Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

Warning: Slash, Mpreg, and OCCness

Author: CRIESOFTHEFALLEN

He stared up at the ceiling, vaguely noticing it was white. He couldn't remember how he got there. Hell, he couldn't even remember who he was. It was frustrating, and all these simple, undermining people poking, and prodding him did little to help his mood. It took a lot of effort to keep himself from cursing them into oblivion. Strangely enough he could remember spells and all those things, and he could even remember a son. He had a son. His name was Draco. Yet he couldn't remember anything past that. It was highly unusual his doctors said. Suicide , or more accurately , attempted suicide never resulted in memory loss. Honestly, he agreed. Besides, he felt fine, why would he attempt suicide? That was insane, and he was not insane. Not yet at least, but if one more medi-witch touched him he would…

"Father, are you alright?" his head whipped around to the owner of the voice. Draco, his son. Smiling, or trying to, he looked at his son. His jaw hurt from the effort, giving him the feeling he hadn't smiled in a while. That made him wonder if he really had been as fine as he felt and his son assured him he was. He had the nagging feeling he was forgetting something important, something he could say was in fact of great importance, yet for the life of him… "Father?" Draco asked worriedly. Snapping to attention he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but by the look on his son's face he could tell he hadn't been extremely successful.

"I'm fine. I was simply thinking of a few things," he said. Sitting up, he studied his son. He was tall, in his twenties, and had the same silver-gray eyes he did. He had a good built, and he was sure he had no trouble with the ladies, or men. He was proud of him, he could draw that much from the puddle that was his memory. Feelings, it seemed, was all he could draw from memory. Oh, he tried, but nothing worked. All he got was a migraine from the force of his efforts. The doctor had said something about remembering in time, when he was ready. He said his subconscious was keeping his memories locked away until a time in which he would be able to handle them. This more that anything confirmed the fact that everyone was keeping something from him. If that hadn't been enough clue, all the looks he got were more than enough hint. The looks varied from pity, to anger, to disappointment(from failing at killing himself?), to mocking. He couldn't understand what meaning was carried beneath those looks. He had a feeling he would have known what those looks meant at one point in his life before the memory loss, but he could put one look from the other. At least not without great effort. He was determined to find out the reason for all the looks and Draco's worry.

He looked up startled when he realized his son was at the other side of the room with his doctor. They were deep in discussion, most likely about how she should be treated now that he was deemed healthy and able to return to his own manor. A manor. He was rich, and powerful. He honestly wouldn't have thought that when he woke up, as he had been treated like any other person, like a normal person. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was different. He was going home today. Home. Now that word sounded strange and alien to him, though he was unsure of the why behind that sentiment. Confused. He knew, or at least he thought, he loved his son. So why did he feel the need to panic every time he thought about going home? He simply couldn't work out any logical reason within his realm of understanding. Standing as he saw his son coming towards him, he allowed his son to lead him to the fireplace. Standing in front of the emerald fire, something inside him hurt. Emerald. That certain shade, that color meant something to him. He paused and stared, transfixed as he watched the emerald fire lick at the surrounding stones.

'You have the most unique eyes. So… beautiful.'

'Beautiful? I thought you said I had commoners eyes?'

' Did I ? Well then, it must be true.'

That voice was like honey, silk, velvet. It had been teasing, and loving. Now more than ever he needed to remember. He snapped out of his trance as he heard his name being called. Brushing off his sons worried questions, he stepped into the fire calling out, " Malfoy Manor!" he opened his eyes and found himself in an elegant, and undeniably beautiful study. He automatically knew it was his. Walking around, he familiarized himself with it once more and stopped when he came onto an overturned picture frame. The frame was made of fine wood, he noted vaguely and began to turn it around. "Father, come, you must be tired. Let me take you to your room," said Draco. Nodding, he placed the frame back down and followed his son out the study. He would look at the frame later and see of that would trigger any flashbacks, like the one before he entered the fireplace. Emerald. That meant something. It was important. It had to be. Why else would that have caused the sudden flashback? He pondered about this for some time. He barely noticed when his son bid him a good night and excused himself with a promise of returning to the manor the next morning. He had simply nodded and did the same, expressing his delight in having his son for breakfast. He had a feeling that didn't happen often.

Changing into his sleeping clothes, he lay in his bed. It was huge, it was soft, it made his stomach sick. He felt ashamed, guilty, depressed, as he lay in this bed. Making up his mind he called for a house elf and asked to have a different room prepared. He was led to a room on a separate wing. Somehow that room felt right. The bed heavenly. And then he fell into a troubled sleep, his dreams turning to night mares as his memories came to haunt him. He woke at midnight, drenched in sweat. The name, Harry, on his lips. He pondered on this for maybe an hour, before exhaustion lulled him into the land of dreams.

He would not remember any of his dreams, much less the name that tugged at his heart, making it ache and bleed with wounds he had never even known existed, or remembered that did, once more. All he would remember would be the haunting emerald eyes that looked at him with such hurt, sadness, and utter betrayal. He would ask his son, if he knew the owner of said eyes and be denied the knowledge. He would search for weeks and come up empty handed. That is until he came across a man with similar eyes, and a child, a beautiful child. It would only be a momentary glimpse, a look shared between them, he pausing in the middle of the alley, shacking his head, wondering if it had just been a figment of his imagination. He would look for that man for years, five to be exact, and finally find him. His name? Hadrian James Potter.

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IMPORTANT PLEASE READ!!!

Again, some people have been asking me about my other stories, and let me say this, I have not abandoned them and so far none of my stories are finished. This makes me think no one bothers to read the authors note, read them because occasionally there is something worth reading it for. Thank you to all my awesome reviewers. And hope you enjoy the new chapter. I know I'm updating only this one lately, but as I said before, I want to write crap about as much as you want to read it. Give me time so that maybe my muse comes knocking at my door and I can get on with it. That said, thank you again for reading and all your support.