Chapter 58

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office opened, interrupting Draco's narrative before he got very far. Draco instantly closed his eyes and settled himself back on his bed.

"Obviously Draco has more friends than I thought," Pomfrey said. "And I'm glad you're all being so quiet; I haven't heard hardly a sound since you came in. But really this is too much. Only one of you can stay." Turning to Hagrid, she added, "I mean only one student of course, Professor Hagrid. You're welcome to stay as long as you like." The semi-giant stood.

"Really I should be going. I've got some marking to do." He headed out the door.

"And so which of you is staying, then?" demanded Pomfrey.

"Just me," said Hermione.

"But it's my shift," said Ron, who stifled himself when he felt Hermione step on his foot.

"Then the rest of you must be off. I'm sure Hermione will let you know if anything important happens." The healer turned to leave, paused, and then turned back to stare at Dee, looking like she was about to ask a question. But she changed her mind, turned once more and headed back to her office.

"How am I going to get back to my room without being seen?" Dee said. "I don't have any more of that potion, and at this time of day, there is liable to be a lot of students in the hallways."

Harry stood and pulled a piece of cloth from inside his robes. He looked at Dee closely.

"This will take care of your problem. In fact, you can stay here, if you like, provided you put this over you." Harry threw his invisibility cloak over himself to demonstrate its use.

"That's so wonderful! I'm sure I'll never get used to what you wizards can do!"

"You can use it while Draco tells his story to Hermione. But when it's time for her to go, you'll have to go with her, and after she escorts you to the teachers' quarters, give it up to her. This cloak special to me, not just for the properties it possesses, but because it's been in my family for literally hundreds of years. My parents, you see, are dead, and this cloak is the one thing they possessed that they were able to pass onto me. If I were to lose it..."

"It's even more precious than Draco's ring," said Dee, holding up her hand to show the ancient gold band. "I feel selfish for even wanting to touch it." It was to Dee's credit that Harry now had to press her to accept the loan of the cloak, finally overcoming her reluctance.

"I'm envious, because I'd love to stay," Harry said to Hermione. "But I'm sure you'll give Ron and me the Readers' Digest version when you're done."

"The what?" said Draco, baffled.

"It's a Muggle thing, dear," said Dee as she threw on the cloak, her disembodied voice appearing from nowhere. "I'll explain it later." Harry and Ron left the infirmary, leaving Draco with Hermione and the invisible Dee. Draco sat up on his bed.

"Hermione, now that I think of it, maybe there isn't very much point in telling you my story, unless you're prepared to judge it on its merits. If you just assume I'm lying, then you won't really be listening, and the whole exercise will be a waste of your time - and of my energy, and I have precious little of that right now."

"I have to admit that I am a bit biased where you're concerned, Draco," Hermione replied. "But there is a solution. When Imogen first showed up at the school, the staff thought the story of her arrival was totally incredible, and with her permission, they gave her veritaserum before asking her any questions. Dumbledore and McGonagall thought that perhaps Imogen had suffered a severe shock of some kind or was under a spell that prevented her from being able to accurately to describe what had happened to her. They thought veritaserum might overcome the problem. In your case, you've suffered a really bad head injury, and maybe it would help convince me that what you're saying is accurate, if you took veritaserum first."

"I wouldn't mind taking veritaserum, but I don't seem to have a bottle nearby."

"So if I can find some, will you drink it?" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

In Hermione's trunk was a small bottle of the potion that she kept for 'emergencies'. Hermione knew that she could summon the bottle, but that might be dangerous. She pictured her trunk crashing open, revealing a number of items, including a few things that her dormitory mates should not see. Then the potion bottle with its sharp edges would speed through the school hallways, a large glass bullet inflicting wounds on students as it sped by. Then, when it reached the infirmary door, it would smash itself to bits. No, summoning the potion bottle would not work. But was possible that Madam Pomfrey kept a small supply at hand?

Hermione stepped softy to Madam Pomfrey's dispensary. The door was locked, but Hermione's skill with unlocking charms was second to none, and in less than a minute the door was open, and on display were rows and rows of bottles. But the bottles were labeled in a language unknown to Hermione. She raised her wand.

"Accio Madam Pomfrey's veritaserum." A small bottle leaped from the shelf. Hermione grabbed it with a catch worthy of any seeker.

"I have only a theoretical knowledge of the effects of this potion," lied Hermione, having given Ron a small dose some months earlier to find out whether he was interested in Imogen. "Because of that, I'm not really sure how much to give you," she continued, as she poured into a vial the exact amount appropriate for someone of Draco's age and size. She passed the tiny vial to Draco. He accepted it, and raised it to his lips. But before drinking it, he said,

"I expect that some of what I have to say will be unpleasant to you, and I regret that. You may also hear secrets that have been in my family for literally thousands of years and have never been told to anyone who does not bear the name of Malfoy. Please use your discretion in deciding what to pass on to your friends. Don't tell them anything that in your judgment they really don't need to know."

"You can rely on me. The only thing any of us are truly interested in is what it will help us at the end of term."

Draco threw his head back, and in one swallow consumed the truth-telling potion.

Draco examined himself closely in the mirror of the bathroom of his hospital room, noting with approval that most of his head was bald once more. The night before he had made the mistake of using a healing charm to cure the itching on his scalp. The charm worked, and the itch disappeared. But an unwanted effect was that his hair grew back. He knew that he should not be displaying signs of an overly rapid recovery that could only be explained by a magic, and so it had been necessary for Sabrina to trim of his hair and then shave what remained. Draco noticed that the scar where he had been trepanned looked better than it should. Draco fixed this with the use of a mild engorgement charm, causing his skull to swell slightly around the area of the injury.

"Thanks, Sabrina," Draco said, exiting his bathroom. "You did a great job shaving my head."

"My name is actually not Sabrina, not really," the girl said, looking rather guilty.

"I don't think I'm that brain damaged," replied Draco. "I'm quite sure that you told me your name was Sabrina."

"I did. I meant it as a joke. You're always going on in your sleep about magic, and there's that show on T.V., so I jokingly gave myself the same name as the witch in that show."

"That show on 'T.V.'. What's that?"

"You know the show: 'Sabrina the teenage witch'. It's very popular. Even if you haven't seen it, you must have at least heard of it."

"Can't say that I have heard of it."

"Sorry. I thought you'd find it funny. I didn't realize you'll take it seriously. My name actually is Dagmir, but everybody calls me Dee, so much so that it's even on some of my I.D. now."

"Your what?"

"My I.D. Surely you know what I.D. is." But seeing Draco's blank face, Dee sighed, and opened her purse. She pulled out her wallet and a few cards, and slapped them down on the small table attached to Draco's bed.

"That's I.D. There's my birth certificate, my student card. You know — I.D. as in i-dent-ification."

"When you think about it, it's a pretty good idea," Draco said, examining Dee's hospital I.D. The photo didn't do her justice, he thought.

"The doctors say that you aren't exhibiting any neurological deficits, but I think something is very wrong with you. Either that, or you have a weird sense of humour."

"No one's ever accused me of having any kind of a sense of humor," said Draco, "so it must be the fall at King's Cross Station. I hope I'll be better soon. When do you think they'll let me out of here?"

"I have no idea. They don't tell me things like that. I'm just a volunteer."

Draco knew that the hospital would not be discharging him anytime soon; his wandwork would make sure of that. Before he could leave, he had to satisfy himself that neither Dee nor anyone else had gained from him any knowledge of the magical world. Draco's skill at Legilimency had been acquired during the previous summer holidays, and while he was nowhere near as expert as his father, he felt that with effort, he would be able to learn from Dee's mind what he needed to know. The more difficult task would be to alter the memories of any Muggles who knew things that they should not. Dee might have to have her memory modified, and rather extensively; as to the other medical staff, Draco would have to see. And all this would take time. But he could not afford to take too long; he had to get back to Hogwarts.

The door to his room opened, a doctor strolling in without bothering to knock. Draco suppressed the urge to blast the man with a curse for his rudeness.

"You again!" said the doctor.

"Who else did you expect? After all, this is my room," said Draco.

"I meant you, young lady," said the doctor, turning to Dee. "Whenever I make my rounds, I find you here half the time. I know you're just a volunteer, but surely you can find other patients to attend too."

"Yes, Dr. Atkins," Dee said, her glance in Draco's direction telling him that she felt none of the meekness of spirit that her instant compliance with the doctor's orders implied. She stepped lightly to the door, then turned, mouthing, "I'll be back" but not in the doctor's sight. And then she was gone.

"She's such a genius that I sometimes forget that she's really just a teenage girl."

"Really?" Draco was curious as to what made a Muggle a genius compared to fellow Muggles. To him it was liking describing someone as the tallest midget.

"She's only just turned sixteen, but she's already a medical student. She tells me that her studies are 'easy', just a matter of rote memorization. I never had spare time when I was in medical school, but she does, and she spends it on her own research project. At least that's what she used to be doing. Now she prefers to hang around the hospital. Let's take a look at that head of yours." Doctor Atkins approached, and removing his glasses, peered closely at the crown of Draco's head.

"Odd. Very odd," the doctor said, his mouth so close to Draco's ear that it was like having the sorting hat talk to him. "Never seen that before. Did you bump your head?"

"I'm told that I did, quite severely in fact."

"What I meant was, did you bump your head very recently, as in the last day or so?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Draco watched as the doctor drew one of those Muggle quills with a self-contained ink supply, and made some notes. Draco thought he would have to take some of those back with him to Hogwarts.

"It looks like you've suffered a fresh, albeit a minor injury. But of the serious injury that brought you here, I can see no sign at all. It's as if it never occurred."

Damn. These Muggles were not as easy to fool as Draco had assumed.

"Dee tells me I've said some pretty strange things in my sleep. Have you or anyone else heard anything that might help you figure out who I am?" Draco hoped that the change of topic would lessen the doctor's attention to the sudden, even miraculous speed of Draco's healing. But his choice of subject was poor.

"I will tell you straight out that none of us who have treated you believe that your amnesia is anything but a pose. Yes, some memory loss is often associated with a head injury, but the memory loss you report is unusually and suspiciously selective."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," stammered Draco, reddening.

"But I'm sure that you do. When a patient suffers a severe concussion, often there is a loss of the memories associated with the incident itself, and perhaps the hours leading up to the injury. But no more than that. The knowledge of one's identity is the lynch-pin of one's consciousness, and it is not easily dislodged without the entire psychological edifice crashing down as well. I have seen cases where as a result of a stroke the patient loses his sense itself, but then he loses much else besides. But whenever a patient claims an amnesia affecting only his sense of identity, invariably it is eventually proved that the patient is a fraud. Sometimes it is done merely to seek attention. In your case, I suspect another reason entirely. When you were found at the bottom of the stairs at King's Cross Station, you had no identification on you whatever. Obviously you decided prior to your accident that you did not want your identity known. You're a bit young to be wanted for a serious criminal offence, but that is my working hypothesis for the present."

Dr. Atkins hoped that this might compel a confession from the young patient, and bring an end to the tiresome charade. He was surprised by the boy's response, unaffected laughter that went on and on until Draco put his hand to his head.

"I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect," said Draco. "That made me laugh so hard it hurt." Draco was laughing from pure relief. The man was surprisingly clever for a Muggle, and Draco has underestimated him. But on the other hand, with limited information to work with and no knowledge of the wizarding world, Dr. Atkins had been compelled to a logical but erroneous conclusion. "Call the authorities, if you like," continued Draco, "and they can ask me all the questions they want. Maybe that will help me understand who I am. I don't blame you for being suspicious. If it would help you to find out the answers you want, I'd invite you to open up my head, but Dee tells me you already did that when you trepanned me."

"I've just called you a liar; don't you resent it?"

"Dee tells me that you saved my life. As far as I'm concerned, you can call me whatever you like."

"The surgery wasn't that difficult. Any competent surgeon would have done the same and obtained the same result."

"But it wasn't just any surgeon. It was you. And I'm very grateful."

"Don't worry about it," replied the doctor, disarmed by Draco's thanks. He took Draco's chart from the end of the bed, studied it, and then made a note.