An Eventful Quidditch Match (HP) (Drarry) (COMPLETED)

chapter two

Draco stood beside Harry's bed with a scowl on his face. Things between them had been weird since the war. They still harassed each other, though it had become more of a playful jest kind of thing. Not that they were friends, though. But they weren't enemies anymore. In any case, there were many things Draco failed to understand about Harry and what had happened to him just added to the list.

It was just him and Harry alone beside each other. Madame Pomfrey was off in the other side of the room, reviewing the diagnostic results. Trying to make sense of everything, really.

Draco cleared his throat. "Do you remember how you lost your memory?"

Harry shook his head. "Everyone's been... preoccupied. No one's told me."

"Then I suppose the honor of it is on me, yes?" This kind of civil talk was unnatural between them, Harry could feel it too, but not unwelcome. Not unpleasant. "You were playing Quidditch. It was 50-70, to Gryffindors. You saw the snitch, flew straight toward the ground to grab it. And you did, but you didn't pull up in time. Hit your head in the crash, passed out, and here we are."

"Not to be rude," Harry's voice dripped hesitance, "But I still have no idea what happened. What's Quidditch? Gryffindors? Snitches? I don't..." his voice broke, "I don't understand anything!" Harry felt like he was about to cry. Malfoy spoke in a way that showed that Harry was supposed to know what he was talking about, but Harry didn't. It frustrated him to no end. He felt so lost. And so fucking afraid.

Draco frowned. "So it's true. You don't remember anything."

"Almost anything," Harry corrected.

Draco sighed. "Yes, almost anything. Someone will fill you in on what I mentioned is, maybe I will later, but for now, all you need to know is that you hit your head and it fucked it up."

"That I can understand." After a moment he added in a whisper, so quiet Malfoy would hardly hear it, "Are...are they going to hurt me?"

"Who?"

Harry didn't even speak aloud anymore, he just mouthed the word: "Everyone."

Draco was almost saddened by this but restrained himself. "No, Potter. No one here plans to hurt you. I am surprised, though, that you aren't concerned about your safety around me?"

"I know that, even though you're a git at times, you aren't out to kill me," Harry's eyes lingered on Madame Pomfrey in the corner. "I can't be sure about anyone else."

Interesting, Draco thought. "Well, I can assure you that no one is out to kill you. You're the Golden Boy, after all."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't convinced in the slightest. "I remember everything about you. I remember you had a posse, I remember talking about you to the redhead and brunette. But I don't remember anything about them. Just you. I remember playing Quidditch with you, but I don't know what Quidditch is! Everything is just so... difficult to understand."

Draco would've been in total disbelief of his story if not for the look on his face. After all, it was a very strange case of memory loss. Probably caused by magic, not a head injury. Maybe there was more to this situation than what appeared. Harry had a completely lost look on his face, and Draco couldn't help but believe him.

Madame Pomfrey returned to the pair. She had dismissed everyone else who claimed to know Harry, because they were causing him overwhelming paranoia and Pompfrey knew that couldn't be good for the boy. Draco had been called in soon after. "The memory loss is apparent. Supposedly, it's caused by the head injury you've endeared," Harry's head ached painfully, as if reminding him, "But something is not adding up. Draco Malfoy, did you curse him?"

Malfoy sneered at the woman. "I'm not that petty, Poppy." She looked at him in disbelief.

"In any case, you are the only one he feels comfortable around, and likely the one who did this to him-" Draco glared at her at this, "And such you will be tasked in escorting him. You will supervise him at all times."

"What-!"

"If you didn't want this then you shouldn't have cursed him!" Poppy snapped. Draco bit back a retort. It wouldn't change her mind. Wouldn't do any good.

Harry had been watching this exchange, his hand grasped thoughtfully in his lap. He added shyly, "I'm okay with that. You staying with me, I mean."

Draco's eyes widened. Poppy seemed to take Harry's agreement as a sign to continue. "Harry needs a day to rest, so his head can heal more, so you will both be sleeping here tonight. Draco, you can take the bed next to him. I'll be bringing you some potions in a bit, Harry. They'll help with the pain."

Though Harry had no idea what potions were, he nodded. Pomfrey walked into her office, leaving the two alone, engulfed in an awkward silence. Draco settled himself in the bed next to Harry with a sigh.

This was not how he expected his eighth year to go. He expected a quiet, peaceful final year of Hogwarts and instead ended up being Harry Potter's babysitter.

"Malfoy," Harry turned to face him in his bed, "Could you fill me in on some things?"

That night, Draco was able to explain magic, flying broomsticks, Quidditch, Hogwarts, the houses, the war, and Voldemort. He would've talked more, but by the time he finished it was already deep into the night, and both boys were having trouble keeping their eyes open. Harry was having a difficult time processing everything, but Draco was sure that with time, he'd grasp it. They both fell asleep in the hospital wing facing each other.

It was going to be a long, long year.