Summary: Harry Potter has lost his memory of Draco Malfoy in a quidditch accident. With a war looming and Harry's curiosity to remember the boy he has forgotten this promises to be a story full of angst, desire and heartbreak.
Authors Note: This was meant to be a rewrite of my original story, When Accidents Happen. As it would appear this is a somewhat more angsty version of that. I will leave up the original story as I know there are some that enjoyed the incredibly fluffy romance I had created for them, however that version will not be continued. This is the direction in which my muse has taken me and while the baseline of the story remains the same (Harry's loss of memory) this story will differ in pretty much every way from the original, I'm so sorry if I have disappointed anyone.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
-Sybill Trelawney
Into the blood-spattered snow he watched his fair-haired companion fall. The blonde had landed on his knees, his hands coming out before him to break his landing. Striking grey eyes tinged with fear met his own and he felt a burning rage like he'd never felt before ignite within him.
Those grey eyes. He'd spent 6 months analysing the emotions he'd seen flicker through them. He'd had the pleasure of seeing them alight with mischievous laughter, shine with unyielding trust, spark with disgust and disdain...but fear? Never. Pride filled his chest when his partner wiped his face of all emotion and rose to his feet, wand at the ready. He watched his chin tremble from the cold, his breath puff out in front of him in the freezing night air. His lips, normally a tempting shade of pink, were ice blue. The two comrades nodded to each other, silent words spoken between them, and faced their foe. Around them bodies lay in the cold snow, corpses of their fellow comrades, others of their enemies. Some on the side of the light, some following the dark.
"All the same on the inside though' he thought ironically. Red was all around them to the point where the white of the snow was overshadowed by it. The winds howled a sorrow filled tune whipping their robes around them and that of their enemy. There he stood, livid, scarlet eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His tall, skeletal form towering over the two boys menacingly and a sneer on his lips.
"Is this the best Dumbledore can do?" Long arms that ended in grotesque, large, spidery hands gestured around them grandly. Hogwarts behind him was a beacon in the night, awash with bright orange flames. Cries of panic and frantic shouts of spells could be heard from where they stood.
A slow smile crept across Voldemorts' features, "It would seem, I have won."