Ten Days

Ten Days

Chapter 7: Somebody Who Cares

I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts,

Then there is no hurt, but only more love.

He drew a sharp breath. Draco was kissing him.

And now he was falling.

It wasn't supposed to be like this! Harry thought, as the silver and grey tapestry flew by.

He tried to grab Draco, and he missed. He tried to grab the tapestry when he fell, and he managed to grab on to it for a second before sliding off. Now all attempts were useless. Any second now, Harry was going to hit the ground. And Merlin, was it a long way down.

Now he would never know for sure what Draco was going to tell him. He had worse things to worry about now. He didn't know what was going to happen, were these his final moments? Will he ever see Draco ever again? Dear God, just make this quick.

Harry blacked out.

The next thing he knew it, he was waking up in some blond boy's arms, his head was pounding, and to make matters even worse, the blond was crying over him. What the... He didn't know what was going on. He didn't know who he was or where he was. But most importantly....

"Who are you?"

***

Draco's eyes widened. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be fair... And after all this time and now... "What?" he managed to choke out, hoping Harry was just playing a joke on him. Some cruel, awful joke.

"Who are you?" Harry replied, this time more angrily as he freed himself from Draco's grasp, stood up, and turned around to face him.

Draco just sat there, on his knees, looking up at Harry, motionless. "You... You don't know who I am?"

Harry was getting aggravated. "Why would I be asking you?" he replied. After no response from Draco, he put his hands through his hair and shook his head out of frustration. "Look, if you're not going to tell me who you are, would you mind telling me who I am?"

The reality sunk in. Harry lost his memory. All this time Draco was looking for the Wishing Potion so he could lose his memories of them, and now Harry lost his. What Draco felt at that point was indescribable; it was a mix between hurt and anger, with a little trace of jealously. Why did Harry have to loose his memory and not Draco? Why did this have to happen to him? "You're..."

Harry crossed his arms and shivered. "Well?"

"Harry Potter." Saying that was a like realizing something painful, something that just wasn't real -- something that couldn't be real. Come on, Draco, this is the part where you wake up. But Draco never did.

"Funny," Harry said, "you'd think that name would mean something to me -- so who're you?"

"Draco Malfoy. I think I should take you to Madam Pomfrey... She'll know what to do," he said hopefully. Although, deep down he knew it was hopeless, it was worth a shot.

"Madam Pomfrey? Who is that? Better yet, where am I?" Harry was looking around him, things must have been stranger than anything to him. Imagine losing your memory and coming-to at a place like Hogwarts.

"It's a long story. I better not be the one to tell you. Come on." Draco walked in the direction of the school, with Harry not so far behind.

***

Why was he here? Where exactly was here, anyway? Why was he wearing some sort of cloak? Who was this kid he was so willingly trusting? Harry had not a clue. But he had a feeling he was going to find out.

They were entering this huge castle. He couldn't fathom why he would be at a castle, maybe it was a school trip gone horribly wrong? But that had to have been impossible; there was no one else in sight. What about that giant arena he was just in? This all made no sense whatsoever to him.

He looked over to the blond who was now walking next to him. There was something that Harry liked about the boy, and all at the same time, something he disliked about him as well. He now had a stern look on his face that he didn't have moments before. Before he was holding Harry, on the verge of tears and worried, and now...

Now he meant business.

They took a few sharp turns and went up a few bizarre staircases, passed a number of moving and even speaking paintings -- which all seemed perfectly normal to Draco -- and finally Draco stopped at an open door. "Here we are," he announced as he walked in before Harry.

A middle-aged woman came rushing over to the two boys immediately. Harry, not-so-surprisingly, couldn't recognise her if he tried. (Not that he wasn't trying to spark any memory of this strange place already.) "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter," she greeted, her voice more pleasant when she spoke Harry's name, "What is it tonight?" The question was directed at Harry.

"Potter... fell when we were in detention. I'm afraid he's lost his memory," Draco swiftly answered for Harry.

He was in detention? So Harry was in a school of some kind? Things for him just kept on getting stranger and stranger, "I was in detention?" Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey ignored Harry's question and raised her eyebrow suspiciously at Draco. "He fell and lost his memory? How exactly did that happen?" She turned to Harry, "And you don't remember who you are?" Harry shook his head. "Where you are? Who we are?" Again, Harry shook his head.

"He fell from a Quidditch stand, and his must have hit his head."

"Well of course he must've fallen from somewhere, and if he doesn't remember a thing, he certainly hit his head." She sighed, "I'm afraid there's nothing much I can do about the memory loss, but you're not going back to your dorms just yet. You're going to spend the night here, Potter. Just in case anything else is wrong with you." She guided him to an empty bed, Draco followed. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, had better go get Filch or someone to tell them what happened, especially if you were in detention. You don't want to get yourself in any more trouble than you already are."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Draco left the room.

"Sit down, dear," she said, pointing to the bed. Harry obeyed and sat down, taking off his cloak and shoes. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot. I'll be back in flash with pyjamas for you. What are you? A medium. Don't worry." She hurried off.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, with his hands folded on his lap looking around. So he was in a school -- his school -- and just had detention in that arena. His name was Harry Potter and he was just in detention with Draco Malfoy. He had no idea what his relationship was with Draco Malfoy; he didn't know whether Draco was his friend or what. Draco didn't help him out too much with that, either.

But already, Harry had some... idea. He didn't feel like he hated Draco. So he couldn't have been his worst enemy. However, he also had a feeling that he wasn't the boy's best friend. It was all too confusing and all he really wanted to do was sleep and deal with it in the morning.

Madam Pomfrey came right back in, with folded pyjamas in her arms. "Here you go, Potter." He smiled and took the pile of clothes. "I'll just close these curtains so you can change." She grabbed the end of the curtain and pulled it around the bed.

Just in the middle of when Harry was getting changed, he heard an older mans voice in the room. "Hey Poppy." His voice seemed to be warm and friendly, and all at the same time pained a little. "Think you have anything you could give me for my headache? I've been grading homework all night and there's only so many essays about blocking hexes you can take before you getting a splitting headache."

"You'll have to wait a few moments, Remus. I'm a little busy."

"It's all right, I'll wait."

When Harry finished getting dressed, he held his sobbing-wet clothes in his right hand, opened the curtain slightly with his left, and peeked his head out. "Um... I'm not sure what to do with these."

The man in a set of shabby looking robes, who, Harry assumed, was the one who asked Madam Pomfrey about his headache, turned at him immediately in surprise. "Harry? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in detention?" Harry didn't know what to say.

Madam Pomfrey did. "I don't see why that's any of your concern," she replied as she came over to Harry to take away his dampened clothes.

"I was the one who gave the boy detention, I deserve to know what happened because of me."

"Well, all I will tell you is that Mr. Potter here took quite a fall and has lost his memory." She walked into the other room, to put the clothes away, and returned. "That's all that matters right now."

"What? Are you sure fell? How did he fall? I suppose Draco Malfoy must have something to do with this."

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy was the one who brought him here."

Remus looked mad at himself. "I know he did this. I should have known better than to give the two detention together... it was only a matter of time..." Remus went on. "That boy is just asking for more detention..."

So that was it, Draco Malfoy was obviously not a friend of Harry's if someone was led to believe he pushed him. What if he did push him? But that still wouldn't explain why he was leaning over Harry when he came-to. Maybe it was guilt. Harry didn't know what to think anymore.

"Let's not jump the gun here. You should at least hear what Mr. Malfoy has to say about this. He's out getting someone right now, you shouldn't need to wait any much longer."

They didn't. Draco was walking through the door that moment, next to a man in black robes with long, black, and greasy hair. "What seems to be the problem here?" the man drawled. This man, unlike everyone else in the room, appeared to be quite bored with the situation, and if anything he looked like he didn't want to even be bothered with this at all. Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to like this one.

"That," said the man Harry only knew as Remus, "is just what I was going to ask Mr. Malfoy here."

"Well, Mr. Malfoy here, told me that Mr. Potter here, had taken quite a tumble during detention this evening. And now he has lost his memory. What a pity."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Malfoy here pushed Harry, Severus. As a matter of fact there isn't a doubt in my mind." Remus was getting angrier and angrier by the moment. "I don't see any reason why I shouldn't give him another five days of detention."

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be very annoyed suddenly. "Excuse me," she cut in, "but if you don't mind me asking, isn't there another place where you can all discuss this? Mr. Potter needs his rest, and this isn't helping his recovery at all."

Severus reared his head in Pomfrey's direction. "This concerns him, therefore we stay."

"I don't see what help he'll do, he hasn't even got a clue who he is."

Before another word escaped Severus' mouth, another person walked in. This one was, by far, older than any of them. He had a long, grey, sweeping beard, and was wearing half-mooned glasses.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he asked calmly.

"Mr. Malfoy pushed Harry in detention, and now Harry can't even remember who he is. I'm giving Draco Malfoy five more days of detention for this."

"What?!" Draco protested fruitlessly.

The oldest one just nodded calmly. "I see," he said, "Argus Filch had just told me about the two not being in the Quidditch pitch only a few moments ago."

Harry had enough with being overlooked just because he didn't know where he was. Not only was he confused of where he was, he had no idea of who these people where. "Er..." he began, they all turned to look at them. "Excuse me if I come across as rude... but, who are all of you?"

The man with the beard merely smiled. "I apologise, Harry. I suppose we're the rude ones not saying anything to you at all. You're in Hogwarts, a school for young witches and wizard. This is Professor Lupin," he gestured his right hand to the man Harry recognised as Remus, "this is Professor Snape," he pointed to the greasy-haired one, "Madam Pomfrey, and Draco Malfoy." He smiled. "And I'm Headmaster Dumbledore."

Harry's jaw dropped in shock. One would think someone would remember something about being in a school for wizards.

"You had to mention something about wizards, didn't you? I told you all, he needs his rest!" Madam Pomfrey looked like she was just about seconds of kicking everyone but Harry out.

"I thought Harry ought to know that much."

"Well, I don't think it's going to help him one bit. He needs all the rest he can get over the next day or two."

"Well that's very unfortunate," Snape said, "because Potter and Malfoy are serving their last detention with me tomorrow night."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Neither do I," Professor Lupin added, "Harry and Malfoy aren't spending any more detentions together!"

"You requested them having five detentions together, and so they now have to. Rules are rules," Snape grinned, "And besides, there is nothing to worry about. I will keep a good eye on both of them."

"And I don't think," Dumbledore cut in, "that Mr. Malfoy is foolish enough to get himself another five days detention. Five more after that is enough." Draco folded his arms irritably.

"That doesn't matter," said Madam Pomfrey, "I forbid Harry doing any kind of work tomorrow. I think you can reschedule his detention for Monday night."

"Very well," Snape said regretfully.

Lupin didn't look happy. "What are you going to do about his memory, Poppy?"

"There's nothing I can do. He'll remember something eventually, all memory loss patients usually do. He just needs to do what he would do every day and then things might come back to him." Snape looked rather uninterested. "I'm releasing him tomorrow morning, all he needs is just some good old fashion rest. Now, if you don't mind me telling you to leave, I ask that you do now."

Snape left with pleasure, Draco followed right after. Dumbledore and Lupin stayed behind and lingered a few moments. "It'll be okay, Harry," Dumbledore said. Then they both left.

"Well, now that that's all over and done with... Well, you can't sleep just yet, so I'll find you a book to read. After and hour or two you can, but I'm not taking my chances just yet." She searched around for a book for a few moments and then finally handed him one. "Standard Book of Spells, grade six. I hope this might jog your memory a little." She then went off to another room, where he assumed another student was staying.

He got into the bed and stared long and hard at the book. He had no memory of this place, no memory of the people who were in his room two minutes earlier, no memory of the pitch he was just in, no memory of anything at all.

Harry must have sat there for thirty minutes trying to remember something. Any memory he could come up with, that might even spark another, would do just fine. He couldn't think of anything.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry put the book on the table next to him and rolled over on his side. Think, there must be something, he thought to himself. Draco. Draco Malfoy. The name almost sounds familiar. Why can't I think of anything?

Harry gave up, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

***

Draco walked past everyone in the Slytherin common room to his dorm. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and he made it quite obvious. No one even tried speaking with him. He was furious. Gaining five days of detention wasn't his ideal ending for tonight, especially for something he didn't do. He didn't push Potter... right?

Yes, he was kissing Harry, but as far as he knew, he didn't push him or shove him forward. So what exactly was he being punished for? Nothing. He was going to go through five more days of detention for absolutely nothing. Just because Potter had to be stupid and clumsy.

It was Draco's fault they were up there, though. It had been his idea that got them up there in the first place. So Draco shouldered some of the blame.

Now Harry remembered nothing, nothing at all. It just wasn't fair.

Just thinking about it made Draco feel cold inside. Cold and Empty.

Draco knew perfectly well what it was like to be cold. He acted coldly all the time, to nearly everyone he knew, and never had a problem with it. But he never knew just how it was like to feel cold until this night.

Having someone you just started to care about forget about you like that must have been the worst thing in the world imaginable. It made you feel rejected, unimportant, and hurt. Draco didn't like feeling hurt. That's exactly why for the past sixteen years of his life he's been blocking out all emotions. You don't get hurt when you don't feel at all. Sure, you may stay cold, and people might be prone to hate you, but you never were hurt.

And he let his guard down. He let Harry do this to him. Then Harry had to go, fall off stands that were more than fifty-feet off the ground, and lose all memory of everything and anything that had to deal with Draco. He could have at least remembered Draco's name. Now Draco had to deal with it like this.

Draco never felt like this before.

***

Draco was sitting downstairs in the Great Hall for breakfast, poking and prodding, and just about doing anything to his food but eating it. Harry still hadn't shown up and it was nearly twenty minutes to the end of the period. Maybe it would be better if Draco forgot about it all together himself.

He was thankful that it was Sunday and all his friends, or the people who just liked to bother him, were sleeping in. As a matter of fact, most of the Slytherin table was empty.

Then he walked in, alone.

He surprisingly, took the regular seat... next to Weasley and Granger. He even greeted them. This struck Draco as a little weird, but he immediately shook it off, suspecting that they must've went up to Harry in the hospital wing earlier. He wasn't about to get his hopes up over something as small as this.

And then Harry looked at him; his heart skipped a beat. Then he looked back down at his food. Just because he's looking at you doesn't mean he remembers a thing, Draco told himself. What you're doing is silly, so enough with it already.

He doesn't remember you.

There was something in Harry's eyes -- maybe he was just imagining it -- but he would have sworn there was something in Harry's eyes that said something different. It would be better if Draco could just forget it all. To avoid anymore eye contact, Draco left his plate, still full of food, and left the Great Hall.

He was halfway to the Slytherin common room when he heard a voice calling behind him. "Draco! Hey Draco!" Draco stopped in his tracks, but he didn't turn around. He heard the sound of running footsteps behind him. "Hey listen I--"

Draco swiftly spun around. "What, Potter?" he spat.

"I remember," Harry responded, out of breath.

Draco was taken aback by this. He didn't believe it. He couldn't... but... "What?"

"I remember." Harry boldly stepped forward and smiled, putting his arms around Draco.

"You... You do?"

"Yeah." Harry leaned in for a kiss.

And that was exactly when Draco woke up the Sunday morning after the accident. It was just a dream, he thought to himself. Just a lousy... "Stupid dream!" he shouted as he sat upright and threw a pillow across the room, knocking over a lamp.

He didn't bother picking it up, the lamp was right next to Goyle, and Goyle would pick it up when he woke up. He would think he might have knocked it over in his sleep. So Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked at the clock. It was ten minutes before breakfast.

He decided not to go to breakfast that morning.

***

He still didn't have a clue who he was.

It was nearly noon and he was already reintroduced to all these people he knew before. So far, nothing sparked his memory. It was a weekend, so luckily he didn't have to put up with any school work -- whatever it was they learned here.

He was sitting in an armchair in what they called the "Gryffindor common room". He still wasn't clear why everyone called it that, but it sure was comfortable. Maybe he should visit his room. Everyone around him seemed to be having a good time trying to spark his memory. What usually wound up happening is one would say something that happened once, and everyone else would chime in, discussing the things that Harry didn't remember. The next thing he knew it, they were in their own conversation.

Harry got up and looked at the redhead who said he was his best friend, Ron. "Hey Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Where did you say our rooms were?"

"I'll take you if you want." Ron started to get up.

"No, it's okay just point me."

Ron sat back down and pointed to his left. "They're up those stairs."

"Thanks," Harry replied and walked in the direction Ron pointed to. Ron's "directions" didn't really help all that much, though Harry wasn't going to say anything. He didn't want Ron coming up with him for some reason; he couldn't point it out himself, but he just had a feeling he didn't want Ron coming with him.

Finding his bed wasn't easy. He had to search room after room, for some sign of something he couldn't remember. Luckily, almost all of the beds had trunks at the foot of them that had initials. After about fifteen minutes of searching, he finally found what he presumed to be his bed.

Now what?

Harry looked through his stuff with no luck, there was nothing in there that sparked a memory. Nothing. He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. There had to be something familiar. Did he ever keep a journal of some kind? Wouldn't it be in his trunk? He already looked there.

His pillow. Maybe it would be under his pillow.

Harry shrugged, it was worth a shot. He turned to face his pillow and lifted it, finding a green book with gold lettering on it. He smiled, this was it, his diary. It had to be. What else would be under his pillow?

He picked the book up and looked at the cover. "Wishes, Wants and Worries: The Collection Work of Questionable Potions," he read out loud disappointedly. This wasn't his diary, it was something else. He flipped through the pages, hoping to come across something that would give him a clue of why it was under his bed.

While he was flipping through the pages, a piece of parchment fluttered out and onto his lap. Without looking at the pages it was wedged between, he closed the book, put it next to him, and picked up the paper.

He looked down at the name and pondered for a minute. Why is this in here? Is this his book? He didn't know, but maybe Draco himself would know...

"Hey, Harry!" said Ron's voice from the entryway, "We're heading down for lunch, you coming?"

"Yeah," said Harry as he tucked the book under his arm. "I'm coming."

***

Draco wasn't hungry, but he came to lunch anyway.

So his plans were ruined. There was no doubt in his mind that Potter forgot about the book too. Potter lost his memories. Draco didn't. And now, Potter was over there sitting at the Gryffindor table, probably having a great time with his friends while Draco sat here and sulked.

It just wasn't fair.

Draco wasn't going to give Potter a second glance. He just wasn't doing that to himself. He grabbed a slice of bread and took a bite.

"What's wrong, Draco?" asked Pansy, who just came in and sat herself right next to Draco.

"Nothing."

"So, I heard Potter lost his memory, eh?"

"It's none of your business," Draco snarled.

"Oh please, since when do you care what's my business or not?" She giggled. "It's not like you've got anything going on with the boy."

"Of course not." Draco glared and put his bread down on the table. "So sod off." He rose from the table and left the Great Hall.

"What's his problem?" she asked Goyle as Draco left. Goyle replied with a shrug.

Draco stormed down the hallway, trying his best to not be thinking about Potter.

"Draco! Hey Draco!" came a familiar voice from behind him. Draco halted. It was Potter. "I think I--"

Draco, just like he dreamed that night, spun around. "What, Potter?" It was then when Draco realised what Harry was holding. A book, the book. Draco's heart skipped a beat.

"I thought you might know something about this." He held the book out at Draco. Draco just stared. "Well, do you? Is it yours?"

This was just too easy. "Why... Yes it is." Harry handed the book over to Draco. Draco tried his hardest to keep his cool. He also had a new idea. "Tonight... At six o'clock... You remember where the Quidditch Pitch is?"

"I think so," Harry replied reluctantly.

"Good. Be there at six."

"Okay?"

Without another word, and a swish of his robes, Draco spun around and the next moment he was out of sight.