AN: Welcome to the beginning of a lovely tale I've spun about Draco and Harry's future after the Dark Lord has fallen. Now, if you came here just because you saw my name and recognized it, don't be fooled. I am CrossMyHeartAndHopeToDIE (hehe I have such a long name), not Briarmoon. I'm her sister who shares this account, and I am infinitely better! Also, you should note that I absolutely suck at formatting and stuff like that. I can't figure out how to use Fanfiction for the life of me. Now I have to say some kind of boring, but still very important stuff-
1. This is SLASH! Gay! Boy and boy love! If you can't handle it, or don't like it, DON'T READ IT!
2. Right now the rating is T, but I'm not certain how this story is going to end up. The rating may change to M if I feel things are getting a little steamy.
3. There might be stuff in here that will upset you, I'm not sure because, again, I have no clue where this is going. You have been warned, so please don't come crying to me if you get upset by this stuff.
4. Please review. It means a lot to me, and helps me improve my writing. Constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged, but downright nastiness is not. Don't review just to bash my writing or slash. It's a waste of your time and mine, and really isn't appreciated by anybody.
Now onto the story!
Full Summary: 23-year-old Draco Malfoy's life is ruled by pills and doctors now the the Dark Lord has fallen. He can no longer feel or think anything at all, and that's just how everybody wants it. Everything he once was and everything he wanted to be has collapsed in front of his eyes, and he can't even feel remorse over it. 22-year-old Harry Potter is a successful and renowned doctor in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at the Psychiatric Ward. He is assigned to rehabilitate Draco, but the meaning of rehabilitation is becoming more and more skewed. Will Harry go against everything he has been taught and everything he has worked for to help his former enemy? Or will Harry fail Draco in his time of need?
Draco cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. He was so nervous, he half expected the Dark Lord to actually be there. He knew he was being ridiculous- the Dark Lord was long gone. The dark days of terror caused by Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he had preferred to be called, were over. But every know and then, Draco would have a suspicion, a horrible feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, a stirring in his soul, that maybe the Dark Lord was still around. Then again, Draco thought, I am mentally unstable.
Draco ran his fingers through his pale, platinum blonde hair and let out a loud puff of air. His brain seemed to be in a serious argument. One side of him knew he was being silly, but the other side was overpowering. It shadowed over the sane part of him and screamed that nothing was real. Draco shook his head. It was this kind of thinking that had made him crazy in the first place. Besides, it was only morning. Whatever the day brought, he doubted it would have anything to do with Voldemort. He sleepily shuffled his way into the kitchen and reached for his pill case. He was only 23, he shouldn't need pills, most 23-year-olds were still in pristine health. But most 23-year-olds also had perfectly sane minds. Draco grabbed a glass of water and downed the pills with a grimace. Instantly, his mind fogged over and the thoughts of Voldemort slipped away like water in a sieve. He hated this; he hated himself for needing this. But as soon as this thought entered his mind, it was gone again, forgotten and lost in the mist. He grabbed his jacket and headed out so as to avoid being late for yet another appointment. Maybe if his mind wasn't always so hard to control, he wouldn't be so forgetful.
The feeling of suffocation that accompanied apparition were the least of Draco's problems as he headed into the building. It was hard enough to focus on what he was doing; he didn't need to add on the extra work of trying to remember what that discomfort felt like. He used to try to hold onto it, the last shreds of emotion. But by now he had given up all hope. It only made things harder, he told himself. It was a lie, but maybe if he tried his hardest to believe it, it would become a truth. So many lies he told himself, but he never felt the guilt or regret he should. Like grains of sand in his hands, these thoughts also slipped away, leaving the blank emptiness that was now his mind.
"Draco! How do you feel this fine morning?" That question was some sick joke, it had to be. Because he didn't feel anything, just this numbness that consumed everything. But he knew what response was expected and he delivered to the doctor.
"I am well, sir. How are you?" The doctor smiled and dipped his head politely. Draco tried futilely to remember the doctor's name, but it was useless. Just like everything else in his life. The doctor reached a room and led Draco inside. It was bland and gray, like everything else Draco knew. There was a patients table as always and the doctors chair, but nothing made the room special or memorable. The doctor closed and locked the door like standard procedure. Draco briefly thought if maybe he would be free of the medicines soon, but again the thought disappeared. The doctor gave his perfect smile.
"Draco, I'm going to ask you some questions. I want you to answer honestly or you will be punished. Okay?" Draco nodded and the doctor began to read the questions.
"What is your name?" Draco knew the questions were supposed to be familiar, he was supposed to remember them. But they were always a surprise to his clouded mind.
"Draco Malfoy."
"Who are your parents?" Draco felt something surface in his mind, but it sank back, pulled away to be lost forever. He knew what to say though, it was obvious.
"Amelia and Ryan Malfoy." The doctor gave a satisfied smile at the answer, so Draco knew he was right.
"What did they do before they died?" Draco easily answered, he was proud to know the answer so quickly.
"My mother stayed at home and cared for me. My father worked in the Department of Magical Maintenance." The doctor's smile grew even wider. His pen scratched against the paper eagerly.
"Last question: Who do you love?" Draco didn't have to think because he couldn't even if he wanted to.
"Nobody, but girls are pretty." The doctor wrote down his last response and set the clipboard down with a wide grin.
"Draco, congratulations. You get to move on with your treatment. You will have a new doctor. Give me your hand so I can write where your new appointments will be." Draco offered his left forearm and the doctor carefully scrubbed off the letters that had reminded Draco to come here every day. The careful script on his arm was as boring as always. It read '9:00am, Blue Wing, Dr. Greengrass' Draco nodded numbly as the doctor handed him a bag containing a few bottles of the pills. Then he was led back outside by a nurse, and he apparated back to his home.
He stood on his front lawn and looked up at his house. It was a perfectly symmetrical gray house, and it only had four rooms so it was fairly boring. The lawn was perfectly clipped and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. A large seemingly decorative stone fence enclosed the property, but the plaque on it showed that is was nothing close to decorative. Draco knew that this house was scarcely even his, but in an instant his mind blanked again. He walked through the door in his now robotic gait. He sat on a kitchen chair quietly, though he knew nobody would hear him even if he bellowed at the top of his lungs. He looked at the clock and knew he was supposed to be hungry right now, so he went to the fridge and took out the bread and a bag of bologna. He made himself a sandwich and took a bite. It tasted like everything else he could eat- bland and flavorless. Draco couldn't bring himself to care. He shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and lay down on his couch. He lay there not thinking or moving, almost as if he was asleep. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Harry paced back and forth angrily in front of his boss's office. This wasn't his fault! He had done everything he could for her, but in the end she was a Confudurate. He hadn't let her near the pills, he hadn't assigned anything dangerous, just the usual. She had slipped through his fingers somehow, but they couldn't blame him for this. Besides, what's one Confundurate, more or less? The heavy steel door creaked open and his boss called for him. Harry shuffled in nervously, the anger that had once empowered him had dissipated when he realized he was probably going to be fired. His boss pointed to a stiff chair and Harry sat down upon it.
"Dr. Potter. I think we both know why you're here. Are you going to tell me how Pansy Parkinson died?" Harry paled and gulped. He took a couple deep breaths before answering.
"Listen, sir, I have no idea how she got her hands on all those pills. I certainly didn't-" His boss cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"I don't care how she got the pills. What reacted with what, or what did she overdose on?" Harry sat up a little straighter. Could it be true that his boss wasn't going to punish him? Harry pushed that thought aside and took out the autopsy papers and handed them to his boss.
"It appears that she just massively overdosed on the Confundus pills. She took almost 50 times as many as she needed to. It shut down her brain entirely." His boss nodded slowly. He opened a manila folder and put the put the results in among the rest of the papers. He slowly closed it and moved it to the side of the desk. Just as sluggishly, he pulled out another folder and set it in the center of the desk and pushed it towards Harry. His snail-speed motions were driving Harry crazy, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
"Well, that is unfortunate. I know you had hoped to rehabilitate her completely. But I hope you still wish to continue your work here, as I have another patient who could use your help." Harry's knew what he was doing, Harry's hero complex wouldn't let him abandon someone in need. "Here is his folder. It's another Confundurate, a very serious case though. Will you be staying here to treat him?" Harry nodded and took the folder. He didn't open, he figured he could look at it at home.
"Yes, of course. I'll take a look at this at home, and be here tomorrow for his appointment." The boss nodded with a satisfied smile plastered on his face. Harry stood and gave an awkward little bow before leaving. His boss chuckled and waved the next person in as Harry exited. Harry quickly walked outside of St. Mungo's and apparated home.
Harry admired his freshly painted house and newly trimmed lawn. He prided himself on his ability to do everything by himself. He didn't need anybody's help. His house was a pale blue now, and it stuck out slightly from his neighbors' white and cream houses. But he didn't mind so much, it gave the house personality. He stepped through the doorway and flung his bookbag into the front closet along with his jacket.
"I'll pick that up later," he said aloud. Then he laughed. "No I won't!" He chuckled at himself and walked into the kitchen. He did a little twirl and threw the folder on the counter while simultaneously opening the fridge with his other hand. He grabbed a loaf of sandwich bread and packages of bologna, cheese, ham, and some mustard. he threw it together in a lopsided stack. He took a large bite and mustard squirted into his eye.
"Oh! Ahhhhh! Argh, help, oh, ow!" he stumbled around the kitchen, clutching his eyeball in agony. He knocked over his set of knives and one bounced directly onto his foot, pointed side down. He squealed in pain and began hopping about on one foot. He flailed his arm about, trying to get a grip on something to balance himself. Instead, he flung his sandwich on the ground and subsequently hopped on it, launching himself into the air. He was airborne for a few heart-stopping moments before he fell to the ground with a loud crash. He raised his left arm tentatively and grasped the golden granite counter before pulling himself into a standing position. He bounced his way over to his bathroom. He sat on the white and gold tiles while rummaging through the cabinets to find some medical supplies to repair his foot. He finally found some disinfectant and gauze and wrapped it tightly.
He limped his way back to the kitchen and grabbed the folder. He hobbled into the living room and sat down on his favorite neon bean bag chair. He lay back and opened the folder. He gasped at the profile page and dropped it. A striking young man with pale, alabaster-like skin and platinum blonde hair stared up at him with stormy grey eyes. The name seared his eyes- Draco Malfoy. Tears welled in his eyes. Pansy had been bad enough, this was torture. He had hated to see Pansy so helpless and confused, he hated lying to her. Now he would have to do it all over again with Draco. Or did he? An thought in Harry's head soon became an idea, which then became a plot, which then transfigured itself into a plan. Yes, Harry Potter had quite the scheme brewing, and he couldn't wait to get started.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O
AN: So... What do you think? Terrible? Amazing? Confusing? *laughs evilly* You're supposed to be confused, but it can't hurt to ask if you don't understand. Either way, PLEASE REVIEW... Otherwise, Draco might just overdose as well... Mwahahaha! See, I'm totally crazy!