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Disclaimer: I own pretty much nothing . . . Harry Potter included.
Summary: Forfeiting his mission to save Harry from imminent death and the confines of the hospital, Draco is on the run in the muggle world with Harry, who has lost his memory of the past years, possibly allowing him a second chance. HP/DM
Warnings: Child abuse, cutting, language, M/M, HP/DM, possible sexual situations.
Accidentally On PurposePrologue
A voice said, Look me in the stars,
And tell me truly, Men of Earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars,
Were not too much to pay for birth.
-Robert Frost
Thunder erupted, roaring and bellowing, deep pounding and shrilling wind between his eardrums. Lightning flashed behind closed eyelids and he could feel a pounding in his head as his body writhed in pain at the storm's mercy. The hard cold below his head gave no comfort as the melodic pit-pat of rain continued.
He hated the rain.
Bombarded with light, Harry closed his eyes as soon as they had opened. He didn't register the shrieking of his aunt as she pulled open the curtains and stomped over to him. It wasn't until she tapped his side with her shoe did he recoil and bite his lip as his whole body screamed out in pain. Before he opened his eyes a second time, she was gone. He didn't hear her tell him what he needed to do – he already knew. The routine never changed.
Looking out his window, Harry saw the sun beaming down and the clear blue sky mocking him. He saw men and women driving to work, children bounding shortly behind or waving from the window. He saw cookie-cutter houses with bright green and freshly mowed lawns. Birds chirped in the sky with their morning songs. He heard Uncle Vernon's shout from the kitchen.
This was rain.
Lifting himself from the hardwood where he had fallen last night, his lip began to bleed as his teeth dug into the soft flesh to keep him from crying out in pain. Cramps stretched through his muscles from the strange angle he had slept in, the hard floor helping none. His ribs screamed as he pulled himself into sitting position, joints cracking and bruises screaming. Raising himself to his feet, Harry felt his eyes water as his bit his lip, not aware of the trickle of blood slipping down his chin.
His body ached all over, memories of last night. He never remembered closing his eyes or making it to bed at all, he never remembered the inevitable collision with the floor from where he didn't move from last night.
His uncle screamed again. With a sigh, Harry shifted his weight onto his good foot and limped across the small area to the doorway of the cupboard, each step seeming like an eternity. He found that he was breathing hard by the time he was three feet from the door, leaning against the walls covered in portraits of the obese boy that his aunt and uncle adored. His breathing was raspy and his chest flared with each incoming and outgoing breath.
Taking twice as long to get to the kitchen was unacceptable. He was informed of this with a backhand to his left cheek, throwing him off balance. Words laced with venom flooded from the gruff voice of Vernon Dursley. The words never reached The Boy Who Lived. He had heard them before.
Worthless. Abnormal freak. Incompetent.
He didn't deny these words that had forever been forced upon him. Regaining his balance, he stood, head down, bowing before the angry man - not imploring forgiveness nor fighting against the onslaught. It was his burden to bear, he would take it; he deserved it.
After Vernon got tired of belittling him, Harry limped to his station at the stove. With no consciousness of what he was doing, he reached for the eggs and bacon. Starting the gas stove and placing the pan he got to work, not a thought running through his head as he walked through the routine.
With the scrambled eggs finished, he turned around to serve his cousin, aunt, and uncle – never had he realized that they now occupied the room, but he didn't do a double take, either. He just continued with the ingrained habits. Walking around the table, piling large amounts of egg onto Vernon and Dudley's plates and a smaller portion on his aunt's. Putting the skillet into the sink to be washed after he served the rest of the breakfast, Harry moved on to the bacon. Placing all the still warm pieces onto a plate he placed two on each plate before reaching Vernon. Reaching for the two slivers as he stepped forward, it wasn't until his feet were out from under him did he realize that his foot had caught on the table leg. The bacon lurched from the plate and fell onto both the floor and his uncle as his chin met the tile below. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Klutz. Idiot. Waste.
Lifting himself from the unforgiving floor as his past bruises cried out, he stood before Vernon, observing the tile. A verbal onslaught took place but Harry heard none of it. He knew the routine and he knew what was coming next.
Backhanded in the same spot as earlier this morning, though he had been ready and braced this time, his cheek stung, yet he didn't let out a sound. His uncle reprimanded him and yelled words that had they reached the boy, he would have winced. He deserved it – it was his fault. Yet he didn't apologize.
He didn't make a sound.
After Vernon had worn himself out, Harry went about retrieving the pieces from the floor and proceeding to throw them away and wiping the stray grease off of the tile. He would have to hand scrub the floors today.
After the basic cleaning was done, sweeping, cleaning the dishes, he went to go get the bucket and mop to start cleaning the floor, but before he could pull the materials needed out of the closet, his aunt waved him over. She informed him that he needed to get groceries first.
Handing him bills which she took a mental note of the amount – he would have to show her the receipt afterwards – she threw a patch at him and turned away. His fingers wrapped around the flimsy cloth, adhesive bandages around the edges. He knew what he had to do, yet it he couldn't find himself to be upset over the routine that had been taking place for years.
He had to hide.
Before he went outside, he stuck the bandage to his sore cheek, fully prepared to tell anyone who asked that he had fallen off of his cousin's bike – he didn't own one himself. They couldn't risk someone telling find out their "family secret." Harry wouldn't tell, he deserved so much pain, and the Dursley's made sure he received it. It was his fault, all his fault . . .
Walking out the door, money pocketed and cheek bandaged up, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. He saw the cracks that carved their path in the cement, the weeds poking through to the sunlight, and though his eyes saw it all, he registered none of it. His mind was elsewhere. His memory flashed before him, those of what seemed so long ago, yet he still had to repent. Years of Hogwarts – only causing pain and suffering for those around him, he was their demise. Bruises and scars, those of his friends and those of his own – his hand went up to his cheek. He'd deny his pain, others had felt so much more. He lie if they asked –
No one would ask.
The three mile walk brought suffering upon his bruises left from the previous night – he couldn't be sure if he was cut and bleeding, he hadn't seen himself in the mirror for days. He could only imagine the bags under his eyes, his thin figure being hidden behind baggy clothes. He must look horrible.
Eyes glazed over, he continued on his way, routine kicking in and taking over.
Tires squealed, the horn blared, the screams echoed. He never knew when the silence consumed him.
The symphony had only just begun.
Chapter One
Music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
-T.S. Eliot
Swirling colors. Red and Blue. Blaring Sirens.
He wished they'd all stop. His head hurt. His whole body hurt. Make the colors slow down. Make the sound diminish. Make it all end.
Blurry forms moved above him.
Soft hands, cold but gentle, probed his body. Pressing on his throat and wrists, his sides. Forcing his eyes open and shining a blinding light into them.
Couldn't they stop? He just wanted to sleep.
"Hey, kid, we're going to take you in an ambulance to the hospital, okay?"
He felt himself being lifted. He was moving.
"Kid, can you tell us your name?"
He couldn't answer. He just wanted to sleep. He allowed the blackness to consume him.
Sighing as he ran a hand through his pale blond hair, he read the number on the mailbox for the sixth time: Number Four Privet Drive. This was the place . . . Just to be sure, he read it a seventh time, after all, the cookie cutter houses in this small subdivision were all so similar he wouldn't want to make a mistake and get the wrong house – that'd be horrifying. It'd ruin him to be humiliated in such a way and make such a stupid screw up.
The address read the same thing as the last six times.
He should have thought this through, should have gotten a game plan, but hearing this as his last step up the ladder into the Dark Lord's heart, he jumped right in. After realizing what he had gotten himself into, he couldn't take back his mission – his pride wouldn't let him, nor would it allow him to show his anxiety to others.
Looking around, the houses really did look the same . . . he read the address one more time: Number Four Privet Drive. Damn. No matter how hard he willed it, the address would not change. Hanging his head in defeat, he took a step forward. Time to get to work. Mission: Abduct his six year rival.
The white stretched at before him, unable to make a definite shape around him, consuming him. He could hear his heart beat echoing through the confines of the sterile prison, a steady beeping to his left and the soft humming of machines thundered in his ears. It all swam together, he was unable to collect everything and put it into focus.
Groaning as he blinked, lowering and lifting his eyes from the very depths of the sea in an attempt to gather his surroundings, only then did he start to understand where he was. The soft area below him, propping up his head and arm, the white that ate at his lower half, blending with the rest of his surroundings almost frightened him into believing he had been cut in half, but the pain in his limbs told him otherwise.
A bed. Not his, but one none the less. So clean, yet so fuzzy. The edges blurred and writhed under his stare, the separation of the white floor and the white bed almost nonexistent. The beeping to his right was a box with a green line that rose with his heartbeat. A heart monitor. The pack of clear fluid reached above the beeping machine and a wire trailed down to the joint between his elbow. Squinting in an attempt to make out the needles which had been taped over and inserted into him. His eyes traveled lower – his left arm. A cast wrapped itself around his arm from mid forearm to thumb and weighed him down, unable to raise his arm off of the fabric. He moved his fingers for good measure to make sure they were still working.
His blurry vision switched to his right arm where he saw littered with bruises. Reaching up, a slight pain that he ignore shot through his right arm, he felt his face. His fingers trailed along his chin, his lips, and his nose – those were still intact, though he did feel pain from touching his face, figuring it was scattered with bruises just like his arm. He closed his eyes and let his fingers trace his eyelids – he could see, he wasn't bleeding, there seemed to be no damage to his face other than bruises.
Sighing as he reached to run a hand through his hair, he pulled back like he had been stung. Trying again, his fingers inched toward his forehead. He didn't touch hair as planned, instead he felt a rough outer layer covering his hair and skin. Gauze.
Before he had time to consider what was going on, a faint click came from the other end of the room. He turned his head toward the noise, and regretted it as pain swept through his body, leaving as soon as it had come. If her arms and face had not been bare, she would have blended into the sterile surroundings with a loose white shirt and scrubs. She hummed as she shut the door behind her. As she came closer, her eyes closed as the joyful tune escaped her and she tapped her foot against the tile flooring, he saw she was a plump woman with her hair tied into a tight bun behind her.
As she opened her eyes, she didn't even bother to hide her surprise as her blurry blue eyes met emerald. Her humming came to a halt and a smile that never quite reached her eyes lit up her face. As she came closer, he thought that he could see sadness in her eyes, but with the lines blurring together, he could make out very little and wasn't sure if he had imagined it.
"Harry, dear! I'm so glad you're awake." She brushed a few stray red hairs from her eyes before she came to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but his dry mouth disagreed and he could not force his tongue to move. This produced only a small croak and the nurse held back a giggle as she reached toward the stand beside his bed to pick up a small glass of water.
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand a word you said. Let me help you get you some water." He tensed as she put her arm behind his shoulders and propped him up and held the cup to his lips. Even though he knew the lady would not hurt him, he couldn't help but keep his eyes on her as he took a sip. He didn't trust the lady, though he had not given her any reason not to, he could only describe it as an instinct. After downing half the cup, she lowered him and set him gently back on the soft pillows. She then asked him again. "Now, how are you feeling? Like a car hit you?"
She apparently thought this was funny as she giggled at her own joke, but he didn't respond. He didn't know what to say – sure he felt like hell, bruises lacing his skin and a cast on one arm with a bandage around his head and having no idea of what happened to him, but he didn't reply. Something held him back from telling the lady about his pain, he wanted to, but was unable. He did not like the idea of looking weak in the eyes of others. He bit his lip to fight the urge to tell her that he was just fine when he was far from it.
Her cool fingers brushed his wrist and before he could stop himself, he retracted his right arm from her reach, hissing as lightning shot through his arms as he did so, not knowing what had made him do so. She looked at him with a small smile as he felt guilt as soon as he saw her bright eyes sadden. He felt guilty and he knew it reflected in his face, unaware of what had forced him to act that way.
"I need to take your pulse if you don't mind."
He hesitated before placing his wrist back at his side and letting her probe it with gentle fingers brushing over the skin. He tensed at her touch, but she ignored his actions, he figured she must have been expecting it from previous encounters with his twitchy personality.He had After an eternity of a few seconds, she finished with whatever she was doing and reached for a bottle and syringe. Filling it with a clear liquid, she reached for the IV.
"Pain killers," she explained, "You'll want all those you can get, I bet."
After what he had already felt this morning, he knew she was right – he hurt like hell. As she turned to fill his IV, he squinted at the table where something round and black caught the light and shined back at him. As she turned around, she noticed his intense squint and followed it to the table. Slapping herself on the forehead, she reached for the black circles, unfolded the back, and brought them toward his face. He pulled back from her reaching fingers, but as he looked through the black circles, his vision focused – his glasses. Taking them and savoring his vision, he looked back up to the nurse.
"I'm sorry, I completely forgot about your glasses. I have no idea how they didn't break during the accident." She ran a hand through her hair.
Accident? What accident? He wanted to ask her so many questions, but couldn't bring himself to do so. He bit his lip in frustration. It made him feel bad, stupid, to ask questions. He couldn't bring himself to do it and he knew it wasn't his pride stopping him – he didn't care what these people thought of him. But when he opened his mouth, he stopped with a knot in his throat and fear welling up in his chest.
He looked up at the nurse, able to make out light freckles across her cheeks now that he had his glasses on. She rubbed her chin and looked deep in though and paused, thinking before she spoke, "Now, Harry, when you came in you were pretty beat up, however many of the bruises we found on you were days old."
Harry felt the knot in his throat loosen as he shook his head and looked up at her, "You must have the wrong person." His throat was raspy from not being used and she looked down at him, confusion lacing her features, "I'm not Harry."
"The people at the scene were able to identify you, and your guardians have been called saying that you had not been seen since early this morning." She looked down at him and he turned his head away so he wouldn't have to look into her eyes. He felt as though he was being scolded, though her tone was soft and gentle. "If you're not Harry Potter, then can you tell me what your name is?"
"I'm . . ." He started, but never got a chance to finish that sentence, having no answer. He paused, looked down at the sheets and felt the knot in his throat grow. His name, something as simple as his name eluded him.
"Harry, this is not a time to joke, this is very serious. We need to know what happened to cause those bruises and scars. There are people who will come to talk to you about how you're doing at home."
He shook his head unable to say anything but, "I'm not Harry. You have the wrong person."
He watched as something flashed before her eyes, but it was too quick for him to catch. "Then tell me what your name is."
"I-I can't be Harry. I don't know who Harry is." He felt his stomach sink and his heart race. He knew she heard the words he whispered next: "I don't know who I am . . ."
"Harry –" She started, but he cut her off before she could finish.
"I don't know who Harry is!"
Stepping onto the lawn, Draco had been surprised to find that there were no wards on the house and was able to enter with minimal trouble. There was, after all, a lot of yelling going on in the house and he had to be sure that he wasn't seen. The old fool Dumbledore and the Order had put too much faith into believing that the Dursley residence would never be found out as the only copy of his whereabouts lie in the well-guarded Office of Dumbledore himself – though that had not been enough to stop Draco.
Going up beside a window in the back he was able to get a peek in, seeing a fat man and a skinny long necked woman yelling their hearts out at each other. Curious, the blonde decided to wait to hear what they were talking about, maybe he would get a hint as to the easiest way to take Harry to his Lord.
"What if they find out, Vernon? What if they fucking find out?"
"They won't, he won't tell them anything – I'll make sure of it."
"You'd better damn well make sure of it! You could go to jail, Vernon!"
"I know, Petunia!"
"And then those freaks may come – I don't want them doing anything to our Dudley!"
"I know."
"Dear god, Vernon, we have to go now! We have to keep him from telling them!"
"Yes, Dear. DUDLEY! GET DOWN HERE, WE'RE GOING!"
After a few seconds a younger voice was heard, "Going where, Dad?"
"St. Joe's Hospital. Don't ask, just get in the car!"
And with that said, there was a rush to the station wagon in the garage and until he heard the garage door shut, Draco didn't move, he was thoroughly confused. Apparating into the house, he scorned the ugly carpeting and cheep furnishings, but continued through the house. He was careful not to make much noise, but was at the same time, almost completely sure he was alone in the house. He wasn't sure if it was Harry they were talking about going to the hospital, and he knew he should have followed them as soon as they left, but he couldn't help but be curious at the muggle house and the home to The Boy Who Lived.
Finding the kitchen in the open for all to see shocked him until he remembered that muggles didn't have house elves. He continued on, skimming the rooms, the house not being large, but neither small, he was able to catch it all in a few glances. As he walked up the stairs he saw three bedrooms, one was obviously the Master Bedroom as the large bed and sheer size compared to the other rooms told him, the other looked almost barren and uninhabital, while the one on the end was filled with clutter. He didn't want to step in the room due to the clothes scattered on the floor, food bowls and wrappers found themselves in mysterious areas and the bed was unkempt. Draco didn't have to think twice before knowing this wasn't Harry's room. The clothes on the floor were much too big to be his, even though he did wear clothes twice his size, not even they were this large. Also, he'd seen Harry's eating habits and knew he didn't eat much.
Shutting the door and wrinkling his nose at the smell, Draco went back downstairs. He must have missed Potter's room. As he was ready to go back the way he came, the small opening from a cupboard under the stairs caught his attention. Unsure of why he was walking toward the insignificant area of the house, he opened the door. The sight of a cot and trunk at the foot surprised him. The stand with a birdcage on top He could see a few books hidden under the bed, he reached down and pulled them out, reading the titles, "Quitich through the Ages" "Hogwarts: A History" and "Magical Beasts." Looking at the torn sheet on the bed, the clothes folded neatly on top of the trunk and the books, he knew this was Harry's room, and for some reason it infuriated him.
"To St. Joe's Hospital." He heard himself mutter before apparating.
Nurse Baur leaned on the desk, chin resting in her hand as she filled out the paperwork on the desk. She hated paperwork, but she knew it was necessary, and this last patient had been confusing and stressful enough to prove why it was done.
Amnesia – lasting effects are unknown. Possible child abuse. Old and new bruises found on boy – pictures taken on arrival.
What a mess. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She would have to tell the Child Security representative to wait a little longer to talk to the boy, but she couldn't allow him to go home with the Dursley's, either.
Tapping her pen on the desk and looking around the waiting room in an attempt to get an idea of what to do, she saw a pale blonde in black pants and shirt talking to the receptionist. The lady at the desk seemed agitated and she decided to listen in for lack of something better to do – besides the paperwork of course.
"I'm sorry, you can't see him."
"Please, just tell me where Harry Potter is." Draco almost growled but didn't let his emotions show on his face. He wanted to use a spell on the old hag and force her to tell him, but he knew that he couldn't in this crowded area, so instead he just kept insisting. He would get it one way or another.
"Sir, please, step aside, I cannot help you."
"I really need to see Potter."
"You're not family and he is not ready for other visitors yet. Step aside before I call security." The lady looked at her nails and he was ready to pounce, but the voice of a young woman stopped him and he turned to see a nurse waving him over. He complied and came to her – he hoped it was something relevant she had to say and nothing stupid, he didn't have time for anything like that.
"Are you a friend of Harry Potter?"
Draco hesitated, but eventually replied with a cool and indifferent, "Yes."
The nurse seemed to be considering something and hesitated before she spoke. "I need to ask you a question."
"Yes?"
"Do you know anything of Harry's Aunt and Uncle? How they treated him, I mean." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and Draco's mind was brought back to the cupboard, but instead he choose not to say anything on the topic without further proof.
"Why?"
"We have reason to believe that Harry was mistreated by the Dursley's. We found him with multiple bruises which were days old while many were still fairly new, but not from the accident. He's also severely underweight and looks as though he hasn't eaten in days."
Draco's eyes widened in surprise and before he knew what he was saying the words left his mouth, "Can I see him?"
"I'm not sure that'd be the best idea." Nurse Beur said, "In the accident, Harry had head trauma and it seems that he has amnesia."
The blonde did a double take. "Amnesia?"
The nurse looked down, "Yes, I'm afraid so. He doesn't even remember himself."
"What exactly happened in the accident?"
"From what I understand, Harry was crossing the road someone ran a red light."
"Can I please see him?"
After more pleading, much to Draco's disgust, he stood in front of the door that kept him from Potter, kept him from achieving the Dark Lord's power, the door that kept him from the reality that the savior of the wizarding world no longer had any idea who he was.
Taking a deep breath and opening the door allowing himself entrance and closing it behind him, Draco looked up at the figure on the bed. Even breathing indicating that the boy was asleep and the blonde felt himself go closer. The boy on the bed was simply angelic, his features laced with peace yet his body torn. He was bruised all over, his left arm in some kind of hard substance and bandages around his head. Draco brushed some of the hair from the sleeping boy's face and before he knew what he was doing, he unhooked the wires and scooped the sleeping boy in his arms and prepared to apparate.
"Away from here."
Tis the end of Chapter One, please review and tell me what you think! I know the end wasn't great, but it's getting really late as I type this and wanted to get it back up before I left to go outta town for almost 2 weeks. When I come back I should have a new chapter for all you readers. If you all review I might find an internet connection down there and post early wink :D Well, Until Next Time . . .
StainedGlass
www. Insidious Reflections .com