The best of his life
Disclaimer: I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession, but unfortunately, J. K. Rowling owns everything.
Summary: A murder, a kidnapping, and a Draco who lost his memory...
A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!
Chapter 1
Life is such a bitch!
Draco Malfoy opened his eyes, and could have sworn that an elephant had stepped on his head. He blinked a few times, feeling a bit lost, as he having no idea where he was. Looking around, he noticed that the entire room was disturbingly white. There was also this smell that gave him the urge to rush to the toilet. Even with his splitting headache, Draco realized that he was in the hospital.
'What the bloody hell...?' Draco tried, but found no sound coming from his mouth. He tried again, and a strangled "Ah..." managed to choke its way out."
"Ah! You're finally awake!" A shout full of joy suddenly filled the room, making Draco jump, and would have fallen off the bed if his body hadn't been temporarily immobile. A nurse appeared at the door, a huge smile on her face. "Your beauty sleep was incredibly long!" said the woman teasingly. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, quite pretty for her age if Draco had to say.
'What happened to me?' Draco tried to ask, with little success. But the nurse seemed to catch his question anyway.
"You, sunshine, had quite the nasty gunshot wound," she said, shaking her head. "You were very lucky though, the bullet only brushed past your head. Otherwise, we would all be attending your funeral right now."
Draco stared at her, shocked, and even more lost. A gunshot wound? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
"You have been in a coma for three days." the nurse continued, "The doctor was worried that there might be some permanent damage to your head, but now you're awake and appearing sane to me. So I guess you will be fine." She checked all the God-knew-what machines around Draco and then smiled in satisfaction.
"Here, drink some water. I'll go and get the doctor for you."
Draco nodded, still in shock, and had the horrible feeling that his brain was completely out of function.
After a glass of water and some coughing, Draco finally got his voice back. Though it was a bit hoarse, and his throat was sore, he was extremely relieved that he could still speak.
A few moments later, a man, whom he presumed to be the doctor, came in. "Hello, young man!" he said brightly. He then ran a few tests on him, to which Draco wasn't familiar with, and seemed pleased with his findings.
"Very well!" He beamed. "You will be as good as new in no time, Mr. … I'm sorry, but what is your name?" inquired the doctor.
"I..." Draco blinked, but nothing popped in his mind. "I...I don't know..." he said shakily, panicked. His hand fumbled on the bed frantically, desperately searching for something, but what, he did not know.
The doctor's face grew concerned. "What is the last thing you remember?"
"I..." Draco frowned, trying to recall any useful information within the cloudy expanse of his mind. But there appeared to be nothing, as if his life had never happened. "I don't remember anything!" His heart was beating so rapidly that Draco feared it would jump out of his mouth.
"Okay. Relax. Take a deep breath." the doctor comforted. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.
"In a hospital."
"What year is it now?"
"2000, I think."
"400 plus 1350 is how many?"
"1750."
The doctor seemed to contemplate. "You still have the fundamental knowledge. It might just be the shock." he concluded.
"Will I regain my memory?" Draco asked nervously.
"I'm afraid that I don't know, son," the doctor said sadly. "It's different with every individual. You might regain your memory in a few days, months, or maybe even years. Or, there's also a possibility that it may never return."
"What?" Draco screamed in his hoarse voice. "But...but what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? And...and there might be people worried about me!"
"Don't worry, son." the doctor said kindly. "The police will help you get your identity back. Trust me, they are very experienced."
Draco's eyes widened. "Don't worry?" He repeated incredulously, thinking maybe not only his head, but his ears had also failed him. "Here I am, in a bloody hospital, injured by a gunshot - like that means anything, and oh, have no idea who I am! And you're telling me not to worry? Bravo!" he said sarcastically.
The doctor looked at him sternly. "I know you are feeling mentally unstable right now," said him calmly. "But that is just life, and there is no need to be rude."
But that is just life? What kind of insane hospital is this? Draco opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, a man in black burst into the room and shouted. "Is he awake? Great!"
The doctor stood up so swiftly it surprised Draco. He walked in front of the man and snorted, strangely reminded Draco of someone. "How many times do I have to tell you, detective? No shouting. This is a hospital. And my patient here needs his rest."
"Oh for God's sake!" the detective exclaimed. "Come on doc, he is the witness of a murder! You can't expect me to sit around and wait."
"Well... It seems that you may have to do exactly that," The doctor answered without any expression," because he's lost his memory."
Harry Potter was having a bad day. He hit his head when he got up, slipped in the bath, and broke 3 plates during breakfast. After a 45 minutes' musing while sitting on the sofa, Harry decided to take a day off and stay at home.
He strode to the fireplace and was about to call Hermione, when green flames suddenly rose. The head of Hermione appeared within the fire and said, "Harry, we've got a problem."
Harry was speechless.
15 minutes later found Harry sitting in his office, coffee mug in his hands with Hermione on the other side of the table, and felt like his day just couldn't get any worse.
"So...," he concluded, "You are saying that after a month of missing, Malfoy was found in muggle London, at the crime scene beside a dead muggle, and he can't remember a thing?"
"Yes." said Hermione.
"Okay," said Harry slowly, thinking. "Can't we just get his memory back using, you know, magic?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not like he'd been Obliviated, and his brain is actually completely intact."
"Then why?" asked Harry in confusion.
"The doctor thought it might just be the shock, but no one knows whether he will regain his memory or not."
Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "Great! We have no leads on who kidnapped him and where he went, and now Malfoy just happened to lose his bloody memory until Merlin knows when! Fantastic!"
"Harry." said Hermione reproachfully, "We should consider ourselves lucky. At least he's still alive, with no serious injuries it seems. And he hadn't lost his mind."
"Yes, I know." Harry sighed. He dragged a hand through unruly locks in tired frustration. "You're right. I'm sorry."
Hermione smiled softly. "He is in a hospital in London now. We need to get him back."
Harry nodded. "But how? We can't tell him the truth with him as he is. It would be too much for his fragile condition."
"Fragile condition?" Hermione raised her eyebrow. "I'm not so sure 'fragile' is the perfect word for him, but you've got a point. We can't just tell him that he's a wizard and was kidnapped a month ago. It won't help recover his memory."
"So what's the plan?" asked Harry, knowing full well that his brilliant friend always had a strategy.
Hermione winked at him. "I'd say you're going undercover, Harry."
Draco eyed the detective as if he were crazy. He felt very overwhelmed and suddenly thought that being in a coma might not be such a bad idea. "What did you just say?" he asked faintly. "A man was killed, just beside me, by gunshot as well?"
"Yes." answered the detective, whose name appeared to be Sam. He was a strong man in his 30s, had brown hair, and eyes so green that it made Draco a little uneasy, yet strangely reassured at the same time. "And you are the only witness. We were hoping that you could help us find the killer."
"But how?" said Draco tiredly, "I don't remember anything. And someone please tell me what the hell is gunshot!"
Sam paused, apparently taken aback. "You don't know what a gunshot is?" He asked amazingly.
"That's why I'm asking!" Draco shouted, annoyed. He hated all of it. The way they treated him like he was some kind of strange person, like a child that always made the parents disappointed, like he was not... someone he was supposed to be.
He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, detective. I'm not feeling very well."
"It's okay." The doctor comforted him sympathetically, hand touching his arm. "It is a lot to handle. I am sure the detective understands. Now rest, son. You need it." He then turned around and said to the detective coolly, "I think you should leave now."
Sam sighed in resignation, "All right. I will be back tomorrow." He nodded to the doctor, who escorted him out of the room.
Once the door was closed, Sam demanded immediately, "I thought you said he still had his knowledge. How could someone not know what a gunshot is?"
"It is rather unusual." The doctor contemplated. "His mental state may be more severe than I had anticipated. The shock might have been too much for him, to where his brain felt the need to wipe out all things pertaining to the incident in order to protect him."
"Protect him from what?" queried Sam.
The doctor shrugged. "Too many possibilities; I really can't tell."
"Then does that mean he will be less likely to recover his memory soon?"
"Maybe."
Sam restrained the sudden impulse to smack his head on the wall. "Life is so unfair!" He murmured. "We took his finger print already and we have yet to find a match. And there isn't a missing person that fits his profile!"
"At least we know he doesn't have a criminal record." offered the doctor calmly.
"Yeah." Sam's voice was very dry. He definitely needed a large, steaming cup of coffee. Black, and without sugar. "Very helpful doc."
The doctor chuckled. "Come on Sam, I know you. You can handle it."
His laugh seemed to affect the detective, as the latter smiled and slowly began to relax. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "The victim's uncle is the CEO of the Empire Hotel, who called the police commissioner, who called my supervisor, who called me, since -and I quote- 'I'm their best.' The man is considerably upset for his nephew's death. So you can imagine."
"Ah, I see." The doctor drawled mock sympathy. "Good luck then."
Sam sighed, and looked at his watch. "Look, I need to get back to the office. Let me know if there is any change." Straightening to take his leave, his eyes softened. "Take care of him, Dean."
"I will."
Draco lay on his bed, doing what he could to fall asleep, and failing miserably. He looked around the room, from the weird machines near him to the black box in the corner, and couldn't help but feel out of place.
Remembered or not, he shouldn't feel this way, should he? It wasn't as if his memories had disappeared. They were just buried. His body should know!
Draco clenched his fists angrily, and then frowned, suddenly realizing something. He stretched his right hand in front of him, examining it carefully.
There was a thin layer of callus in his palm.
Draco squinted. He was not sure what kind of profession would cause this. A chef, maybe? But judging by the layout of the callus, the thing he was supposed to hold should be thinner than a knife handle.
Actually, come to think about it, it might not be a profession at all. The sense of loss was almost instinctual. He felt...unsafe without it.
Draco was intrigued. He got out of the bed, and went to the small bathroom inside his room. His reflection stared at him in the mirror, giving him an arrogant look. His face seemed unfamiliar. He had light blond hair and rare grey eyes. His skin was so pale, as if he had never been outdoors before. He was tall and slender, but well-muscled. And even in his condition, he had such grace that one could only get from years of training.
"Who are you?" Draco whispered, looking into the eyes of his reflection. His pupil widened, and melt into nearly silver, like the wind before a storm.
"Who am I?"