-Summary: Harry loses his memory after Sirius' death -
he remembers nothing but his life at Privet Drive and the magic he's learned.
Once he re-meets everyone, his life is turned upside down... Rated R, Boy/Boy
love, Language, etc.
-Pairings: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
-Author Notes: This one's probably going to be a little boring, because I'm using it to brush up on my description skills. :)
Someone described my story as "one step forward and two steps back" ... I'm glad somebody noticed! That's how I was trying to make it. Thank you for that review :)
I know this is a short chapter but I wanted to get it out there
because it's so late. And I got 100 reviews! Thank you, guys. :)
***
"Use your left arm much, Draco?"
Draco's steely eyes narrowed menacingly at Harry, who was looking
smugly self-satisfied.
"What would you know about it?" Draco asked indignantly.
That prat Potter, he thought. But he can't know
about what I've been doing... can he?
Draco lifted his eyebrows at Harry in a hard gaze and turned to
glide out of the room, his robes fluttering behind him in a nonexistent
breeze.
Harry sighed and flopped back down on his pillow. His head didn't
hurt anymore, but he didn't want to go back to class anytime soon. As soon
as Madam Pomfrey came back, he'd complain about how badly he hurt all over.
He grinned.
Hopefully that would keep Draco away as well.
***
Draco stalked back to his common room, fuming about that idiot
boy, Potter. Rage was taking over his limbs in unhealthy amounts.
Why does he make me so damned angry?, he thought. Stray
green sparks shot out of the end of his wand in his madness.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. I just need
to ignore him. Inside the hangings of his four-poster bed was the Malfoy's
eagle owl. There was a roll of white parchment attached to its leg, and
a long, thin package. He took the letter off and unfurled it, his eyes
skimming the cursive on the page.
Dearest Draco,
We have received your owl. Your father is still very ill, and I don't know if he will ever be the same again. He does show signs of remembering who he was, but I have had to keep him under the Imperius Curse lately to make sure he doesn't leave the Manor again.
Yes, he tried to leave. He was intent on finding our Dark Lord... it was almost petrifying, the way he spoke so much evil of our master. I felt sure our master would show up then and there to obliterate us all.
About your question, now. Do you remember when you were very young, and we told you that there was a curse on the Malfoy name? And remember how at certain high-peaked amounts of rage, your skin would begin to burn and blacken? Well, you're exactly right, my dear, in that curse you found at the school library. That is the very same one that has been on our family's name for many many years.
Since your father is not in his right mind, I can tell you about this curse without being harmed by him. I was supposed to keep quiet all these years, but it's time you finally know.
The curse originated from my side of the family.
"What?!" Draco asked out loud. "I thought it was Father's... then
why did Father hate Potter's dad so much?"
I know you're a smart boy, Draco. I know you will have figured out that this curse is the reason your father hated James Potter. I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong. The curse is from my side, and Lucius hated James for a different reason. I can't tell you the whole story, because I don't remember parts of it myself. What I can tell you is that your last name, Malfoy, was mine. Lucius took my surname when we married.
Furthermore, I'm sure you also know that this curse causes severe hatred between the Malfoys and the Potters. There's more, but I don't feel you should know it quite yet. Please be careful, whatever you do. Stay away from Harry Potter.
The curse must be stopped, Draco. Remember that. What we have been doing to the Potters all these years is murder. Hopefully we can break enough of them to satisfy the gods' wrath. The problem is, they get rid of us as well. It's a race to see who is finished first.
Kill him if you have to.
Narcissa
P.S., I've enclosed a journal for you to write in, because I sense
that you're in for some rough times ahead. Treat it well. And take care
of yourself, my darling.
Draco gasped out loud and stared at the parchment. He let his
eyes skim over the page several more times, drinking in the same words
repeatedly.
He could understand that the curse needed to end. It had been
the entire reason the Malfoys had become so stiff and unforgiving. But
surely killing Harry Potter was the Dark Lord's job, and not Draco's...?
He closed his eyes for a few moments to think about the situation.
If he killed Harry Potter, then wouldn't Voldemort want to kill him in
return? And if he didn't, what would happen to his family?
If his mother was worried, then there was definitely something
up. Draco needed to really watch out. For the first time in his life, Draco
felt threatened. He actually felt protective. He had always been rather
protective of his mother, but he had never felt as though he, himself,
were in danger.
Is this how Potter feels every day?, he thought.
Sighing, he reached over to the owl and stroked its feathery head
softly. He fed it an owl treat and it nipped his finger affectionately,
hooting a little. Then it flew away and up the dormitory's chimney. Draco
reached over to where it had been sitting and picked up the slim package
it had left. He tore off the plain brown paper it was wrapped in and tossed
it aside.
The journal was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
It was jet black and made of something very smooth, almost like
wood. But he didn't think it was wood, because there was no grain to it.
He gaped and ran his finger down the two polished, silvery snakes that
were entwined fluidly on the front, each with a staring emerald green eye.
Just like Harry's eyes, he thought. Then he shook his head
as he realized what he had been thinking.
The two snakes looked as though they were joined somehow, like
they were part of a bigger serpent. They were undisturbed but looked devious,
as though they could spring to life and strike at any moment.
He opened the sleek book and felt the razor-thin pages. They were
of an ancient off-white, almost tan color and each was almost sheer, but
not quite, like pages from a huge religious text. Draco loved these kind
of attenuated pages. They were the kind he could sit and thumb through
for hours. He always wondered how Muggles managed to make pages this way
without magic. It was astonishing, really.
The pages were old looking, and crackled lightly when he turned
them. Some were scuffed or smudged a little. Draco felt peculiar, as though
he were reading through someone's diary. But there were no words... it
was an odd feeling. He felt a strange chill when he touched certain ones,
but brushed each one off as though he were scaring off a fly.
He had the creepy feeling that someone had owned this journal
before he had, because it radiated with an ancient magic. It was obviously
very old. However, he decided to follow his mother's wishes and write in
it.
Just once, at least.
He flipped carefully back to the first page, took a deep breath
as though he were sealing his soul away, and wrote,
If it must be done, then I'll do it. I'll kill him.
***
The next few weeks went by very quickly. Harry and Draco mostly
stayed apart, not even bothering to make the most meaningless eye contact.
For Harry, especially, life went on in a daze. Even now, if he
looked back on it months later, he wouldn't remember half of what happened.
It was just all so... boring. He knew all the spells being taught. He was
through with trying to make friends. He had been shunned by the whole of
Gryffindor house for consorting with the top Slytherin. They all thought
it was such a waste to see that Draco hadn't been seriously injured, and
on top of that, Colin had spent a few days in the hospital wing due to
his broken jaw. Hermione wouldn't talk to him unless she had to, and it
was obvious she had pressured Ron to do the same.
And he had been booted off the Gryffindor Quidditch team for repeated
harrassment to their female players. Well, they called it harrassment...
Harry preferred to call it "over-flirting" to anyone who would listen to
his side of the story. He felt the matter was especially unfair because
Harry had only gone to one practice. One miserable practice where he realized
he had been a very good Quidditch player - that is, until he had lost his
memory. It was the only thing he felt he knew how to do. And then he had
gotten carried away in his enthusiasm for the sport and had hit on the
girls a bit too much, and he'd been kicked off.
"We don't tolerate that kind of sexism here!" they had said.
"You call yourselves Gryffindors! Everyone shoving me away just
for saving Malfoy's slimy little life! Not one of you belong here, either.
None of deserve the Gryffindor title of bravery. None of you are heroes.
None of you sticky little buggers would have given your life for - " he
had shouted back. And then he had stopped himself before he could say what
he thought was coming.
Luckily, no one had asked any questions. Not one at all.
Usually Harry just stayed in the back of the classroom, not listening
to his lessons; he just sat there languidly, conjuring various tiny magical
items to use for his own amusement or to play tricks on people. He was
restless. He had to do something. Everything nowadays caused his mouth
to droop at the corners.
Life is a big joke, he thought to himself as he absent-mindedly
ran a finger down his smooth, thin wand. It's all a game. A big
waste of a stupid, riskless game that everyone wants to win, but not me.
I don't care about winning things anymore. There's nothing I want to win.
Nothing here is good enough for me.
Harry had furthermore resorted to a nasty little habit of sometimes
hexing himself just to get sent to the hospital wing to miss classes. What
he wished he could make perfectly clear to those watching was that he wasn't
doing it because he had no friends.
I don't care about friends.
He was doing it for a much more unhealthy reason. He had fallen
into a slump he couldn't get out of. Everything in his life had gone askew,
and he wasn't sure if he could take it anymore. On top of all that, he
had recently learned from various wandering students or ghosts that he
was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord. As if he really wanted to do that,
right? As if it was what he'd been planning all along since he was born?
He preferred to let people live their own lives, and not interfere in them.
Defeating Lord Voldemort would definitely be interference... right?
The only reason Harry hadn't ended his term at Hogwarts was because
he wanted to show them all. He was going to plan something terrible for
them to witness, something none of them would ever forget. And then who
would laugh at him, or mock him, or jeer at him through the hallways?
He was especially looking forward to showing that bratty silver-blond
Slytherin bitch how things were done.
The only problem was, the worst was yet to come.