He'd woken up in a hospital room with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. All he wanted was to find out what was wrong with him, fix it and leave. He was going to Hogwarts soon and didn't intend to miss the train there. Constantly he would tell the healers this. But their pitying looks were always missed by him.
After two weeks, he finally saw himself in a mirror and nearly screamed. Yes, he had felt different than before and his voice was much deeper but that was from his mystery sickness. It had to be. This - this was just a nightmare. And it wasn't possible!
But the healers came in and assured him he was not insane. This was happening. For the first time in his stay, someone answered his questions and explained what was going on.
He had been under the imperius curse for almost eight years. His father had placed it on him long ago and was now in Azkaban for his crimes. That was why he hadn't visited. The boy listened with growing dread and a bit of relief.
Although it wasn't often, his father had hurt him. The looks and punishments he'd received had always terrified him. Now he couldn't hurt him or his mother or anyone else anymore. It was that thought that had him asking about his mother.
The healer looked at him apologetically. While she was not imprisoned like her husband, she was placed on house arrest. But neither would have done her good as with her son gone and the poor mental state of her husband cause her to die of a broken heart.
He had been wary about learning much else after that.
Slowly, he began with reading copies of The Daily Prophet from the time he'd been under until the present. The main healer he'd been working with had marked almost everything written by one Rita Skeeter as untrustworthy. She was also telling him stories from his years at Hogwarts. His healer left many details out but he'd often find himself dreaming and remembering scenes.
Oh, how terrible he'd been! How had this woman put up with him? Although he felt a phantom pain, he smiled upon the knowledge that she'd punched him.
But he quickly found himself smiling less and less as he remembered what he and his father had done. The mark on his arm now meant something to him. It was a reminder if how horrid he'd been.
One day, he found he remembered almost everything. Names and faces were still blurry but he knew of his actions.
It was on this day that he locked his room. The spell was nonverbal and there was no known counter-curse. His healer stood outside the door, begging him to open it as he sobbed in the corner.
Somehow a knife had found its way into his palm and he began to make cuts. He slashed through the ink of the Dark Mark. Scars were going to appear once his skin healed and each new cut burned more than the last but he couldn't stop himself. He wasn't sure he even wanted to.
As he tried to just sit and disappear into nothing, more people arrived to help release him. Beside his distraught healer were two men. The redhead kept sending unsure glares to his room. He hated him. It didn't take any sort of genius to see that.
The brown haired man with glasses, though, stared on in sorrow at the boy. He grabbed the redhead's hand and began talking to him. Slowly, they all tried to get through to him. Nothing worked.
Eventually, he allowed his healer in. He was doing her more harm than good by locking her out. She nearly collapsed in relief before tending to his injured arm.
From then on, he was never left alone. His memories were returning each day and he felt more like an actual person than he ever had before. He slowly began to open up to his healers.
In what seemed like no time, he had all the memories and thoughts of his younger self. Each chance he got, he would apologize and try to figure out how to make up for his mistakes. He learned all he could about the time he been holed up in St. Mungo's.
Five months after he'd woken up, he was released. He returned to the manor not long after. He was dismayed to learn all his family's house-elves had been freed. While he had not treated them like servants before the curse and was happy they could be happy, they were the only friends he had.
He had hoped that perhaps he'd come home and wouldn't be alone anymore. For months, he just read the papers and stayed in his room. His manor filled him with dread but he couldn't find the courage to leave it.
The healer that had helped him eventually discovered how he was faring. She was his shoulder to cry on and he became hers. From there, they became friends and then fell in love.
He at first refused to act on his feelings. She deserved someone so much better than him and he told her this often.
But with each day, the two fell more and more until he couldn't take it any longer. He finally allowed himself to admit to her how he felt. Two years passed and he found the courage to ask for her hand.
It was another year and a half until they were married. Then a year later, the first of their children was born. Nine would later join their older brother. They were a lovely family and loved each other greatly.
He would never tell her, but he was happy that he'd let her in and heal his bleeding heart.
And, for a while, they lived happily ever after . . .