Empty

It has been two and a half months since Draco woke from the coma. The COMA. Funny word, he often thinks, but it doesn't do much to describe the cool feeling of empty-headedness that accompanies loosing one's memory or, similarly, the bad stuff, like people who supposedly know you telling you how you've changed.

It is always "The old Draco smiled less" or "The old Draco tripped everyone," and suffice to say, the new Draco is getting pretty sick of it.

There was one other victim of THE COMA, a boy by the name of Harry Potter, whom Draco cannot really figure out. They had both woken on the same day, a bright Saturday morning, and Draco remembers having a coldish feeling in his heart and an emptyish feeling in his head where all the useless crap used to be. He felt light. For a full four minutes he thought about nothing, and at times he looks back on these carefree four minutes with longing, but only sometimes.

When he'd woken he had turned his face away from the sunlight to meet another pair of wide eyes, another smooth and confused face, and had smiled. It suddenly felt warmer.

"Hullo," Draco had said. And that had been the end of the perfect four minutes, as talking always ruins everything. "Who are you?"

"I'm," said the boy he would soon know was Harry. "I'm just me, I guess."

"Do you," said Draco. "I really don't know who I am either, but it doesn't strike me as being all that important."

"Your hair is sticking up all over the place," said the boy.

"Yours too," said Draco.

"Well, that makes us alike in two ways, then."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," said Harry smirking, but nicely.

"Three actually. Firstly, do you want to be friends?"

"Sure, why not?"

"And lastly, where the hell are we?"

"I don't know. And where did the second question go? You can't just jump from firstly to lastly, it doesn't quite work like that."

"Hm," said Draco. There seemed to have been something important he'd thought of, but: "I've forgotten. Oh well, if I've forgotten it must not have been important."

"Ok," said Harry, then, "You know, although being anonymous is a rather cool idea, my brain is having a hard time not assigning you a name."

"This could be fun. What do you want me to be called?"

"Robert?" Harry suggested. Draco made a face. "How 'bout Dick? No? Well, Francois? Eggbert?"

"You're crap at this, Boy-On-The-Other-Bed," said Draco.

"It's not my fault you're so picky. Well, you do seem to have a lot of hair. How 'bout Harry?"

"Harry," said Draco. He let it roll around in his mouth a few more times. "Alright, despite the 'hairy' comment, I really like it."

"I like it, too. Well, how about you?"

"I've already decided on mine."

"That's not fair, I have to approve first! What is it?"

"Draco."

"Draco. Phh, what kind of silly name is that? It sounds girly."

"Well I like it, so you can just piss off."

Harry threw a pillow at Draco, but missed. Draco stuck out his tongue at him and then both boys laughed and collapsed back into their beds.

"Oh my oh my oh my," said a plump woman, bustling through like a cold wind and Harry seemed to feel it too, because he snuggled down further into the covers. "You two are finally awake! You have no IDEA! We've all been worried sick!"

Both boys watched her as she scurried about, taking their temperatures, feeling their foreheads, doing something funny with a wooden stick that made them both jump in surprise. It was at this point that Madame Pomfrey, who the tag on her uniform identified her as, stopped moving and cast a suspicious glance over both of them.

"Do you both feel alright?"

"I'm fine," said Harry.

"Me too," said Draco, smiling over at Harry.

"That's good," said Madame Pomfrey in a way that said things were definitely not fine. She looked from boy to boy, then to the ceiling, then at her hands, and said: "you don't remember anything, do you."

"Um," said Harry.

"No, not really," said Draco.

"That is quite unsettling," said Madame Pomfrey. "I think it'd be best if we contacted Dumbledore."

With that, she left the room, leaving both boys alone in the sunlight. Draco kicked off his covers, because without anyone besides Harry, he was warm.

"Dumble-whozit?" said Harry.

"Who knows," said Draco. "Who cares."

"Not me," said Harry. "I kind of like this amnesia thing. I like not needing to care."

"And it's funny how I know that at one point I did care, too much probably, but I can't imagine what I could possibly have been worrying about."

"Yeah," said Harry, who had discovered the chocolate on the bedside table that was between them. He was trying to shove the whole chunk in his mouth, which was quite impossible.

"Forgotten how wide your mouth is, have you?" asked Draco, and grabbed the other large chunk and ate it one small piece at a time.

After that a man with a pointy hat and miles of beard came in and asked them lots of questions, as if both boys were playing a practical joke. He looked sadly at both when he was done, and then told them the basics of what happened. An accident or something, neither really cared. Something about broomsticks? And being way up there, out the window, in the clouds, and then falling until they most definitely weren't in the clouds any longer and then weeks of sleeping and then summertime beginning and then waking.

Now they are living with a professor named Minerva McGonagall. Dumbledore has closed the school for the summer, so they can't stay there.

McGonagall is nice to them. Draco especially likes her in cat form because she doesn't talk. Harry just likes her. Figures, she'd said one day, since in real life Draco hates her and Harry just likes everyone. She often talks like that. Harry had done this and Draco had done that and they are so different and in real life...

And Draco and Harry just nod and share a biscuit and zone out because, firstly, it is bloody confusing when someone talks about the "real you" and called him by the opposite name. It makes it seem all the more impersonal because when McGonagall talks about Harry, Draco always thinks she is talking about him, but she is talking about the Draco with black hair and green eyes and the scar that Draco with blonde hair and grey eyes thinks looks more like a sideways N than a lighting bolt.

The McGonagall lady tries really hard to be nice to both of them. She even lets them share a room, although she raised her penciled-on eyebrows in surprise when they asked because, after all, they are both 16 going on 17 year old boys who hate each other, and she does have two guest rooms. She raised these eyebrows a lot in the beginning, but as the summer wears on she gets used to the change.

So today when Draco with black hair drags Harry with blonde hair out the door shouting, "We'll be back by dinner" over his shoulder, McGonagall barely raises her eyes from the issue of Wizard Weekly that she is reading. Draco with black hair notices a picture of he and his new best friend on the cover of the paper, with a headline that reads "The Boy-Who-Lived and Lucius Malfoy's Heir Have Woken!", but doesn't mention it to Draco with blonde hair because, why should he? They didn't even write their names on the paper.

Draco lets Harry drag him outside and through the back alley's to a tiny basketball court. It's their favourite game, mainly because it's the only one they know, but also because when they're running they don't even need names because it's just a blur of colours and too-fast-to-think dribbling and shooting and swishing. Sometimes other people come to play, other teenage guys mostly from around this part of the neighborhood. McGonagall has warned them not to speak a word about where they're from or what they are. They wouldn't dream of it though. They aren't really sure where they're from or who they are themselves, and besides, these kids don't know about magic or evil, and Harry and Draco like it that way.

But today no one else is there, and that's just fine. Harry runs to grab a basketball from the pile of semi-inflated orange things to one side by the broken swings. He takes a while to choose one, and when he turns back around Draco is standing right there and Harry says "oh merlin" and then blinks.

"Merlin?" asked Draco. "Who's that?"

"I-I don't know," says Harry.

Draco breaks out of conversation by grabbing the ball and running.

"Traveling!" Harry cries. "That's so illegal! Come back here!"

And Draco makes a basket and Harry tackles him. It should hurt because it's on the blacktop, but everything's warmer and softer when the two of them are together.

"Can I kiss you?" says the grey eyed Harry.

"Alright," says the other, who has the right to be this calm because it seems to be the normal progression of things.

After Draco kisses him Harry (with black hair) jumps up and grabs the ball. He dribbles, jumps, and makes a basket. Draco lays dazed on the blacktop.

"This isn't the way it's supposed to be," he says to no one. McGonagall's been talking about sending them back to school right at the beginning of term. She's tried to fill them in on all they'd done, and from what this Draco's gathered he was a complete arse to Harry. They used to argue a lot, and Draco used to want to die, but now there were just houses and Harry, and some sunlight too. This isn't the way it's supposed to be, he thinks to no one.

He gets up and runs to where Harry is. He tries to grab the ball, but only swipes at air as Harry pivots away, then back to make another basket. Draco charges at him, and Harry jumps incredibly high, and makes a basket, but as the world is not how it should be he somehow hits his head against the basketball hoop.

Oh, now that's interesting, the other Harry thinks, right before the first Harry lands on him. His head smacks against the blacktop, and it's not so soft anymore.

Both open their eyes hours later when the sky has darkened to a blood red. Draco turns his head to Harry and sees the other has his eyes open. He feels heavy and cold. There's a strange smell and he knows that it's those damn Muggles barbecuing.

"Oh no," Harry groans, and Draco can feel it too.

"Well this sucks," Draco says and wishes he were still empty.