seven days lost

The deep and light shadows are distributed on their cheeks, fingers and tabletops, like a molten golden knife cutting the yin and yang sides.Harry eyed him curiously.

Draco seemed to have changed a lot.His blond hair was combed neatly, and he was wearing a strict black trench coat, buttoned up to the top.The biggest change was his face, Harry could no longer feel the smile in his eyes, he seemed a little tired, but still maintained his superficial politeness and patience.He ordered a black coffee, and Harry noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"Oh, no need."

The man nodded, and took out a small black leather notebook from a briefcase he was carrying.The notebook was tied with two rubber bands, and there was a pen clipped next to it.

The coffee came quickly, and Draco took a sip.He frowned indistinctly, and Harry guessed it was because of the bitterness.

"I'm your therapist, Mr. Potter." He put the coffee cup aside and said to him, "You already know this on the phone."

"I wonder, why did I let you be my therapist?" Harry asked, "Why didn't I let my friends know?"

"The answers to these questions can be found in your diary." Draco replied, pushing the small black book in front of him with two fingers.Harry didn't take it right away.He stared at the little book for a while, then raised his head again.

"This is my diary?" he asked uncertainly, "I wrote a diary?"

"Yes, you did. You've been keeping a diary since you started your treatment. Or rather, it's been a major part of your healing process," Draco said. "I suggested you keep a diary, and you accepted , it's that simple."

Harry hesitated for a while, then carefully took the book over and put it in the palm of his hand.He didn't open it.

"Have you seen it?" he asked.

Draco nodded slowly.

"Yes, you gave it to me. You said I could look at it."

Harry looked again at the diary in his hand.He touched the smooth surface of the book with the palm of his hand.

"You don't have to read it here. Take the diary back and read it. As for the next choice, it's up to you to decide."

Hearing this, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and he also felt that it was very awkward to read his diary under the eyes of others.He got up to bid farewell to Draco, who sent him back to the Burrow before leaving quickly.

Harry slipped quietly out of the warehouse, where Mrs Weasley was cleaning the bedroom.He ran back to his bedroom, closed the door, and took the diary out of his pocket.He pulled the rubber band off and opened the journal.

A line of words on the red title page of the diary caught his attention:

"If you've read the diary, you already know what I mean."

First day

What does it mean?Judging from the handwriting, he should have written it himself, but why did he write such a sentence?Harry could feel that this sentence should not be said to himself, so who is he going to tell?

He frowned and turned a page back.On the next page is his diary.

The first day, June 6, the weather: sunny

Today is indeed very unusual for me.From getting up in the morning, all kinds of strange things happened one after another.

I woke up this morning in one of the bedrooms at the Burrow, and I remember living here with Ron before.I went downstairs to wash up, and in the mirror I saw a strange man—or rather, a much older version of myself than I had imagined.I was so panicked that I knocked over a bucket next to me, and Mrs Weasley ran over when she heard the noise.

She stammered and explained my situation to me (she was wiping tears while talking, and I tried to persuade her several times), and I finally understood what she meant.I lost my memory due to some accident, and the memory can only be retained for one day, and now I am 24 years old.

What a joke!I obviously feel like I'm still a minor, still going to school—but when I ask myself what the name of that school is, I can't remember it.

I turned my eyes for help to a red-haired girl sitting on the sofa in the living room. She was also looking at me, her eyes were very bright.

"Uh, may I ask—"

"I'm Ginny, Ginny Weasley." The girl said without waiting for me to ask, "I'm Ron's sister, a Quidditch player."

"...Quidditch?" I repeated the odd term.

"It's a very popular sport played by wizards," Ginny explained. "Shall I explain the rules to you?"

Suddenly, a picture flashed in front of my eyes: a vast green stadium and a circular auditorium, and everyone was cheering and shouting.My angle is looking down from the air, and in the sky around me there are a few figures on brooms floating in the sky, and they are shuttling quickly.I saw Ginny - she was also riding a broom, and her hair was a little shorter than it is now.She nimbly passed several players from the other teams with a flaming ball and hurled it into the ring.

"Oh, Gryffindor Chaser Ginny Weasley scored! Ten points for Gryffindor!"

The memory stopped here, I looked up, and Ginny was still looking at me questioningly.

"... Gryffindor." I said the name from memory, and saw Ginny's eyes light up.

"Yes, Gryffindor," she said happily, and moved forward. "What else?"

"Um... batter," I tried to remember, trying to catch the tail of the fading memory, "you're pretty good at the game."

I thought this compliment would make her happier, but she seemed a little disappointed and moved back.

"Is that all? Is there anything else?" she asked, as if expecting me to say something more exciting, but I think Quidditch is already interesting-the exercise on the broom, And so many viewers!And I'm a part of it, which is incredible.

"Well, I seem to be a player too, am I? We played together." I asked hesitantly.

Ginny sighed and nodded slowly: "Yes, that's right. We used to be teammates."

She stood up, took a two-meter-long slender bag from the coat rack next to her and threw it on her back, picked up the key and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going, Ginny?" I stood up and followed her.

"I have to go to practice, and I have a game in a week," she said, putting on her shoes.A pair of leather Martin boots.She opened the door, smiled back at me, turned and walked away quickly.

I stared blankly at her back. She was tall and well-proportioned, with long red hair hanging down her waist, and her walking posture was particularly vigorous.She is also very beautiful, I think there must be many men who like her, but she doesn't seem to have a boyfriend.

I looked back and was about to close the door when I found a person standing on the street not far away.He is thin and tall, wearing a long black windbreaker, and his hair is very conspicuous blonde.I'm pretty sure he's been staring here just now.

For some reason, I didn't feel that this man would pose a danger to me.I actually found his gesture a little funny, as if he was trying to say something to me—an idea that stuck in my head and never got rid of it.

But I didn't plan to go out. The outside world is a daunting existence for me. Strange scenery, strange people, and even the time are strange. I don't know their past, just like I don't know me same as in the past.

Just as I was about to close the door again, the man seemed to have made up his mind and started walking towards here.With his hands in his pockets, he crossed a road, then thorny bushes - which he skirted, and finally the empty, potholed avenue.

Why didn't he Apparate?A thought flashed through my mind, and I froze immediately.Apparate?what is that?

Before I could figure it out, the blond man had already reached the gate of the yard, and he stopped.There was an overgrown, goblin-infested yard between me and him, and I hesitated to cross it.

I looked at him, he didn't knock on the door, just stood there, as if he didn't want to disturb others.But it also seemed like he just wanted to be there watching me, waiting for me to pass.

Miraculously, I went out and walked through a gravel road among the weeds to the gate of the yard.I gradually saw his face clearly.He is younger than expected.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked.

"Hi, you're Harry Potter, aren't you?" said the man, taking out a business card from his pocket. "I'm Draco Malfoy, a therapist at St. Mungo's Hospital."

"St. Mungo's Hospital?" I took his card through the fence, studying the name on it.

"Yes, St. Mungo's Hospital. You don't know what this is, do you?" Draco asked in a low voice.

"Should I know?" I looked up at him, and for a moment I seemed to see the sting and regret in his eyes, but it disappeared quickly.

"It's a well-known wizarding hospital, and it can be said to be the most authoritative hospital." Draco put on a proud tone, "I learned about your situation from some newspapers, because it's very rare ——" After seeing my changing expression, he quickly added, "It's not a bad report, you know—