Memory Madness

Memory Madness

Chapter 8:

Draco didn't feel like having lunch just yet. He thought of going out for a walk, but decided against that - since it was far too cold!

He walked around the castle exploring instead. He went as far down in the dungeons as he could, and found the tallest tower. But he was rather bored. He talked to a few portraits, but loads of them were sleeping. One portrait featured a man in a green cloak with a salt and pepper beard. Draco asked him why so many of the paintings were asleep, and all he replied was he was under the impression they were hibernating. Rolling his eyes, Draco had wandered on.

He let his mind stray to the events of the previous night. It would certainly liven things up if Potter came back, but that wasn't likely to happen for some time yet - Dumbledore had mentioned trying to get his memory back before letting on that he was there.

In some ways, Draco thought it would be a shame if Potter got his memory back. He had been an insufferable idiot when he was being all stupid and Gryffindor-like with his waste-of-space friends. But - no, that was his father speaking again.

Draco shook his head in irritation. He just wanted to forget everything his father ever told him, so then he would be able to create his own opinions about things. That was what he planned to do; it would obviously take a little time though.

Still, it wasn't as though he would have to hear his father's opinions any time soon - ever in fact; that was just how it was when you got disowned. He doubted his father would write.

Not that he cared of course! No sir-ee. He didn't need them, or their rotten money. He'd miss his mother...but no, he didn't need her either. If she hadn't even tried to keep him in the family after he pretty much saved her life, then Draco didn't give a flying frog about her.

The fact of the matter was Draco didn't want to be like his father. He didn't want to end up hurting his own wife one day just for the sake of a broken tea cup! Yes, that was all the argument was about. Draco thought it was absolutely crazy. Unbelievable. Inhuman, even.

It was from that time on that Draco realised his whole life had been a bit of a lie. He stepped in his father's foot prints, but they led to the top of a volcano as far as he was concerned. And he wouldn't go all the way, only to fall in.

So, he had refused. He wouldn't go bowing and kneeling before a monster. A powerful monster, and one that could easily take over the world if the 'good' side wasn't strong enough. And Draco knew that was a possibility - he knew he might later regret his decision, probably when he was being killed by a Death Eater or something, but it was the principle of the thing.

How could anyone consider themselves powerful, influential people when they cowered at the sight of a black, robed, evil - thing, more than a person? He didn't know how his father could think so.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. Things were a bit of a mess really. He didn't have the money to buy the supplies he wanted anymore. He didn't have anyone to hang around with - even Crabbe and Goyle were acting as though he didn't exist, and *that* was an all-time low as far as Draco was concerned.

He was just wondering whether he ought to go to the Quidditch pitch for a broomstick ride, when he heard something from behind a door around the next corridor.

Draco realised it was the infirmary. The door was open a little and he could see Madame Pomfrey having a tizzy, hurrying about, looking for something, then dropping bottles and hurrying back towards the beds.

Frowning slightly, he slipped inside to see what was going on. The first thing he noticed was Potter. He was lying in one of the beds looking - well, dreadful. He was pale, and from the way his forehead shone with sweat, Draco assumed he had a fever of some kind.

Madame Pomfrey was trying to find potions and charms, and keep an eye on Potter at the same time. When she noticed Malfoy she didn't tell him to go as he would have expected.

"Make yourself useful, Malfoy, and monitor Harry there while I try to find something to help..." she trailed off, looking worried and flustered, then hurried away leaving Draco staring after her.

Hesitantly, Draco made his way to the bed, and sat beside it. The dark-haired boy had his eyes closed, but was breathing strangely unevenly, and was now almost the same colour as the white sheets.

With no idea what to do, Draco just sat there like a lemon. He looked up when the infirmary door opened again, and noticed Black come in. He frowned when he spotted Draco.

"Malfoy?" he asked, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm having a fancy-dress party!" Draco replied, sarcastically. "What does it look like I'm doing? I am sitting down, baby-sitting Potter here, who is apparently ill - or something."

Black turned his attention to the boy who lived. Draco could detect some of the colour leave the wizard's face, as though trying to match the pallor of the boy's face.

Draco almost felt a little sorry for him. His worry-meter had obviously gone up a few notches.

Madame Pomfrey came back in to view, she was wringing her hands. She didn't have the potion or potions she had meant to collect. Black started asking questions about Potter at the speed of light. Most of them sounding something like, 'What's wrong with him?' or, 'What happened? What happened?'

"It's as I feared," Madame Pomfrey said worriedly. "He was perfectly right when he told me I was lying. I had been thinking about the potions I had that could help him recover from his collapse, but all of the ones I could think of would be risky for him to take under the circumstances. The way his magic pushed him to get better and everything... I feared there would be complications, and - as you see - there have been. He has a fever, and was delirious the last time he was awake." Madame Pomfrey paused, then went on quietly. "He also seems to have had - dreams. He was mumbling in his sleep. I only caught a few words of what he said. I heard him say 'I won't let you.' I know I heard that, and a few others I don't remember."

Draco was staring at his hands in his lap. He didn't understand a few things. Like whatever had happened with Pomfrey lying, but the gist of everything was clear. Potter wasn't too good at the moment. He had pushed his recovery - something that sounded very Gryffindorish - using magic unconsciously and now was having adverse effects to the potions that were meant to help him.

Draco hated the look on Black's face. He looked like someone had slapped him with a stupid stick - twice. He was also starting to look a little panicky as he glanced back at his godson.

"There isn't anything I can do to help at the moment," Madame Pomfrey sighed. "It looks like we'll have to wait it out and hope he isn't too bad by the end of it."

Very reassuring, Draco thought, annoyed at the nurse. Then he realised how concerned he sounded and shook his head annoyed at himself this time.

"How long - before he should be alright?" Black stammered. Madame Pomfrey looked over at the bed, and shrugged helplessly.

"Hard to tell. Could be a few weeks, could be no more than a few days. It depends."

Draco started to fidget a little. He was also getting a bit hungry. Lunchtime would be almost over by now.

He cleared his throat and stood up, straightening his robes. "Well, I think I'll go, if you don't need me to watch him anymore," he said, gesturing at the motionless boy in the bed.

Black didn't seem to even notice he had spoken, and Madame Pomfrey just nodded a little in reply.

It seemed like anyone else was to be ignored while wonderful Potter was around. Even when he was unconscious! Draco thought, rolling his eyes.

He strode in to the Great Hall some moments later, only to be annoyed when it was deserted. And there wasn't a crumb on any table. With a frown, he headed for the Slytherin common room, gloomily.

*~*~*

Draco sat in one corner of the Slytherin common room, ignoring the glares he received from the few members of the house that were staying in the castle over the holidays. It was after dinner, so the few Slytherins were all hanging around in the common room until they felt tired enough to go to bed.

Draco was having a read through Quidditch Through The Ages. It had been quite a long time since he had read it. He usually referred to it occasionally in the Quidditch season, but there had been no need to this year. The Gryffindors were standing out of the season, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were never that hard to beat. The lions said it was because none of them had the heart to play without Potter, but Draco had to wonder whether they weren't just scared that without him, they'd lose to Slytherin.

Still, if Potter was back, Draco would need to be as prepared as he could be. He supposed the Gryffindors would be more than happy to pick up their brooms again when they had their Seeker back.

Still, Draco wasn't sure that Potter would be able to play Quidditch now that he had lost his memory. Even if they did teach him to play again - would he be as good?

Draco brought his musings to a halt. He was bored with the book now, and had to admit that he was a little curious as to whether Potter was any better.

He went to his dorm, and placed his book back inside his trunk, that stood at the end of his four-poster. Most of the Slytherin boy's fifth year dorm was exceptionally untidy, but not the section that belonged to Draco Malfoy.

Draco had been brought up keeping things tidy, so he always had. Whenever he took something out of his trunk, it was always placed back, neat and tidy.

He sat on his emerald green bed for a moment, contemplating what he ought to do.

He fought with himself over whether or not to go to the infirmary. He was curious to know how Potter was doing - he wondered if he'd woken up miraculously remembering everything, by some odd chance. As Draco had decided previously, it would probably be a shame if he had.

The old Harry Potter had fixed ideas when it came to someone from Slytherin for example. Slytherin was the 'bad' house. And no one that came from it could be good at all.

It was, Draco realised, very similar to how his father had filled his own head with stereotypes and ideas of what was right or wrong.

He eventually shook his head as if to clear it, and left the dungeons, heading for the infirmary.

He was passing the gargoyle to Dumbledore's office when Draco impulsively decided to try and eavesdrop again. He was making it quite a habit, but the fact remained that, however undignified it may be, it was a very good way to find things out.

"I really don't see why you had to do this!" a voice was shouting. Draco thought it sounded like Black. "I mean, sending Snape?!" Black ranted.

"Please, Sirius, calm yourself," came Dumbledore's voice. "I believe Severus is quite capable of going to Privet Drive and inform the Dursleys their nephew is not dead. Why do you not believe him so?"

"He's not very - social, Dumbledore!" Black said in reply. "And those Muggles - They treated Harry awfully! That much I know. He hates it there. He doesn't have to go back there now because I can take care of him - so I just don't see why they have to be informed at all. They don't like Wizards anyway. They would be happy to have no contact with our world for the rest of their days!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Sirius, it is just not an option not to tell them. They are his only relatives. They have a right to know. I sent Severus because he was not busy today and also because he has no preconceived ideas regarding the Dursley family. And he will not attempt to strangle them as soon as he sees them either, as you, no doubt, would," the wizard explained calmly.

"The only reason Snape wouldn't want to strangle them is because he hates Harry, he's more likely to congratulate them for keeping him so down-trodden all his childhood!" The furious reply came.

Draco raised an eyebrow, listening intently.

"Really, Sirius! You do not know Severus as well as you think you do. He would not do such a thing. He was really rather shocked when he realised Harry was mistreated. He has gone with the knowledge that they may well not wish to set eyes on Harry again. He will know how to handle the situation. Please let this drop, Sirius." Dumbledore sighed. There was a short pause then Draco heard Sirius mumble something that was probably an apology of some sort going by what Dumbledore said next.

"It's quite alright, Sirius. You are only concerned, and probably rather sleep-deprived by now. Have you not slept at all yet?"

"Um - no."

Dumbledore clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Then his manner changed and he asked jovially, "Would you like a sherbet lemon?" There was a brief pause.

"A - a what?" Black asked, sounding bewildered.

"A sherbet lemon!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "It's a particularly pleasant Muggle sweet. Would you like one?"

Draco could just imagine the stunned, blank look on Black's face at that moment. A few moments followed, and then Black's reply reached his ears.

"Oh, alright then."

"Marvellous! You know, when I have asked Minerva in the past, she's always said 'no'," the headmaster said, with a little sigh.

Draco supposed he had heard all that was interesting, and shaking his head at the funny old headmaster of Hogwarts, he left heading for the infirmary as planned, musing over what he had heard. He never knew - Potter was treated badly at home with those Muggles?

*~*~*

Severus Snape did not appreciate being sent out on his little errand to Surrey and back.

He was still highly doubtful that Potter had even really come back from - well, goodness knows where he was. But Dumbledore obviously believed Potter had been in a coma in a hospital for six months - believed it enough to send him off to the Muggles.

Still, surely any of the people who held the boy in such high esteem would be desperate enough to believe anything if it meant Harry Potter was not dead and rotting somewhere.

Whoever Black had picked up could be some oblivious Muggle. It wouldn't surprise Severus at all.

He left the castle not long after lunch time, and when he was far enough away from the wards around the castle, he Apparated to a street a few roads away from Number Four Privet Drive.

He then had to walk to the house, but ended up getting lost before he actually found it. He was muttering about bad sign-posting when he eventually walked up to number four's front door and knocked.

A horse-faced woman opened the door, looking as though she was sucking a lemon.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" she asked, looking disapprovingly at his robes.

Severus was not in the mood for wasting time on pleasantries; he swept past her in to the hall as he introduced himself.

"I am Professor Severus Snape, you are Mrs. Petunia Dursley, I presume?" he said, the tone of his voice as cold as usual.

The woman was now looking decidedly edgy. She pursed her lips even more, and nodded curtly, replying with a short, 'yes'.

"I am here about your nephew, Harry Potter," Severus went on shortly.

"We haven't had anything to do with him since he disappeared. Whatever he did, it isn't our concern!" Petunia snapped.

Severus was about to reply, and tell her he wasn't dead, when something struck him as odd. She had said 'since he disappeared', but Dumbledore himself had come to tell them he was dead (it had become the only possible thing to believe) in the summer. Her words didn't sound quite right, to Severus' mind.

He watched her shrewdly. "Well, he's -" he began, carefully.

"Whatever he's done, it's nothing to do with us!" Petunia cried.

And that answered Severus Snape's question. His eyes sparked, shooting an evil glare the woman's way, and his lips curled nastily.

"You knew," he hissed, barely audibly. "You knew all along, didn't you!?" he shouted, making her jump and back away, her back to the cupboard under the stairs. "You saw something about a mystery child in the paper, or maybe in one of those moving-picture boxes, and you knew it was him - and you left him there! You knew he was there - in a coma, I might add - and you left him unclaimed."

Severus never thought anyone could be so cruel. What kind of life had Potter had here?

It was now almost definitely true, Severus admitted to himself. Harry Potter was alive; and most likely at Hogwarts as he had been led to believe. His relatives had known and had just left him. He had survived, and had been lucky enough to run in to Black.

Severus turned his attention back to the present when a door opened down the hall and the most unbelievably huge boy came out.

"No, Duddikins! Go back in the kitchen, there's a good boy," Petunia Dursley shrieked to the huge being that had to be her son. "Who's that?" the boy asked, sending at least three chins wobbling.

"It's no one dear, now go on and get back to the kitchen, there's a good boy," Petunia said frantically, still standing stiffly in front of the cupboard under the stairs.

The huge excuse for a boy waddled away, and Severus was sure he heard some of the decorative china ornaments clink as they jumped on their shelves.

"L-listen here," Petunia started, trying to sound intimidating, and failing miserably, "we want nothing to do with the little troublemaker. If he ever sets foot in this house again he'll only be kicked back out of it! Now leave, or I'll call the police - and my husband!"

Severus raised an eyebrow. He had no wish to stay - he'd heard enough, but her mention of the police prompted him to reply icily.

"Go ahead! I feel sure they would be interested to hear how you abandoned your own flesh and blood and left him to die in hospital among strangers..."

Snape smiled grimly at the fearful expression that crept over her face.

"I don't think you need worry about Potter coming back here, Mrs Dursley. I doubt he would want to, even if he did remember you - in fact I am sure he would only be more averse to the idea if he did. I'll go now and I hope I never have to meet you or any of your vile family again. Good day." And he swept out of the house, scowling at the mere memory of the awful people. He had only met her; he had no doubt that her husband would have been even worse. He might have even lost it and cast a spell on him if he was as bad as Severus suspected he might be.

To leave their very own nephew when he was in hospital - in a coma. They as good as left him to die there! He fumed slightly as he navigated his way to the spot where he had Apparated previously.

*~*~*