I. "I am afraid Mr Potter suffers from amnesia," a man in bright green robes says self-importantly and nods meaningfully. He has introduced himself as Healer Pollingtonious and seems to be somewhat important here at the hospital that is, apparently, called St Mungo's.
The room we are in is small with wooden panelling on the walls. There is a small, narrow window that lets in a ray of light which falls over my legs, and curious globes that shine have gathered in the ceiling. I watch them quietly from where I sit in the bed, leaning back against the pillows and dressed in a hospital gown with a scratchy blanket pulled up over my legs. A woman with bushy hair sits in the visitor's chair by my side and is holding my hand; beside her, there is a man who reminds me of the crying woman, and he has placed his hand on her shoulder. They said they are my best friends since many years back, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, but we have only just met today.
The words from the healer seem to upset them both, and while Weasley squeezes Granger's shoulder, she squeezes my hand. I, however, find myself frowning at the healer, for I do not suffer at all. I am, actually, quite comfortable here, and the only thing that bothers me at the moment is the fact that the others think there is something gravelly wrong with me while I am perfectly fine. Their sympathetic looks make me uneasy.
"Oh, Harry," Granger whispers and squeezes my hand harder; there is a tremble in her voice. "Why do these things always happen to you?"
I frown slightly in confusion as I have no idea of what she is speaking about, but she does not seem to notice. Instead, she turns back to Healer Pollingtonious and steels herself with a deep breath.
"So he remembers nothing?"
"No, Mr Potter remembers nothing previous to awakening in the Forbidden Forest after the battle with You-Know-Who," he states. "His first memory is, in fact, waking up in the forest with Ms Weasley."
"But they'll return, right? His memories?" Weasley asks, his face pale beneath the freckles, and he turns to look at me with a worry I do not share.
"Most likely, yes," the healer answers and nods to himself again. "It appears to be an entirely psychological issue; this has not been caused by any form of spell-damage. Possibly, it can be related to his – ah, temporary passing, so to say."
I don't say anything, but inwardly, I roll my eyes. They have told me that I fought in a war and that I was killed only to awake without my memories. In all honesty, I find it a bit hard to believe.
"When will they return?" Weasley asks with a frown.
"Such a thing cannot be predicted in these cases," the healer sniffs and puts his nose in the air. "The memories will return when Mr Potter is ready for them; neither sooner nor later."
"Oh, Harry," Granger repeats, but now there are tears in her eyes. "Don't worry, okay? We'll help you," she promises.
"Yeah, mate," Weasley agrees. "We'll have your memories back before you know it."
I understand that they mean well, and so I smile in return.
