Author's note: This fic - which was supposed to be a oneshot, but damn my brain - is dedicated to Belle A Lestrange, because it's her birthday today. Happy birthday, sweetheart! *hugs* I hope you'll like this angst fest :D

Warnings: Draco's pov; MPreg; established slash; implied violence; memory loss; drama; altered timeline right after the war

Keep in mind that for a large part of this story, Draco is going to act like a real arsehole. If I forget any warnings considering this chapter, please let me know and I'll add them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.

I hope you'll like it!

Chapter 1

A grey white ceiling.

A grey white ceiling that looked nothing like the pure snow white colour of the ceiling in his bedroom.

That was the first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes slowly; his temples throbbing with the vague memory of a serious headache and his mouth cotton dry.

So he wasn't in his bedroom. Most likely not in Malfoy Manor at all. Splendid.

Something shifting in his peripheral vision had him slowly turning his head and he stared straight into slightly widened, ice blue eyes.

Mother.

"Mother?" he mumbled, voice scratchy and he winced, wondering how long he had been unconscious. "Where 'm I?"

"You're at Saint Mungos, my dragon," she said and rose up from her chair, tenderly brushing his hair back. "Give me a moment to call your Healer and the others. I'm glad you're awake."

He watched her stride towards the door and exit out of it; her heels tapping firmly against the tiled floor as she went to warn whoever else was here.

The hospital, huh? Why had he landed here? Had he been attacked? Furrowing his eyebrows, he tried to recall what had happened to him prior before waking up here. He had been walking through one of the side alleys near Diagon Alley with Blaise. They had been discussing an ancient potions tome they had found in one of the shops when … Hadn't three people completely hidden in cloaks shown up? They had been saying something about wanting to take revenge, get him back for the war and he could remember duelling them together with Blaise.

One of their spells had slipped passed his defensive shields, he realised, and had hit him. What had the spell done? As far as he could see and feel, he still had all his body parts and he found he could sit up without too much effort, so he wasn't paralysed either. Something must have happened, though, because why else would he be here in the hospital? For that matter, how long had he been here?

When the door swung open again, it revealed mother, father and Healer Silver, someone who had acted as the Malfoys' private Healer for years now. Draco imagined the hospital had put up quite a fuss before admitting the man; they didn't do well with people from outside intruding on their territory, but money still had quite some sway here.

"I'm glad to see you're awake, Mister Malfoy," Silver said, striding over and halting in front of the bed.

Mother and father followed at a more sedate pace, taking a seat on the chairs in front of the window and on Draco's left.

"How are you feeling?" Dark brown eyes studied him intently as Silver picked up the clipboard which contained, Draco presumed, his medical notes.

"I've had better days," Draco answered dryly; his voice still a bit scratchy. A glass of water entered his vision and he gave mother a grateful look as he sipped carefully of the cool liquid. It slipped down his throat pleasantly, like a Cooling Balm against a throbbing wound.

"A bit of a headache, but I feel fine overall," he continued, licking his lips absentmindedly to get rid of the remaining water.

"Do you remember what happened?" Silver inquired; his wand swishing back and forth slowly as he muttered spells underneath his breath. The tip of his wand glowed a faint rose, a dark purple, a soft gold and a pale green; each colour fading into the next one. Having never studied Healing or Healing Spells, the blond man had no clue what kind of magic the older man was using.

"I was attacked," Draco said slowly and his fingers twitched with the faint memory of gripping his wand tightly in order not to lose it. "By three people. Couldn't see who they were, but they attacked me and Blaise. Is Blaise all right?"

"He is," Mother said soothingly. "He was released yesterday. He only had a broken arm and some cuts."

"Yesterday? How many days has it been?" Draco asked befuddled, still a bit disoriented. At least his friend was fine; that was good to hear.

"Two days," Father answered quietly. His hand was clenched around the silver knob of his cane and his grey eyes were dark. "Blaise brought you in unconscious."

"Well, it looks like everything is in order," Silver announced, lowering his wand with a satisfied smile. "The headache is a result of you smacking your head against the ground when you fell down, but that should clear up soon. You had a few broken ribs and a nasty cut on your upper left thigh, but they healed perfectly. As far as I am concerned, you're free to go home, Mister Malfoy."

Before Draco could reply, the door opened again and grey eyes idly swivelled towards it, expecting another Healer or a Mediwitch coming to do her rounds. Instead Harry Potter stepped inside; hair a bit shorter than Draco remembered it being and his god awful glasses seemed to have finally perished and exchanged with a thin, silver pair.

"Sorry I'm so late," Potter apologised, looking sheepishly. Green eyes lit up when they landed on Draco and the younger man strode forwards, an odd look of relief plastered on his face. "I'm so glad you're finally awake!"

Draco blinked, taken aback by the comment. Why would Potter be glad to see him awake? He hadn't seen the man in months and while their last meeting had been rather amiable – at the very least there had been no insults and no curses flying around – there was no reason for the other man to act so familiar with him.

Why was he even here? Was one of his pesky friends admitted to the hospital and he had heard that Draco was here as well and decided to, what, pay a visit? Well, he had never claimed to understand what the dark haired man was thinking.

To his utmost bafflement, Potter sank down on the other remaining chair and leant forwards, grabbing one of Draco's hands in his. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I suppose. What are you doing here?" Draco asked perplexed, snatching his hand out of the too warm grip. What the fuck was wrong with Potter? Had he been hit with one too many stray hexes during the war?

"I was here earlier, but I had to get my check-up, remember?" Potter said ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Otherwise I would have been here when you woke up."

And that didn't answer his question at all. What was the idiot blabbing about? "No, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off rescuing a damsel in distress or foiling the plans of a next Dark Lord?" Draco sneered.

Potter stared at him bemused and really, if anyone had the right to be confused, it was Draco, not bloody Potter. "I'm on desk duty for the rest of the year; you were the one insisting on it," he said slowly, staring at Draco as if he had lost his mind. "Said I shouldn't risk it and not even thinking about stepping out onto the field."

"Why the fuck would I tell you that?" Draco asked incredulously. "What do I care whether or not you're on desk duty? You might consider going back to field work actually, because clearly it isn't good for your figure, Potter; too much pastries?" he added with a sneer when he noticed the belly the other man was sporting. It wasn't a complete pot belly, but the rounded form could hardly be ignored through the tight shirt.

A confused and something akin to hurt look crossed Potter's face. "Draco, what …"

"I thought he only had a few broken ribs and some cuts?" Mother asked sharply; narrowed eyes regarding Silver coldly.

Draco stared at her confused. It was only now that he realised his parents hadn't remarked on Potter's presence, almost as if they were used to it. Well, his father didn't look particularly happy with Potter being here, but his mother was exchanging meaningful looks with the Saviour and when had that happened? How had he missed his mother getting cosy with the Boy-Who-Lived? Since when were they so familiar?

"The Diagnostic Charm only revealed those injuries, yes," Silver answered and narrowed his eyes in return; a frown cleaving his forehead in two. "Mister Malfoy, can you tell me your age?"

"Growing senile in your old age?" Draco sneered, hyper aware of the heavy, green eyes resting on him.

"Draco," Mother said sharply, regarding him warningly.

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he answered bored, "Twenty-three."

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Like I already told you: I was attacked by three people. Battled with them and one of their spells passed my defensive shields and hit me," he replied irritated.

"How have you been spending your life since the end of the war?"

Grey eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm studying to become a Potions Master," Draco responded curtly. "Mind telling me what these questions are about? And why the hell Potter is here if he isn't going to take my testimony?"

Or why the man was acting so familiar with him, but he would take any answer he would get now as long as it made sense.

"Draco, you don't remember Harry at all?" Mother asked slowly, cautiously and a stricken look appeared on Potter's face.

"Of course I remember him," Draco scoffed and for a few seconds Potter smiled relieved, leaning forwards again. Draco's next words shattered his relief completely. "We went to Hogwarts together and fought on opposite sides of the war. Kind of hard to forget a git like that. Why are you calling him by his first name anyway?"

Judging by the solemn looks on his parents' and Silver's faces and the devastated look on Potter's – and what the fuck was up with that? – Draco clearly had given the wrong answer.

What the hell was going on?

Partial amnesia.

That was Silver's best guess as to what was wrong with Draco. He could remember everything, from his earliest childhood memories, to the spells and potions he had studied, to the horrible events of the war, to the studies he had taken on now to become a Potions Master.

However, he couldn't remember asking out Potter, being in a relationship with him and to make it even better, couldn't remember becoming engaged.

And the belly Potter was sporting now? Apparently he was pregnant. Pregnant as in carrying Draco's child. Had been for the past four months.

What on earth had happened to him that had made him decide to ask out Potter? Sure, the last time they had met – by running into each other in Diagon Alley – they had had a rather civil conversation, but that couldn't have been the basis for Draco's decision to date Potter. Aside from that, he didn't think he was gay; he had been intent on courting one of the Greengrass sisters and use that marriage as a way to get higher up in society again. While Potter had his own fame that was useful, marrying him wouldn't do Draco any good in the Pureblood circles, which were still quite conservative.

Despite his desire to drag the Malfoy name out of the mud, he had supposedly fallen in love with Potter?

When they had informed him of his relationship with the dark haired man at the hospital, he had laughed, so certain they were just yanking his chain, messing around with him.

They weren't. They were absolutely serious about it, adamant that he was dating Potter, even worse engaged to him, and the younger man was expecting his child.

Apparently he had been very excited about becoming a father – but for some reason he couldn't remember his relationship with Potter at all, let alone recalling that he was becoming a father soon.

Silver had theorised that perhaps the combination of the unknown spell of his attacker and his defensive shield had resulted in his loss of memory. Why he had only lost his memory of Potter, though, and nothing else was something the Healer couldn't explain.

He also couldn't say when Draco's memory would fully return or if it would return. A heavy silence had fallen down in the room after that particular admission. The only advice Silver had given was be patient and surround himself with things from his past – or well, more accurately present – in order to jog his memory and kickstart his brain into restoring the missing parts.

So here he was now: standing in a cosy living room of the house he was supposedly sharing with Potter.

The whole house … it just wasn't him. No matter how he turned around, how many times he went into a room and back out of it again, stared at the furniture, the pictures on the walls … He couldn't recognise himself in them. Couldn't understand how he had ever been okay with buying that god awful dark purple couch with the stupid white, frilly throw pillows on it. Couldn't imagine how he had been happy to live in a house that was barely a tenth of Malfoy Manor.

Sure, the house wasn't as awful as the Weasleys' one – he very much doubted a house uglier than that existed – but it wasn't something he would ever have chosen for himself. It wasn't something he could envision himself growing old in. This house had nothing of the Malfoy Manor's grandeur; the rooms were small, much smaller than those of the manor, and the property wasn't as heavily warded as the manor was. It was somewhat isolated, at the edge of the quiet village with the backyard flowing right into a small forest, but noise of Muggle traffic still managed to filter through the wards if it was loud enough.

Draco was starting to wonder whether someone had hexed him into believing he wanted to be with Potter and live in this abysmal small house, because surely if he had been in his right mind, he would never have thought of approaching Potter in that manner.

This whole thing was just absurd and it made him want to return to Malfoy Manor and forget any of this had ever taken place. Nothing made sense.

"So I spoke to Ron and he's checking to see whether any cases similar to yours have popped up recently," Potter spoke from the doorway of the living room, eyeing him cautiously.

While Draco had wandered through the house, wondering what the hell he had been thinking all the while, Potter had remained downstairs, presumable to talk to Weasley.

"What's the plan if there aren't any similar cases?" Draco questioned idly, drawing closer to the hearth which sported several picture frames on top of it. There was one of the Golden Trio and the blond man snorted when he spotted the stupid grin on Weasley's face as he hugged Granger from behind with Potter's arm slung around his neck. Merlin, he hoped those two weren't procreating yet; the world had enough Weasleys in it already.

Another picture showed his Aunt Andromeda with a small, dark haired boy seated on her lap: his cousin twice removed, Teddy. He had met the boy a few times before when he visited his aunt with mother, but he supposed he probably had hung around a lot more with the boy if he was together with Potter. Teddy was Potter's godson, after all, so it made sense the child would be a regular visitor. Not that Draco could recall meeting Teddy a lot, but maybe the majority of those meetings had taken place with Potter and the memories of those were gone, just like the ones of his supposed relationship with Potter.

Grimacing at the thought, he quickly looked at another photo – the frame containing to his immense surprise a picture of his parents, who were smiling mildly back at him. So he really was living here then, if he even had a picture of his parents here.

Yes, being hexed before started to sound a lot more plausible.

"The same as it would be if there are similar cases: track down the ones who attacked you," Potter replied and his voice was oddly flat.

"How are you going to do that when you don't even have a description? They kept their faces hidden," Draco pointed out sceptically. He turned his attention to the last photo.

"Zabini gave us some information about their accents and where they attacked you, so two of my colleagues are currently sweeping the scene for magical traces," Potter explained and somewhere outside a dog barked in the distance.

"Don't think accents will do you any - " Draco cut himself off when he saw himself in the last picture, sitting next to Potter underneath a thick tree, laughing and kissing each other. A wave of revulsion suddenly washed over him and abruptly he turned around, not able to look at the picture for a second longer.

See, I was hexed, he told himself, balling his hands into fists. There's no way otherwise why I would give up a potential marriage to an influential Pureblood family for a Halfblood man.

"Every bit of information can be useful." Potter sounded like he was reciting it from a bloody textbook. A frown appeared on his forehead and he took a step closer. "Draco, are you okay?"

He couldn't do this. He couldn't keep standing here and pretend everything was normal, that he wasn't freaking out by all of this. He needed to get out.

"Where's my lab?" Draco asked abruptly, recalling that he had seen no decent lab in this house. There was the basement which seemed to be in the progress of turning into a private lab, but surely he couldn't have been spending his time there brewing his potions and studying them?

"It's at your parents' home, but what - "

Draco strode past him before he could finish his sentence and left the house without giving the other wizard a chance to stop him.

He just needed to be in familiar surroundings again; go back to a place that didn't make him feel like he was living the life of a complete stranger. He Apparated away, ignoring Potter's shout.

"All I ask is that you don't damage yourself by purposefully staying away from him," Mother said; a hint of resignation in her voice.

"Damage myself?" Draco snorted, placing the ladle next to the bubbling cauldron. "I doubt I'll be damaging myself by staying away, mother. They're just memories; they have no way of harming me." Narrowed, grey eyes studied the potion intently, waiting for the moment when it would turn a lavender purple.

"Healer Silver said it would be best if you surrounded yourself with familiar things," she remarked patiently; her hands folded in front of her as she stood in the doorway of his private lab.

He swept his arm around the room and smiled sardonically. "I'm surrounded by familiar things, don't you think so?"

She pursed her lips together. "You know what I mean, Draco," she retorted stiffly; her golden blonde hair glinting in the candle light.

He didn't reply, not in the mood for the argument that would surely arise if he told her he wasn't interested at all in being around Potter. Her claim about him having been happy with Potter was ridiculous; there was no way he would have chosen that git of all people if he had been in a completely sane mood. Maybe he should let himself be tested for curses which invoked the feeling of love.

A frown forming on his forehead, he returned his attention to the potion, nodding to himself as he saw the colour changing from a pale blue into a lavender blue. Good, that meant the potion was a success. Now he just needed to wait for it to cool down before he would pour it into the bottles.

"Draco, I know this must be confusing for you now, but I want you to try," Mother sighed. "As much as I love you, you can't remain here forever."

"I feel the love, mother," he riposted sarcastically, scowling down at the slowly bubbling potion before putting the fire out underneath the cauldron. "I'll go back tonight."

"Draco."

"Silver said it's best to return to my normal life as soon as possible; this is my being normal," he pointed out harshly; his fingers gripping the edge of the work table tightly until they turned a stark white.

A silence, heavier than any silence between them before, reigned in the room until mother sighed and approached him; her heels click clacking on the tiled floor. A slender hand was placed on his right shoulder and squeezed down.

"I'm glad you're okay," she murmured and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek before leaving the room silently.

A sigh left him and he sank down on the only chair in the room, rubbing his hands over his forehead. It was difficult to stay mad at his mother, especially when she said things like that. That didn't take away the fact that she was wrong about him and Potter, though. He didn't have a clue as to why he had ever decided to go after Potter, but he guessed it would be best to try to find the reason, if only to figure out a way to get out of this relationship so that he could choose a proper spouse. There was of course the matter of the baby, but that was an issue to be resolved at a later date. First he needed answers regarding their relationship.

Starting with the question: if he and Potter were engaged, where was his engagement ring?

"You got any work done today?" Potter asked neutrally; one finger tracing the rim of his glass while the other hand was slowly rubbing his stomach.

They had just eaten dinner. When Draco had finally dragged himself back to the house he shared with the other man, not finding any other excuse to linger at Malfoy Manor, he had encountered Potter in the kitchen, preparing dinner. His instinctive reaction had been to refuse the food when Potter had offered it, but he had been hungry and annoyingly dinner had smelt incredible.

It had tasted very well, too, especially given the fact that the git had been horrendous at Potions back at Hogwarts.

"Finished some orders," Draco answered flatly, carefully avoiding looking at Potter's belly. He could only stomach so much weirdness in one day and he wasn't ready yet to contemplate the idea that he would be a father at the end of the year.

"I went back to the office for a few hours," Potter said cautiously and the blond made a non-committal sound, keeping his eyes averted to the window. "Kelly and Matthew, the Aurors who swept the scene for magical signatures, were done with the check-up. They picked up the traces, but so far we have no match yet. Ron and I are going to look for a link with other cases tomorrow."

"Splendid," Draco said blankly. Certainly he wanted those bastards caught and in Azkaban, but he doubted they would be able to find them unless they attacked another person. It would have been one thing if Draco or Blaise had been able to give a description, but without knowing how they looked like, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

"So, eh," Potter tapped his fingers on the table, looking awkward, "do you, maybe, have any questions or so?" He licked his lips; his glasses glinting in the setting sunlight.

"Like how the hell we ended up together?" Draco snorted harshly and shook his head, ignoring the wince of the other wizard. His mind flashing back to the engagement news, he decided to ask, "If we're engaged, where is my ring? You're wearing one after all."

The ring around Potter's finger was thin and silver with a line of small emeralds embedded on it. If this entire situation wasn't so strange, he would have find it amusing that Gryffindor's Golden Boy was wearing something that was essentially Slytherin coloured.

The dark haired man looked befuddled at first before his gaze flitted down to his own ring and comprehension crossed his face. He looked up again with a smile. "Ah, the Healer told me he had removed yours after you were brought in to prevent the Healing magic from potentially reacting badly to it."

Well, that did make sense. Some spells interacted quite badly when they encountered metals, so it had been prudent of Silver to remove his ring.

"He actually gave it to me this morning when you were being discharged," Potter continued and made a motion as if to rise up from his chair. "I can go get it for you." Hope lit up green eyes.

"No thanks," Draco replied curtly, not in the least bit interested in wearing the ring.

Potter deflated visibly, disappointment flitting across his face and Draco sneered; how was this man supposed to be a competent Auror if his face was that open?

The green eyed wizard cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and said slowly, "I was wondering … About tonight, you can still sleep with - "

"I'm going to sleep in the guest room," Draco interrupted him, grimacing slightly. His skin positively crawled at the idea of sleeping next to Potter; he really needed to find a way to get out of this farce of a relationship soon.

Potter was taken aback, staring at him wide eyed. "Eh, well, I suppose you're probably still getting used to this. But maybe we could - "

"Good night, Potter," Draco said briskly and left the room; whatever Potter had wanted to say, died on his lips.

Ignoring the eyes burning in his back, Draco disappeared into the hallway, up the staircase and stepped into the second room on the right, which he had discovered was a plain bedroom, meant for guests – or maybe even Teddy, judging by the wayward stuffed dragon he found wedged between the bed and the wall.

Tomorrow he would visit Blaise, see how his friend was doing, and try to figure out what to do next.

That goal firmly implanted in his mind, it was relatively easily for sleep to catch him.

AN2: Yeah, don't expect this fic to be fluffy. I promise a happy ending, but we have to wade through some angst before we can get to that. Also, yes, the whole amnesia idea has been done a lot by now, but I figured I'd give it a try now.

A note: I don't have any idea yet how long this fic is going to be. Just expect chapters of around 4K LOL

Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.

See you all in the next chapter!

Cuddles

Melissa

P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.