Real Or Not Real

For Draco Malfoy, the end of the war was the dawn of another bout of problems. But when his memory is erased by an almost fatal injury, The Order reconstructs his past and convinces him that Harry Potter had accepted his handshake. Does making Draco believe that he is a hero help in changing his real being? His true upbringing, fate, destiny, past and experiences?

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3. Noble. Heroic.

Draco took a long time to digest the 'wizard' sentence. But his visitors did not seem to complain. They just sat there and enjoyed watching his troubled face. Infact, a part of Draco told him that the only reason they were here was so that they could see his pathetic condition.

But Hermione's expression said different. it spelt, of all things- Guilt.

 

Draco still hadn't come in terms with reality when his 'family' came to visit him. The others filed out unenthusiastically, some not even bothering to bid goodbye.

The door shut momentarialy leaving Draco alone. This was the time he longed for. He tried to vent out everything that now ran helter skelter in his head. But he just lay there. Helpless.

 

The door opened again and two elderly wizards filed in. Draco found himself noting a mental description of them.

 

Blonde hair. Plush green robes. Saggy, tear stained faces. Troubled expressions and yellow faces which held nothing but pain.

He looked away at the sight of them. He'd rather be a part of the ginger clan- he decided.

 

His parents settled on his either side. They didn't speak. Neither did Draco.

It must have killed them. The fact that they are looking at their only son pierced with wires. Depending of mere 'muggle' technology to stay awake. To stay alive.

But Draco wasn't their son. Not really. Atleast not in his sight. he couldn't remember them.

He couldn't remember a day out of those 17 years he spent with them. It's not fair, he thought. The fact that they are thrust upon him this way.

 

But it wasn't fair for them either, the fact that he was taken away from them.

They stayed for barely an hour. There were some empty exchanges, nothing more.

He saw that there was glum in their eyes, he had lost them. Or rather, they had lost him.

 

The only eventful moment was their parting.

"You know that you are truly noble, Draco," his mother had said (after Mr. Malfoy had left, ofcourse).

Draco nodded, just like he did for many more cheering words of his mother.

But she insisted on, "You really did make us proud. With your last actions. Maybe, you'll never hear your father say it. But what you did. It was... Heroic." she concluded as she sped out of the room, brimming with tears.

 

His last actions- he couldn't recall them, just like much of his life. What were they?

Noble. Heroic.

 

No one else came to visit Draco. He did not put this free time into working out his life, instead, he slept.

 

But the sleep wasn't peaceful, like the drug induced ones. They were studded with horrible visions.

Whether that was his past, future or just an illusion- Draco couldn't tell.

Bright flashes of light, sneering faces, pain, horrible looking - gigantic chicken, an old sage falling into darkness. They interwove to shake his wits.

 

But they all seemed puny of emotion for that one incident.

A tattered and bloodied version of himself diving, diving into darkness. Faces blurred on either side, but he couldn't distinguish them. And then, a searing pain where his heart should have been and then, blackness.

 

 

 

 

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