DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

This story came to me while watching the film Memento. It's not like the film but it gave me the idea so I decided to credit it. I hope you enjoy the read.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter didn't know what was going on. The last thing he could remember was working on a case for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, he was lying in a hospital bed across from a teenage couple sitting on the table by the window. They hadn't noticed Harry still, so he decided the best move was to stay quite.

"I don't know, James, it doesn't seem to me that you thought this through," the young girl spoke up. She looked to be about sixteen, with long, impossibly straight hair and a fair complexion. She reminded Harry of someone, he just couldn't place whom.

"Yes I have, that's the thing. Mum thinks it's a bad idea, but-" the young man was cut off by the girl, who placed her hands atop his.

"Maybe you should listen to her. She has a say in this too, y'know," her voice was gentle and if Harry wasn't mistaken he could have sworn he heard that voice before, with even the same worrying tone.

"She doesn't know what will make her happy. She needs to move on, she's letting him control her life. He's barely alive!" Harry could tell the young man was troubled by the conversation. He took his hands out of the grasp the girl kept it in. He stood up and looked like he was going to expel out a few choice words when he eyed Harry with a face of utter shock.

The young blonde girl stood up from her seat, "James, what's wro-," she never finished her sentence because as she turned her head she stared into the green eyes of Harry Potter, the man she heard so much about. She couldn't remember a time when her life wasn't filled with visits to St. Mungo's to see the powerful wizard.

Green eyes met grey. Harry figured out exactly whom she looked like. The bleach blonde hair, the absorbing grey eyes that seemed to pull you in, and the pale skin tone. All were characteristics of a boy he had known back in school. The physiognomy was of one Draco Malfoy. Beside the Malfoy look alike with the perplexed expression was the face of a young man who looked like a younger version of Harry himself.

The boy, James, looked positively petrified and speechless. After what seemed like minutes, James spoke up, "dad?"

Lyra was confused. This could not be happening. It was just impossible. There was no logical reason for this to be happening. And if anyone were to describe Lyra, they would use the words logical, practical, and rational. It just didn't make sense!

She was just visiting with James, like she did every summer, Wednesday morning since they had started school. He had wanted to talk. It wasn't a peculiar request; they had been dating for two years now. He began talking about his seventeenth birthday; it was coming up in the next week. He would be able to touch all the money in his trust fund. But, James didn't care about the money at all. He never had. It was the power he held over his father's hospital stay that persuaded the conversation. Lyra had known he couldn't stand to see his mother suffer. Her aunt Ginny had visited the comatose patient every week, twice a week. She had gotten married thirteen years prior. She had had another two children. She was happy; at least she was trying to be. Lyra knew the older witch still hoped her former boyfriend would wake up from the coma, not to be with her, but to meet his one and only son. Ginny's heart was broken by the fact that James never heard his father's voice.

James on the other hand didn't care. His uncles and stepfather had raised him. He considered his half siblings the same way Lyra considered her full siblings. He loved Oliver and Prim; they loved him back. He was happy, if one didn't consider the fact of his mother's anguish. Lyra had never seen someone love his or her mother the way James loved Ginny. Not even her father, who would do undeniably anything for Lyra's grandmother. Lyra loved that about James, she always had. She, however, could not agree with his plan to sign the papers for the dismissal of Harry's magical life care. He wanted to keep it all a secret, let his mom heal, and as much as Lyra wanted to see the aunt Ginny her mom always talked about from before the accident, she couldn't go along with the plan; it was not fair to anyone involved.

One could say the young witch was astonished when she looked in the direction James was gazing at. She had never seen his eyes. She knew so much about the man she was regarding; yet she had never seen his penetrating green eyes in person. Like his mother, James had brown eyes, which was the only thing that didn't remind people of the great Harry Potter when looking at James. He hated it, being compared to his father. There was no limit to the rage he felt when people compared him to his father. There was also no limit to the delight he felt when people looked at his eyes and said they were his mother's. Lyra knew all of this; she had known the young wizard all her life. They were raised together. However, she couldn't stop herself from staring at his father, wide eyed as he was. She didn't stop staring. Not when James asked the question. Not when Harry Potter gave a look of nervousness. Not when her boyfriend left the room shouting for a mediwitch. She only allowed herself to stop staring at the man she thought to be brain dead when one of the mediwitches closed the door in front of her. Not until she was left alone in the corridor of the private wing staring at a white wooden door, stunned by everything that had transpired in their second Wednesday visit to St. Mungo's that year.

The brunette clearly stood out from the other people in St. Mungo's. She wore a white, high-neck, silk blouse; an ecru, neoprene, knee-length, flared skirt and black kid leather pumps with a pointed toe. Her beautiful, a little past the shoulders, slick brown hair was tied in a low pony tail. To everyone that looked at her, she was the definition of poise. And everyone was, indeed, looking at her. It was no shocker that Hermione Granger would be at St. Mungo's in the middle of the week, if it were any other day of the week. Everyone knew if it were summer, on a Wednesday, the only two people that visited Harry Potter was his son, James Potter and the young man's girlfriend, Lyra. Something must have happened for the war heroine, Hermione Granger, to take time out of her busy schedule to come to St. Mungo's. Especially since, whenever Hermione did visit, her husband or children always accompanied her. Not to mention the fact that it was rare for the witch to not come in the evening, she was a busy woman after all.

Hermione was livid; James had called her mobile in the middle of a meeting. She had had to explain to several elderly wizards what a mobile was. No need to say the meeting went to hell. She was definitely going to have a talking to with her godson. It was an unspoken rule that James and Lyra were the only ones to come to St. Mungo's on Wednesdays. Of course, whenever James and Lyra had an argument, James would call Hermione to pick her up. Although they were a loving couple, visiting his father always upset James. And, if Lyra weren't in an especially good mood, the young witch would most definitely yell at James for being insensitive to his father.

There was no question that Hermione's eldest daughter admired the comatose wizard. She had a copious amount of books that told the story of Harry Potter. Lyra also loved hearing tales about the man she thought of as an uncle. She also knew not to ask for the stories and just listen when others talked about him. Harry Potter was a delicate subject among the grown ups Lyra surrounded herself with. The people that could tell her anything were brought to tears at the mention of the hero. While the ones that kept dry eyes, didn't know much about the real Harry to tell her anything.

Needless to say Lyra didn't appreciate when James spoke ill of his father. Hermione had picked her up from St. Mungo's countless times to know that. Though they always made up, the older witch knew James had been planning something that had to do with Harry. She could even picture her daughter waiting for her, tears in her eyes, mumbling nonsense about James.

The first person Hermione saw, however, was James. He looked pale, paler even than Lyra. He was sitting down on a chair in the waiting room. He looked ill. Hermione looked around for Lyra, but didn't see her husband's family's trademark blonde hair anywhere in the waiting room she knew all too well. It was a private waiting room in the secluded wing. The wing's only patient: Harry Potter.

"James, where's Lyra?" the witch questioned when she was sure she was close enough for him to hear the inquiry.

The young boy looked in the direction of his godmother's voice. He had been blankly staring at the white wall on the other side of the room for twenty minutes or so. When he turned, Hermione saw the empty look on his face; her heart broke. It must have been one hell of a fight. He opened his mouth to speak and the words came out dry, "I don't know. I think she's still in the room. I couldn't bring myself to go back there. I'm sorry aunt 'Mione, I just couldn't do it." With that, he went back to staring at the wall.

One hell of a fight, all right, Hermione thought. She sat down next to James and began speaking, "what was it this time? Did she try to fix his hair again? You know she can't help herself. She can't stand messy hair; you of all people know that. She is her father's daughter after all…" Hermione smiled. If there were two people that loved their hair more than life itself, those two people were her husband and their eldest child.

"He woke up," James said softly. Hermione was about to ask who had woken up when she froze. It couldn't be. She was sure she had heard him wrong. He had said the sentence so quietly after all. But, deep down, she knew that wasn't true. There was only one thing that could upset James this much. And, that thing, or more appropriately person, was his father and Hermione's childhood best friend, the great Harry Potter. The older witch was speechless. Her best friend had woken up after seventeen years in a coma. It was practically impossible. But, that was Harry. He did the impossible blindfolded. She looked over to the unmoving boy beside her. That's when she realized her daughter was still in the room. Kissing the top of James' head, Hermione hurried to the hospital room with the hope of seeing the fascinating green eyes she hadn't seen in years.

Thank you immensely for reading this fic. Reviews are appreciated.

~Maria :D