Never A Memory

Chapter Three

~The Eagle Owl~





Three days later...

***



Draco Malfoy leaned against the window pane of the room that was allotted him at St. Mary's and pressed his forehead against the cold glass. It was snowing outside and the chill seeping through the barred window cooled his burning scar; a lightening bolt scar that ached like fury every time he woke from a dream.



A tapping sounded through the glass and Draco raised his gray eyes, a gray as cold as the winter outside. He blinked and lifted his head fully when he saw an Eagle Owl staring back at him expectantly.



The bird was massive, with large, shrewd yellow eyes, tawny gold and black feathers, and a face as gray as Draco's eyes. Draco lifted his fingers and touched the glass separating him and the majestic owl. The bird responded with a loud hooting and raised his black ear tufts.



Something pulled in Draco's mind as he stared at the Eagle Owl through the window. It felt heavy and dark, but became clearer and clearer as he stared. Draco sucked in a breath and held it, trying to hold on to the feeling in his mind as he did so.



Draco could remember everything that had happened in the past three days, down to the very second. He could not, however, remember *anything* prior. It was driving him certifiably insane. And three days in St. Mary's could give a person a very clear depiction on what certifiably insane looked like.



Draco wouldn't eat the food given to him. He would sneer in disgust when a nurse would bring in a tray and an hour later the nurse would return to collect the tray untouched. Draco didn't understand why he knew he wouldn't like the food, but he knew.



He also knew that John Smith was not his name. And again, he couldn't explain it. The staff in this ward of St. Mary's would smile condescendingly when he would demand they desist calling him that absurd name and inquire what else to call him. Having no answer to provide them, they continued to call him "Mr. Smith."



Nothing sparked his memory save for the residual spasms of clarity from dreams that wouldn't solidify themselves in his waking hours and Draco took to wandering aimlessly around his room for hours trying to remember...anything.



The staff urged him to spend his time in the common room with the other patients...but Draco suspected that was more for their benefit than his. Draco had overheard the nurses complaining on numerous occasions about what "a hassle" it was to check on patients individually in their rooms when they could all be herded into the common room.



Finding a small measure of satisfaction from annoying his caretakers, Draco stubbornly remained in his room and drank only water. And even the water, in Draco's opinion, was questionable. For some reason, Draco was convinced water shouldn't have so many bubbles still floating around minutes after the water became still. Again, with no explanation for his complaints, the staff ignored them and continued to complain--not so discreetly--to one another.



Three days and not a single memory from before three days ago.



Draco scowled and the Eagle Owl ruffled his feathers and hooted indignantly.



"I don't know what you want, bird," Draco murmured. "Leave me be."



The owl cocked his head to the side and peered at him. Draco continued to feel the shifting in his thoughts, but now it felt more like pressure than something pulling at him. Draco closed his eyes and saw flashes of floating candles, long tables with children eating merrily, and owls soaring above his head.



A knock sounded at his door.



Instantly, the images were gone and his scowl turned downright malicious as he turned towards the door.



Will Mettle poked his chubby, gruff head through the door frame. Mettle was a patient here who, with his comrade Billy Bane--a wiry, pointed fellow who was rumored to have claimed insanity for killing an entire family south of here--took to following Draco where ever he went and spent hours guarding his door from the wailing, miserable loonies that crowded the main hall outside his door. Whatever their reasons, Draco almost appreciated the peace and quiet they usually provided him...but Draco would really have to make an attempt to appreciate anything about this place.



Draco continued to level Mettle with his glare while watching the stocky fellow begin to tremble and look nervous. Draco almost wondered what landed him a spot at St. Mary's Psyche Ward. Draco would never ask, of course. That would implicate that Draco actually gave damn about another human being; and that just didn't seem natural either.



"What is it, Mettle?" Draco asked coldly and had to stop himself from smiling a little when Mettle nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Draco's voice.



Mettle jerked his chin to the side. "Betty says that the Doc sent for ya, man. You need to come out. I don't even say no to the Doc."



Draco drew his brows together and looked back at the window, seeing that the bird had flown off. 'The Doc' was Dr. Laeverton, the Ward's main Psychiatrist. 'Betty' was what the patients called anyone on Staff, male or female. Draco refused to wonder why. Draco did wonder, however, that if he wasn't crazy he would be if he had to put up with much more of this place.



Draco nodded to Mettle and watched as he closed the door in a hurry. Draco slowly went to his closet and fished out a black turtleneck from the clothes that had been provided for him. Something else that had been gnawing at his mind was why all his clothes were expensive, fit perfectly and seemed as if they were all tailored just for him. The shipment of clothes had arrived a day after he'd, according to one of the Betty's, been transferred from another hospital. Draco had no memory of this other hospital or the clothes that seemed so uniquely his and no one would allow him to study his file for clues to his past.



Finally, Dr. Laeverton seemed ready to meet Draco himself, which he hadn't been inclined to since Draco had been transferred. A chance to speak with someone who had studied his file wasn't something Draco was willing to pass up so he opened the door and stepped out into the white hall.



The main hall was garish. White walls, white tiled floor, and ugly pastel paintings spaced evenly down the long stretch of the hall...all in all, another very good reason Draco didn't venture from his room often. Draco found he liked it when his eyes didn't feel like they were going to bleed out of his head.



His own room was simple, with mild green furniture and bland white walls; and while Draco wouldn't go so far as to say it was tasteful, he definitely preferred it from this horrid main hall and all its garish wonder.



A Betty-boy with an innocent face and large brown eyes met him outside his room with Bane and Mettle. Bane nodded to him, his icy blue eyes hollow and devoid of any humane emotion. Draco nodded back but remained silent.



Draco hated Bane. He couldn't figure why, but just looking at him made bile rise up the back of Draco's throat. Mettle was insignificant and hardly worrisome once you got past his sheer size, but Bane was downright evil.



Draco knew that he was familiar with evil. He was reminded of that nagging feeling every time he looked at Bane; however, Draco felt that he had become something different even though everything around him had once urged him to be as dark and foreboding as the people and things he'd once surrounded himself with. When he looked at Bane, there was a cold stone in the pit of his stomach that stirred and told him that Bane was what he might once have been.



And that he chose to be something else.



Now, Draco felt he was nothing at all.



Somehow, Bane and Mettle felt the urge to look up to him, to walk in his shadow, and that felt familiar too; two dark, simple bodyguards always hovering at his shoulders. What was it about him that made that a reality? Why would it seem natural and disconcerting in the same breathe to have evil shadow Draco's very footsteps?



Draco's eyes finally left Bane's and rested on the Betty-boy's open face.



"You ready?" he asked.



Draco didn't grace him with a response but followed the Betty-boy down the hall and through the Ward as Bane and Mettle fell into step behind him.



Finally reaching Dr. Laeverton's office, the Betty-boy's face grew grave and unsmiling when he turned to regard Bane and Mettle. "This is as far as you two go," he said. "Mr. Smith"--Draco scowled--"wait here for Dr. Laeverton to come out for you."



The Betty-boy walked passed Draco and ushered Bane and Mettle back down the hall while Draco gazed at the office door's handle. Draco reached down and tried to turn the knob. It was locked. Something pressed into his mind again as Draco ran his fingers over the door knob once more. Draco felt a tingling run down his spine and through his arm as words whispered through his mind, only to be swallowed by the blackness that held the rest of his memories; and with a resounding 'click', the door unlocked itself and swung open.



Draco watched the door slam against the nearest wall with mild interest, more surprised that he wasn't surprised, and added it to his list of things to ponder in his room later.



Dr. Laeverton stared at Draco, his mouth slack, as the silent, platinum blond made his way into the room and took a seat in a comfortable, brown leather chair.



"That door was locked," the Doc said, his trimmed, salt and pepper beard tickling around his nose and mouth. Dr. Laeverton, a practical man who had studied human development and psychology since living in his birthplace, New Zealand, at a very young age, and who prided himself on having an answer for pretty much anything, could not fathom what had happened with his office door. Dr. Laeverton finally decided the he must have forgotten to lock it earlier after his last patient left and settled in to study the newest edition to St. Mary's Psychiatric Ward.



John Smith's file said he was on a strict rehabilitation program and that the sooner he could moved from the State program to the Federal, the better. That being said, Dr. Laeverton wasn't going to move Smith into any Social Services program until he was certain he had retained enough of his memory to operate properly.



Dr. Laeverton watched Smith settle himself into the leather seat, crossing one leg over the other, placing both arms on the armrests, letting his long hands dangle over the edge, placing the back of his head on the back of the seat and closing his eyes.



"I asked Steven to tell you to wait outside," Dr. Laeverton said, watching for a reaction. Receiving none, he scribbled down a few notes and looked back at Smith.



Truth be told, John Smith was not much older than a boy. According to his file, Smith had turned twenty one some seven months prior. Technically, the Department of Social Services had referred Smith to St. Mary's instead of taking him into custody immediately, which they could have done. This may mean that, somewhere along the up line, someone had decided that this boy was either dangerous or in danger.



St. Mary's Psychiatric Ward, located in the actual hospital of St. Mary's Medical Institute of Wisconsin, was a branch stemmed from the study of rehabilitation of the criminally insane. Not many made it to their particular Ward, unless by fault, experiment, or someone knew someone who knew someone.



This John Smith was undoubtedly English...and while his file came with a Social Security number that checked out, Dr. Laeverton didn't believe for a second that Smith was who his file said he was.



Sure, Dr. Laeverton believed he suffered from amnesia and that Smith had all the signs of being freshly woken from a long coma. Smith didn't eat, isolated himself, and preferred silence unless it was absolutely necessary. What Dr. Laeverton had to do was unlock enough memories for Smith to operate in the outside world without becoming harmful to himself or his community.



Which could take weeks or even years to do properly. No one walked out of his Ward without his complete and utter confidence.



"How do you like St. Mary's so far, Mr. Smith?" Dr. Laeverton tried again.



Draco opened his eyes slowly and closed them again, saying nothing.



"The nurses say you haven't been eating, Mr. Smi--"



"Your staff shows a level of ineptitude that borders on the imbecilic," Draco murmured in a slow, monotone drawl. Draco opened his eyes again and peered at the man seated across from him. Suddenly, Draco's teeth flashed brilliant white in a rogue's smile. "And I mean that in a very caring way," Draco added after some deliberation.



A muscle twitched in Dr. Laeverton's jaw.



Draco heard water trickling to the side of him and smelled something less than desirable. Draco turned and saw a small tank with turtles in it against a far wall, set in a bookshelf with a number of hardbacks on psychology and the inner workings of the human mind. Draco curled his lip in disgust and turned back to the doctor. He was writing something.



When Dr. Laeverton finally looked back up at Draco, his gray eyes were leveled on the older man's face with a distinctly veiled look. "So doctor," Draco said quietly. "Why don't you tell me something about myself?"



Dr. Laeverton pursed his lips and rubbed at his beard before obliging. "Well, your name is John Smith"--Draco snorted--" you are 21, and your birthday is June 5th--"



"Where was I born?"



"It doesn't say. You arrived at St. Jude's Medical Institute roughly three years ago, suffering a blow to the head that rendered you comatose. When you became conscious, you were sent here. While you were comatose, your file was researched and this is what we know of you." Dr. Laeverton paused for effect, watching Smith closely. "You moved to the States when you were five--we believe, illegally because we could find absolutely no trace of your parents whatsoever. You were a ward of the state until you graduated Chesapeake High School in Maryland at age seventeen where you disappeared and were not seen again until arriving at St. Jude's. How you became injured is still unconfirmed and probably will remain so until you regain your memory."



Draco's frown slowly turned into a sneer. "Do you pay people to make that bollocks up or do you just do it yourself, mate?"



Dr. Laeverton returned his gaze steadily, clasping his tanned, gnarled hands in front of him. "That's your file, Mr. Smith. If it is incorrect, I urge you to rectify the situation with the truth."



Draco glared. "And a comedian, too. Isn't this just my lucky day?"



Dr. Laeverton looked away for a moment, apparently counting to ten in his head. "I'm here to aid you in recovering what is lost, Mr. Smith. If or when you remember something that differentiates what I have to go off of, I would hope you report this to me immediately. Until then, we're just going to have to play it by ear, you and I."



Draco took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't even think that's my name," Draco whispered. "In fact, I know it's not."



Dr. Laeverton nodded. "The second you give me something else to call you, I will."



Draco scowled and leaned back in his chair.



"Something that often helps amnesiacs is a notebook," Dr. Laeverton continued. "Things often try to trickle from our subconscious into our conscious when we sleep, and vice versa. Your subconscious is where you memories are stored. In order to pull them from there into you conscious, you need to write down everything that is familiar to you, everything that you feel reminds of something else, and every time you feel a sense of déjà vu. And it is especially important, Mr. Smith, to write down everything you can remember about your dreams. I trust you dream at night?"



Draco nodded, eyeing the doctor and the notebook he had produced while speaking.



"And every week, we will discuss what you have written down," Dr. Laeverton said.



Draco stood and reached out his hand for Dr. Laeverton to place the notebook in it. When the doctor hovered the notebook above Draco's hand, his gray eyes flashed with silver when they glared at Dr. Laeverton.



"You must eat, Mr. Smith," Dr. Laeverton said firmly. "The second I hear you're not eating, I'll take this away."



Draco scoffed. "Have you tried the food here? It's unbelievable! It smells worse than you turtles do!"



Dr. Laeverton laughed when Smith's face scrunched up like he'd eaten a bug. "You'll manage."



"Fine," Draco said, plainly disgusted.



Dr. Laeverton handed him the notebook and walked the pale young man to the door. "I'll see you next week, Mr. Smith."



***



Draco closed the door to his bedroom behind him. He tossed the notebook on his bed and went to the small table by the bathroom and, grabbing the table and a nearby chair, he dragged the furniture across the bedroom until it sat directly under the barred window. Then, using only the light from his bathroom and the pale light of the pitted moon above the hospital, Draco set the notebook and a pen on the table, seated himself, and opened it up to the first page.



Like Draco somehow knew he would, the Eagle Owl flew down and perched on the windowsill, watching Draco write over his shoulder, through the barred window.



Draco glanced once at the magnificent bird. "My first entry is about you, my friend," Draco murmured with a light smile.



The Eagle Owl made no sound, his shrewd yellow eyes watching patiently from the other side of the glass as he waited for his master.