Why Do You Love Me?

Harry lay on his hospital cot, staring up at the ceiling, thinking deeply. There wasn’t much to do besides think, in a place where you were isolated all day. Sighing, he rolled over, punching his pillow with rage that had been building up over the days. He didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want to speak with Alicia every day and no one else. He wanted to see Mrs. Weasley, Arthur, Ron, Hermione, anyone.

He was desperate for anyone’s company; he would have even been thankful if Draco Malfoy showed up at his door sometime, and that was saying a lot. He hated Draco with all of his might; of course, it served him right for staging a murder and not letting anyone in on it.

The rational side of Harry understood why Draco, Snape and Dumbledore had kept it hidden from everyone; if Voldemort found out, all involved would be dead meat. And of course, they were doing it for the better good of Harry; if Harry were to defeat the Dark Lord, then the Dark Lord would have to be lured into a false state of security, so that Harry could strike unexpectedly. But still, Harry hated it, and he hated Draco.

He remembered the day that Draco had shown up on Number Twelve’s doorstep, his clothes tattered and his face black with dirt. Harry hadn’t known at the time that Dumbledore was still alive; he tackled Draco to the ground and proceeded to punch Draco violently in the face, tears streaming down his own all the while, unchecked and un-noticed.

“You bastard,” Harry had cried. “You let Snape kill him, you killed him!” Harry had repeated the mantra until his voice was hoarse and his throat was raw, and he had continued to punch Draco in the face until he could no longer draw any strength from within. Draco lay on the ground in a bloodied pulp, his left eye already turning black, his nose oddly crooked, and bleeding profusely. “You bastard,” Harry had managed one final whisper before he had collapsed on the ground beside the bloodied form.

Sobs had wracked his body then, wrenched forcibly from his frame against his will. He hadn’t wanted to cry, he hadn’t wanted to lose control. But lately, everything that had been happening had been out of his control, everything that had been happening had been something that he hadn’t wanted to happen.

Hours later, or perhaps it had been minutes, Harry couldn’t quite tell any more, Harry had been lying on his bed in his room, staring at the ceiling, quite similarly to the way he was staring at it now, and the door to his bedroom had creaked open.

“He’s not dead, you know,” Draco had whispered as he entered, looking normal except for a slight limp. Harry had glared at him angrily, wishing that he had hurt him more than he had but knowing that it was impossible to do much more damage in the state he was in; he had damaged himself more than he had damaged Draco, it seemed.

“What do you mean, ‘he’s not dead?’” Harry had spat, crossing his arms and wishing that Draco would trip over something and fall to his death.

“Dumbledore,” Draco had said as he seated himself on the foot of Harry’s bed, though the death glare that Harry had shot him clearly said that he was not welcome. “Snape didn’t kill him.”

“Well then, where is he?” Harry jumped to his feet as if scalded from merely being near Draco. “I was at his funeral, Malfoy! I was there, and I watched Snape kill him! You can’t tell me that he’s not dead!”

Draco had lowered his head and stared at his hands for a long while. “He’s not dead,” he had insisted, before silently shuffling out of the room.

Harry’s anger had taken over him, then. Out of nowhere, a chair from one corner of his room flew up and smacked Draco harshly in the back of the head. Harry had heard a satisfying crack as Draco’s neck snapped, and he had grinned triumphantly down at Draco’s limp body. After long minutes, Harry had realized that Draco wasn’t going to move, and he rushed out of his room to get help.

Harry shuddered at the remembrance. He didn’t pride himself on his sporadic bursts of magic; no wizard in his right mind did. But he couldn’t help but feeling that Draco had deserved it somehow, even though he knew that it wasn’t quite true. But after all the times that Draco had taunted him, after all the times he had called Hermione ‘Mud-blood’ or Ron ‘Weasel’, how could he expect to be welcomed with open arms?

Harry sighed once more as he rolled to his side, and without a final thought, he fell asleep.

…
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…

Alicia smiled at Harry sunnily later that day as she approached the chair beside his bed. As always, she set the thick book of parchment on the bedside table, along with the quick quotes quill hovering above it. “Hello, Harry,” she greeted warmly. As always, she was dressed all business. And as always, her attitude threw that ‘business woman’ notion completely out the window. “Have you remembered anything?”

Harry averted his eyes and shook his head ‘no’. “Ah, that’s too bad,” Alicia said sympathetically, patting him on the knee softly. “I’ve brought a visitor today,” she added as an almost-afterthought. “I think that she may help jog your memory a bit. And she’s really been missing you. She said that you’ve been in a previous relationship with her and that it didn’t work out so well, but that she was willing to help you in any way possible. Do I smell young love in the air?” Alicia grinned and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Harry’s cheeks flushed in rage, which Alicia probably took for embarrassment, because she laughed a short, tinkling laugh that filled the room and sounded a little similar to wind chimes. “Come on in, Cho,” she exclaimed as she went to the door and yanked it open to reveal who stood behind it.

Harry stiffed involuntarily. “Cho,” he breathed, his eyes widening and becoming unfocused as he was thrown into a whirlpool of what could only be called memories that felt like they weren‘t his own.

A pink letter fluttered down from thin, feminine fingers. A shriek was let out as loud footsteps pounded out of the room and Harry was left alone with the piece of parchment that had flapped to the ground.

Dark, long hair enveloped Harry’s face as another face was pressed closer to his own, and soft lips were pressed against his in an awkward kiss that seemed to last forever.

A man. Thrusting and sweat and pain filled Harry’s body to the brink and he cried out for salvation but no one came. Please! Please, someone help me! Don’t let him do this to me! No, not like this! Please!

Warm hands were pressed against Harry’s cheeks, concerned brown eyes hovering in front of his face. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry’s eyes struggled to focus, but when they did, bright red hair clashed with pale skin, making Harry’s eyes hurt. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his tongue felt huge in his mouth.

“Harry, can you hear me?” A feminine voice was talking gently to him, and a bright light was being flashed in his eyes, but Harry was too far-gone, drifting into a world that only he could see, a world that would keep him safe.

“He’s asleep,” Alicia said, her brows furrowed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later, dear,” Alicia smiled softly at Cho and ushered her out of the room.

“He’ll be okay, won’t he?” Cho asked.

Alicia hated to lie, and though she didn’t quite know the answer to this question, she consoled the shaking young girl with a confirming nod. “Yes, dear, he’ll be just fine. He only needs rest, is all.”

But that wasn’t true; Harry had been resting all week. He had told Alicia just the day before that he was tired of resting, that he wanted to get up from his bed and at least be allowed to walk around his ward. But of course, his internal injuries wouldn’t permit it.

Harry’s magical abilities were finally returned, and though they were weak, they were working at a quick pace to fix him up internally. In only a few more days, he would be able to walk around once more, and in about another week, he would be allowed to go home, amnesia or not.

But how would his emotions be affected? Alicia hated to think about what would happen once Harry was released from the hospital. He probably wouldn’t continue to see her, that was for sure. But what was she to do? She couldn’t keep him there against his will; he was an adult, for Merlin’s sake!

Alicia raked her fingers through her hair frantically as she stared, concerned, into the peacefully resting face of the seventeen-year-old boy that she was attending to. Cases similar to his, though not very uncommon, were all different. Some boys coped better with things than others. Alicia had a feeling that this specific young man would need a lot of care and affection. But that was just something that she didn’t have time for.

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Draco stared down at the face of a sleeping Harry. Though it was against his better judgment, he had managed to sneak out of Number Twelve without being detected, with the aid of Harry’s handy invisibility cloak. He knew that he probably shouldn’t be there, but he had a feeling in his gut that that was what he was supposed to be doing.

The pale boy breathed in deeply of his own accord, the hair that had landed in his face fluttering with each breath. Draco was so proud of the progress that Harry had made; he was so strong. Draco knew that he never would have been able to go through what Harry had gone through. But he figured that the amnesia might help things go a bit smoother.

Perhaps Harry’s memories were similar to selective hearing. He could remember what he wanted to, but blocked out all of the bad stuff. Draco wondered exactly how much Harry remembered. And he wondered if Harry would ever completely remember anything of the bad again. Of course, Harry might have been faking his amnesia, but Draco doubted it. Why would one put themselves through so much more than they had already been through? If Harry was doing it on purpose, he sure was digging a deeper grave than he would be able to get out of. But Draco had a feeling…

Draco rarely, actually never, followed gut feelings. But this was different. This was Harry. Harry was different. With Harry, you never knew which feeling to follow. In Draco, there was a natural born feeling of loathing that most Slytherins had towards Gryffindors. But this, also, was different.

And for some reason that Draco himself couldn’t quite understand, he yearned to be close to Harry, to help Harry through it.

‘I’m not attracted to Potter,’ Draco assured himself as he loomed over the sleeping form of Harry. He wasn’t wearing the invisibility cloak, though every nerve in his body told him that he probably should.

No, Draco rarely listened to his nerves anymore. And his gut was telling him that no one would walk in. That only Harry would see him. And that Harry needed to see him. So off the invisibility cloak remained.

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Something was watching him. Harry could feel the eyes on him. Something loomed over him, and he struggled against his will to open his eyes. The person didn’t take their eyes off of him, and after a while, though Harry knew that he wasn’t alone, the chills that crawled over his being ceased.

A hand, soft, warm and long-fingered, reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair out of Harry’s face. It lingered for a few moments, sending shocks of heat in through his very pores before it swiftly tugged away. Harry inhaled deeply - he could definitely define the scent of man in his room; fresh rain and pine. A soft smile tugged at his lips. So, his unexpected visitor was male; definitely not Alicia! Harry almost sighed in relief.

The presence was most welcome to Harry. He desperately missed his family and friends, and even if his visitor was Voldemort himself, Harry couldn’t care less at that very moment. Slowly, he rolled over and cracked one eye open.

The blonde hair of his visitor startled him for a moment, and the person who was hovering over him jumped back and stumbled over his own feet in surprise.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, a brow cocked as he pulled himself into a sitting position and stared scornfully down at a sprawled Draco.

Draco snorted as he stood back up, dusting himself off vigorously as he did so. “No, I’m the bloody tooth fairy,” he muttered, inspecting the right leg of his trousers closely.

Harry smirked slightly. “What brings you here?” A quick glance towards the clock on the wall caused Harry’s smirk to grow wider. “And after visiting hours, no less! You’ve got half of the Wizarding world after you, and you’re risking your neck to come see me?” Harry’s eyes darkened suddenly, and distrust filled his voice. “Why?”

Draco stared haughtily at Harry, a frown marring his forehead and lips.

Harry stared at him expectantly. “Well?”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Someone’s got to check up on you, don’t they? You know, the hospital won’t even allow you visitors, so I don’t see any reason why you should be complaining!”

Harry looked down, slightly shamed. “That still doesn’t explain why they sent you,” he snarled, hoping to cover his look of guilt.

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he flicked at an invisible bit of lint sticking to his left sleeve distractedly.

Harry sighed. “Fine. I’m doing fine, you can leave now.”

Draco shook his head but reached for a familiar-looking cloak at the foot of Harry’s bed. “Hey!” Harry cried out after a few moments of silence. “That’s my invisibility cloak!”

Draco smirked mysteriously as he flung it over his shoulders, disappearing completely from view. “And this is how I sneak in,” he said, his voice filled with humor.

A whoosh of air flew past Harry, the soft fingers once again touching his face before the door opened and shut softly and Draco disappeared not only from view but from the room as well.

…
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…

Harry struggled to get away from the meaty fists that bit into his hips as he was thrust violently into. His insides were burning and his eyes were streaming with the pain from the force of it, but still the man wouldn’t end his violation of Harry’s tender arse.

Harry cried out, he screamed profanities and pleaded for mercy, yet the man refused to take notice.

When the man finally finished, he left Harry lying on a rough, hard surface vulnerably. Each time it happened, it was rougher, more real, and Harry just couldn’t make him stop. Why wouldn’t he stop?!

Harry woke that morning sweaty and panting, tears streaming from his eyes. Everything was so clear to him now, but he didn’t want to believe that it had actually happened to him. He hadn’t been r…r…ra…Harry couldn’t even bring himself to think of the word.

He just wanted it to go away. Why did everything have to happen to him? Why not someone else? Harry had had enough of it; even before he was old enough to talk, he had been destined for a fate of abuse and violence, and he just wanted it all to disappear.

Alicia came in that morning, as usual all smiles and big hopes. Harry didn’t want to let her down, he really didn’t, but he didn’t need ‘help coping’. He was fully capable of coping himself, thank you very much! So as usual, Harry answered her questions in a monotonous voice, and whenever possible answered in grunts or monosyllabic words.

“Harry, I can’t help but think that you don’t want my help,” Alicia had stated at the end of the session.

Harry stared at her coldly, retreating completely into the hard shell that had built itself over him during his short stay in the hospital. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you I don’t want your help,” he stated coldly. With that, he averted his gaze from her.

Dejectedly, Alicia left the room ten minutes later, though she felt that the entire session had not been a complete waste as Harry probably had hoped it would be.

…
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…

“I believe he’s beginning to remember some things, Headmaster,” Alicia stated, her smile wide though it didn’t reach her haunted eyes.

Minerva McGonagall nodded approvingly. “That is very good indeed. So he will be ready for the school year?”

Alicia’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m not quite sure, Minerva,” she said, her brow furrowed in concern. “He’s bottling it all up; I can’t pull it out of him against his will, he’s a legal adult.”

Minerva nodded once more. “I see,” Alicia flushed slightly under Minerva‘s gaze. “May I visit him?” Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow at Alicia, who was squirming under her gaze and flushing like a teenager. “Perhaps I can persuade him into confiding in you,” she said reassuringly, causing Alicia to flush brighter.

“Sure,” Alicia squeaked out, and Minerva smiled slightly. Of course, it would be weird talking to a former professor in such a businesslike manner; the actual Wizarding life was quite different from the life of that at Hogwarts.

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The door to Harry’s room opened softly, and Harry ignored the intruder. He was busily brooding over a hot cup of tea (he was finally allowed to have real substance now), when a cold hand encircled his shoulder in an iron grip, causing him to jump several inches into the air in alarm before yanking roughly away in reflex.

His head snapped in the direction of the hand, and Harry was shocked to see Molly Weasley smiling down at him. “You go home tomorrow,” she said as a greeting.

Harry’s face melted into a half-smile. “Why so early?” he asked, noticing the way that Molly kept her touch rationed. Harry scowled to himself as he thought of what Alicia must have told her and everyone else.

“Alicia says that you’ve been healing up nicely, much faster than she expected for you to. And you’ve already been promoted to solids!” Molly exclaimed, pointing to a plate of cookies on Harry’s bedside table, none of which had been touched.

Harry flushed and looked away, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t touched anything closely related to food since his last real meal at Number Twelve.

Molly smiled at him, her eyes gleaming. “We all miss you, Harry,” she said, leaning down to hug him softly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in her scent wistfully, not wanting to let go of her. He could feel himself being isolated once again even as Molly began to pull away from him and walk out of the room with a soft smile and glowing eyes. When she was out of sight, Harry began to sob.