A/N This is a story that doesn't take itself too seriously, which means neither should you. Expect juvenile comedy, most of which is focused on sex. More specifically, the view teenagers have on sex. While there will be a sprinkling of drama throughout, it's meant to be a bit of fun, nothing more, nothing less.

Blank Slate

Chapter One

Black smoke billowed from the empty window frames, creating a thick fog over the village of Hogsmeade, which blocked out the intense midday sun. The wooden shack creaked, its structure failing, seconds from collapsing altogether. The unnatural flames flared, stopping the few rescuers from gaining any ground.

A murmur spread through the last of the Order of the Phoenix. They had tried for an hour to get closer, using every spell and charm they knew, but nothing would allow them to save the boy inside the burning Shrieking Shack.

"There's nothing more we can do," said Alastor Moody, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Don't say that!" Hermione screeched, struggling and failing to free herself from Remus's strong grasp. "Don't even think it, just let me go and get him!"

"Hermione," said Ron, shaking his head and meeting her eyes. "There's nothing we can do."

"No, not you, Ron…"

"He's right," said Remus quietly.

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to retort, just as the Shrieking Shack exploded. The blast blew them all off their feet before they could react, but Hermione was standing in an instant, out of Remus's grasp and ready to run, but the devastation stopped her in her tracks.

The fire had disappeared as fast as it had appeared, and where the derelict building had once stood was now a blackened wasteland. Hermione stared, horrified, as her feet took her across the still smouldering timber. The explosion had ripped the shack to pieces, but bits of wood and plaster had created a scorched mountain of wreckage. Underneath it all was her best friend, Harry.

"Hermione, stop!" Ron ran to her, panting as he reached her side. "Remember, You Know Who is still here, too."

They worked fast and in silence to clear the debris, sweating and panting from the sheer heat, when Charlie Weasley gave a shout.

"I found a wand." Charlie held it above his head and all eyes were drawn to the white piece of wood.

"It's not Harry's," said Hermione, feeling hope swell in her stomach. She raised her voice. "It's Voldemort's. Maybe Harry got out!"

"Hermione," said Ron, shaking his head again. "If he got out, we would have seen him."

"Don't lose hope, Ron!" snapped Hermione.

She continued to work with renewed vigour, more determined than ever to find him. Harry would never lay down and die, she repeated to herself. He was the most determined person she had ever met. At times he infuriated her more than Ron did, and he terrified her with his recklessness … but that was just who he was. He was her best friend, and he was not dead!

"I've got him."

The words stopped Hermione short, and she whirled around to face Hagrid. The half-giant's hair had been burnt on one side of his skull, distorting his skin, but he was still working. His great strength meant he could move three times more than any of them, and he swatted aside a door, and there he was…

Harry Potter was on his side, clothes torn to shreds, but looking for all the world as though he was asleep. He even had a smile on his face, Hermione saw as she got closer. But as she reached his side she realised he hadn't escaped by incredible luck yet again. He wasn't breathing, and a pool of blood was forming like a halo around his hair.

In a matter of moments Harry was whisked away by someone – Hermione didn't see who – and her world seemed to shatter before her eyes. She'd had him back for one brief, glorious moment. Now his life was hanging in the balance and she wasn't going to leave his side for one second.

"I'm just going to pop to the bathroom for a second," said Hermione, slipping out of the door.

Ron grunted as he watched her leave the private room, only to sigh as the door swung closed. He sat back in his chair and watched Harry's chest move rhythmically up and down … up and down … but his eyes had yet to open. It had been over a month now, since Harry had charged after Voldemort and somehow defeated him. Nobody but Harry knew how he'd managed it, but he wasn't awake to tell the tale.

"Look, I'm not being funny, mate, but wake up soon, yeah?" Ron winced at his own words. "Yeah, I suppose that won't work. How about if I offered you two naked veela? Oh, who am I kidding? You're Harry Potter! You could have hundreds of veela if you wanted! One for every day of the year!"

Ron sighed again when he saw no change in Harry.

"It was a good, if slightly worrying, attempt," said Hermione, re-entering the room. She suddenly paused at the end of Harry's bed, her eyes widening. She pointed a shaking hand at her friend. "He's waking up…"

"Wha—?" said Ron stupidly, nearly jumping onto his best friend's bed.

"He's waking up," repeated Hermione, disbelief colouring her voice. "He's waking up," she said again, her voice getting louder. "Ron, he's waking up!"

Ron winced. "Yes, I know," he ground out. "Call the healer or something, fast!"

The doors nearly exploded off their hinges as Hermione barrelled through them, shouting for help.

Ron turned to Harry, amazed to see his jaw moving from side to side. His cracked lips parted ever so slightly, and Ron leaned in to hear what he was saying.

"What were you saying about veela?"

Ron's jaw dropped and his eyebrows jumped into his ginger head of hair. "Blimey, mate! I was only joking."

For the first time in a month Harry opened his eyes just as Hermione entered the room once again, followed by a blonde healer in her mid-twenties.

"Harry!" shouted Hermione, looking like she was about to pounce on him, but only refrained from doing so by Harry's cringe.

The healer started to wave her wand all over his body, and her blue eyes locked on his. "Good morning, Mr Potter. It's nice to finally see those eyes I've heard all about."

Harry cracked a lecherous grin. "Stick around and get rid of these two stalkers," he said, jerking a thumb at the dumbstruck Ron and Hermione, "and I'll show you a hell of a lot more."

The silence was deafening, but Harry didn't appear to notice or care; he was too busy craning his neck to get a better look at his healer's arse.

"Harry!" Hermione crossed her arms and her lips thinned. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry blinked at her and scratched his head, then understanding seemed to dawn on him. "Sorry about that," he said. Hermione was nodding in satisfaction when he added, "But you'll have to wait your turn."

Hermione and Ron goggled at him, but he completely ignored them, as he went back to trying to chat up his healer.

"So, what's your name?"

"You can call me Delia," said Delia, flashing him a bright grin, which made Hermione groan piteously and Harry laugh in delight.

"What time do you finish your shift?" asked Harry.

"Not until six, but I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere soon," said Delia sternly, but her strictness broke down at the pout on his face. "Don't worry, I'm sure it won't be for long."

"But I feel fine now!" insisted Harry. As if to prove his point he jumped out of bed, wearing only his bright smile. "See, fine!"

"Gah!" exclaimed Ron, turning away and throwing his hands over his eyes.

"Um, Harry…" Hermione politely averted her eyes. "You're, um, well."

"Naked, Harry," said Delia, licking her lips as she looked him up and down.

Harry looked down at himself. "Huh, so I am. How about, since I'm naked and all, you repay the favour…?"

A faint pink blush appeared on Delia's cheeks. "I didn't think you'd be so forward, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "If you're not going forwards, you're going backwards, and who the hell wants to go backwards?" He received strange looks. "Anyway, I think it's only fair if you hop out of that uniform—"

"Harry," interrupted a now bright red Hermione. "You can't just say things like that." She looked to Delia for help. "What's wrong with him?"

Delia raised an eyebrow. "You mean he wasn't like this before?"

"Of course not!"

"Oh," said Delia, eyeing Harry in concern. "If you would just get back into bed, Harry…"

Harry grinned triumphantly. "Certainly, Delia. You, redhead –" he pointed at Ron, " – get the hell out and leave us alone."

Ron mouthed wordlessly, his face turning a tomato red.

"Oh, it's worse than I thought," admitted Delia.

Hermione could only nod in agreement and hope her best friend could be fixed. Just what had happened in the Shrieking Shack that had sent him so … so … She eyed Harry nervously and felt like crying.

Ron and Hermione were forced to leave Harry, so tests could be performed, and they went straight to the Burrow to tell the Weasleys the news. They arrived through the fireplace and gathered in the kitchen, where everyone was already sitting at the table, about to have lunch.

"It's good and bad news," admitted Hermione, wringing her hands.

"Yeah, something like that." Ron felt like he'd been smacked in the face with a Confundus Charm. He was starting to wish he had been, just so everything could return to normal. "Harry's awake."

"He's what?" Molly jumped out of her chair, sending it flying into the cooker. "Why didn't you say anything sooner, Ronald! We have to go and see him."

"You can't," said Ron, holding his hands up to stop his mother's stampede. "We've just been kicked out of his room, so they can check him over. Listen, it's not, um, it's not great."

"What do you mean?" asked Molly fearfully.

"Harry's not quite himself right now." Hermione thought that was as delicate as she could put it.

"He's lost his bleedin' marbles, mum!" said Ron. "He called us stalkers!"

Hermione glared at him, but turned to the confused family and explained, "Harry's currently lost his memory." It didn't feel right saying he'd lost his mind, even if she was thinking it. "I don't know what he can remember, if anything, but it must be nearly all of his memories."

"Yeah," said Ron. "If he can't remember us, his best friends, who the hell will he remember?"

"Oh my," was all Molly could say, and suddenly uproar descended on the kitchen, as everyone shouted their questions over each other.

"So, who were those two?" asked Harry, after Hermione and Ron had left. "I can't say I know them."

Delia stared at him for a long moment, completely taken aback. "You don't remember them?"

"Remember them?" Harry snorted. "I've never seen them before in my life. Why? Should I know them?"

"Well…" Delia bit her bottom lip. "They are kind of your best friends."

Harry laughed uproariously.

"I'm serious, Harry," said Delia. Her words didn't sober him up any, so she waited until his laughter stopped. "Just allow me to check for something, please. If you'd just lay still."

Harry did as he was told, feeling thoroughly amused at the thought of being best friends with people he'd never met.

Delia pointed her wand at his skull and muttered some words under her breath. Her eyes grew wider with every second, and then she swallowed thickly.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mr Potter, but I'm afraid you—"

"Have I lost my memory?" asked Harry bluntly.

Delia stared at him in disbelief. She'd encountered patients losing their memories before, and it usually involved uncontrollable sobbing or complete denial, but this was different.

"I'm afraid you have," said Delia, just waiting for the crying to start.

"Huh," said Harry, shrugging. "Oh well, what can you do? Now, seeing as I can't remember a damn thing, how about you and I create my very first memory?"

Delia just stared. She couldn't believe he'd just accepted the loss of his memories without a thought, and in the very next second he started chatting her up. It wasn't right.

"What are we going to do with you, Mr Potter?" At Harry's grin, she waggled her finger in his face. "Don't even answer that."