And So Life Goes On...

Chapter Three
Second Meetings

He is in a hurry. He is late. Like always, he thinks. He runs, his legs move faster, but not fast enough. He can see the doors to the train closing, and he is going to miss the one he needs to be on. All his attention is focused on the closing doors and he does not watch where he is going. He slams into someone and automatically apologizes, "I'm sorry. So sorry."

He drops to his knees instinctively and picks up the strange stick he saw drop to the ground. Before he can examine it too closely, the stranger snatches it from his hands. "So we meet again, Harry Potter." He hears a voice that is vaguely familiar. When Harry looks up, he sees the beautiful blond from a few days before. "Do you always make it a habit to run into people?" the blond--Draco Malfoy, he remembers, inquires snidely.

Biting his bottom lip, Harry shakes his head. "No, I was just in a rush to get to where I work."

"How interesting, you work, like every other normal human being. Very enlightening. I would have presumed otherwise," Malfoy taunts. "After all, why would you need to work?"

What the blond man said was self-contradicting. Harry could have sworn he did not know the man, other than the brief introduction on Friday. But when he thinks about some of what Malfoy said before, it is almost as if Malfoy knows of him. Add to what he just said, the fact Malfoy says he does not know him makes no sense. Harry narrows his eyes and studies the man carefully, trying to see if he can pick up anything from his demeanor. Dr. Snape had told him, one of his few compliments, that he seemed to have good instincts.

"Are you sure you don't know me?" he asks. Hermione would have been proud, Harry muses; the direct questioning is a specialty of hers. "Because," he says, peering up at the taller blond, "from what you say, it seems you do know me."

"I don't know you," Malfoy sneers, "if you don't remember who I am."

"You said your name was Draco Malfoy," he says carefully. "I know who you are."

The blond smiles and the twisted, pinched look that accompanied his sneer disappears. "You know my name, but when I asked before if you did--you said no. Thus, if you don't know me, then how would I know you?"

This is a word game. Some twisted mind game of Malfoy's, but Harry does not understand the reason why. Unless Malfoy hates him, there has to be a reason for this. "Do you hate me?"

"When did you become so smart, Potter?" The sneer is back on the blond's face. "When I used to know you, and yes, you're right--I do know you--you were never very bright. You were the typical hero boy: noble, brave, and prone to acts of absolute stupidity."

Harry opens his mouth and then shuts it. He really does not know how to respond to a person who hates him. Is it possible that his friends lied about who he was? That he really wasn't the nice, generous person they said he was? After all, they are his friends and probably have a biased view of him. But this Draco Malfoy would not be biased because he is no friend of Harry's.

"Was that how I was?"

It is Malfoy's turn for his jaw to drop. Harry wants to laugh at how ridiculous the blond looks, like a fish searching for its next dinner. But his intuition tells him that Malfoy would be grievously offended if he did. And so, because he is polite and kind, he does not.

"You are asking me this?" Malfoy inquires in a disbelieving tone. "You seriously don't remember, do you?"

He shakes his head. "I think it would be obvious that I don't."

"I assumed you just wanted to ignore that I existed," Malfoy mutters. "I thought it was a game; ignore Draco Malfoy, because you can. Actually most people do, so why wouldn't you?"

"Am I the sort of person that follows what everyone else does?"

"No, you're the one everyone follows," he spits.

"I was?"

The blond's eyes narrow and his grey eyes bear down on Harry. It is as if Malfoy is deliberating whether or not to believe what he has already confirmed. Finally, Harry hears him ask, "Do you really have amnesia?"

Harry nods. "I do."

"Curious, but I bet it happened when you defeated him," Malfoy muses. "So what do you remember, Potter? Anything at all?"

"What do you mean you think it happened when I defeated someone?" Harry inquires, his green eyes showing his confusion. "That doesn't make any sense. For your information, it happened in a car accident."

Something, Harry does not know what, causes Malfoy to step toward him and grab his chin, tilting it upwards. Then the blond reaches with his other hand and pushes Harry's bangs aside. For some reason, he stays perfectly still while Malfoy touches his scar. Harry has always been uncomfortable with its odd shape, like a lightning bolt, and he likes it best to remain hidden beneath his bangs. It draws less attention that way.

"Did they ever tell you where you got this?" Malfoy asks, his finger still tracing the scar.

"In the accident, of course."

Malfoy steps away and starts laughing.

-

Learning to walk again was a real pain. It was not like he did not know how. He knew the mechanics, but he could not apply it. His muscles, his legs, just would not do as he wanted. To say it was frustrating was an understatement. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was scream and wail like an undisciplined child, just like Dr. Snape said he was.

"Are you just going to quit? You've only taken a few steps," his doctor growled, glaring or was it staring?--at him. "The Harry I knew wouldn't quit like that. He'd keep going because he doesn't know the meaning of the word. Do you understand me?"

Harry--he finally was starting to understand who he was and felt like himself--clenched his hands tightly together and gritted his teeth together. He understood very well, but that did not make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder knowing how persistent he was before. He felt inadequate now. And what was worse was that Dr. Snape said all these things in front of his assistant. It would not have been quite so bad if only his doctor was there to witness his weakness. After all, Dr. Snape was a specialist in his field. His doctor had probably dealt with patients that were more pathetic than he was.

Staring down at his skinny legs, his knobby knees, and his lack of muscles--he knew he looked like a weakling. When he raised his eyes, he met Dr. Snape's dark ones. Startled, Harry resisted the urge to grab onto the bar that was there to help him balance. He would not be weak in front of this demanding and exacting doctor. Especially not when the old man, who had eyes that seemed to stare into his soul, watched him. Albus made him feel naked and vulnerable, while his doctor made him feel incompetent and weak.

"You were doing well!" Dr. Snape snapped. "Don't stop! Keep going, you have to keep going. Because the only way you have left to go is forward, there is no going back."

Harry took another step, a shaky step that almost made him crumble to his knees, but somehow he kept standing. Catching his breath, he hobbled a couple more steps until he was standing in front of his doctor and the assistant. He even managed to smile when he said, "Was that better?"

Dr. Snape smiled back, a glimmer of one that Harry barely saw. It disappeared when Albus glanced toward his doctor. To Harry it seemed like Dr. Snape did not want his assistant to see him looking less than his usually severe self. Harry wondered why his doctor did not want to seem nice. But Harry saw the smile. It was there, and just being there was enough of an encouragement. His doctor was not the snappy, unfair man he portrayed himself to be.

"No, that was worse," his doctor retorted. "Of course that was better, what are you looking for? Ebullient praise?"

Just when Harry thought he might be getting on Dr. Snape's better side, he had to go and say something like that. Harry bit his tongue and tried to chant a calming mantra that would allow him not to shout at his doctor. He told himself that Dr. Snape was doing his best for him, no matter how infuriating some of his snarky comments were. He needed the push, and that was where his doctor came in. If not for him, then who? His friends? Hardly, they cared too much about him to be harsh. It had to be Dr. Snape.

But that still did not make it any easier not to snap back with a derisive retort. Somehow, Harry found it in himself to leash his tongue. All he said was, "I don't know."

Dr. Snape snorted and grumbled, "Young people never know anything. Figures that you would follow suit."

"Do you hate me?" Harry blurted out. Once he said it, he clapped his hand over his mouth. He had not meant to say that. Dr. Pomfrey had warned him privately after meeting his new specialist that Dr. Snape was rather touchy about his demeanor. Just because he snapped did not mean he hated. But Harry felt Dr. Snape was meaner than he had to be, even considering he needed to goad him into action.

His doctor rolled his eyes and his lips curled up into a sneer. "You think far too much of yourself, Potter. Why ever would I want to conjure enough energy to feel that way about you? It would take more effort than you are worth."

Harry felt like he had been slapped by Snape's words. If anything, it felt worse than a physical hand would have. He bit down hard on his tongue, almost drawing blood when he saw Albus' sympathetic eyes meeting his. It made his cheeks flare red in embarrassment. Harry wondered how often the assistant gave that sort of look to patients. He probably felt like all the other patients his doctor saw, but for some unknown reason, he wanted to be different.

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh on Mr. Potter?" Albus inquired, his eyes starting to twinkle. "After all, the young man is trying his best, aren't you?" Harry nodded when the assistant turned back to him. "Please forgive, Dr. Snape, he can be rather annoyed when results don't meet up to his expectations."

"It's all right," Harry whispered, lowering his eyes to stare at his hands. "I've realized."

The tension, already unbearable, doubled. Harry felt it crushing him, and if he could leave he would. However, he had only been through the physical activity of his therapy. As much as he wanted to skip the cool down he knew his doctor would not allow it. Instead, Harry took a deep breath and said, "I think it's time that I cooled down."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Dr. Snape mumbled, "indeed."

-

Draco Malfoy has a beautiful laugh. The way his eyes sparkle silver and how his lips burnish berries. But as wonderful as the sight of it is, Harry does not like the reason for it. What is so funny about saying that his scar came from an accident? Did Malfoy not know how much it pained Harry to know that he had lost his memories in an act of sheer recklessness?

"Why are you laughing?" Harry cries, not understanding. One minute it looked like Malfoy was going to be friendly, and then this. "Stop it! Stop laughing!"

The blond continues to laugh, a deep laugh that comes from his chest and rumbles out through his throat. The sound is musical, and yet awful to Harry's ears. But eventually it starts to soften, fading away into the air. "I do apologize," Malfoy says, his eyes no longer flashing in mirth but in sincerity. "I did not mean to offend."

Someone, Harry thinks, has taught the man pretty manners. But when he looks at Malfoy, it is not hard to see that the blond comes from money. Harry estimates that the designer outfit Malfoy is wearing is expensive enough to fund the shelter for at least a week, if not longer. Some people, he muses with disgust, where money ought to be spent. Wasting it on clothes definitely is not.

"Unfortunately you did," Harry snaps, not feeling as charitable as he probably should since he is getting an apology. One that he doubts is given often. Malfoy does not seem the type to say: I'm sorry. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've somewhere that I need to be. Good day."

Harry feels Malfoy's hand grab his wrist, and he is about to shake it off when he hears, "You've learned how to make an exit, Potter, I'm impressed. But I never thought you were the type to run away. Don't you want to know what I know?" Unintentionally, Harry turns and is trapped by the earnest expression he sees in Malfoy's face. "I can see that you do," the blond murmurs. "All you have to do is ask, Harry."

He wants to ask, but instead says, "What can you possibly tell me that my friends haven't?"

Again, Malfoy smiles and it is a thing of loveliness. "The truth, only the truth."

God, Harry knows he ought to look away, ought to jerk his hand free, but risk-taking--he has heard--has always been a weakness of his. "When?" he inquires. He looks directly into Malfoy's eyes. "When should we meet?"

Malfoy's smile widens and he murmurs, "I thought you might say that." He withdraws a card that has his name and number on it. "I'm available to talk whenever you would like. Just ring me up." He hands Harry the card and releases his wrist. "I'll see you soon, very soon."

All Harry can do is watch Malfoy walk off and disappear into the crowd.

-

Of all the people he used to know, old friends and such, he felt most comfortable around Hermione and Ron. He supposed it was only right, considering they were his best friends. Dr. Pomfrey did not need to tell him that, it was clear in the photos she had shown of the three of them. The easy-going dynamics of their relationship was evident. Harry only wondered when Hermione was going to realize she was in love with Ron. It was so blatant in the later pictures, when they were in their 20s, that Ron was waiting for her to realize his love for her.

From everything Harry had been told about Hermione, he would have thought that the smartest person at their boarding school would know the obvious. But it only proved that being intelligent did not mean she could see love staring her in the face. She could grasped difficult concepts, but not the signs Ron was sending her. It was apparent to Harry, though he did not know how he felt about his best friends getting together. He liked the easy friendship the three of them shared. If Hermione and Ron got together as boyfriend and girlfriend, how would that change things? Especially when he was just getting used to being their friend again?

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, plopping down at his bedside. "How are you feeling today?" she asked with a smile.

"Good," he answered, returning her smile. "Where's Ron?"

Just like he guessed, she rolled her eyes. "Is that how you greet me? Where is Ron?"

He chuckled, a bit hoarsely because he still wasn't used to laughing yet. "Just curious, he's usually with you."

She huffed, but he noticed her eyes were still shining in good humor. "Why am I not surprised that you're asking for Ron? He's usually asking for you. If I didn't know that Ron was straight without a question, I'd wonder if your friendship is more than what it seems."

"What?"

Hermione blinked and she looked a bit taken back, not a usual expression for her. "I guess no one has told you." She seemed a bit embarrassed, as if she did not really want to tell him. "It must have slipped our minds, but Harry... you--you're 100% homosexual. You.... uh don't like girls much. I think it was after you dated Cho that you found out your preference. You prefer blokes to birds."

Wow, that was a revelation. He probably would have liked to learn this information earlier, instead of nearly six months later. But it was all right. It was not like he had made a blunder and tried to make a pass out a girl. It would actually explain why he found staring at blokes interesting, though he did not have a real desire to shag any of them. Of all the people he saw, he did not really feel any yearning for something physical.

"Who was my first?" he inquired. She ought to know. She seemed to know everything about him, and he thought eventually he would have told her who his first was. But she shook her head rather decisively. "You don't know."

"No," she confirmed. "I don't know. You never told me, though," she remarked, a frown crossing her face, "it's possible you might have told Ron."

"If I told Ron," Harry murmured with amusement, "I'm sure it eventually would have gotten to you somehow. No matter if I told him to keep a secret. You know he tells you everything." He sighed and lowered his eyes to stare at his hands. "It's possible I'm still a virgin."

She laughed at that remark and his head shot up. "You're not a virgin, Harry," she murmured, her eyes dancing around. "I know for a fact you aren't. You definitely had a lover after we graduated. Ron and I just don't know who it was." Her eyes caught his. "But whoever it was, he must have been a good lover... because you always looked thoroughly shagged."

Ugh, Harry thought, hiding his reddening face underneath one of the pillows. Why was he the one blushing when it ought to be Hermione? After all, he was the one who had asked the bloody question! It was just like her to manage to turn the tables on him. And when did she stop being a prude? He dropped the pillow at that thought. Had he just remembered something?

"You have such a cute blush," she teased.

His face brightened even more, but he resisted the urge to grab the pillow again as a shield. What defense did he need against his best friend? "

"Oh Harry," Hermione remarked, and he saw a light go off in her head meaning she had remembered something, "did you remember to take your medicine today?

"No, not yet," he answered. "Thanks for reminding me."

-

He takes the business card out and stares at the name: Draco Malfoy. Another odd name to add to the résumé of people he knows who have weird names. He flips his mobile open and dials the number. His finger pauses before it pushes the send button and he closes the phone. What is he even thinking about, calling that arsehole? It would be the ultimate betrayal to all his friends because it would mean that he acknowledges that they have not been telling him everything. That he would go to someone to learn the truth, whatever that might be.

Jumping a bit when he hears his mobile ring and vibrate, he looks down and sees that it is Hermione calling. He wonders what she wants now, if she is calling to remind him to take his medicine or something. He flips it open and answers, "Hello 'Mione."

"Harry!" she exclaims, and he hears the excitement in her voice. "Oh my god, I don't even know how to begin. But Ron thought I should tell you." She sounds breathless like she has been out running. "Actually, he wanted to tell you, but I begged him to let me. We haven't told anyone yet, and well it was really a huge surprise to me! I--I still haven't quite let it all hit me yet. Merlin... ooh!"

"You're babbling," Harry chides, but there is humor in his tone. He rarely hears Hermione sound like this, like she has been overwhelmed. "You said Merlin like it's an exclamation." He grins and remarks, "Breathe and tell me what's up?"

"Harry, me and Ron are engaged!"

He tightens his grip on the phone so that he doesn't drop it. He is surprised, but more shocked that he is stunned than anything else. He really should not be. After all, they have been dating for years. If anything, their engagement should have happened months ago. Ron was a bit slow in acting sometimes, a contradiction to the stories Harry had heard about him. He has been told that Ron and he were known for their impetuous actions in boarding school. Hermione, it seems, was the voice of reason.

"Harry?" she calls. "Did you hear me? Am I breaking up?"

"I heard you," he says, trying to sound cheerful. He ought to feel happy, he really should. But all he can think about is how things will change, though he knows life is about change. "Wow!" he exclaims. "I thought Ron would have asked sooner." And that was true. "It took him a while."

Harry can imagine Hermione shrugging with acceptance. "Ron is Ron," she remarks, and there is love in her voice. "Sometimes he acts impulsively and other times he's overly cautious when he shouldn't be." She chuckles. "He had barely finished asking the question when I leapt at him and said yes."

"Was he properly shocked at your eagerness?" he jokes.

"He was," she muses. "Very, I think. I don't know why he would be. I've been dating him all these years and he thinks I wouldn't be excited to marry him?"

"I really am happy for you," Harry says sincerely. "Truly."

"Thanks, Harry," she murmurs. "Well, I've got to go. I haven't even told my parents yet!"

It touches him that they would tell him first. And it makes his heart clench when he sees the card he is holding in his hands. How could his friends lie to him? They care about him, love him even, and too much to do something like that. But something nags at the back of his mind, something that says: What if Malfoy is telling the truth? What then?

"Bye Harry!" Hermione cries. "Ron will probably call tonight or sometime."

"Good-bye Hermione."

He ends the call and crumbles the business card. He tells himself he should throw it away before he becomes tempted. He even gets up and heads to the rubbish bin. Just as he is about to throw it away, he stops mid-action. Unfolding the card instead, he walks back to where his mobile was and dials Malfoy's number. He pushes the send button and listens to his phone ring.

On the third ring, he is about to hang up when Malfoy's voice says, "Hello?"

Steeling himself, Harry answers, "Hi Malfoy."

"Potter," Malfoy replies, "so when do you want to meet? Now?"

Harry did not expect Malfoy to just jump into it. He still needs more time. He doesn't even know why he has called. He shouldn't be. God knows it. He is betraying his friends, betraying everything that he knows. Doing this means he does not trust them, and he wants to trust them. His hand clenches into a fist and his nails dig into his palm. "I... I shouldn't be calling."

"Don't hang up," Malfoy commands. Harry obeys and wonders why he is listening to someone like Malfoy. "Don't you want to know what your friends aren't telling you?"

"Why should I listen to you?" Harry retorts, feeling his control snapping. "My friends have told me everything I need to know! You are just trying to twist my reality apart!"

"No," Malfoy denies, "I'm trying to untwist it."

"But why?"

"Because," he says, "by untwisting it, I'm sending your life into complete chaos, of course. Remember you know I don't like you. I think hate is a bit too strong, but what do I have to gain by telling the truth as I've known it? It helps you, though it hurts you too to know what a fraud your friends have committed. But other than that, I get nothing."

"You're a sadistic bastard."

Malfoy laughs and Harry hates that it sounds so beautiful. "Everyone, it seems, says so. Does that mean it is so?"

Harry muses that he also hates rhetorical questions which have no need for answers. It is more of Hermione's forte than his. "Damn you, Malfoy."

"Do you want to meet or not?" Malfoy asks. "I don't have all the time in the world to deal with your indecision and whatnot. If you want to meet, set a time and we'll meet. If not I'm going to get back to work."

Harry really does not like being put on the spot. He knows he ought to say no, but fucking hell he wants to say yes. "I..."

"Do you or don't you?"

"I do." He nearly drops the mobile when one of his hands comes up and claps his mouth shut. He cannot believe he just said that. How could he say that?

"Good," Malfoy murmurs. "I was hoping you'd say that. So when would you like to meet?"

He should say never, instead he says, "Tomorrow is Thursday, and it's my short day at the shelter. I could meet you after I get off."

"Shelter?"

"Yeah," Harry says absently, "I work at the Eastside Children's Shelter."

Malfoy snorts. "Figures, you being you, doing something so noble and self-sacrificing. I'm sure your friends are thrilled to have the old Golden Boy back. Absolutely thrilled."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Name the time and place," Malfoy demands, "and you'll find out then."

"I already said Thursday."

"But not a place or even a time..."

"After 4, I'll meet you at the Café Noir," Harry responds. "Is that all right?"

Malfoy chuckles. "You have undoubtedly improved with age, Potter. Good taste, good taste," he commends. "I'll meet you there at 4 tomorrow."

"See you then," Harry says and hangs up.

TBC