Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: T / PG-15
Warning: Possible spoilers for DH! Ignores the epilogue.
01– FALLING BACKWARDS
oOo
"But will you be there on Tuesday?"
Hermione Granger smiled sadly and hugged her friend. "Yes, Heather," she reassured the young woman. "I'll be there. I promise."
Heather's face lit up in a bright smile. "Good! We'll have pudding. Vanilla pudding."
Hermione nodded, running a hand through her bushy hair and squeezed her friend's hand. It was summer and though the sun had not yet risen to its peak the air felt warm and stuffy and the humidity was more than enough to make Hermione's hair curl and stand up into every direction as if it were charged with electricity. She had to give it to them – the maintainers of the sanatorium really knew their job and had created a lovely place with their limited supplies. Even though the main building that she could catch glimpses of through the trees was old and in dire need of a renovation, the windows were colourfully decorated with pictures the inmates had drawn and though they hardly had enough money to buy food for the birds a gardening routine had been included into the individual therapy sessions, so that they were surrounded by a piece of nature far more beautiful than one would have expected upon seeing the high stone walls that surrounded the place.
Hermione wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers and once again tried to pull her hair put of her face, ignoring the fact that she was fighting a lost battle while Heather's face took on a blank look the moment their conversation came to a halt.
"Hermione?" she asked, her tone pleasantly surprised. "You came to visit? That's lovely."
The former Gryffindor sighed then forced a smile on her face, returning to the little game they'd been playing all morning. To the little game they were forced to play ever since it happened, Hermione thought with a shudder.
Two years ago in 1998 - before the battle of Hogwarts, before the final defeat of Voldemort - Heather had been a different person. Confident, intellectual, engaged to a lovely young man from Bristol she'd intended to marry in April.
'However,' Hermione thought with a wince, the mere misfortune of living next door to the Grangers had become Heather's undoing – and Hermione's great regret. In retrospect, she thought, she should have seen this coming. She should have done something to prevent this but the thing was that she didn't. And she hadn't.
So while being able to keep her own parents from harm by whisking them away from under the Death Eater's noses Hermione accidentally put someone else into their way.
The Muggle newspaper would later say that a gang of young hoodlums – probably on drugs – had stormed Heather's house, killing her fiancée and leaving Heather the way she was now. Unfortunately, Hermione knew better. She knew that the Death Eaters – infuriated that their intended victims were nowhere to be found – and intent on finding an outlet for their frustration had turned to the neighbouring house, ultimately destroying a young woman's life and driving her to the brink of sanity. And beyond.
Hermione bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and swallowed down the lump in her throat. This was her fault, she thought with wet eyes. Her responsibility.
"Hermione?" Heather's voice interrupted her morbid thoughts and her smile got a bit weaker. "Why are you crying?" Heather asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. "You shouldn't cry. It's a nice day and did you know? We're having pudding on Tuesday. You should come."
"I-I will," Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.
"Promise?" Heather asked, her smile still bright though her eyes started glazing over once again.
"Yes," Hermione muttered. "Yes, I will."
"You will what?" Heather gave her a curious look but shrugged it off immediately as the little buzzer on her wristwatch played a children's tune. "Oh! Breakfast-time!" she beamed and, hugging Hermione for a last time turned and left, bouncing up the staircase that led up to the main building of the sanatorium – ever so careful not to tread the cracks between the stones. She didn't know why but it was fatal to tread on it. At least she thought so.
oOo
A light breeze picked up and Hermione's hair once again blew into her face but the young woman paid no attention to it, being far too preoccupied to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling.
She sniffled quietly and ran a hand over her eyes, wiping away the wetness roughly, then took a deep calming breath. It was too quiet here, she thought as she took in the lush garden scenery around her. Too peaceful.
It was here where Hermione had come to realize how much the war against Voldemort had cost. How it had not only completely changed the status quo of the Wizarding World but also touched the lives of so many innocent Muggles. 'Collateral damage,' Percy Weasley had called it before blushing bright scarlet and stuttering an apology.
She shuddered again and in an unconscious gesture rubbed her hands up and down her arms in a moot attempt to rub away the cold that chilled her from the inside. There was no point in staying-
"Are you cold?" A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts and instinctively Hermione's hand flew to her wand.
"No, I -," She turned and blinked, trying to make out the man's face that was hidden by the shadows of the trees. "I'm fine. Thanks."
"You're trembling," he said, his voice concerned as he reached for the light jumper he'd slung across his shoulders and took it off. "It's not cold per se, I suppose but the wind can be chilly." He shook some leaves out of the jumper and took a step forward, offering the garment to her. "Do you want my-?"
And that was when Hermione's insides turned to ice. Later she wouldn't be able to recall how she'd been able to do so many things at once, claiming it was nothing but years of practice that made her react the way she did. Within a matter of seconds her brain registered his face – the short brown slightly wind-blown hair. The blue eyes. The dimples that made him look far more harmless than she knew him to be.
Before she knew what she was doing Hermione advanced, one hand reaching up to grip his hair and pull back his head, the other firmly gripping her wand that she pushed under his chin.
His eyes widened in alarm, the blue darkening ever so slightly in agitation and though he started a defensive movement it came too late as Hermione's grip tightened in his hair, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"I'll-," he gasped, obviously confused. "I'll take that as a 'no'."
"Don't try to be funny." She pressed her lips together into a thin line. "What are you doing here?"
"Being polite?"
Hermione pushed the wand a bit deeper into the soft flesh beneath his chin, narrowing her eyes. "How about the truth?"
She could see the irritation in his eyes but still he did not fight back. "I'm having my hair pulled out by a raving lunatic."
"I didn't know you to be a comedian," she snarled, memories of the battle of Hogwarts running through her head like snap-shots: the violent curses used by both sides illuminating the Great Hall in a deadly yet strangely beautiful lightshow. Lavender Brown's feebly stirring body being approached by Greyback, intent on turning the girl into a werewolf. Pulling off Death Eaters' masks and recognizing former schoolmates, now lying unmoving on the floor, either unconscious or dead.
Hermione's hand tightened around her wand. "Try again."
He snorted, some of the old arrogance back in his eyes. "Or you'll keep poking me with your stick?"
"This isn't just a 'stick'."
"Your branch, then."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you insane?" What in Merlin's name was he playing at? "You know very well what I could do now, so you better co-operate and tell me why you're here."
"Because the weather is nice," he snapped and abruptly twisted around, his hands coming to grip Hermione's wrist, bending her wand hand back roughly thus forcing her to release her hold on her only weapon. With a fluid movement he kicked it out of reach, manoeuvred himself behind her and before she had a chance to gasp in pain, wrapped one hand around her neck, thus wordlessly threatening to crush her throat if she were to make one false move.
A few moments passed in silence, interrupted only by the annoyingly cheerful chirp of the birds and the sound of their breathing.
'Well,' Hermione thought bitterly, at least he'd shown his true colours. If she were to throw back her head at exactly the right moment, she contemplated, eyeing her wand a few metres away, then she had the fraction of a chance to break his nose and make a run for it. Or hex him into oblivion. However, as suddenly as the attack had come she heard him gasp and found herself free again.
"What in Merlin's name-?" Hermione asked then stopped once she met his panicked eyes.
"Did I-?" he gasped, "Did I hurt you? Goodness, I'm sorry. I don't…I have no idea what…" He bit his bottom lip and he rubbed a hand over his face, looking pale and shocked. "Please tell me I haven't hurt you. I never…should…should I…" He trailed off uncertainly and with a start Hermione noticed that his hands were trembling. "I don't..I have no idea what I just did. How I did it," he whispered, suddenly looking very confused and vulnerable – no longer the threat he seemed to pose a moment ago.
Still, Hermione wasn't in the mood to take any risks and made a wild lunge for her wand, once again pointing it at the young man who was now sitting on the grass, desperately trying to get a grip on his emotions.
Keeping her wand trained on him, Hermione approached. "What are you doing here? Have you come to hurt the Muggles?"
He looked up, confused. "Muggles?"
Her eyes narrowed, a suspicion creeping up on her. "Don't play games with me."
"I'm not." He shook his head, fixing wide blue eyes on her, his concern obvious. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you? I-I really…I'm so sorry."
'That was nothing short of surreal,' Hermione thought, sitting down though keeping her wand pointed at his trembling form. "I'm fine. What happened to you?"
"I don't know," he whispered, running a hand through his dark hair. "Why did you attack me?"
Hermione scoffed. Was he serious? Could he be? The son of a known Death Eater – the son who'd vanished mysteriously after the war only to resurface amidst a Muggle sanatorium and he expected her not to react the way she had? When she knew only too well what the likes of him could do – and had done – in similar circumstances? "Show me your left arm," she ordered instead and, though looking thoroughly perplexed, he complied wordlessly.
Hermione shifted forward ever so slightly, careful not to give him an opportunity to attack.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, now regarding her face with growing curiosity as she bent over his arm, examining the scar that marred the length of it. The scar that looked suspiciously like a faded tattoo.
"You're a Death Eater," Hermione said in a tone that allowed no argument but he merely blinked at her.
"You're weird."
Quite frankly, that wasn't the reaction she had expected. Another attack perhaps or a personal insult but nothing like this: this expression of curiosity mixed with an undeniable undercurrent of insecurity. He hadn't been like that before. Hermione raised her eyes only to find that he'd been staring at her.
Finally he pressed his lips together and took a deep breath as if silently forcing himself to take a step he was afraid to take. "You know me," he said, looking half-terrified, half-hopeful.
She frowned, unsure of what to make of the situation. And then it hit her – could it really be? "Why are you here?" Hermione asked and this time he did answer.
"Retrograded amnesia."
That certainly explained things. Hermione took a deep breath, re-thinking her options. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said automatically, though in reality she really wasn't. Fact was that she couldn't care less whether a Death Eater suffered from amnesia or whatnot.
"Who am I?" his voice interrupted her again. "You recognized that thing on my arm. Tell me what it means."
She shook her head. "No. No, I …it's a misunderstanding. I confused you with someone else."
His eyes were pleading now. "No, you didn't. You know me."
"I don't. I've never seen you before in my life."
"Tell me your name," he demanded, regarding her with renewed interest as if hoping to catch a glimpse of familiarity in her face. However, judging from his expression his hopes were cruelly crushed.
"I have to go." Hermione shook her head and got up. She needed to think things through and then decide about the next steps. He seemed to be relatively safe here and perhaps it was better to keep things that way.
"No, please," he mimicked her movement and with a few strides of his long legs he was beside her. "Tell me who I am."
"I can't," Hermione gasped. "I don't know you."
"Please." He grabbed her wrist then, as if realizing that there was the slightest possibility of hurting her snatched back his hand as if burned. "If you know anything at all about me then please tell me. You have no idea what it's like to.." He stopped and swallowed as if saying the words were giving him physical pain. "What it's like to lose yourself."
Hermione halted, holding his gaze for a long moment. "What's your name?"
"They named me John." He scoffed. "My name is 'John Doe'."
"No," she shook her head. "It's 'Nott'."
"Of course it isn't but that's all I have," he replied, the double meaning of her answer lost on him.
Once again their eyes locked in a silent battle, each trying to see behind the other's intentions and each coming up with a blank. Finally, after what seemed akin to a lifetime Hermione sighed.
"I've got to go."
And this time she did, feeling his gaze on her back long till after she'd left the sanatorium behind.
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A/N: Constructive criticism would be very much appreciated :)