then, there had been the wizard’s urgent warning. Threat.
“Why did someone attack you and Landon?” Malfoy asked, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Why are they looking for me? What do I have to do with anything?”
His gaze was expectant. Harry shook his head, again drinking from his glass. He didn’t know what to tell Malfoy anymore. And he was out of options, short of kidnapping Malfoy and taking him to the Ministry himself. They could deal with the memory loss later. They needed to figure out who had caused it in the first place, and stop them from killing the both of them.
“James,” Malfoy said, edging closer to him on the sofa and grabbing Harry’s hand. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to!” Malfoy shouted suddenly. Harry’s eyes grew wide. “This is obviously about me, and the only two people I have in this life that I care about were both attacked tonight and you seem to think it’s because the attacker wants me, and I don’t even know what the hell for!”
Harry studied him for a moment and felt the squeeze on his hand.
“If I tell you, I can’t un-tell you,” Harry said solemnly.
Malfoy frowned, but nevertheless reached forward and took hold of Harry’s face with both hands, petting softly against his cheek. Harry’s gaze was unfocused, but finally came to see Malfoy’s face in front of him, and they stared at each other for several minutes. Then Malfoy let go of him and sat back, waiting.
“You must be one hundred percent sure you want to know. It will forever change your life, and it can’t be undone.”
Malfoy hesitated, took a deep breath, and then said, “I want to know. I need to know. I’m ready.”
Harry swallowed another gulp of Firewhisky anxiously, and looked down and back up again at Malfoy.
“You were a wizard, Matthew.”
Malfoy’s brow immediately furrowed and his expression showed that he thought he must have heard wrong.
“What?”
“A wizard. Someone who can do magic.”
Malfoy blinked at him.
“And you have a family. A wife and a son.”
“A wife?” Malfoy squeaked. “But I’m gay!”
“Apparently,” Harry mumbled.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Malfoy exclaimed, sounding much like an accusation.
“I never said it would,” Harry returned. “But it’s the truth.”
“Me? A wife? And a son?” Malfoy looked at Harry as if hoping he would say something different, say it was a lie.
“Your wife’s name is Astoria. Your son is Scorpius.”
“What asinine names!” Malfoy spat.
Harry quirked his eyebrow at him, enduring him as he had often endured temper tantrums from his young children.
“So if I can supposedly do magic, does that mean you can do magic?” Malfoy asked sceptically.
“Yes.”
“Magic?” Malfoy asked. “Magic!” He repeated it as if it were ludicrous.
Harry waited wordlessly. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him.
“The attacks,” Harry continued at last, “against you, Landon, and me - they were done by wizards. With magic.”
“You’re having me on!” Malfoy accused, sounding angry.
“I’m not. The bright flashes you saw were spells, hexes, or curses.”
“And this all has something to do with me? With who I was before?”
Harry nodded.
“Then I want my memories back,” Malfoy seemed to decide at once. “If you can really do magic, then you can give me my memories. And if this is all true then… I… I have to know what’s going on.”
Harry again studied him, at a loss for what to say, or even what to feel. His arm was still throbbing, he had a massive Cruciatus Curse headache, even his skin still thrummed in aftershocks.
“It might not be possible,” Harry said slowly. “And if it is possible, it could injure you in the process.”
“Aren’t I injured already?” Malfoy snapped.
Harry didn’t answer.
“I’m serious. Whatever it is, let’s do it.”
“All right,” Harry agreed. “But first we have to get out of here, before sunup tomorrow morning.”
Next: Chapter 20