Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. He belongs to J.K Rowling. Obviously?

"I'm sorry Mr Potter, but it seems Mr Malfoy has developed amnesia-"

The world around Harry seemed to slow down, the surrounding sounds drowned out by deathly silence, the scenery around him melting into a hazy blur.

Amnesia

He had known. Right from the moment Draco's eyes had focused on his, he had known. It was the same polite distant gaze that Draco would give any stranger.

He had become that stranger.

Draco eyes blinked in a dazed manner. Harry could tell he was trying to gain some sense of his surroundings, before he would utter the same first question every other patient did.

"Where am I?"

"Mr Malfoy, you were caught in a flying accident. You are currently in St. Mungo's observatory ward," Healer Friedman had patiently explained.

Harry was not listening to her words though, he was staring at Draco, his lost, confused expression was slowly disappearing, but Harry's intuition told him something was wrong. Very wrong.

Harry had been racing with Draco when he had heard a shout. He had turned around and saw Draco plummeting down as he lost control of his broom. Harry had dove as quickly as he could, the fear coursing through his body. But he had not been fast enough and Draco had smashed onto the ground hitting the back of his head on a blunt piece of rock.

Harry could still remember the moment his heart had stopped. Draco had looked like a broken doll, still and pale. Harry had forced himself to calm down so he could send Draco to St. Mungo's emergency ward. Once there, Healer Friedman had promptly examined and diagnosed Draco with a mild concussion, no internal bleeding and a broken ankle. Explaining, to a nervous wreck of a husband, that she could only diagnose Draco fully once he had awoken.

Harry had only nodded, not really processing her words. All he knew was that Draco was hurt, badly, and he needed to see his husband's face immediately. That action was quickly thrown out the window for the moment when he was suddenly ambushed by a frazzled brunette and bombarded with a million questions.

"Potter! Where is Draco?" Pansy had demanded to know.

"If Draco is hurt…" Nott had growled warningly, his eyes promising hurt to Harry. Blaise had stood beside his friends, his gaze assessing Harry, but Harry was too exhausted to notice.

"Harry! Thank god you are safe. We heard. Was Draco hurt?" Hermione had spoke hurriedly, her brown eyes searching his.

Harry's expression must have spoken for him, either that or the slight nod of his head, but the next thing he knew, he was enveloped in Hermione's crushing hug.

She had squeezed him with all her strength, whispering the words he had desperately needed to hear at that moment, "It'll be alright." Harry gave himself into the hug, needing the reassurance, as Ron patted him on the back.

The moment had been broken when Draco's father strode in, more harried than Harry had ever saw him, Narcissa glided in behind him, her eyes rather than her gait, exposed her terrified worry.

"Potter! Where is my son?" Lucius had bellowed has soon as he spotted Harry.

Thankfully, Healer Friedman had stepped in to stop any more outbursts from Lucius, which though understandable, were not appreciated.

"Healer Friedman, the patient in ward 62 has woken up." A timid mousy nurse in salmon robes interrupted, her demeanour quailing under Narcissa's chilling gaze.

Harry had already rushed in. Draco was awake.

It had hurt.

It had hurt even more than first time Petunia had told him he was unwanted, back when he still wanted to be accepted by his relatives. It had hurt more than the time he found out about the tragedy and betrayal that had befallen his parents. It had hurt more than all the times Draco had rejected him.

It hurt more than Draco's burning hate, because at least then, Draco had felt something for him.

As he stared into Draco's eyes, he could feel the shock, the denial, but he knew, Draco was staring back into the eyes of a stranger. He did not even recognise Harry from their Hogwarts days.

"-Some times, Mr Potter, patients in accidents similar to your spouse, lose their memory of their beloved because it was of them that they were thinking off with great emotion, which could lead to the memory loss."

"What?" Harry's head lifted hope flaring within him.

Healer Friedman smiled gently at the picture Harry presented. Tired and dirty, but alert and clear, Harry had obviously not been listening to her, his mind miles away, but at the purpose mention of a possible cause of Draco's amnesia, cautious hope had flared within those expressive eyes.

Yes, Healer Friedman knew that in cases like this, the 'forgotten' spouse would firstly enter a state of denial, before that denial would turn into worry, hurt, pain and ultimately the question of, "Why would he forget me?"

It was not uncommon, but that did not make it any easier for her every time she saw the loved-one of an amnesia patient suffer from being forgotten.

"Mr Potter-"

"Call me Harry," interrupted Harry.

She smiled a bit more warmly at him, "then you must call me Trisha."

Harry nodded, a fatigued half smile directed at her.

"Memory loss may not be permanent," Harry's eyes flickered with optimism at this possibility, but quickly died at Healer Friedman's next few words.

"As long as Mr Malfoy regains most of his memory a month from his accident."

Seeing Harry Potter, the man whose name was the stuff of legends, wilt before her at the news of his husband, was one of the most humbling sights she had seen. It was also one of the most despairing.

Thinking of words to assure Mr Potter while not coming across as too personal, Healer Friedman saw the reason why a seventeen year old boy had defeated one of the most feared Dark wizards of all time.

"What do I have to do?" Harry stared at her with a steely determination.

His hands clenched with purpose as he straightened his spine, Harry Potter's eyes glinting with resolve. Healer Friedman smiled as she began running Harry through the details of Draco's condition.

This was the man that defeated Voldemort.

"It will be painful but you cannot give up."

Harry repeated Healer Friedman's words like a mantra in his head, but it did not cure that growing nauseating feeling at the pit of his stomach. Taking in a deep breath, Harry tried to calm his turbulent nerves, before he gave up with a heavy sigh.

Pushing open the pastel green door, Draco's blond hair greeted Harry. The sight caused a painful tug within him, even injured, Draco could not stop burring his nose into a book. But upon closer look, Harry noticed it was not a book Draco was reading. It was an album.

"Hey."

Draco gave a startled jerk, his eyes flashed with irritation before he could compose himself. Once he did, that same damning curiosity returned to his face. The same curiosity Harry was beginning to hate.

"You are the man from the other day, weren't you?" Draco asked rhetorically.

Swallowing, Harry pushed away the remaining of his swarming emotions and focus on introducing himself. He knew his Draco was in there somewhere; he just had to find him.

Nodding, Harry walked to Draco's bedside and extended his hand.

"My name is Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Draco eyed the proffered hand as though it was a dirty trap, Harry could not help but chuckle, it was so like the first time Harry had offered a truce with Draco. The same distrustful gaze had stared at Harry for a full minute before Draco had walked away, ignoring the offered hand.

"Do I know you?" Draco's eyes met Harry's before he answered his own question.

"I did. Didn't I," Draco's brow furring as he tried to recall the missing pieces of his memory.

"Who are you?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, only to be waved aside irritably by Draco, "no. I don't mean what is your name. You told me that already. Remember?" Draco raised an eyebrow as though to say, "and here I thought I was the one with amnesia." He continued, ignoring Harry's affronted look, "I meant who are you to me."

Harry felt as though he had swallowed a mouthful of sand. How could he answer Draco? I am your husband and you have known me for nearly twenty years but now you have completely forgotten me. But it was the next words out of Draco's mouth that shook Harry to his core.

"Hurry up Potter. I don't have all day."

Harry closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He could not take it anymore. It was like a cruel joke derived from fate's sick humour. Those were the exact same words, the exact same tone; even the impatient scowl on Draco's face was the same.

But it was not the same.

There was no teasing tilt to Draco's voice, or the impatient huffiness that would turn into exasperated humour when he looked at Harry. Even the sneer Draco would emphasize on Harry's surname, back when he was still Malfoy, was not there.

"Sorry. I have to go," Harry choked out before he ran.

Harry did not know where he was going. All he knew was he had to get away from Draco, away from the searing whip of betrayal that slashed through Harry every time Draco looked at him.

Draco did not know why he had said it. It just slipped out before he could help himself; it felt so natural and yet so strange, "Hurry up Potter. I don't have all day." He groaned in frustration.

What was he missing? Draco felt as though he had woken into a dream, where everything made sense. Yet it did not. Disorientated and vexed, Draco glared down at the leather bound item that was currently offending him. The heavy album his mother had given to him was supposed to help; instead it gave Draco new questions he could not answer as well as a headache.

Draco stared at the sickly green of his private room door, that man, Harry Potter, was definitely someone important. That much Draco knew. His entire face had drained of colour the first time Draco had looked at him, and again just now…when he had uttered those words.

What was he missing?

Sighing Draco flipped open the album resting on his lap. Ever since his healer had told his parents that the nearly most of the past decade of his recent memory and some of his early childhood and Hogwarts days were missing, his mother made it her mission to visit him everyday, bringing with her a new album, one for every single lost year. Draco did not even know that so many of his moments were captured on film.

Thumbing through the photos one in particular, caught his eye. He was probably about twenty-two or so, surrounded by falling autumn leaves and clear blue skies. But that was not what caught his attention.

It was the smile on his photographed self's face. His eyes held so much happiness and the smile that spread across his face was so natural, as though he had a reason to smile often. The picture captured him in a turn, the Draco in the picture had his face upturned towards the sky before something made him spin around and grin into the camera, and the cycle would repeat itself.

'Who were you looking at?' Draco could not help but ask himself. He had never seen himself so carefree. Hell he did not even know he could produce such a feeling.

That night Draco went to sleep with the photo clutched between his fingers, his mind still wondering who was the person that had gave him such joy.

Hermione Weasley (nee. Granger), was sorting through the case notes of her newest case regarding the homicide of a forty year old man, when the monotone chime of the doorbell echoed through the hallway.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace, 4 pm it read, Hermione frowned. She was not expecting any guests today. Whipping out her wand, she pointed it at her throat incanting, Sonorous transmittere, a spell she invented to send messages from one point to another in place of a cell phone.

"Ron, were you expecting guests today?"

A muffled, somewhat hazy reply followed almost immediately, "Nope. Is someone at the door?"

"Yes, I'll be right back," Hermione replied as she pocketed her wand.

Looking through the peephole of her door, Hermione gasped and quickly unlocked the door, "Oh Harry…come in," she said as she opened the door wider.

Harry just stood on her porch; he looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

"He said- he said-" Harry could not finish before the tears starting flowing and he just stood there as Hermione whispered words of comfort he did not hear.

The fire cackled as Harry stared unseeingly into it, the warmth slowly seeping into his bones. From the corner of his ear he could hear his friends arguing in the kitchen, normally that would put a fond smile on his face but right now, it just made him miserable.

"-needs alcohol. Comon' mione, the guy's in there looking like Draco died instead of having lost half his brain," Ron argued, his voice carrying from the kitchen.

"Ron!" Hermione's scandalised sharp whisper followed with a smack.

A few moments later the couple emerged, Hermione carrying a cup of hot cocoa followed by a sheepish looking Ron.

"Here Harry, It'll make you feel better," she said softly, as Hermione handed Harry the steaming mug.

"Sorry guys, I don't know what I'm doing here…" Harry trailed off miserably.

Hermione sighed turning to glance at her husband who only shrugged in answer.

"Harry look at me." Hermione commanded.

Seeing Harry's doleful eyes, Hermione gentled her tone. "What did Draco say?"

"-Called me Potter…" Harry mumbled, turning back to his cup.

"I don't understand mumble Harry."

"He said 'hurry up Potter, I don't have all day' ok?" Harry now glared into his now cold cup of cocoa.

"Oh Harry…" Hermione whispered, her heart going out to her friend. She knew what that meant to Harry and the pain he must be experiencing.

But next to her, Ron frowned, "I don't get it. So what if Draco said that? What does it mean?"

Harry turned around and glared at his friend. "Oh you don't get it Ron? Why don't I explain it to you? Draco doesn't remember me at all! Not from Auror training. Not from living together. Not as a husband. He does not even remember me from Hogwarts! I'm nobody to him."

Harry stood, his chest heaving, as he stared at his best friend. His eyes felt wet, his throat scratchy from the yelling. The ornate mini jars Hermione had lined up over her fireplace mantle had shattered, the colourful glass pieces scattered on the rug.

"He doesn't know who I am…" Harry whispered, as though the impact of that statement had finally hit home. He slumped back down onto the couch, burring his head into his hands, the tears falling freely.

Harry cried himself to sleep that night, something he had not done since the day Sirius died, his dreams filled with a Draco gazing at Harry with all the happiness and love in the world.

Author's note: Hello it's me again. ^_^ I know I've been pretty MIA...and frankly I don't have any excuse. Other than the fact I've been really lazy. lol Either way, hope you like this story, I plan to continue it but I would really love feedback. I don't have any guideline for this though, so any input would be helpful. well...other than this I have nothing more to say. Hope you like it. review, fav and subscribe. Yea XD