Title: Amnesia at its Worst

Author: FloppyWandedDementorBuggerer

Rating: K+ for mentions of war.

Pairings: None.

Genre: Not sure… hurt?

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Summary: Hermione lost her memory in the middle of the war, and this is her thinking… "He looked at me a few times, seeking condolences, but I have none to give. I don't know him. I wouldn't be able to say anything comforting."

Words could not describe the pain I had seen in the eyes, those eyes of all of those people. The pain that comes only with death and war, but what else could there be at a time of destruction. I alone have seen this look in my own eyes when I catch a glance of myself on a reflective surface, but I ignore my own and strive to rid others of theirs.

The eyes are a window to the soul, they say, so this must mean everyone's soul has been greatly damaged this evening, week, year, decade, or maybe a whole century, depending on what you call a war.

I only came at the brink of it, unsure as to what exactly to do or to say. I felt unworthy to help but also felt ashamed to do nothing. But what could I do? I knew nothing or anyone! I can't even begin to describe the pain I feel right now for so many strangers. I see others being consoled by people, friend or family they may be, and they are mourning the dead. I know none who have died and I know no one who is mourning.

I want to leave and enter the now dawning day, but I must stay. I've been here this long, silent, quiet, unnoticed by anyone. But why?

Some of these people, just a few, recognize me and have tried to talk to me, tell me who I really am and my name, but I can't believe them. They say I lost all recollection of everything after a horribly mind crippling accident that made me so afraid that I forgot everything.

And here I am. The war just ended and I, along with many others, just witnessed it maybe an hour ago. There's that one boy- the one with the red hair. He lost his brother in this war and he is now with his family. He looked at me a few times, seeking condolences, but I have none to give. I don't know him. I wouldn't be able to say anything comforting. He looks back down at his brother and hugs his sister closer to him.

Why can't I open up to these people? Why have I been cursed to lose the knowledge of these people? Some look truly hurt because of me, and I can't do a thing about it.

Perhaps I will leave.