My last final is tomorrow but in the meantime, this Monday's fic...
I was hoping to have one of my many (many) WiP's finished and ready to post for today but finals got in the way so that's not going to happen. Instead, I bring you a very old fic, started years ago (long before the Crap-tastic Nightmare that was DH ever came out) and hopefully, posting the first chapter here will help jump-start my muses so I can get around to writing more of this fic too. Enjoy!
Tabula Rasa
Chapter 1
Blackness.
Darkness.
He was lost in the darkness.
But then from somewhere, he heard a voice, a voice he knew although he couldn’t remember how or why or who the voice belonged to, calling. “Don’t leave me. Please, you can’t leave me.” And there was so much longing, so much pleading, so much emotion in the voice that he couldn’t help but heed its call and he turned back…
He struggled upwards through the murky depths of oblivion towards consciousness.
He became gradually aware that he was lying on a rather uncomfortable bed-which he somehow knew wasn’t his own. Although he couldn’t remember what his own bed was like or where he lived. He couldn’t remember… he jerked to full consciousness with a flare of panic as he realized he couldn’t remember anything. Not his name or his age or his home or what had happened to bring him here- wherever here was.
He forced his eyes open, his eyes feeling scratchy and squinted against the light trying to focus. Walls and a ceiling-plain, sterile white. And there were odd objects around, one floating ball that had changed color to red.
There was someone holding his hand and he tried to twitch his fingers free to test his ability to move and felt the person stir. He heard a sharp intake of breath and then only just glimpsed the face of a girl with brown eyes and thick, rather bushy, brown hair before she had thrown her arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry, you’re awake! Thank goodness! How are you feeling?”
Harry, his name was Harry, his mind grasped at that one solitary piece of information about himself and held onto it as if it were a lifeline.
She drew back to look at him, her expression alive with relief and joy and concern and affection. She cared about him-a lot, he thought-and had obviously been worried about him, probably even watching by his bed for however long he appeared to have been unconscious.
But that thought was peripheral to the overwhelming one that he knew her. He knew her-somehow. He didn’t remember her name or anything else but he knew he knew her. He felt it in the way he reacted to her, in the way his heart seemed to lift at the sight of her smile. He might have forgotten everything else but somehow, some part of him knew her… He studied her, aware of a vague sense of familiarity and of warmth niggling at his mind. He knew her and he cared about her too.
But who was she? What was her name and how did he know her? Were they friends-more?
He frowned slightly, his mind reaching, grasping, at wisps of vague memories and then gave up, drained.
He swallowed and then spoke, his own voice sounding unfamiliar to him, he realized with a jolt. “Wh- who are you?”
Shock flattened her expression but before she could react, three people in lime-green coats with a patch on the chest of what looked like a magic wand crossed with a bone, bustled into the room and forced the girl out, in spite of her protests.
Wait, he didn’t want her to go, he found himself thinking. He might not remember her but there was something comforting about her presence. He didn’t know who these people in coats were; he wanted the girl to stay… somehow he was sure he could trust her… But he found he couldn’t say anything, his confusion and his growing panic closing his throat.
“We must check on Mr. Potter now. You may join him again in a few minutes,” one of them assured the girl.
Mr. Potter. That must be his name. He was Harry Potter. Harry Potter, he mentally tested the name out. It sounded… familiar… right… He was Harry Potter.
Another-a woman who looked to be about 60-bent over him. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter. It is good to see you.”
“Erm- why am I here? What happened to me? And who is that girl?” he blurted out, trying not to show his growing fear.
He wasn’t sure why but somehow he knew he didn’t want to show people that he was afraid. It was some sort of instinctive feeling with him not to show that sort of vulnerability. He didn’t understand the compulsion but he obeyed it anyway.
A look of surprise and dismay crossed the older woman’s face. “You- you don’t remember, Mr. Potter?”
“Er- no, I don’t.”
The woman sighed. “I had hoped this would not happen. You are in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the Intensive Care Private Unit of the Spell Damage Department.”
He interrupted her as one word leaped out at him. “Magical?”
“Why, of course, magical, Mr. Potter. Surely you could not expect a Muggle hospital to be able to treat you properly after what you endured.”
He was beginning to wonder if he was hallucinating as well as suffering from amnesia. “Muggle? What’s that mean? And what did I endure? What happened to me?”
“Oh dear, oh dear. Mr. Potter, Muggle means not-magical. I- I hadn’t expected you wouldn’t remember… I believe Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be best equipped to answer all your questions about yourself and what happened as they were the only ones present at the time. I will tell you that you, Mr. Potter, are a wizard-and a very powerful one at that. You have been unconscious for five days now after you defeated the Dark Lord.”
He frowned, his head beginning to spin. He didn’t understand; he didn’t remember any of this and he had no comprehension of most of what the woman had just said to him. Dark Lord? Who- what- in the name of sanity was a Dark Lord? But he focused on the two names that the woman had mentioned. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley.
“Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley? I-er- how do I know them?”
“They are your best friends, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger has hardly left your side these past five days and Mr. Weasley has been pacing the hallway outside the room for hours every day. His family has taken turns waiting for news. The entire wizarding world has been anxiously awaiting news of your condition, Mr. Potter. Everyone is absolutely thrilled that you have awoken.”
Miss Granger. She must be the girl who had been with him when he woke up. He pictured her face. Miss Granger… He wondered what her first name was. And she was his best friend?
He relaxed the slightest bit. She was his best friend; that explained this instinctive recognition that he could trust her, this feeling of warmth he felt when he looked at her. And if he remembered her- or something about her- surely that meant he would at least vaguely remember other people who had been dear to him? That he might regain his memories before long?
“May I see Miss Granger, then?”
“Certainly, Mr. Potter. I am happy to tell you that you appear to have healed physically quite well. This is encouraging; I am sure it should not be long before your memories return, as well.”
With these words and a brief smile, the woman and the other two workers slipped out.
He lay back and tried to will himself to calm down. The woman- a doctor?- had seemed optimistic enough about his recovering his memories. And she had said this Miss Granger, his friend, the only thing that somehow seemed at all familiar to him, would be in to see him soon.
~~~
It was probably closer to 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity as Hermione paced restlessly just outside Harry’s room.
She could still see his blank, confused expression, still hear his voice, echoing it seemed in her mind, as he asked the question that had made her entire world seem to tilt around her, “Wh- who are you?”
She heard a small sound like a half-strangled whimper and realized belatedly that it had come from her.
Oh God… Harry didn’t remember… He didn’t remember anything…
What he must have gone through for him to suffer amnesia so complete… For a moment, she wanted to curl up and cry and rage at the fates who could be so cruel to him-but she stiffened her spine. She would not break down; she would not cry. She had to be strong. Harry needed her and she would help him.
“Hermione.”
She looked up as she heard Ron’s voice, sounding anxious and out of breath.
“They said that Harry woke up. Is he okay? How is he? Did you talk to him?” Ron’s questions spilled out of him in one breath, evidence of just how worried Ron had been.
“He- he seems fine, physically,” she said a little hesitantly and then, her face crumpled a little. “Oh, Ron, he doesn’t remember anything!”
Ron stared. “What?”
“He- I think he has amnesia. When he- when he woke up, he looked completely confused. He-” her voice broke before she swallowed and continued on, “he asked me who I was.”
Ron looked absolutely stunned. “What?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “But-but then what do we do? Will he get better?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted very softly, falteringly.
Just then, the door opened and the Healer emerged. Hermione and Ron both turned on her.
“How is he? Will he be okay?” Ron demanded.
“Physically, Mr. Potter’s injuries appear to be healing as well as can be expected. He may still be a little sore and a little weak for another day or so but he should be ready to be released soon. As for his memories, Mr. Potter appears to be suffering from acute amnesia, and does not remember anything about his former life, or even about the magical world.”
“Yes, yes, but will he get better?” Ron interrupted, and Hermione was, for once, thankful for Ron’s impatience because it spared her having to ask them, since she wasn’t sure her voice would function properly, nor was she confident of her ability to respond coherently.
The Healer hesitated and then finally admitted, “It depends. In some cases as these, the memories return in a day or so; in others, it takes months, even years…”
She trailed off but Hermione sensed what she did not say, that sometimes, the memories never returned... What if Harry-but no, she would not think of that! He would get better; he had to get better.
“How-how can we help?” she managed to ask.
“Talk to him. Try to keep him from panicking or getting too stressed out about not being able to remember; the panic won’t help. But try to surround him with familiar places and familiar people, if at all possible, and talk to him but try to resist the temptation to, as it were, form his memories for him. Treat him as normally as you can and don’t spend too much time telling him everything you know about him. You can, of course, answer his questions, but with amnesia patients, there is a strong desire to invent memories, in a sense, by taking what other people tell them and building them into memories, and if everyone they know spends all their time telling them everything they can remember, that will only exacerbate the problem and, oftentimes, only delay the recovery.”
Hermione was aware of nodding at intervals, even as her heart seemed to constrict more and more with every word. “I understand,” she managed to say rather numbly.
The Healer’s expression softened to become sympathetic. “It is hard but more often than not, the memories do return soon enough. And Mr. Potter is a young, healthy man, not prone to any other mental illnesses. He has been through a lot; once he fully recovers, he may very well regain his memories then.”
Hermione nodded. “Thank you.”
“He would like to see you now,” the Healer added.
Hermione hesitated, mentally steeling herself, and then stepped forward.
“Uh, Hermione?”
She turned to look at Ron.
He looked half-guilty and wholly uncomfortable. “I- erm- I’m just going to go tell my parents. I’ll- erm- I’ll be back in a few minutes. You go in without me.”
Hermione nodded again. “That’s fine.”
And then taking a deep breath and quickly manufacturing a reassuring smile, she opened the door.
~*~
The door opened to reveal the girl, Miss Granger, smiling bravely at him. (He somehow knew that she was forcing a smile, not because it looked fake but because he remembered, with almost startling clarity, the way her eyes had lit up earlier when she had been really smiling at him; this smile lent none of that same luminousness to her eyes.)
He managed a smile to reassure her, something in his chest twisting a little at the knowledge that she was worried and upset. “Hi,” he settled for saying, a little lamely.
“It’s so good to see you awake, Harry. I- I’ve been so worried. Ron, everyone, has been so worried, you know.”
“Ron?”
For a fleeting moment, a stricken expression crossed her face before she hastily covered it. “Ron Weasley, our best friend. He’s just gone to tell his parents that you’re awake and he’ll be coming to see you in a few minutes.”
Ron Weasley. He filed the memory of the name and the knowledge that it belonged to his best friend away in his brain.
And she was Miss Granger.
He wanted to ask what her first name was but somehow he knew the blunt question and the evidence that he really didn’t remember her would hurt her and couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would find out, somehow. He would just have to listen.
He forced another smile, trying to look sheepish. “Oh, right, Ron, of course. Sorry. I- er- I’m a little confused right now,” he settled for admitting.
Her expression softened. “I know, Harry. But you’re not alone, you know. Ron and I will be here and we’ll tell you everything you want to know. Everything’s going to be just fine, trust me.” She paused, hesitated and then asked, very softly, “You do trust me, right?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered honestly, without even needing to think about it. He did trust her, somehow. He might not remember her name or anything else-but somehow, he did know that he could trust her. He did know that he did trust her. “I- I’m not sure why,” he found himself admitting, “But I do trust you.”
“Oh, Harry…”
Her smile was the brightest one he could ever imagine; it reminded him of a sunrise and for one brief moment, he could only stare and think that she really was… so pretty… It was a smile that made him feel like he could do anything, a smile that warmed his heart and gave him confidence. It was a smile that made him believe…
And for the first time, he felt a flicker of doubt enter into this only certainty in his life. Everyone had said that she was his best friend; she had confirmed it even-but a tinge of doubt suddenly entered into that one fact he knew. She was his best friend-but was she anything more than his friend? He didn’t know much, but somehow he guessed that his reaction to seeing her smile wasn’t purely platonic, wasn’t that of only a friend…
He tried to search through the blankness that was his memories, trying to remember anything that would tell him about the status of their relationship, but they all escaped him. He couldn’t remember anything.
He cast about in his mind for what to ask first, what he wanted to know first. “Erm- how long have we known each other?” he settled for asking.
“Seven years. All three of us met seven years ago on our way to Hogwarts-the wizarding school we all went to,” she said readily.
“Hogwarts,” he tested the strange word on his tongue-or at least, it should have been strange, but it didn’t feel that way to him. He had said it before, he must have. Hogwarts.
“Yes, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s for seven years, although Ron, you, and I skipped our last year of it to go fight Voldemort. That’s what we’ve been doing and you finally did it.”
“Voldemort?” he repeated rather uncertainly. He thought of something the Healer had said. “Voldemort is the Dark Lord?”
The girl-Miss Granger’s smile faltered for a fleeting second. “Yes.”
“And that’s how I was hurt. I defeated him?”
“Yes, you did. You’re a hero, Harry.” She smiled at him, reaching over to put her hand on his arm.
He gave her a wry smile. “Some hero, when I can’t even remember my own name.”
At that moment, there was a knock.
He started sharply. “Who’s that?”
She got up, putting her hand briefly on his shoulder before she opened the door. “It’s only Ron, Harry.”
He relaxed somewhat. Of course, Ron Weasley. He repeated the name to himself, as the door opened and he saw a tall, rather lanky boy with very bright red hair and freckles and a rather uncertain expression that was quickly replaced with a forced grin.
“Harry, it’s so good to see you awake,” he enthused, sincerely enough, even though his cheerful tone rang false.
“Yes,” Harry answered, rather cautiously, still studying him, this boy who was apparently his best friend, waiting for some sort of recognition, some sort of accompanying feeling-like he’d felt with Miss Granger-but there was nothing. It was just blankness.
For one long second, it was silent, Ron shifting his weight and looking rather excruciatingly ill-at-ease.
Harry instinctively, automatically, stuck out his hand. “It’s- er- good to meet you,” he blurted out. “Again, that is,” he amended quickly.
Ron stared at Harry’s hand, blinking, but visibly pulled himself together and shook it, although even Harry could see that it was with somewhat less heartiness than would be usual.
Right, that hadn’t helped things any, Harry thought unhappily. If anything, it had only made things worse, the clear demonstration of just how lost he was adding an extra layer of discomfort to the atmosphere.
Miss Granger seemed to be thinking desperately of something to say-as was he, but after his latest gaffe, he didn’t want to do anything else to underscore his memory loss and he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t, so he said nothing.
How long this would have gone on Harry didn’t know but in another moment, it was interrupted when another girl appeared in the still-open doorway.
“Harry!”
He blinked and stared at this new person. She was young, very pretty, he noted rather clinically, and related to Ron, he guessed-his sister?-if her red hair and few, scattered freckles were any indication. “Erm- hello.”
The girl was determinedly smiling at him with a warmth that somehow made him want to squirm, or hide, or otherwise escape. Who was this girl?
The girl glanced at Ron and Miss Granger. “Ron, can I- talk to Harry alone for a minute?”
Ron seemed to seize the excuse to escape the moment with alacrity. “Sure, Gin” he agreed immediately and, taking Miss Granger by the arm, turned to leave.
Gin. Harry mentally pounced on the new name, with the same eagerness for any other new fact he could learn to help him reconstruct his past life. Her name was Gin. Short for something, clearly, but what?
Miss Granger held back for a moment, looking at Harry. “We’ll be right outside, Harry,” she told him.
And Harry wondered, rather uneasily, if his (rather pitiful) unwillingness to be parted from her, who was the first person he’d seen since he woke up and therefore the one he-knew?-the best, was so obvious. He hoped not.
He managed a smile. “Ok.”
The door closed and he looked at the new girl with increased curiosity. Who was she, this Gin? And, more importantly perhaps, what was she to him, that she could ask to see him alone and have Ron, at least, agree as if it were only to be expected?
He studied her with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. Thin, pretty, her eyes a very bright brown, red hair which was probably her best feature because it made her good looks very vivid, eye-catching-and she was smiling at him in a way that even he knew was more than friendly.
He blinked, fighting a frown, and had just opened his mouth to ask her how they knew each other, when she closed the distance between them, moving until she was nearly sitting beside him on the bed, both her hands holding his. Her eyes met his. “Oh, Harry, you remember me, don’t you? You can’t have forgotten me, after all we mean to each other?” She sniffed and blinked rapidly, as if to fight back tears. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten about us…”
Us. The one pronoun seemed to echo in his mind, with increasing volume, as his thoughts scrambled to understand the implications of it.
“You’re Ron’s sister,” he guessed, ignoring the more disturbing part of what she’d said, and just trying to confirm what he was pretty sure of.
“Not only Ron’s sister, surely. Not to you…” she looked at him with an expression that was unmistakably coquettish.
He stared, his body automatically stiffening and jerking back as much as he could (which wasn’t far, given that his back was already resting against his pillow.) “I- I don’t remember,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry,” he added.
Her smile faltered but then she caught herself and smiled again, almost as warmly as before, before she leaned in close to him, and he just barely managed to turn his head so her lips brushed his cheek rather than his lips. “That’s okay, Harry. You’ll remember me soon enough, I know you will.”
He tried to will himself to feel something, to react somehow, even if only physically, to her closeness, to the warmth of her breath against his cheek, the touch of her lips to his face- but he felt nothing. There was only discomfort; it was as if he was being kissed by a stranger.
He studied her as she stood up again, searching the blankness that was his memory, desperately, for something-some familiarity, some vague, remembered emotion, anything that might confirm what she’d just said. He’d felt something, a vague sort of warmth, when he’d seen Miss Granger, he knew, as if his heart had recognized her even though his mind didn’t. Surely, if Gin was what she said she was to him, then he would feel that same sort of wispy hint of familiarity, some remembered warmth perhaps, for her too?
He didn’t.
There was nothing there. He looked at her and as far as he could tell, she was a stranger.
And yet-she’d said, implied, that they were close, that there was something between them…
He looked at her, probing at his reactions for something-some purely physical reaction even if his memory was gone-some attraction to her-but found nothing. He saw her smile, even focused deliberately on her lips, but still there was nothing; he felt nothing. No warmth, no attraction…
But she’d hinted, implied-almost outright stated-that she was more than just a friend, more than just his best friend’s sister to him-which meant-she was his girlfriend? ‘All we mean to each other,’ she’d said-what had she meant to him, what did she still mean to him?
Could he-was it possible-could he have forgotten a girl he’d cared about so much?
Confusion was roiling in his mind, his thoughts losing coherence as panic began to edge into it. He couldn’t remember her! What was she to him? And if he couldn’t remember even her, who had apparently meant something special to him, could he even trust anything in his reactions now?
Could it be he hadn’t only lost his memories but he’d changed, somehow? But then, how would he ever know?
He wanted-he needed-to know, to remember, to--
His mind whirled, the walls suddenly beginning to feel as if they were closing in around him, but then, before he could react, Gin opened the door and immediately, Miss Granger and Ron appeared.
He fastened his gaze on Miss Granger, on the familiarity of her-something about her just seemed right to him-and forcibly tried to relax.
It was alright. It was alright; Miss Granger was his best friend and she, at least, was familiar to him somehow, so surely the rest would come back to him?
“I’ll see you soon, Harry,” Gin smiled.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed automatically, absently.
“See you, Ginny,” Miss Granger said.
Ginny! Ok, Ginny was Gin’s name, still a short form for something else, he guessed, perhaps Virginia, but it cleared up one problem since the name, Gin, sounded too odd to him, too strange.
Ginny glanced at Miss Granger. “See, Hermione, I didn’t hurt him,” she said lightly.
Hermione! Harry’s mind focused on the name, grasping at the few bare facts he was finding out to keep him from focusing on all he couldn’t remember. He mentally sounded the name out. Hermione. That was her name. Hermione Granger.
An unusual name, it seemed to him, but it suited her, he thought. She was too strong a personality-that was already clear to him-to have a bland, common name. Hermione.
Hermione threw a rather distracted smile at Ginny. “I didn’t think you would.”
Hermione turned to him, her smile and expression softening. “Do you need anything, Harry?”
“Aside from my memories back?” he retorted without thinking and then immediately regretted it as she sucked in her breath a little.
“I’m sorry. Forget I said that,” he immediately added, feeling like a world-class prick.
She managed a smile. “No, it’s okay. I understand.”
“I shouldn’t have said it,” he mumbled, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting in the back of his head. Why had he said such a thing? Why couldn’t he remember anything?
It was a remarkably lonely thing, he thought suddenly, to have no past, at least not one he could remember. It made him feel very alone, disconnected from the world since there was no one and nothing else he could remember being part of his life-except for Hermione.
He might not remember anything about their friendship, how they’d become friends or how they’d met or any past experiences but somehow, something about her was familiar to him. Something in his mind-his heart?-remembered her, recognized her. In the complete blackness that was his past, she was the only bright spot.
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the woman from before.
“I’m sorry but Mr. Potter must get some rest now.” As she spoke, she shepherded Ron and Hermione out of the room.
Ron gave him a half-awkward smile. “See you later, mate.”
Hermione smiled gently. “Rest, Harry. We’ll be back.” She turned to the older woman. “You will let us know if- if anything changes, Healer Reynolds?”
“Of course, Miss Granger,” Healer Reynolds assured Hermione.
Healer Reynolds-she was called a Healer and not a doctor. Another thing to remember. Healer Reynolds.
Harry watched Ron and Hermione leave and then lay back and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to relax.
He was suddenly aware of being tired. Tired and yet conversely, his mind was spinning around, as if trying to find its bearings in the void that was suddenly his past life.
Who was he? What had his past been like? How old was he? He didn’t remember how old he was!
Wait. What did he look like? He couldn’t remember that either. What color were his eyes? He tugged at his front hair, pulling it down and squinted at the lock. It was dark. Probably black, he guessed. Well, that was something. He had black hair.
Where did he live? Who were his friends, his family…
His family. He suddenly realized that the only people he’d seen were his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Ron’s sister, Ginny Weasley, his- his- whatever-she-was to him.
He frowned, trying to remember. And Hermione had mentioned Ron’s parents, too, hadn’t she?
But then where were his parents? Where was his family? Surely he had them! Everyone had family. Right? Where was his family?
Had his family been injured in the battle to defeat this Voldemort?
His heart had sped up and he felt his headache coming back.
He shouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t think about this. He’d wait, wait until Hermione-or someone-came back and he could ask but he couldn’t do anything now.
He forcibly tried to will every muscle in his body to relax, deliberately trying to focus his mind on what he did know. (The pathetically short list of facts he knew.)
His name was Harry Potter.
His best friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.
Ron had a sister named Ginny.
He had gone to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He’d defeated some villain known as Voldemort or the Dark Lord.
His name was Harry Potter.
His best friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger…
Hermione Granger. The name seemed to echo in his head and he could picture her face, remembered that odd sense of recognition…
And that was his last thought before he fell asleep.
~To be continued...~
Tabula Rasa
Chapter 1
Blackness.
Darkness.
He was lost in the darkness.
But then from somewhere, he heard a voice, a voice he knew although he couldn’t remember how or why or who the voice belonged to, calling. “Don’t leave me. Please, you can’t leave me.” And there was so much longing, so much pleading, so much emotion in the voice that he couldn’t help but heed its call and he turned back…
He struggled upwards through the murky depths of oblivion towards consciousness.
He became gradually aware that he was lying on a rather uncomfortable bed-which he somehow knew wasn’t his own. Although he couldn’t remember what his own bed was like or where he lived. He couldn’t remember… he jerked to full consciousness with a flare of panic as he realized he couldn’t remember anything. Not his name or his age or his home or what had happened to bring him here- wherever here was.
He forced his eyes open, his eyes feeling scratchy and squinted against the light trying to focus. Walls and a ceiling-plain, sterile white. And there were odd objects around, one floating ball that had changed color to red.
There was someone holding his hand and he tried to twitch his fingers free to test his ability to move and felt the person stir. He heard a sharp intake of breath and then only just glimpsed the face of a girl with brown eyes and thick, rather bushy, brown hair before she had thrown her arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry, you’re awake! Thank goodness! How are you feeling?”
Harry, his name was Harry, his mind grasped at that one solitary piece of information about himself and held onto it as if it were a lifeline.
She drew back to look at him, her expression alive with relief and joy and concern and affection. She cared about him-a lot, he thought-and had obviously been worried about him, probably even watching by his bed for however long he appeared to have been unconscious.
But that thought was peripheral to the overwhelming one that he knew her. He knew her-somehow. He didn’t remember her name or anything else but he knew he knew her. He felt it in the way he reacted to her, in the way his heart seemed to lift at the sight of her smile. He might have forgotten everything else but somehow, some part of him knew her… He studied her, aware of a vague sense of familiarity and of warmth niggling at his mind. He knew her and he cared about her too.
But who was she? What was her name and how did he know her? Were they friends-more?
He frowned slightly, his mind reaching, grasping, at wisps of vague memories and then gave up, drained.
He swallowed and then spoke, his own voice sounding unfamiliar to him, he realized with a jolt. “Wh- who are you?”
Shock flattened her expression but before she could react, three people in lime-green coats with a patch on the chest of what looked like a magic wand crossed with a bone, bustled into the room and forced the girl out, in spite of her protests.
Wait, he didn’t want her to go, he found himself thinking. He might not remember her but there was something comforting about her presence. He didn’t know who these people in coats were; he wanted the girl to stay… somehow he was sure he could trust her… But he found he couldn’t say anything, his confusion and his growing panic closing his throat.
“We must check on Mr. Potter now. You may join him again in a few minutes,” one of them assured the girl.
Mr. Potter. That must be his name. He was Harry Potter. Harry Potter, he mentally tested the name out. It sounded… familiar… right… He was Harry Potter.
Another-a woman who looked to be about 60-bent over him. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter. It is good to see you.”
“Erm- why am I here? What happened to me? And who is that girl?” he blurted out, trying not to show his growing fear.
He wasn’t sure why but somehow he knew he didn’t want to show people that he was afraid. It was some sort of instinctive feeling with him not to show that sort of vulnerability. He didn’t understand the compulsion but he obeyed it anyway.
A look of surprise and dismay crossed the older woman’s face. “You- you don’t remember, Mr. Potter?”
“Er- no, I don’t.”
The woman sighed. “I had hoped this would not happen. You are in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the Intensive Care Private Unit of the Spell Damage Department.”
He interrupted her as one word leaped out at him. “Magical?”
“Why, of course, magical, Mr. Potter. Surely you could not expect a Muggle hospital to be able to treat you properly after what you endured.”
He was beginning to wonder if he was hallucinating as well as suffering from amnesia. “Muggle? What’s that mean? And what did I endure? What happened to me?”
“Oh dear, oh dear. Mr. Potter, Muggle means not-magical. I- I hadn’t expected you wouldn’t remember… I believe Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be best equipped to answer all your questions about yourself and what happened as they were the only ones present at the time. I will tell you that you, Mr. Potter, are a wizard-and a very powerful one at that. You have been unconscious for five days now after you defeated the Dark Lord.”
He frowned, his head beginning to spin. He didn’t understand; he didn’t remember any of this and he had no comprehension of most of what the woman had just said to him. Dark Lord? Who- what- in the name of sanity was a Dark Lord? But he focused on the two names that the woman had mentioned. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley.
“Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley? I-er- how do I know them?”
“They are your best friends, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger has hardly left your side these past five days and Mr. Weasley has been pacing the hallway outside the room for hours every day. His family has taken turns waiting for news. The entire wizarding world has been anxiously awaiting news of your condition, Mr. Potter. Everyone is absolutely thrilled that you have awoken.”
Miss Granger. She must be the girl who had been with him when he woke up. He pictured her face. Miss Granger… He wondered what her first name was. And she was his best friend?
He relaxed the slightest bit. She was his best friend; that explained this instinctive recognition that he could trust her, this feeling of warmth he felt when he looked at her. And if he remembered her- or something about her- surely that meant he would at least vaguely remember other people who had been dear to him? That he might regain his memories before long?
“May I see Miss Granger, then?”
“Certainly, Mr. Potter. I am happy to tell you that you appear to have healed physically quite well. This is encouraging; I am sure it should not be long before your memories return, as well.”
With these words and a brief smile, the woman and the other two workers slipped out.
He lay back and tried to will himself to calm down. The woman- a doctor?- had seemed optimistic enough about his recovering his memories. And she had said this Miss Granger, his friend, the only thing that somehow seemed at all familiar to him, would be in to see him soon.
~~~
It was probably closer to 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity as Hermione paced restlessly just outside Harry’s room.
She could still see his blank, confused expression, still hear his voice, echoing it seemed in her mind, as he asked the question that had made her entire world seem to tilt around her, “Wh- who are you?”
She heard a small sound like a half-strangled whimper and realized belatedly that it had come from her.
Oh God… Harry didn’t remember… He didn’t remember anything…
What he must have gone through for him to suffer amnesia so complete… For a moment, she wanted to curl up and cry and rage at the fates who could be so cruel to him-but she stiffened her spine. She would not break down; she would not cry. She had to be strong. Harry needed her and she would help him.
“Hermione.”
She looked up as she heard Ron’s voice, sounding anxious and out of breath.
“They said that Harry woke up. Is he okay? How is he? Did you talk to him?” Ron’s questions spilled out of him in one breath, evidence of just how worried Ron had been.
“He- he seems fine, physically,” she said a little hesitantly and then, her face crumpled a little. “Oh, Ron, he doesn’t remember anything!”
Ron stared. “What?”
“He- I think he has amnesia. When he- when he woke up, he looked completely confused. He-” her voice broke before she swallowed and continued on, “he asked me who I was.”
Ron looked absolutely stunned. “What?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “But-but then what do we do? Will he get better?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted very softly, falteringly.
Just then, the door opened and the Healer emerged. Hermione and Ron both turned on her.
“How is he? Will he be okay?” Ron demanded.
“Physically, Mr. Potter’s injuries appear to be healing as well as can be expected. He may still be a little sore and a little weak for another day or so but he should be ready to be released soon. As for his memories, Mr. Potter appears to be suffering from acute amnesia, and does not remember anything about his former life, or even about the magical world.”
“Yes, yes, but will he get better?” Ron interrupted, and Hermione was, for once, thankful for Ron’s impatience because it spared her having to ask them, since she wasn’t sure her voice would function properly, nor was she confident of her ability to respond coherently.
The Healer hesitated and then finally admitted, “It depends. In some cases as these, the memories return in a day or so; in others, it takes months, even years…”
She trailed off but Hermione sensed what she did not say, that sometimes, the memories never returned... What if Harry-but no, she would not think of that! He would get better; he had to get better.
“How-how can we help?” she managed to ask.
“Talk to him. Try to keep him from panicking or getting too stressed out about not being able to remember; the panic won’t help. But try to surround him with familiar places and familiar people, if at all possible, and talk to him but try to resist the temptation to, as it were, form his memories for him. Treat him as normally as you can and don’t spend too much time telling him everything you know about him. You can, of course, answer his questions, but with amnesia patients, there is a strong desire to invent memories, in a sense, by taking what other people tell them and building them into memories, and if everyone they know spends all their time telling them everything they can remember, that will only exacerbate the problem and, oftentimes, only delay the recovery.”
Hermione was aware of nodding at intervals, even as her heart seemed to constrict more and more with every word. “I understand,” she managed to say rather numbly.
The Healer’s expression softened to become sympathetic. “It is hard but more often than not, the memories do return soon enough. And Mr. Potter is a young, healthy man, not prone to any other mental illnesses. He has been through a lot; once he fully recovers, he may very well regain his memories then.”
Hermione nodded. “Thank you.”
“He would like to see you now,” the Healer added.
Hermione hesitated, mentally steeling herself, and then stepped forward.
“Uh, Hermione?”
She turned to look at Ron.
He looked half-guilty and wholly uncomfortable. “I- erm- I’m just going to go tell my parents. I’ll- erm- I’ll be back in a few minutes. You go in without me.”
Hermione nodded again. “That’s fine.”
And then taking a deep breath and quickly manufacturing a reassuring smile, she opened the door.
~*~
The door opened to reveal the girl, Miss Granger, smiling bravely at him. (He somehow knew that she was forcing a smile, not because it looked fake but because he remembered, with almost startling clarity, the way her eyes had lit up earlier when she had been really smiling at him; this smile lent none of that same luminousness to her eyes.)
He managed a smile to reassure her, something in his chest twisting a little at the knowledge that she was worried and upset. “Hi,” he settled for saying, a little lamely.
“It’s so good to see you awake, Harry. I- I’ve been so worried. Ron, everyone, has been so worried, you know.”
“Ron?”
For a fleeting moment, a stricken expression crossed her face before she hastily covered it. “Ron Weasley, our best friend. He’s just gone to tell his parents that you’re awake and he’ll be coming to see you in a few minutes.”
Ron Weasley. He filed the memory of the name and the knowledge that it belonged to his best friend away in his brain.
And she was Miss Granger.
He wanted to ask what her first name was but somehow he knew the blunt question and the evidence that he really didn’t remember her would hurt her and couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would find out, somehow. He would just have to listen.
He forced another smile, trying to look sheepish. “Oh, right, Ron, of course. Sorry. I- er- I’m a little confused right now,” he settled for admitting.
Her expression softened. “I know, Harry. But you’re not alone, you know. Ron and I will be here and we’ll tell you everything you want to know. Everything’s going to be just fine, trust me.” She paused, hesitated and then asked, very softly, “You do trust me, right?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered honestly, without even needing to think about it. He did trust her, somehow. He might not remember her name or anything else-but somehow, he did know that he could trust her. He did know that he did trust her. “I- I’m not sure why,” he found himself admitting, “But I do trust you.”
“Oh, Harry…”
Her smile was the brightest one he could ever imagine; it reminded him of a sunrise and for one brief moment, he could only stare and think that she really was… so pretty… It was a smile that made him feel like he could do anything, a smile that warmed his heart and gave him confidence. It was a smile that made him believe…
And for the first time, he felt a flicker of doubt enter into this only certainty in his life. Everyone had said that she was his best friend; she had confirmed it even-but a tinge of doubt suddenly entered into that one fact he knew. She was his best friend-but was she anything more than his friend? He didn’t know much, but somehow he guessed that his reaction to seeing her smile wasn’t purely platonic, wasn’t that of only a friend…
He tried to search through the blankness that was his memories, trying to remember anything that would tell him about the status of their relationship, but they all escaped him. He couldn’t remember anything.
He cast about in his mind for what to ask first, what he wanted to know first. “Erm- how long have we known each other?” he settled for asking.
“Seven years. All three of us met seven years ago on our way to Hogwarts-the wizarding school we all went to,” she said readily.
“Hogwarts,” he tested the strange word on his tongue-or at least, it should have been strange, but it didn’t feel that way to him. He had said it before, he must have. Hogwarts.
“Yes, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s for seven years, although Ron, you, and I skipped our last year of it to go fight Voldemort. That’s what we’ve been doing and you finally did it.”
“Voldemort?” he repeated rather uncertainly. He thought of something the Healer had said. “Voldemort is the Dark Lord?”
The girl-Miss Granger’s smile faltered for a fleeting second. “Yes.”
“And that’s how I was hurt. I defeated him?”
“Yes, you did. You’re a hero, Harry.” She smiled at him, reaching over to put her hand on his arm.
He gave her a wry smile. “Some hero, when I can’t even remember my own name.”
At that moment, there was a knock.
He started sharply. “Who’s that?”
She got up, putting her hand briefly on his shoulder before she opened the door. “It’s only Ron, Harry.”
He relaxed somewhat. Of course, Ron Weasley. He repeated the name to himself, as the door opened and he saw a tall, rather lanky boy with very bright red hair and freckles and a rather uncertain expression that was quickly replaced with a forced grin.
“Harry, it’s so good to see you awake,” he enthused, sincerely enough, even though his cheerful tone rang false.
“Yes,” Harry answered, rather cautiously, still studying him, this boy who was apparently his best friend, waiting for some sort of recognition, some sort of accompanying feeling-like he’d felt with Miss Granger-but there was nothing. It was just blankness.
For one long second, it was silent, Ron shifting his weight and looking rather excruciatingly ill-at-ease.
Harry instinctively, automatically, stuck out his hand. “It’s- er- good to meet you,” he blurted out. “Again, that is,” he amended quickly.
Ron stared at Harry’s hand, blinking, but visibly pulled himself together and shook it, although even Harry could see that it was with somewhat less heartiness than would be usual.
Right, that hadn’t helped things any, Harry thought unhappily. If anything, it had only made things worse, the clear demonstration of just how lost he was adding an extra layer of discomfort to the atmosphere.
Miss Granger seemed to be thinking desperately of something to say-as was he, but after his latest gaffe, he didn’t want to do anything else to underscore his memory loss and he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t, so he said nothing.
How long this would have gone on Harry didn’t know but in another moment, it was interrupted when another girl appeared in the still-open doorway.
“Harry!”
He blinked and stared at this new person. She was young, very pretty, he noted rather clinically, and related to Ron, he guessed-his sister?-if her red hair and few, scattered freckles were any indication. “Erm- hello.”
The girl was determinedly smiling at him with a warmth that somehow made him want to squirm, or hide, or otherwise escape. Who was this girl?
The girl glanced at Ron and Miss Granger. “Ron, can I- talk to Harry alone for a minute?”
Ron seemed to seize the excuse to escape the moment with alacrity. “Sure, Gin” he agreed immediately and, taking Miss Granger by the arm, turned to leave.
Gin. Harry mentally pounced on the new name, with the same eagerness for any other new fact he could learn to help him reconstruct his past life. Her name was Gin. Short for something, clearly, but what?
Miss Granger held back for a moment, looking at Harry. “We’ll be right outside, Harry,” she told him.
And Harry wondered, rather uneasily, if his (rather pitiful) unwillingness to be parted from her, who was the first person he’d seen since he woke up and therefore the one he-knew?-the best, was so obvious. He hoped not.
He managed a smile. “Ok.”
The door closed and he looked at the new girl with increased curiosity. Who was she, this Gin? And, more importantly perhaps, what was she to him, that she could ask to see him alone and have Ron, at least, agree as if it were only to be expected?
He studied her with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. Thin, pretty, her eyes a very bright brown, red hair which was probably her best feature because it made her good looks very vivid, eye-catching-and she was smiling at him in a way that even he knew was more than friendly.
He blinked, fighting a frown, and had just opened his mouth to ask her how they knew each other, when she closed the distance between them, moving until she was nearly sitting beside him on the bed, both her hands holding his. Her eyes met his. “Oh, Harry, you remember me, don’t you? You can’t have forgotten me, after all we mean to each other?” She sniffed and blinked rapidly, as if to fight back tears. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten about us…”
Us. The one pronoun seemed to echo in his mind, with increasing volume, as his thoughts scrambled to understand the implications of it.
“You’re Ron’s sister,” he guessed, ignoring the more disturbing part of what she’d said, and just trying to confirm what he was pretty sure of.
“Not only Ron’s sister, surely. Not to you…” she looked at him with an expression that was unmistakably coquettish.
He stared, his body automatically stiffening and jerking back as much as he could (which wasn’t far, given that his back was already resting against his pillow.) “I- I don’t remember,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry,” he added.
Her smile faltered but then she caught herself and smiled again, almost as warmly as before, before she leaned in close to him, and he just barely managed to turn his head so her lips brushed his cheek rather than his lips. “That’s okay, Harry. You’ll remember me soon enough, I know you will.”
He tried to will himself to feel something, to react somehow, even if only physically, to her closeness, to the warmth of her breath against his cheek, the touch of her lips to his face- but he felt nothing. There was only discomfort; it was as if he was being kissed by a stranger.
He studied her as she stood up again, searching the blankness that was his memory, desperately, for something-some familiarity, some vague, remembered emotion, anything that might confirm what she’d just said. He’d felt something, a vague sort of warmth, when he’d seen Miss Granger, he knew, as if his heart had recognized her even though his mind didn’t. Surely, if Gin was what she said she was to him, then he would feel that same sort of wispy hint of familiarity, some remembered warmth perhaps, for her too?
He didn’t.
There was nothing there. He looked at her and as far as he could tell, she was a stranger.
And yet-she’d said, implied, that they were close, that there was something between them…
He looked at her, probing at his reactions for something-some purely physical reaction even if his memory was gone-some attraction to her-but found nothing. He saw her smile, even focused deliberately on her lips, but still there was nothing; he felt nothing. No warmth, no attraction…
But she’d hinted, implied-almost outright stated-that she was more than just a friend, more than just his best friend’s sister to him-which meant-she was his girlfriend? ‘All we mean to each other,’ she’d said-what had she meant to him, what did she still mean to him?
Could he-was it possible-could he have forgotten a girl he’d cared about so much?
Confusion was roiling in his mind, his thoughts losing coherence as panic began to edge into it. He couldn’t remember her! What was she to him? And if he couldn’t remember even her, who had apparently meant something special to him, could he even trust anything in his reactions now?
Could it be he hadn’t only lost his memories but he’d changed, somehow? But then, how would he ever know?
He wanted-he needed-to know, to remember, to--
His mind whirled, the walls suddenly beginning to feel as if they were closing in around him, but then, before he could react, Gin opened the door and immediately, Miss Granger and Ron appeared.
He fastened his gaze on Miss Granger, on the familiarity of her-something about her just seemed right to him-and forcibly tried to relax.
It was alright. It was alright; Miss Granger was his best friend and she, at least, was familiar to him somehow, so surely the rest would come back to him?
“I’ll see you soon, Harry,” Gin smiled.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed automatically, absently.
“See you, Ginny,” Miss Granger said.
Ginny! Ok, Ginny was Gin’s name, still a short form for something else, he guessed, perhaps Virginia, but it cleared up one problem since the name, Gin, sounded too odd to him, too strange.
Ginny glanced at Miss Granger. “See, Hermione, I didn’t hurt him,” she said lightly.
Hermione! Harry’s mind focused on the name, grasping at the few bare facts he was finding out to keep him from focusing on all he couldn’t remember. He mentally sounded the name out. Hermione. That was her name. Hermione Granger.
An unusual name, it seemed to him, but it suited her, he thought. She was too strong a personality-that was already clear to him-to have a bland, common name. Hermione.
Hermione threw a rather distracted smile at Ginny. “I didn’t think you would.”
Hermione turned to him, her smile and expression softening. “Do you need anything, Harry?”
“Aside from my memories back?” he retorted without thinking and then immediately regretted it as she sucked in her breath a little.
“I’m sorry. Forget I said that,” he immediately added, feeling like a world-class prick.
She managed a smile. “No, it’s okay. I understand.”
“I shouldn’t have said it,” he mumbled, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting in the back of his head. Why had he said such a thing? Why couldn’t he remember anything?
It was a remarkably lonely thing, he thought suddenly, to have no past, at least not one he could remember. It made him feel very alone, disconnected from the world since there was no one and nothing else he could remember being part of his life-except for Hermione.
He might not remember anything about their friendship, how they’d become friends or how they’d met or any past experiences but somehow, something about her was familiar to him. Something in his mind-his heart?-remembered her, recognized her. In the complete blackness that was his past, she was the only bright spot.
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the woman from before.
“I’m sorry but Mr. Potter must get some rest now.” As she spoke, she shepherded Ron and Hermione out of the room.
Ron gave him a half-awkward smile. “See you later, mate.”
Hermione smiled gently. “Rest, Harry. We’ll be back.” She turned to the older woman. “You will let us know if- if anything changes, Healer Reynolds?”
“Of course, Miss Granger,” Healer Reynolds assured Hermione.
Healer Reynolds-she was called a Healer and not a doctor. Another thing to remember. Healer Reynolds.
Harry watched Ron and Hermione leave and then lay back and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to relax.
He was suddenly aware of being tired. Tired and yet conversely, his mind was spinning around, as if trying to find its bearings in the void that was suddenly his past life.
Who was he? What had his past been like? How old was he? He didn’t remember how old he was!
Wait. What did he look like? He couldn’t remember that either. What color were his eyes? He tugged at his front hair, pulling it down and squinted at the lock. It was dark. Probably black, he guessed. Well, that was something. He had black hair.
Where did he live? Who were his friends, his family…
His family. He suddenly realized that the only people he’d seen were his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Ron’s sister, Ginny Weasley, his- his- whatever-she-was to him.
He frowned, trying to remember. And Hermione had mentioned Ron’s parents, too, hadn’t she?
But then where were his parents? Where was his family? Surely he had them! Everyone had family. Right? Where was his family?
Had his family been injured in the battle to defeat this Voldemort?
His heart had sped up and he felt his headache coming back.
He shouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t think about this. He’d wait, wait until Hermione-or someone-came back and he could ask but he couldn’t do anything now.
He forcibly tried to will every muscle in his body to relax, deliberately trying to focus his mind on what he did know. (The pathetically short list of facts he knew.)
His name was Harry Potter.
His best friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.
Ron had a sister named Ginny.
He had gone to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He’d defeated some villain known as Voldemort or the Dark Lord.
His name was Harry Potter.
His best friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger…
Hermione Granger. The name seemed to echo in his head and he could picture her face, remembered that odd sense of recognition…
And that was his last thought before he fell asleep.
~To be continued...~