Draco felt totally lost. Malfoy's were supposed to exude an air of
confidence and cold, but when he'd learned that Harry had been seriously
hurt when he fell Draco had felt something totally unexpected. He'd always
thought hurting Harry would make him happy, but instead he'd felt guilt.
He had tried to rationalize it away by reminding himself that his nemesis
had been the one at fault. After all hadn't he been the one to bump into
Draco? But then came the thought of how he had left him lying helpless on
the floor, and shame flooded over him. He'd tried everything he could
think of to distract himself, but to no avail. He couldn't even escape
into the world of dreams. The minute he closed his eyes he saw Harry lying
on the floor, a look of fear in his eyes. In desperation he'd sought
Pansy's advice. She had told him to apologize to the person he'd hurt.
Apologize? To Potter? The idea was totally crazy, but by then he was
ready to try anything. He couldn't eat or sleep he was so racked with
guilt. So he'd gone to St. Mungo's, and tried unsuccessfully to tell Harry
how sorry he was. He was leaving the hospital when everything suddenly
went black.
The next thing he remembered clearly was being held by someone who was gently stroking his back and calling him "Draco." The voice had been somehow familiar though he couldn't quite remember where from. It didn't matter. The voice was soothing, and made him feel safe somehow. After his visitor left he'd cried himself to sleep. Sometime after that an older man with a long white beard had come and taken him to another room. He had peeked out from behind the man and heard the voice again. It was his visitor.
Draco, or so his visitor kept on calling him, realized this must be the other's room. He found that he liked being with this person, whose name he didn't know.
It was two nights later that he learned his friend's name: Harry. They had had a visitor. A red haired boy whom Harry had called Ron. He had been so scared by the visitor's voice that he'd hidden in the first place he could think of. The wardrobe. Inside it had been dark and cool like... like what? Tears streamed down his face. He couldn't remember. It was then he'd heard the tapping and someone asking him to come out. He'd opened the door just a crack at first to make sure the mean visitor had left. Then had allowed himself to be comforted and put to bed.
It was shortly after this that they had been taken from the big place they had been staying to a small house in the country. Harry and him had been greeted by a kindly looking lady who kept insisting they call her Molly. He felt a moment of panic when he saw the picture on the wall. He'd never forget that face if he lived to be a hundred. It was the mean visitor that had scared him. Harry had noticed his distress and promised him that he wouldn't let anyone hurt him.
One night as they were getting ready for bed a name had popped into his head: Potter. Why did that name sound so familiar? He wished he could remember. Or did he? Molly was really nice to him and praised him when he did something well. Everything was fine, until he overheard Harry and Molly talking night before last.
"I'm worried about Draco. He doesn't seem to remember anything of Hogwarts, or how we hated each other or anything."
"You must be patient Harry. He's been through a lot since your accident, and it will take time for him to recover."
Draco had snuck away without being seen and gone to their room. What accident? Who or what was Hogwarts? And how could he hate Harry? Harry was nice to him. Harry kept him safe. He loved Harry.
The next thing he remembered clearly was being held by someone who was gently stroking his back and calling him "Draco." The voice had been somehow familiar though he couldn't quite remember where from. It didn't matter. The voice was soothing, and made him feel safe somehow. After his visitor left he'd cried himself to sleep. Sometime after that an older man with a long white beard had come and taken him to another room. He had peeked out from behind the man and heard the voice again. It was his visitor.
Draco, or so his visitor kept on calling him, realized this must be the other's room. He found that he liked being with this person, whose name he didn't know.
It was two nights later that he learned his friend's name: Harry. They had had a visitor. A red haired boy whom Harry had called Ron. He had been so scared by the visitor's voice that he'd hidden in the first place he could think of. The wardrobe. Inside it had been dark and cool like... like what? Tears streamed down his face. He couldn't remember. It was then he'd heard the tapping and someone asking him to come out. He'd opened the door just a crack at first to make sure the mean visitor had left. Then had allowed himself to be comforted and put to bed.
It was shortly after this that they had been taken from the big place they had been staying to a small house in the country. Harry and him had been greeted by a kindly looking lady who kept insisting they call her Molly. He felt a moment of panic when he saw the picture on the wall. He'd never forget that face if he lived to be a hundred. It was the mean visitor that had scared him. Harry had noticed his distress and promised him that he wouldn't let anyone hurt him.
One night as they were getting ready for bed a name had popped into his head: Potter. Why did that name sound so familiar? He wished he could remember. Or did he? Molly was really nice to him and praised him when he did something well. Everything was fine, until he overheard Harry and Molly talking night before last.
"I'm worried about Draco. He doesn't seem to remember anything of Hogwarts, or how we hated each other or anything."
"You must be patient Harry. He's been through a lot since your accident, and it will take time for him to recover."
Draco had snuck away without being seen and gone to their room. What accident? Who or what was Hogwarts? And how could he hate Harry? Harry was nice to him. Harry kept him safe. He loved Harry.
