"Harry, dear…"

Cold, everything was so cold. My skin peeled like a sticker from the hard linoleum as I tried to sit up, steadying myself with one hand. The world tipped and curved, but I could make out a silhouette before me. "Are we okay?"

"What?

"You promised we'd be okay, just let us be okay…" My words stuck to my tongue, refusing to fall out in the right order.

"I'm just here to get your vitals, love, come up with you, now." Her face became clearer as she bent down to hoist me up. She had brown hair, the shade of warm chocolate. Definitely not the icy blond from my memories. I furrowed my brows, throwing my arm over her. Not the right gender, either. I wasn't sure if it was the resounding chill in my bones or the thought that initiated it, but a shiver ran up my spine. I noticed that once I awoke or came to, the memories and dreams became less and less clear. Small details would fade and all I'd be left with was a remnant of the experience. In an effort to subvert the inevitable, I repeated what I remembered most.

"I would do anything for him."

"What was that, dear?" The nurse had managed to aid me to the bedside, sitting me down on the edge and wrapping a large cuff around my arm. As she pumped the bulb attached to it, I could feel her gaze boring through me. Hisssss. She removed the cuff from my arm, the velcro deafening in the quiet of the room.

"I loved him."

"Harry…" She put her hand to my forehead, no doubt to check if I'd caught a fever.

"I'm fine!" I smacked her hand away, and she recoiled, looking more concerned than offended. "I'm sorry…" I muttered quickly, laying back down on the bed. She gathered her equipment, but as she opened the door, she turned back to me once more.

"An owl came for you but a few hours past, you're permitted to get it at the front desk when you're up for it." She gave me a solemn half-smile. "Perhaps hearing from a loved one will brighten your spirits, aye?" I nodded, trying not to seem too eager, and watched as she left. A loved one? But who? I was hoping whatever was in that letter would expound upon what little I could gather from my limited memories. But what if I didn't recognize the name? My heart quickened at the thought, but I took a moment to slow my breathing. If I didn't start acting sane, I may never get out of here, no matter what he could do. I leapt up, walking with a quick step to the front desk on the ward. "Harr-"

"Harry Potter, yes, you've gotten a letter."

I held my breath for a moment before expelling it quietly. " Who is it from?" The nurse eyed me in an uneasy manner.

"It doesn't say." She held the letter out, dark parchment, sealed with red wax. I took it from her, gingerly. She stared at me, as if waiting for me to open it in front of her. I tilted my head toward her, and slowly set back for my room. The ripping of the seal coincided with the shut of the door. I couldn't wait a moment longer, I had to know. My eyes hungrily read the words scribbled before me.

Dearest Harry, I'm sorry for my delay in writing you. Unfortunately, it's too dangerous for me to visit again, but I will return to you. In exactly two months, look for the red-haired woman from your dreams. This version of her will not harm you, you must trust me. In the meantime, give the doctors the show they want, you know what I mean. Take care, and please, please be careful. Yours faithfully, D.

D… it must be, it has to be, Draco. I started to panic, but remembered the wax seal—it was intact, no one had read it. My hands shook, grasping the paper desperately. Two months? How was I going to make it that long in here? I slammed my fist against the wall, letting my head hang to my chest. There was nothing for it, I had to be strong. In any case, I wanted to trust this man with everything in me. I might not quite remember everything, but I was starting to remember the feeling. One thing still had me stumped though, the red-haired woman….my wife. What was going on with her? Why was she plotting against me? Surely I loved her at one point? And if I loved her then why did I also feel this unmistakable love for this…this man. I was going to give myself a headache again. I shifted back onto the bed, my head encompassed by the cheap hospital pillow. I let my body sink into the bed. I was always so tired these days—but perhaps it was for the best. Asleep, relaxed, it was the times when I had the clearest dreams, the most vivid memories. The next two months would be hard, that I knew. I also knew that whatever was on the other side of these walls, well, it was worth the wait. I clutched the parchment tightly to my chest.

The next two months were a whirlwind, but Harry became a model patient. Despite the suffocating feeling of being trapped, he was more alert and amicable. Alone in his room, though, he did nothing but think. These flashbacks, dreams, memories, whatever they were to be named, were confusing and fragmented. Every spare moment was spent trying to puzzle them together. There was, though, one person he seemed to recall more than any other. It was the man that had visited him some time ago now, the one who'd sent the letter. He hadn't figured out why, exactly, he was so caught up on this man. Then again, he wouldn't have complained, for those memories felt the fondest of all.

The potion bubbled and churned, I gave an absent wave of my hand, sending the ladle into a circular motion. I reached for the clear bottle on the top shelf, pulling out a small, wriggling creature. I admired it as it attached to my finger, its slime stuck to my fingertips. I pulled it off of me, a small speck of blood is all the leech left behind. I then grabbed the bottle it'd been contained in, pouring in three more. The potion gave a small gurgle and I turned back toward my cabinet. I grabbed the lacewing flies, pouring them into a mortar. This potion was advanced even for accomplished witches and wizards, but potion-making always had been my forte. I began to grind the flies with my pestle, making sure the ingredient was smooth and fine. Once I could easily sift the flies, I added them to the potion. It groaned and I briefly turned the heat up, waving my wand over the potion once more. Night had begun to turn to day when I'd left the cauldron, content to let it brew for the next 21 days before continuing the steps. My eyes were low, heavy with lack of sleep. That seemed to be a common theme lately. My fingers worked over the buttons of my shirt, multi-colored splashes staining the grey fabric. The cold air felt relieving on my sweat-soaked body.

I sat at my desk, rubbing my temple for a moment before pulling out a piece of parchment. I had to let him know I was coming, he had to know I hadn't left him. I wrote, my hand shaky and letters imperfect. When it was done I read it over and over again. I clutched it, pressing it to my face, breathing in the smell of the ink. I was doing this for us. I folded the parchment in half, the wax dripping steadily onto the parchment's edge. I took a deep breath before pressing the top of my ring into the red goo. My ring, it was my father's. He'd left it to me once he'd been sent to Azkaban, and my mother had gifted it to me on my latest birthday. I was to be the man of the manor now. Laughable, I'd run as far as possible if I could. I couldn't think of that now, though. All I could think of was getting Harry out, having him with me. That was my focus, my one goal. Everything would fall into place after that. But since I left him, I couldn't help but wonder…

Was he thinking of me, too?