Welcome to my very first story in a long long time! My first ever Harry/Draco. Set Eighteen months after the war. Please leave me a review and let me know if it's worth continuing? I'm feeling pretty good about it. This first chapter is a setup, so bare with me and I'll get you some Draco/Harry.

This story is set in an AU Universe where Harry was in an accident mere months after he defeated Voldemort and lost any memory of his past life. We'll be following his struggle to remember, but also his struggle to be accepted in his current state.

Characters and World belong to J.K Rowling. I only own the idea and writing.


Chapter 1


Harry James Potter.

The name felt strange as Harry slowly scribbled it down on the piece of paper in front of him. It was supposed to help him remember something—anything. They told him his name, and writing it down could help his brain heal. Or at least that's what he'd been told. At the rate he was going, he was left with a pit in depths of his stomach. No matter how many times he copied that name down using a quill and ink—it didn't matter. He still had no fucking clue who the hell he was or what life he had lived.

With frustration—the man swept the parchment to the side. Sending it flying through the air, caring little if it messed up the ink he had just laid down on it. It didn't matter if it smudged. Smudging the black ink wasn't going to make his memory worse. Slowly, Harry brought ink-stained fingertips to his mouth and turned his head so he could stare intently at the wall. Wishing that for just a moment, he could remember the man that carried that name.

It was some time into the evening. Everyone had gone for the night, expecting him to get the sleep he so desperately needed. They only allowed one or two people at a time anyway—leaving him feeling more overwhelmed then comforted by their presence. He hated the look in their eyes. They met his eyes, often with the desperate hope that he was still in there, only to be met with someone they didn't know. He couldn't handle the disappointment anymore, not when there was nothing he could do to stop it.

For a moment, the idea of leaving crossed his mind. He could pack whatever belongings had been brought to him and just leave. Disappear away from all of the people who were waiting for him to come back to them. But where would he go, what would he do? You have nowhere to go. Even if he had an idea of how to make it through the world, he'd lost everything. The only thing he had left was this hospital room and a name that he wasn't sure was his.

Settling back in his bed, green eyes moved and fixed to the ceiling. Tracing the soft lines, he found there, he vaguely wondered how something got so pristine. Magic he supposed would be the answer if he asked anyone, but he disliked how that was used as an answer for everything when he asked. Every question was met with that answer, as if it explained everything about his life away. The older redheaded woman who visited—Mary? No…. Molly. Yes, Molly. Was particularly fond of that answer. Using it for every little thing. There was nothing more infuriating to him—especially because he was trying with all his might to remember one god damn thing. Magic existed, he was a wizard, he got all of that. But why. That was the question. Why?

Shifting once more, Harry began to settle. The linens against his skin were scratchy and made sleep difficult to come by—but as minutes turned into hours, he found himself slowly falling into a slumber. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to settle down. At least in sleep he wasn't plagued with the reality he lived in.


Harry was awoken that next morning by the sound of hushed voices. The wizard slowly opened his stiff eyes, and begrudgingly realized he'd only been asleep for a few hours at the most. Grumbling slowly, Harry placed his hands flat on the bed and pushed himself up so that he could rest more fully in a seated positon.

"Oh, Harry!" The woman that spoke had long brown hair that fell in thick curls around her face and to her shoulders. Harry thought it looked somewhat bushy, but still fell down in softened curls that he imagined took some time in the morning to achieve. Hermione was her name—and she was around perhaps the most out of his visitors. While he caught her looking at him longingly sometimes, she was the one who was victim that the least. Usually doing her best to not seem desperate to have her best friend back. Her smile was kind, "We didn't mean to wake you up."

The witch was gesturing to the healer that was standing across from her. An older man with jet black hair. It was cropped short to his head, with soft signs of greying at the roots. He had a mustache that Harry might equate to some muggle detective. Though as the thought occurred to him, he wondered where it had come from. Those moments where he was met with some sort of spark of recognition, just like that, always made him feeling slightly hopeful. But they were never anything that actually matter, and that's where the frustration came in.

The older healer approached Harry and smiled at him, though his smile was not as warms as Hermione's. It was a shame really. "I was just speaking with your friend here, ." Harry found himself making a face at that. Harry was strange enough, was an entire different realm. The healer continued, "She has offered to take responsibility for your care if we release you from St. Mungo's. We simply need to get some paperwork in order and you can be on your way today."

Eyebrow's rose in surprise and Harry found himself looking to Hermione. She gave him an encouraging smile, one that showed him that she was stifling her excitement over the news. He would be released into her care, and he wondered where they would go. Harry found himself speaking, "Where am I going?"

The healer opened his mouth as to speak before Hermione interrupted. "We're going to stay with the Weasley's for awhile while we get you used to living outside of this place. They have a couple of spare bedrooms and I just finished all of my Hogwart's course work so I need a place to live in anyway—"Ah yes, Hermione could be longwinded as she explained herself. He remembered that. Wait. He remembered that. Suddenly a wide grin erupted across his face and Hermione matched it, "Do you like that idea?"

"I remembered." He blurted suddenly and if he'd set the room on fire, both of the members currently watching him were spurred into action. The healer conjured a notebook and a quill with a flick of his hand before he turned to watch Harry avidly. He spoke, "What did you remember, ?"

God— again. Harry cleared his throat and flicked his eyes between the inhabitants of the room. "Oh I just…" He was unsure of how to explain it. It had simply been a feeling, nothing like an actual memory. It was bound to disappoint them. "I just remembered that Hermione can be longwinded when she is trying to explain something… It wasn't a memory. Not really."

The look on Hermione's face was nearly comical as she stared at him, her hair a frizzy halo as it seemed to stand on end with her irritation. "Harry James Potter!" She exclaimed, though there was no true malice in her voice, more that of humor filled frustration. "Of all the things to remember, that has to be the first thing." She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a way that almost seemed like she was pouting.

Turning then, the older man spoke, "I take it that is accurate then?" He looked genuinely curious, ready to scrawl down her answer to his question. She huffed and shook her head. "Well—I suppose it might be accurate all dependent on who you ask." She looked pained as she spoke then and Harry found laughter bubbling from his chest. The first genuine sound of laughter anyone had heard from him since he had woken from his coma. Hermione turned then, staring the wizard down before she to was laughing. Joining into the laughter in a way that filled the room and set a furrow to the healer's brow.

"Ahem," The man cleared his throat and tucked the notepad back into pocket. "Alright then. I suppose I can leave you two to it then. I'll go get the paperwork done so you can be on your way." He nodded his head and then turned to leave the room promptly. Leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the room.

Approaching him, Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed. A common habit she had developed, especially when she insisted on reading to him from some of the books she carried around in her handbag. Recovering from his fit of laughter, the young Potter brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. The sleep evident in them. Hermione offered him another smile, this time it seemed to be even lighter than it had been before. Almost as if that one moment had brought back all the hope she had in him fully recovering.

"I brought you some clothes. I wasn't sure what you would want, so I just packed a little bit of everything." She pointed to the bag that was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room. "You probably need some new items, because somehow, against all logic, I think you grew taller in here." Harry looked down at his legs as she did and wiggled his feet. Wondering vaguely if that was true at all. He knew he'd been in a coma for a year, and then spent another three months here in this bed. So he supposed it could be possible. Not that he had much to go against.

The man let out a sigh, "Hopefully I'm not walking around with an inch of my ankle showing."

The woman hummed her agreement and moved over to grab the bag. "Well if you are, I managed to snag some of Ron's jeans. Not the newest item I brought, but they might be long enough to cover any extra height you gained while you were here." She grabbed them from the bag and yanked them free. They weren't horrid looking, and had obviously been patched a couple of times. From what he learned from Ron, he was rough on nearly everything. He'd seen him knock items over in his room more than once. "Now come along, Harry, and we'll get you ready to go."


The witch had been right in her assumption that he had grown taller and he had been forced to put on the pair of jeans that belonged to the ginger Ron Weasley. He'd then chosen a comfortable grey shirt that he was told had once been too big on him, and while it was still slightly baggy, it was the perfect length for his lanky height.

Hermione had insisted on carrying his bag, despite his claims that he could do it himself. Informing him that he needed to not tax himself. The world was going to be new to him now and he needed all the focus he could get. Deciding to forgo the immediate trip into wizarding London, Hermione had opted to take him directly to St. Mungo's floo system. "No point in apparating you and making you sick." She explained away his questions with a flourish of her hand.

Harry had needed no direction on how to work the floo, glad that information like that seemed to still be in tact. Where he had gained it, or why he still remembered things like that was still a mystery. All she'd had to tell him was the name of the place they were going and Harry had stepped promptly into the fireplace. Dropping the powder down her shouted out clearly, "The Burrow!" and then was gone in a flash of green flames.

Swirling suddenly into the living room, he found himself faced with four redheads, staring at the fireplace and excitedly waiting for him to return. The smiles he was met with were pleasant enough, but Harry found himself already overwhelmed with the sheer amount of people in the room. Before he'd left the medical ward, he'd only been allowed a max of two people at once. It had always been controlled.

As Molly rushed forward to usher him in, he found himself surrounded by a brood of Weasley's and the panic set in far too quickly. It hit him quickly and his breathing began to speed up. He looked desperately for a way out, only to find himself in an unknown place with no idea of any sort of exit. The room began to spin next.

Whatever happened next, Harry barely remembered.