Walking Along Memory Lane

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, insignia and stuff are owned by J.K. Rowling and not by me.

Note: Hello there. I have revised several parts of my story to make several situations a little bit more logical and edited several grammatical errors (if and when you find more, kindly indicate it in a review so I may rectify it, thank you). This chapter is one of those greatly affected. Thank you for reading.

Summary: Draco is involved in a terrible accident and falls into a coma. A few years later, he wakes up with amnesia. Plagued by dreams of a certain brunette, whom everyone by now thinks is a widow; he decides to get on with his life in search for his identity. DM/HG

Chapter One

The Blonde Man

She reached out to him. Her brow was beaded with sweat.

He murmured as he held her hand. "It will be all right, just hold on."

She screamed as she squeezed his hand and then slumped.

A baby's cry is heard.

"He's awake!"

"Merlin! He is! Quick – call the Head Healer!"

The blonde man sat up gingerly, rubbing his forehead. Medical facilities, which he had never seen before, stood around him.

Pain seared from his leg; apparently, movement is unfamiliar to it for so long.

"Good day, sir." A balding man in his late fifties attired as a senior healer approached him.

"Um, good day." He hesitantly replied. "Um, Healer," He peered at the identification tag, which did not include any name at all. "Head Healer, sir, what has happened to me?"

The Head Healer shrugged. "To be honest, we don't know."

The blonde man stared, puzzled.

"Sir, may I ask, what is your name?"

He moved his mouth to reply, and then realization hit him. "I don't know, doctor."

The Head shook his head sadly at his co-worker. "I knew it…"

The man blinked his eyes. "Why? What do you mean?"

The Head Healer addressed his subordinate. "Kindly update this man's file while I brief him." The Healer sighed as the Mediwitch walked away. "I might as well start from the beginning."

The patient merely stared silently.

"Well, about five years ago, you were sighted near our village, wounded and unconscious. For all we know, you were dead. However, we have a creed to follow. It goes along the lines of 'every life on this world must be given a chance, no matter how minute the chance may be.'"

The blonde motioned to speak. "Five years ago?"

"Yes, five years ago. Anyway, so you showed vital signs that you were to live, but you remained unconscious. For five whole years, you were in a coma in this very room."

The blonde man was astonished. "Why didn't you ever give up on me? I mean this is very sensitive and rather expensive."

"As I said, there was the creed." The Healer shrugged, smoothing his nearly non-existent hair. "Besides, this hospital is known for its fusion of Muggle medical means and Wiz-Med. The founder, Nicolas Flamel – I'm sure you've heard of him, left a rather large fund for this institution. A lot of rich patrons were encouraged by him long ago to invest and most of them did so. A fund was set up for special cases in which financial aid is needed. You are one of those cases."

"I see."

There was silence for a few moments.

The Healer shook from his reverie. "Back to your situation: your lack of memories, as we had anticipated, would a side effect of the five years in coma."

"But what about my magical abilities," The blonde man flexed his fingers. "I am still magical, aren't I?"

"Yes sir," A clipboard floated towards the Healer and he consulted it. "In fact, all throughout your coma, your magic manifested itself during routine tests to ensure that no Squibbing shall occur."

The patient shivered, dreading being a Squib.

"Your skills shall remain as it was before your, let's say, accident. Your magical skills would still be at your level, which may range from Merlin-level to Squib-level." He looked at his clipboard once more. "Though, by means of the tests made, you are more on the Merlin-level bracket."

"My memory – what was done about it and what can be done about it?"

"Well, it is only now that we have confirmed your memory loss -."

The man ruffled his hair in exasperation. "So, I'm a hopeless case then?"

"No, young man, no," The Healer strongly shook his head. "We had several healers perform the DreMeFlash spell on you during your comatose."

The man on the bed raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That would mean what?"

"DreMeFlash is short for Dream-Memory-Flashbacks. It is a spell designed to put forgotten memories back into a person's consciousness through dreaming. As time would pass and memories become more tangible, dreaming would no longer be needed and the usual amnesia treatment can occur, whereas seeing a thing, place or person triggers your memory."

"I'm afraid, Head Healer, that I do not have enough memories for me to establish my identity."

The Head Healer nodded knowingly. "I suggest then that you stay with us for another year as a follow-up and check-up on your condition. Who knows, we may trigger your memory to come back.

The blonde man could only gape and nod.

"Bye Devon!"

"Good luck old boy!"

"Never forget us!"

"Bye!"

Devon waved at them. "Bye! Don't worry, I won't."

At this comment, they all laughed.

Today was the day that blonde haired Devon Black (as he wished to be called after some blurry memories came) would go out to the world and search for his true identity. It has been a year since he had awakened from coma.

Whipping his wand from his robes, Devon enlarged his broomstick and mounted it.

"Bye, guys! Bye and thank you for all!" He shouted as he ascended into the early morning sky.

Soon, all the people in white who were waving at him were mere specks.

All alone, Devon pondered on what had transpired during the past year.

"My, how time really flies…" He told himself silently.

He was currently heading London, which is where several of his memories took place.

Though he clearly does not know why, Devon truly feels that he is heading to the right direction at the right time.

His dreams of a brunette woman had been bothering him quite frequently these past months. Heck, it was what brought him back from unconsciousness. Devon knew that it was very significant that he find this woman, who may be the key to his identity. Why else would she torment him in his sleep?

He closed his eyes for a moment.

It was like a life cycle… The woman, apparently giving birth… The woman, lulling a baby to sleep… The woman, cheering for her toddler who was walking, probably for the first time… Who is she?

He opened his eyes again.

"I need to find her." He said out loud convincingly.