Who Am I, Really? (Drarry)

Chapter One: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies

            Draco slowly opened his eyes and found Pansy and Blaise a foot from his face. "Bloody hell, guys!" He instantly regretted his outburst, as it shot a throbbing pain through his brain.

"He's awake!" squealed Pansy, who leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Blaise followed suit.

Draco batted them away. "Quit touching me, you loser," he shot at Blaise, who just rolled his eyes. It was only then that Draco realized he was lying in a hospital bed. "Am I in the hospital wing?"

He didn't miss the confused glance Pansy and Blaise shot each other. Before they could answer, a Healer in lime green robes entered. "Why am I at St. Mungos?"

The Healer stepped forward and without preamble told him, "Draco, there was an accident at work and you were obliviated."

"Bloody hell," he said for the second time. "What the fuck is going on? Why are you calling me Draco like I know you? It's Mr.Malfoy to you, you half-blood! And why was I in a dangerous situation like that? I'm a bloody student! My father will hear about this!" As an afterthought, he hissed, "Did Harry Potter do this?"

The Healer paused, her brow creased. " Drac- Mr. Malfoy, tell me what you know about yourself."

Confused, all the anger left Draco, and he started to panic. Something was wrong here; he knew it. "I'm a sixth year at Hogwarts." He ignored the gasps from Blaise and Pansy. "Term just started. I'm dating Pansy here," he smirked. What a good pureblood match. "And I just -," he broke off and glanced involuntarily at his bare left arm. Why was it out?

But he stifled a scream when he saw the very muggle tattoo starting at his wrist and traveling up his arm under his sleeve to god knew where. "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY ARM?!"

"You were about to say you just received the Dark Mark, correct?"

Terrified, Draco turned to the Healer, his tattoo momentarily forgotten. "How do you know that?" he croaked out. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would not be pleased. He flinched.

Ignoring him, the Healer bit her lip. "What year is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

"1996," he answered automatically, without thinking.

Pansy and Blaise groaned in unison.

"What is it? I demand you tell me this instant!"

Gently, the Healer broke the news. "Mr. Malfoy, it's 2004."

"It's what?" The words didn't make any sense to him.

"It seems the poorly executed obliviate charm only erased eight years of your life. You should count yourself lucky. I need to go tell my superior. I'll be back."

Draco stared after the Healer, too shocked to think.

"Buddy?" Blaise said hesitantly.

"What?" Draco hissed.

"It's going to be okay."

Draco turned his glare to Blaise. "You're not the one who's lost eight years of his life. I'm going to be killed; I just know it. He won't be happy."

Pansy squeaked. "Draco! Oh god, you don't remember! The war is over. We lost – it was the best thing that could have ever happened to us."

Relief that he wouldn't be tortured and killed warred with bitter disappointment. "Why aren't we in Azkaban then?"

Blaise cleared his throat. "Some of us are. But Harry and Ron and Hermione testified on our behalf. We got out with just parole, which we finished two years ago."

Draco frowned at the use of the Gold Trio's first names but didn't comment. He had more important things to think of. "And my father?"

His friends were silent for a moment, and then Pansy answered slowly. "Your father... he received the Kiss. He is technically still in Azkaban."

"And my mother?"

This time the silence was long enough for Draco to infer the answer. "She's dead, isn't she? Did she die in the war? Did one of them kill her?"

Pansy stared at Blaise, willing for him to answer. "No, there was an accident at the Manor, and she didn't make it."

"Oh." The hatred Draco felt for Potter and the Order did not diminish.

"Things have changed so much, Draco," Pansy stated. "Everyone knows you were a Death Eater."

"I gathered that," he snapped. "How did this happen?"

"Well, when the war started, it was pretty clear who was on which side. We just happened to be on the wrong one."

"No, we weren't. We just happened to lose; that's why you're saying that."

A flash of pain crossed Pansy's face. "I need to talk to Blaise." She rose, and Blaise followed her out of the room.

Draco closed his eyes, the pounding in his head now explained. Of course, it was him. Bloody Harry Potter had something to do with this; he just knew it. No one else fucked up his life the way Potter did.

He tried to remember the war, which seemed like the biggest, easiest memory to pull out of his own mind, but a blinding pain stopped him. His brain wouldn't allow him—stupid charm.

He held out his arms – they were lean and muscular, the arms of a man, no longer a boy. A wand was lying next to him on the bedside table. It wasn't his, at least not the one he remembered, but he grabbed it. It felt at home in his hand – he must have gotten a new wand at some point. Conjuring a mirror, he inspected his face. His aristocratic, angeled face was even sharper, but it didn't make him look anything other than more handsome, at least in his own opinion. His silver eyes were still piercing, although he thought they looked softer somehow.

Holding the mirror with his left hand, he realized there was a golden band on his ring finger. He curled his lip at the color. Why would he choose gold of all colors?

He jumped when his friend reentered. Smirking, Draco cooed, "Why didn't you tell me we were married, Pansy?"

She stared at him, blankly. "We aren't?"

"Then, why are you here?" Draco frowned.

"Because we're friends, you idiot. We were just the first ones here."

"Then what pureblood witch am I married to?" He thought maybe a Greengrass?

Pansy's mouth fell open. Blaise looked like he was about to faint.

"What?"

A rustle near the door drew everyone's attention.

"You're married to me, actually."

Draco's mouth dropped open as he stared at Harry FUCKING Potter.