The Strongest of Us All

If you want me to wait,

I would wait for you

If you tell me a story,

I would stay right thru

If you don't wanna say anything at all

I'm happy wondering

Since I was a young man I never was a fun man

I never had and plan and no security

Then ever since I met you, I never could forget you

I only wanna get you right here next to me

Cause everybody needs someone they can trust and...

You're somebody that I found just in time

If you want me to wait,

I would wait for you

If you tell me a story,

I would stay right thru

If you don't wanna say anything at all

I'm happy wondering

Now my life is changing, it always rearranging

It always gets stranger than I thought it ever could

Ever since I found you, I wanna be around you

I wanna get down to the point that I need you

Cause everybody needs someone they can trust and...

You're somebody that I found just in time

If you want me to wait,

I would wait for you

If you tell me a story,

I would stay right thru

If you don't wanna say anything at all

I'm happy wondering

Don't tell me the bad news

Don't tell me anything at all

Just tell me that you need me

And stay right here with me

If you want me to wait,

I would wait for you

If you tell me a story,

I would stay right thru

If you don't wanna say anything at all

I'm happy wondering

~Wondering, Good Charlotte

Chapter 4

December 27, 2001

I woke up in the Hospital Wing. My vision blurred and doubled and tripled and might have even quadrupled there for a second or two. My head felt like someone had filled it with bubotuber puss. Undiluted.

Things come back to me slowly. Christmas Day. Ron bursting in on me and Harry. Harry's family murdered. Dumbledore's office. Busting up my hands. Crawling back to the dungeons to leave Harry. Keep Harry safe.

I open my eyes to find Hermione and Ron leaning over me. This was not exactly what I was hoping for when I woke up this morning. In fact I was almost hoping that I wouldn't wake up at all.

"He's awake," I heard Ron whisper to 'Mione.

"Of course I'm awake," I mutter irritably. "And I'd like to know what the hell you two are doing here?" Why aren't they with Harry?

They both exchange looks of shock. "Don't..." ventured Hermione timidly. "Don't you remember?"

Flash. A total, perfect flash of inspiration. I swear I will not have a moment this brilliant for another seventeen years.

The end of last night comes flooding back to me. I dropped unconscious on the floor. Bumped my head. And they think I don't remember. What if I pretend not to remember more than that? Pretend not to remember helping them and becoming friends and going out with Harry?

Everything will settle down. I'll go back to the dark side, hate Harry, and everything will be all peachy keen. Sure, I may hate myself for the rest of my life, Harry and Ron and Hermione will go back to hating me, I'll have to become a Death Eater, but at least Harry will be safe. At least my father will lay off a bit. At least I won't have to wonder whether each time Harry sees me he sees my father. And I won't have to think that maybe when he looks at me so thoughtfully he's thinking about whether I'm doing all this to try to kill him. So yeah, amnesia is sounding like a really good idea right now.

"Remember what?" I ask disdainfully. "I was just getting on the train and now suddenly I'm in the hospital wing. I can only assume you and Potty have tried to curse me into nothingness again." I bring my trademark smirk up onto my face. "In which case Snape and my father will hear all about it."

Hermione's eyes are wide as saucers and Ron's freckles are standing out sharply on his now pale face.

"D-Draco," he manages to stammer before Madame Pomfrey bustles her way into the room.

"And how are we today dears?" she asks cheerily, somehow managing to chirp and tut-tut at the same time. I squelch the urge to ask about Harry.

"Madame Pomfrey!" 'Mione cries. "Draco's got amnesia!"

She throws Hermione and Ron a sharp look before staring at me scrupulously. "What's your name?"

I heave an exaggerated sigh. "Draco Malfoy. Honestly. Now would someone tell me what is going on?"

"What day is it?" she asks me.

Tiny hesitation. "September 1, 2001."

Madame Pomfrey's eyes widen. "What's the last thing you remember?"

I act annoyed with the questions. "Getting on the Hogwarts Express. What's going on here? What day is it?"

Her eyes drop to the bandage on my head, and she begins muttering to herself. "Intense pain, bump on head, yes, no fever, I used the standard healing potion, there should have been no side effects, window of memory gone, four months..." She appears to be counting on her fingers.

I tense up. This story's going to work. It's got to.

She shakes her head sadly and motions to Ron. "Go get Dumbledore." He goes obediently, looking at me once more before running down the hall.

Madame Pomfrey leaves the room quickly, leaving me alone with Hermione. I get a bit fidgety. Of all three of them, she could probably tell if I was faking or bluffing. Just keep up the charade Malfoy. Be smug, superior, and Slytherin.

"Mind telling me what's going on Mudblood?"

She jumps back as if slapped. "Draco!"

"It's 'Malfoy' to the likes of you, Granger, and don't you forget it."

Christ, she looks like I just tortured her puppy. Smug, superior, and Slytherin.

"Oh my God," she whispers softly. "You don't... you can't... but..."

"Stop babbling. It's a most unattractive habit. Come to think of it, it suits you."

Damn it. Tortured, mutilated, and killed it. Smug, superior, Slytherin.

She goes paler than before and walks quickly out of the room, her shoulders shaking. I wait thirty seconds, enough time for her to get a decent way down the hall.

And then I cry.

Madame Pomfrey came back a few minutes later and upon seeing my tears asked if I was pain. Oh was I ever. It wasn't the kind she could heal. I doubted anyone could.

Dumbledore came down a few minutes later. He took me through my paces like Pomfrey had. My name, the date, where I was, what I remembered. I played the confused arrogant Malfoy to the hilt, demanding to know what the date was and why I was here. Eventually he left, shaking his head and talking in undertones to Madame Pomfrey.

An hour later she let me go to my common room, telling me the date and such and that I should probably rest for the remainder of the holidays. It would come back to me eventually.

It's nice to know that I no longer need to finish school. I've got to be the best actor Hogwarts has ever seen. I had everyone fooled. Victory was mine. And it was bitter.

I knew Harry would come to see me soon. He wouldn't believe until he saw for himself. Some things you can take on blind faith. Others you have to see. You have to.

I spent the day near frantic and generally dodged questions from the few Slytherins in the common room, telling them that I didn't remember anything of this whole school year. I acted affronted at the very notion that I would spend time with Gryffindors, much less date one. He came later that night when I figured I had played victim long enough. I grabbed my old broom - not the Silver Firebolt Harry had given me - and headed outside.

I step out of the common room and he's standing there, leaning against the wall like sin itself come to tempt me. I hadn't touched him for almost two days. Not one single touch. Not a kiss. Nothing. My hands itched. Arrggg, why did he have to look so good even in the horrible school robes?

He's thinner. He's always terribly thin, but this is pushing it. His eyes are too big in his face, but tragedy seems to agree with him. It suits him better than any of the awful clothes he wears. It must improve with practice.

His head jerks up when he hears my footsteps. He's relieved maybe that I look fine. Maybe he thinks that I'm better. That Hermione and Ron were wrong.

I straighten my shoulders. Draco the villain, enter, stage left.

"What is it Potter?"

It's the tone I use more than his last name that startles him. I haven't said something dripping with that much disdain since McGonagall gave me detention.

He steps forward, unsure now. Were they right? You bet they were.

"Draco. Are you all right? Hermione and Ron..."

I stare down my nose at him. "I'm fine. Besides the fact that I can't remember what happened in the last four months. Everything is bloody perfect Potter."

He stares at me. Is it starting to sink in now? How much more sarcastic do I need to be?

"You...can't remember? Can't remember what?"

"Anything!" I yell. "Nothing since September, not that it's any of your bloody business. Now go back and have a good laugh with all your Gryffindor friends. I'm off to the Quidditch Field to practice."

He winces. Quidditch. Another thing that will never be the same. "Go on," I say scornfully. "Go back to your common room like a good Gryffindor. It's after hours. Wouldn't want to be caught out of bed."

He frowns. I can see what he's thinking, There's still some of my Draco in there somewhere. And there is, really, it's just that he's under house arrest right now for reckless endangerment of the person he loves. You should let him go. "They're worried about you."

"Who? The Mudblood and Weasel?" I sneer. "Why would they care?"

"You were friends with them," he cries out, anguished. "Don't you care?"

I turn my back on him deliberately. "No. No, I don't. I don't care that we were so-called friends Potter. I was obviously out of my right mind. I don't care what we did."

"You told me you loved me."

There's so much truth behind those words. The... the belief he put into them. I almost crack then and there.

Nope. Not now. Gonna be strong. Strong for both of us.

I let those six words fall into silence. "I... told you I loved you?" I turn to face him, my face and tone sardonic. "Really? Well congratulations Potter, you must have been a really good fuck. I've never even told Pansy that. You'd think it would have been her before you. You've got such a gorgeous mouth Potter. Bet you deep throat it. Care to tell me? Remind me of what we've 'done'? Do you like to do it like friends, face to face? Do you like it on top or bottom? Maybe your specialty's hand jobs. I've seen you handle your broom. Very capable hands Potter. Do you practice on the Weasel? Or is he too busy with the Mudblood? Any of the other good little Gryffindors? Maybe. Tell me, Potter. Tell me all about us, since there isn't one."

And I watch his face as I spew all this garbage, this horrible mindless filth that is surging out of me. I watch his face contort and twist and the green fire in his eyes burn out. I had pounded on the love he had for me, smashed it beyond recognition. The look he gave me... was like it's last breath. It's like he doesn't know me.

And he doesn't say a word, just walks away, the tears rolling unheeded down his face. I giggle and laugh, unbalanced, hating myself and hating my father for making me choose between him and letting him live. My laughter echoes down the hallways and comes back to me deeper and darker than before. My father's laughter. Still laughing, I slide down against the wall.

My only consolation is that Hermione and Ron would be there for Harry. He'd survived all his family dying, Cedric dying, and faced off with Voldemort twice. Tough as nails Harry was. He could take it. After all, it was only true love. Only once-in-a-lifetime-maybe-even-less-than-that true love. No biggie. Nothing serious. Nothing serious at all.

I hated myself. Hated myself even more than I hated my father, which was saying something. Watching Harry walk away like that was more painful than any torture Voldemort had ever come up with. Because I couldn't hate him. I could only hate myself. Which I did. With a passion.

The next day I skipped breakfast and went outside around noon, cool and calm and covered with Illusionment Charms to hide my red eyes and the bags under them. I needed to fly. I needed to lose myself in the loops and whirls and dives.

Harry was there all ready of course.

We were perfect foils for each other. Dark and light, good and bad. The nice poor boy with the sad smile and the rich pain in the ass who cares for nothing. But somewhere down that road the lines had begun to blur. Harry wasn't poor or all that nice on occasion. He could be as petty and spiteful as I ever was. Maybe I was a pain in the ass. At least sometimes. But I cared more than anyone had ever thought I did. No one saw until he gave me a chance.

I loved him too much. I was completely head over heels, crazy in love with Harry Potter. I had to trust him, let him trust me. Before. It was like falling. And he wouldn't be there to catch me anymore.

Falling. He was falling. I had to catch him.

Moving out of a desperation that only love could bring out I mounted my broom and sped away.

Oh God. It was my old broom. Was it quick enough?

I regretted my stubbornness. I regretted my decisions, my actions. I did not go through all this pain so Harry could die from a broken neck on a Quidditch field!

You stupid, stupid, stupid son of a bitch. You idiotic, obstinate, foolish, completely inane asswipe! Don't you have more sense than to do things like that? What were you thinking, playing with a Bludger and no one around to watch you? You were practicing? Are you out of your fucking mind? You really have cracked! It knocked you right the fuck off your broom! FOUR HUNDRED FUCKING FEET IN THE AIR! Do you know what that can do to a person? Do you want to be a twisted mangled mess on the ground? Do you want to have Hermione and Ron and me and half the bloody world sobbing over your early grave? You don't die like this Harry. Not if I have anything to say about it.

I gripped the broom tightly between my legs, swooping downward to be ready for catching him. But I was still halfway across the Quidditch Field. And he was only 50 feet from the ground. 40. 30. 20.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Levitation charms aren't really meant for people. And I've always been shit for charms. So he didn't levitate. He didn't hover quite like he was supposed to. But he did move slower. Slow enough not to smash like a pumpkin on pavement. Not slow enough for me not to hear a huge crack. And he just lies there.

Now I can reach him. After he's hit the ground and it's too late. I scramble over, tripping and falling over my broom. He's lying there, still. His leg is turned strangely, his glasses flung away from him, one of the lenses shattered. A broken doll thrown about in a child's tantrum. But he's breathing. His chest moves up and down.

I touch him, fearfully. Will I hurt him? Oh god, where's Madame Pomfrey? I send red sparks straight up into the sky. Somebody will notice, right?

"Harry..."

His leg is broken. Maybe his ribs.

"Harry, wake up."

Some blood is oozing from his leg. Not a lot. My mind is going in a million places at once. I could use Plysis, but that only heals the surface. Bruises and cuts. If he's got broken bones, would that complicate it? Where's Madame Pomfrey?

"Harry, wake up damn it!"

Hermione. She'd know what to do. She'd know the spell.

"Harry..."

He's just lying there. Just lying there. He's never been out this long, not even in Second Year with the rogue Bludger. Or when he fainted on the train at the beginning of Third. How long had it been exactly? Seconds? Minutes? Days? How long?

I send up more sparks. Is that someone coming over here?

"Harry, wake up. It's Draco, wake up."

For a ridiculous second I think that if I have an owl, I could get a message to someone. There's a spell for that right? Summoning...

"Harry..."

Accio...

"Accio owl!"

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Oh. Right. You can't summon anything living. Guess that's out.

"Harry, it's Draco. C'mon, wake up."

The bleeding's stopped. That's good, right? I send up more sparks, red and black this time. How is no one seeing this?

A messaging spell? The only way to communicate with people directly is to be a telepath. Or a powerful Occlumentist. Neither of which I am. Writing spell. Messaging spell. Word spell. Arggg, I can't think of anything! A Seventh Year who can't even manage to get a message to a castle a half mile away!

"Harry, wake up!" I yell, not caring that I'm crying again. He can't die here. He can't.

Is that someone over there? On the edge of the field? The Creevey kid, the little one. Daniel. David. Dennis.

"Dennis!" I scream. "Go get Madame Pomfrey! Harry's hurt!"

He shouts something back but I don't hear him. At least he's run in the direction of the castle.

The Bludgers fly crazily above our heads. It's good thing they only attack people in the air, or we'd have more problems. I see the box that holds them lying a few feet away.

"Harry, if you can hear me Harry, don't worry. Madame Pomfrey's coming." At least I hope she is.

I flash back to the dungeons earlier. I was so horrible. Everything was - is - so twisted and fucked up right now. You have to wake up Harry. That can't be the last thing I ever say to you. It can't be. It should have been 'I love you'. Maybe not that exactly, but it shouldn't have been what I told you in the near the common room.

"Wake up Harry."

"That's enough Draco," someone says kindly. "Madame Pomfrey can take it from here."

I turn around to see Dumbledore bending over me. I have never been so happy to see an authority figure in my life.

"It was a Bludger," I tell him unevenly. "He was up really high. I used a levitation charm, but it didn't work so well."

He nods. "You did your best."

I laugh erratically. "Right. Right." Why is my first reaction always to laugh? They'll be signing me up for a room at St. Mungo's soon enough.

He reaches down and pulls Harry off my lap. "I'll levitate him myself to the Hospital Wing."

"Thank you."

I watch them go, Harry floating way up high and Dumbledore making his way slowly across the grounds. I see Hermione and Ron running up to him, pestering with questions. I don't know what he says to them, but they come across the field towards me.

I pick up Harry's glasses. They left them behind. The frames are wrenched into something that resembles an abstract sculpture more than anything.

"Oculus Reparo!"

They twisted themselves back into shape and I hand them to Ron.

"Give these back to Potter for me." I look straight into their hopeful faces. "This has... nothing to do with anything. I was out practicing and he fell. It's what anyone would have done. Don't read too much into it." My voice is shaking a bit. I hope they bought it. I begin to walk away.

"Draco!" I turn back around to see Hermione has followed me.

"What do you want now Granger?"

"You know Draco," she says casually. "Flitwick just taught us that summoning spell in Charms last month. Funny how you remembered."

Shit.