I do not own Harry Potter. I'm not even going to try to make this disclaimer amusing. I'm too sad about my lack of copyright relating to HP.
PLEASE READ Author's Notes: I know I changed the tenses around sometimes, but at times it's retelling things that happened before the story properly started, so I thought it fit. I tried to make Harry's writing style slightly different from my own, but I don't know how well I succeeded, especially towards the end.
Please note that I do not know a lot about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or amnesia.
I also want to make it clear that Harry probably remembers more than one things at a time, but that I only showed "snap-shots" of his conversations with Severus.
At night, Harry dreams of cupboards.
*** *** ***
They tell him his name is Harry Potter. They ask if he remembers the name, whether he has any memory of being called that.
He tells them no.
*** *** ***
He has forgotten how to do some of the most basic things. He's forgotten the need to eat, but can tie his shoelaces, and doesn't need assistance when he uses the facilities. He does not know his mathematics for his age level, but can recite many political happenings.
"We don't know how you lost your memory," they tell him. "We think it's psychological."
His body carries many scars. He can't remember how he got any of them, except one. "I got this one when my parents died," he tells them, pointing at lightning shaped scar on his forehead. They ask him if he has any memories associated with the scar, or if he knows when his parents died. "No." he tells them. "But I know that's how I got it."
He doesn't know whether they believe him.
He has three tattoos. On the inside of his left wrist is written "Dream" and on his right "Believe," both in black, fancy script. "Dream" is outlined in red, whereas "Believe" is outlined in green. On his lower back he has a tattoo of what they tell him is a Phoenix being reborn. In its ashes are written "Hope" "Freedom" and "Love." They "ooh" and "aahh" over them, remarking on how detailed the Phoenix is, how it almost looks as though it could move, and how brilliant the green and red are.
They ask him if he remembers getting the tattoos, or why he picked those particular words and patterns.
"I don't remember," he says "But the Phoenix, red, and green stand for something. Something important."
*** *** ***
The main room is stark white, like everything else. Many of the Hospital's occupants have chosen places that are "theirs."
Harry has many favorites out of the other occupants of the Hospital.
There is Doris, who sits in a corner where she can see everyone, and constantly warns Harry "They track you, you know. They have ways to gather information! Don't do anything to tip them off, boy!" Because of her, Harry remember that once upon a time, he got called "Boy" a lot.
Emma, who doesn't talk, and stands in the middle of the white room. Harry believes she nods along to the beat if you hum.
Harry also likes Frankie, who also doesn't talk, but is almost constantly tapping a part of his anatomy to music only he can hear. Harry found out on his fourth day that if you start a rhythm (tap on leg, pause, two taps on other leg, tap on stomach) Frankie will repeat it and add one variation (tap on leg, pause, two taps on other leg, tap on stomach, tap on head.) Harry enjoys trying to duplicate Frankie's pattern, until the pattern gets long and Harry gives up.
*** *** ***
One day, a strange man comes to the Hospital. He sits beside Harry, and is quiet for a long time.
Eventually, Harry turns toward the stranger, holds out his hand, and says "Hello. I'm Harry Potter."
The man takes his hand and shakes it. "I'm Severus Snape, and I already knew who you are."
"Oh?" Harry cocks his head to the side and studies the man in front of him. "Did I know you, then?"
The man hesitates, and then slowly inclines his head. "We were acquaintances only."
That night, Harry dreams of cupboards and a dark, biting voice dripping with sarcasm.
*** *** ***
They found him on the doorstep. He gave them an unsigned letter, explaining that he was called Harry Potter and had lost his memory.
Harry kept the letter. He'd study it sometimes, wondering about the person who had written it and left him on a doorstep with no history beyond a name.
*** *** ***
The next time the quiet man called Severus comes to visit; Harry is playing The Game with Frankie. Harry waves cheerfully at Severus, who looks rather amused (though it is rather hard for Harry to tell, and it could be anger just as easily as amusement.)
Harry soon loses spectacularly, and goes to sit beside Severus.
"That's Frankie."
"Indeed."
"Yeah."
They sit in silence for a few minutes.
"I don't remember you. I mean, I don't remember meeting you anywhere but here."
Severus' face is nearly always impenetrable, Harry realizes. "I know."
"Oh. You knew I'd lost my memory?"
"Why else would I think to go to a Psychiatric Hospital to look for you?'
"Oh."
Harry thinks about this. "When you knew me, was I ... happy?"
"I do not know. Why do you ask?"
"Because... I just get this feeling that I wasn't. Happy, that is."
"Do you." It isn't a statement, but neither is it a question. Harry answers it anyway. "Yeah. I mean, I don't have any memories to show I wasn't happy, I just remember being unhappy, you know? Like how I don't remember when I got my tattoos, but I remember being sad and tired when I got at least one of them."
"Tattoos?"
"Yeah!" Harry pulls up his shirt to show the Phoenix, and then sits back down and offers his wrists, which Severus takes. He studies the green-outlined "Believe" particularly long, and Harry thinks he looks almost sad.
"You didn't know I had them?"
Severus runs his thumb over the inked "Believe" then releases Harry's wrists and looks up. "No, Harry. I was not one of your confidantes."
"Oh. You don't know what the red and green mean, then?"
"I can guess. At the school you went to, there were four different Houses. Students would be placed in one of the Houses after a ... character aptitude test. Green and silver represented one of the Houses, red and gold another."
"Oh." Harry frowns. "How much of my own history could you tell me?"
"Quite a bit. However, I won't."
"Why not?"
"Because I think it might be best if you remembered some of it on your own. Have you not considered that if the loss of your memory is psychological, there must be things you'd rather forget?"
Harry screws up his face. "I knew I wasn't happy."
That night, Harry dreams of brightened cupboards and flashes of light.
*** *** ***
He doesn't remember much before the doorstep. Only a white room, whisperings, hard-to make out faces looking at him in concern, then a long tube through which it seemed as though he travelled so fast it impaired his breathing.
And then, the doorstep, handing out the letter he found clenched in his hand to a confused woman who thought she'd heard a car backfire, though the parking lot was empty.
*** *** ***
There was no pattern to the times of Severus' visits, just as there was no pattern to what they did during the visits. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they sat in silence and watched the other occupants of the Hospital.
Once, Severus had started to leave, but had turned back towards Harry abruptly.
"Are you happy here?" he had asked, and Harry had gotten the feeling that there was more behind the question than he knew.
"I think so."
"You think so?"
Harry had known his eyes were sad when they met Severus'. "I think I'm happy, but I don't remember what being happy really feels like, you see."
That night had been the first time Harry could remember that his dreams hadn't involved cupboards. Instead, he'd been flying.
*** *** ***
They gave him a notebook.
"Just write in it if you remember anything," they told him. "Or maybe what you dream about or anything that seems important. All right?"
He nodded, and got the feeling that they weren't quite sure what to do with him.
*** *** ***
"I used to like being outside." Harry doesn't glance at Severus, but continues looking out the window.
"Yes."
"I was outside a lot, I think, especially in the summer. I think I gardened, sometimes."
"Do you remember doing so?"
Harry frowns. "Not really, no. Not a complete memory of it, anyway. But I think I remember flowers... I had to plant one type of flower—I think they're called Petunias—but I also planted another type—Lilies, I think—and for some reason that wasn't allowed." Harry shrugs. "I don't even know if that's real."
That night, Harry uses the notebook for the first time. But not to write down memories, or things that "seemed important."
Instead, Harry begins the story of a boy named William Grant.
*** *** ***
"I'm driving them completely barmy, you know," Harry says, quite cheerfully.
Severus, who is, by this time, well aware of who "They" are, only says. "Indeed. You have no idea the amount of empathy I feel for them."
Harry laughs. "Oh come on! You're already crazy!"
Severus raises an eyebrow. "You are the one in a Psychiatric Institution."
"Oh, is that another thing they call it?" Harry asks brightly, not at all deterred by the dark glare being sent his way.
"Why are you driving them crazy this time?"
"They gave me this notebook, right? To write down any memories I remember, and all that. I've been writing down stories instead. They hate it." Harry makes his voice high-pitched, imitating one of his doctors. "'Now, Harry,'" he says condescendingly. "'We appreciate the fact that you are using your imagination, but we want to help you. These stories will not help you in any way. They are completely impossible. Recover your memory, and then you can write fairy-tales as much as you want, okay honey?'" Harry sighs.
"What do they find so impossible about the stories?"
"Ah... well... don't laugh, kay? Everyone else has. But the stories are about magic."
Severus stiffens, but does not laugh, for which Harry is very grateful.
"Oh? And what prompted this?"
Harry frowns. "I don't know, really. I don't suppose it's even a story. I just write down whatever scenes come to me."
"Perhaps it's one of your memories."
"Are you taking the piss out of me?"
"No."
"There's magic, Severus."
"You never know."
"Whatever. I'm being a good boy and writing down some of my dreams too."
"What do you dream about, Harry?"
"Cupboards, usually."
"Cupboards? Any idea why?"
"I... I think I... lived in one. For a while, anyway. It was small and really only fit my cot. It had a lock on the door. Can you tell me if that's true?"
Severus is silent for a long time. Finally he says "It would appear so, yes."
By now, Harry knows better than to ask what he meant.
*** *** ***
There was one teacher, Harry wrote, who liked Will not at all. His hair was lank and greasy. He had a huge nose, rather like a vulture, really. He was the Professor everyone hated, except a group of select students, on whom he went unusually easy.
He hated Will for something he'd never done. From the moment Will stepped into the school, Professor Smith (the one who hated Will) seemed to feel a day was wasted if he hadn't insulted Will at least five times.
*** *** ***
"My mother's name was Lily. She's dead."
"Yes."
Harry nods to himself. "That's why I couldn't plant those flowers, see? My father died too. His name was James."
"Yes," Severus says again.
"I don't think it's going to be a talking day."
Severus nods, and takes the seat next to Harry, where they are able to watch the other occupants of the room.
That night, Harry dreams of a Lily dying after being hit with a green light.
*** *** ***
"Severus? Do you believe in magic?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Just checking. No one else does."
"Do you?"
Harry holds up the inside of his wrists for Severus to see. "The person I was before tattooed 'Believe' and 'Dream' onto my body. I sort of have to... don't I?"
*** *** ***
"This Professor Smith person. Did you characterize him after me?"
Harry grins. "You read it, then?" Harry had given Severus some of his stories to read.
"Obviously. Your hand-writing is still atrocious."
"Why'd you think I made him up after you?"
"Let's see, shall we?" Severus begins to quote Harry's words. "'His hair was lank and greasy. He had a huge nose, rather like a vulture, really.' And he's a bastard."
Harry looks up at the other man. "Wow! You do look like him!"
Severus snorts. "Thanks ever so much, Potter. You didn't notice before?"
Harry shrugs. "Suppose it just failed to register."
Severus snorts again and sits down. "Where do you get the inspiration for your stories, Harry?"
"I don't know. I just write. It's like the stories are already there whenever I feel the need to write."
"Do you remember anyone by the name of William Weasley?"
"No. Why? Did I know him?"
"Just checking. You knew him, once."
That night, Harry dreams of blood.
*** *** ***
Harry wrote:
Will had two best friends. One of them, Ron, was one of the first people who were nice to Will. The other was called Hermione. She had bushy hair and was bossy. She liked to tell Will just how much he didn't know, but he loved her anyway.
They were Will's support system. Since Will and Ron had rescued Hermione from a mountain troll in a bathroom, they had both always been there for Will.
*** *** ***
"I met Ron at a train station. I didn't know where to go, and his mother showed me."
"Indeed."
"I think so, yeah. Funny that I called Will's friend Ron, eh?"
"Indeed. Almost... ironic."
"Severus, sometimes I feel like there is something about all this that I don't quite remember."
"Since you're in an Institution for amnesia..."
"Oh ha-ha. Shut-up you. Besides, I'm doing loads better."
"Indeed?"
Harry grins, finding it amusing how many different inflections Severus could put into his most-used word.
"Yup! According to them, anyway. I'm remembering lots! Mostly short memories and emotions, though."
"Example...?"
"Well, I remembered that it hurt to get the tattoos, and I closed my eyes. And that I got the Phoenix one first, and then I think I got the two on my wrist at separate times, and well, I think I got them both after someone died. I get the feeling that a lot of people died."
"Yes."
That night, Harry dreams of people with indiscernible faces and red hair, screaming.
*** *** ***
"What are you doing here?
"Visiting you. As per usual."
"Why?"
"What did you remember?"
"You hated me."
"Yes. But I hated your father more."
"Oh that's just brilliant Severus! 'Don't worry Harry; I'm capable of more hate than I showed you!' Yeah, that makes me feel loads better, thanks."
"Harry... are you pouting?"
"You're a bastard."
"I'm sure my mother would fight that claim, if she were alive. I'm quite certain my parents were legally married."
"Git."
"Ah, so you've remembered my darkest secret."
"Not much of a secret." Harry slumps in his chair. "Why do you keep coming? You're obviously a prick, and you hate me. But you've been... nice, these weeks."
"I don't do nice, Harry."
"Just answer the question, Severus."
"Call it a favor."
"For who? The Headmaster?"
"Hardly."
"Then who?"
"Yourself."
"That makes absolutely no bloody sense Severus, you know that?"
"I know."
That night, Harry dreams of cupboards again.
*** *** ***
When Will was eleven, he found out the name of the man who had killed his parents.
Voldemort. Flight of death.
The giant man said that Will had killed Voldemort, but that some people thought he was sure to return.
*** *** ***
"C-C-Cedric. He died. Because of me."
"No."
"Sure, sure. He was only there because of me!"
"Perhaps. But you did not ask for him to die."
"How-How did he die? I can't remember."
"You can't?" Severus frowns.
"Didn't I just say that?"
"Remember my telling you there were things I think would be best found out on your own? That is one of those things."
That night, Harry wakes up screaming from a dream he can't remember.
*** *** ***
Will watched as his two best friends were tortured in front of him. Apparently Voldemort had finally remembered he, Will, was a Gryffindor, and had decided to strike where it would hurt Will the most.
*** *** ***
Ginny threw another spell at Will, which he ducked. He recognized the green light of the Killing Curse. Ginny really was out to kill him. Her eyes were determined, mad with fury that Will had evaded her yet again.
"Gin, please don't make me do this." Will pleaded.
She paid him no mind, casting the Killing Curse again.
A shout came from behind Will, he turned to see Professor Smith hit with a curse when his own curse missed the Death-Eater he'd been aiming for. Seeing Smith falter, blood welling from a cut across his right shoulder, broke Will's restraint. He may not like the man, but they needed him. The woman in front of him was no longer the Ginny he knew.
"Avada Kedavra!" he yelled, and watched as the young red-headed witch fell.
*** *** ***
"You let Sirius die!"
"Ah, you remembered something, I see."
"No shit."
"What else did you expect me to do?"
"Something useful."
"I told the people I could."
"Sure. Not like you wanted him dead, or anything."
"I did not want Black... actually yes, I suppose I probably did. I tried. It's not my fault your godfather went with everyone else."
Harry sits mulishly for several minutes.
Severus interrupts his train of thought, for his own safety.
"I brought you something with me I thought you might like. I did not think you would remember Black today, but well..."
Harry doesn't know if he can classify it as a "peace gift" if it comes from someone like Snape. "Oh?"
"Yes. A picture of your parents. And Black."
Harry takes the held out picture. He stares at it for several seconds before Severus realizes Harry's hands are shaking.
"Harry?"
"It moved."
Severus stiffens. "Are you quite sure?"
"I-I've seen this picture before. It's the first Order. It moved."
Harry looks up with wide, horrified eyes. "Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Harry—"
"All the pictures moved. I thought it was so cool. Oh God."
"Harry, calm--"
"That's one of the things I wanted to forget, isn't it? Magic. That's why I couldn't remember how anyone died. Oh God."
"Harry, it's-"
Unconsciously Harry leans into the older man, burrowing into the safety the older man exudes. Severus restarts his sentence, making his voice stern. "You'll deal, Harry. Or you'll hear from me."
Harry's miserable voice is muffled from being squashed against Severus' chest when he replies. "I don't think I want to remember anymore, Severus. Let's just stop the world, right now."
The world does not stop, and that night Harry dreams of flashes of light and weary, only slightly blurry faces.
*** *** ***
Will, Harry wrote, hated the smell of blood. He had never really the noticed the smell until he had...
Harry stopped and searched for a name.
Bill Weasley's life blood on his hands. And clothes. And hair.
Now, looking at the blond man, the smell threatened to overwhelm him.
"How did you manage to survive all these years?" asked Draco.
"I had prats beside me to save my life," Will said, choking back tears. He couldn't break, not now.
"You have to go, Will." said Draco, as gently as it was possible for a Malfoy to be.
"You'll die, Draco! I can't just—"
Draco cut him off. "I can't die, idiot. There would be no one around to humble you. Go."
Will hesitated. The smell of blood was becoming stronger, and just for a second, Will saw Bill's glassy eyes looking up at him.
"Go." Draco commanded once again. "Go, Har
...
Harry stopped writing.
He stared.
*** *** ***
Severus comes when they call him on his new Muggle telephone. He arrives to see Harry on his bed, hunched over his notebook, crying hysterically and rocking back and forth.
"Harry?" he asks. The young man only responds when Severus touches his shoulder.
It is hard to distinguish the words through the sobs. "Will--he's--he's--me."
Severus decides that it is not the time to worry about uncharacteristic actions. He sits on the bed and pulls Harry into his arms.
Severus holds Harry as he cries until he falls asleep.
That night, holding Harry even in sleep, Severus dreams of a boy he first saw eight years before, once young, bright, and fairly innocent.
*** *** ***
It had been Severus who reached Harry first. The boy had dropped to the ground after he banished the Dark Lord's soul, and didn't move. Severus had levitated him over to the make-shift infirmary that had hastily been set up on the battlefield.
It had been Severus who first realized the boy had lost nearly all of his memory, after Harry woke up, gazed upon Severus with puzzlement, and asked "Who're you?"
It had been Dumbledore who had chosen to place Harry in a Muggle Institution.
"It's for the best," he'd said. "They'll care for Harry there; I'll make sure of it."
Others had protested. Surely Harry needed to be in a familiar place to heal properly? Was Albus really going to discard the Boy Who Conquered like a used paper napkin?
Apparently, yes.
*** *** ***
"Why do you come to visit me?"
Severus knows Harry is avoiding newly-remembered memories, but answers anyway.
"I'm doing you a favor."
"So you've said. Why?"
"Much as I loathed you, I had grown a grudging... respect for you, during the battles we took part in. I couldn't allow Albus to keep you here. I also thought that perhaps my presence would remind you of your past in some way."
***
"I killed Ginny Weasley." Harry's voice is flat.
"She was trying to kill you."
"She was Imperioused!"
"You had no way of knowing that, Harry."
"We should have guessed! I shouldn't have believed she'd try to hurt me! I shouldn't have killed her!"
"Perhaps not. But what else would you have done?"
That is something Harry has come to appreciate about Severus. He never skirted the truth to "protect" Harry.
"I could have done something."
"She was strong Harry. Stupefy wouldn't have stopped her."
"I know. It's just..." Harry is silent, and Severus does not push him to talk. Harry is working through his memories, and Severus won't force him to say anything he isn't ready for.
"I wanted to forget magic."
Severus remains silent, and for just a second, Harry considers hating him for it. Harry wants people to talk; he wants them to keep him from going through his thoughts. But on the other hand, deep inside him he realizes he needs this.
"Because of everyone that died. Everyone that I killed, everyone that is dead because of me."
"It was not because of you. They all knew exactly what they were getting into."
Harry snorted. "So Bill knew he was going to be cursed to have his guts slowly turn in on themselves, while he has a great gaping wound in his stomach, so it's a race to see whether the curse or the wound will kill him? 'Let's give the Curse-Breaker one last project' they said. And he was in so much pain, and I couldn't do anything. And you know what the worst part was? The Death-Eaters knew I was there, and they left. Left me there, so that my moral could go down just little bit more. And then Bill looked up at me, and I could tell he knew that he was going to die, and soon. And you know what he said? He said "Tell my mom, it didn't hurt... towards the end.' And then he died."
"They all accepted the risks, Harry."
"Ron? Hermione? Ginny? Ron and Hermione didn't expect to be tortured while I watched. Hermione didn't expect to never be able to see her parents again, or watch Ron die while trying to give her and I more time to get away. Ginny didn't expect that she would be easier for Voldemort to control after being in possession of his diary for so long. She didn't expect to be put under the Imperius. She didn't expect me to kill her."
"But they had all accepted that there was a possibility they would die."
"Perhaps. But what about all the students that were killed, what about all the innocent bystanders?"
"They are not your fault."
"Yeah right."
"What do you think you could have done to save them?"
"I could have gone after Voldemort sooner! I should have gone after him as soon as we destroyed the last Horcrux!"
"You weren't ready. You would have been killed. And then many, many more people would have died. What happened, while not necessarily the best case scenario was much better than what would have happened if you had gone after the Dark Lord before you were ready."
*** *** ***
It is very odd, Harry decides, to try and reconcile the Professor Snape he had known with the man who had come to visit him the past few months, the one who had, once, even sat down and played The Game with Frankie (Harry hadn't pretended to be sorry when Severus had lost.) Of course, Severus was still a bastard when he wanted to be, but some of his remarks were...almost funny. Perhaps Harry had grown up.
"Did-did anyone ever get Draco's body?"
Severus looks at him in surprise. "Body?"
"Of course. Oh God. There was a body left to recover, wasn't there?"
"No, there wasn't—" Severus said slowly.
"Damn Death-Eaters! Couldn't even leave his body alone, could they?" Harry chokes back angry tears.
"Harry... Draco didn't die."
"What? But—but, he'd lost so much blood!"
"It looked worse than it was, Harry. When we found him he was unconscious, but the blood had started to clot by itself. We managed to stop the bleeding completely and relieve him from the curses that had been cast."
"Oh."
"You thought he'd died all this time?"
"Yeah... He's really not dead?"
"Definitely not. He's even bugged me about where and how you are."
That night, Harry begins to heal.
*** *** ***
"Dumbledore just left me here."
Severus remains silent, just as Harry expected.
"You know, I'd realized that my position in the war would always be more important than my well-being in my sixth year, but I never thought he disliked me this much."
Severus is still silent, apparently feeling that Harry isn't done his exhausted ramblings.
"I never really thought about after the war. It wasn't so much that I thought for sure I'd be dead, as much as I wasn't sure the world would be there, you know? And now I realize Voldemort's dead, and the world is still there, and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself."
"I think getting out of this Institution would be a good start."
Harry smiles at Severus. "Yeah, I reckon it might be."
They are both silent for a minute.
"Will I still be able to see you, once I'm released?" Harry asks hesitantly.
"Would I be able to out-run you?"
"No, Severus, what I meant was, would you be okay if I saw you, after I was released?"
Severus studies Harry intently for a minute. "I expect some pay-back after coming to see you for months. About time you returned the favor."
"So... if, say, I was to invite myself over for dinner, providing I bring food, would that be... acceptable?"
"As long as none of the food contains cilantro, yes."
"So, if I decided to turn up at your house with take-out the Friday after I'm released, I'd find you at home?"
"You'd want to spend the first Friday after your exoneration with me?"
Harry blushes faintly. "Perhaps you've grown on me, after so many months."
"Then yes, you would find me at home."
That night, Harry dreams of happiness, and black eyes shinning with amusement.
*** *** ***
Once upon a time, William Grant had been an ordinary boy, Harry wrote --he'd kept on writing, after he was released from the Institution, and had decided William Grant's story deserved to be ended, even if no one else would ever see it. Once upon a time, that ordinary boy had learnt about magic, and had thought the world perfect.
Once upon a time, William Grant had learnt too late that magic was not able to fix all of the world's wrongs. Once upon a time, that ordinary boy had felt betrayed by magic, though really he was betrayed by his beliefs and blinded by his grief and guilt. Once upon a time, that angry boy lost his memories, and was sent far away from home by his most valued mentor.
Once upon a time, William Grant was saved by a man in black, who had a low forehead and greasy hair. Once upon a time, William Grant finally learnt that he was not responsible for the world.
Once upon a time, the man in black showed Will how to love again.
Fin