Thank-you for the 15+ reviews on just the first chapter, I am honestly grateful, you're all so damn amazing I wish I could hug you—but I can't so you will all receive virtual hugs! Let's all give a round of a cheer for virtual hugs! –hugs-
To address a review I received (I messaged the reviewer, it was a terrible debate and I'd rather not relive it) by dhh, I'm want to avoid further confusion in saying that everything she wrote in her review is false (please go read it, so I won't need to explain). Harry is not weak or pathetic in this story, I can promise you that I will make that very evident. I also want to quickly explain that neither Ron nor Hermione are trying to get rid of/hurt Harry in anyway, and have no stolen his 'inheritance'. I know, I know, I never wrote any of that, but this reviewers simply assumed and took things out of complex (I called her out on it, so no worries). Her PM's pretty much involves calling Hermione a "whore bitch" and Ron a "ass" the whole time, but LOL, no problems anymore.
Also, I will be explaining a few things that came up in a review (regarding everyone's age, and Harry's appearance) in this chapter so that others who might have the same questions will be answered. I thank all of you (minus that single review) for your wonderful feedback, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it—please have a wonderful night/day, and don't be afraid to give me your opinions!
May take offers for a Beta, if anyone may be interested… I'm unsure of it though because I haven't grasped the complete understanding of a Beta and I'm a bit nervous… HAHA!
Reminiscence
In psychology, memory is the processes by which information is encoded, stored, and retrieved.
So why can't I remember anything, if it's all still there, stored and encoded…?
Harry was glad to have gotten off the airplane, his back had ached and the man sitting beside him hadn't been pleasant company. It had been such a long flight, and since he had been at the airport in Port Angeles, there was still at least a two hour drive to his new home in Forks, Washington.
Grabbing his luggage and making his way out from the airport, Harry felt completely unfamiliar with his surroundings, and it felt fantastic. Not that it didn't make him feel nervous, because it made him feel extremely nervous—but he felt as if he didn't need to meet anyone's expectations. Smiling to himself, he tucked a piece of his short and ruffled hair behind his ear and nervously stood at the pick-up section, waiting for anyone who could even slightly be Charlie or Bella Swan.
There was a tap on his shoulder, which made him spin around and stare at the woman with alarm.
"You're Harry, right?" asked the brunette, and Harry nodded as his reply, "I'm Bella Swan, I'm here to pick you up. It's nice to meet you,"
She seemed a bit awkward, her voice stale and void of any excitement, but Harry found it comforting and smiled kindly to the teenager. He replied, "It's nice to meet you too, where's your dad?"
"He had some business to take care of at the station, so he sent me to come and fetch you," her accent had been so strange compared to the accents he had been used to back in London, but he had to admit it hadn't been that bad, "My truck's just over here, c'mon,"
Harry nodded, following closely behind her in silence as he wheeled his only suitcase. He had it charmed, so more than what appeared had been stuffed into the dark green luggage. When she approached a rather old and tattered looking truck, Harry had to keep himself from snorting in amusement, it looked as if it were about to collapse on itself. He allowed Bella to take his suitcase and place it in the back, and then motioned for him to climb into the passenger seat.
"It isn't much, I know," she explained as she herself climbed into the squeaking vehicle, "but my best friend fixed it up for me, and it gets me places. It's the best present I ever got,"
The slightly short wizard gave her a smile and said, "It doesn't matter whether it's new or old, it has sentimental value. I'm actually jealous; I haven't got the memory to have anything sentimental,"
It had brought up an extremely uncomfortable feeling throughout the truck, and Bella drove from the airport and began her long drive back to Forks, she replied to him, "Well, you can find new things to be sentimental. You'll see, it isn't that hard if you know how to enjoy the little things,"
"Yeah." Agreed Harry blandly, "so, is this place always so gloomy?"
This made Bella laugh, and that gave Harry a very warm feeling inside—but he didn't know/understand how to explain it so he quickly ignored it, "Sadly. You learn to love it though; you never know what the rain might bring,"
"London is the same, most people cherish the days when it's sunny,"
It was small talk, but enough for them to become familiar with each other. The two hour drive was spent talking about the Swan's neighbors, Bella's best friends, what high school had been like. Because Harry suffered from memory loss, he really didn't have much to share with the teenager, but listening never hurt.
When they pulled up to the small home, Harry would admit that it hadn't been the most attractive house, but it looked friendly and reassuring and that was enough for him. "I used to live with my mom, but I recently moved in with my dad. It isn't much, but its home."
"I think it's brilliant," he said in awe, and opened the squealing truck's door and climbed out. He grabbed his suitcase from the back and dragged it up to the house where Bella was focusing on unlocking the front door.
When she managed to unlock it, she turned to Harry allowing him to go in first. Her eyes glanced down to Harry's only luggage "Is that all you brought… or are you having other things shipped out?"
"No, this is all I brought. It's enough, trust me," when he stepped into the home he was even more delighted. It hadn't given off that pompous feeling, but instead a welcoming impression that left him feeling excited to be living here with the small family. The wooden floors shined, though they hadn't been completely flawless. The walls were painted a mutual colour, but there were smudges here and there that made it just as imperfect as the floors. And though there had been inadequacies throughout the home, to Harry it had been closer to perfect than anything else he could imagine.
Bella came up beside him, also looking at the interior of the house, "Once again, it isn't much but—"
"It's perfect. Where will I be sleeping?" asked Harry, cocking his head slightly so he could smile up at the tall female, who at first seems startled by his action.
"Oh... it's upstairs, I can show you right beside mine, follow me," and Harry did, he followed her up the squeaking stairs and across the floorboards and into the third door down the hall, "Dad's working on getting you a desk and things, but for now he could only manage a dresser and bed. He hopes you like the mattress,"
He chuckled and stepped into the room, smiling at the plainness that it was. He plopped down onto the bed and gave a satisfied groan at his spine cracked—it was still cramped from being on the plane, "this is absolutely wonderful, so much better than that uncomfortable hospital bed they gave me,"
Harry patted the spot next to him, signaling for Bella to come join him. The teenager by the door shook her head with a smile and made her way over to the bed, she too plopped down and stared at the ceiling with the foreign man.
They stayed like that for the longest time, and then Bella decided to let her curiosities get the best of her, "What's it like… not remembering anything, I mean?"
"Oh," it startled the twenty-six year old, but his brows scrunched as he tried to think of a way to describe how it had been for him, "I can't really describe it, because I can't remember what it's like to actually remember, if that makes any sense to you,"
Bella nodded, signaling that she understood his explanation somewhat, "You didn't even remember your best friends…?"
"I couldn't even remember who I was," confessed the wizard, giving a sigh and closing his eyes to rid himself of the guilt that haunted for not being able to remember those who were supposed to be closest to him, "it's not something I feel comfortable talking about, the last year had been difficult. It involved a lot of tests and break-downs, but I pulled through..."
"That's good," whispered the brunette, "my father and I are really happy that you've come to stay with us. You may be a stranger… but we're still happy,"
"Well, that makes me feel a little better than before," Harry admitted, and then rolled to his side and propped his head up using his hand, "so when does your father get home, anyway?"
Bella shrugged, "I'm not sure, it depends on the reason he had to go to the station,"
This made Harry grin, "We should make him dinner, what do Americans eat?"
Bella roared with laughter. The two hurried downstairs and manage to find something to make for dinner. Together they cooked a meal for Charlie when he would get home.
ooOoo
Charlie had managed to get away from his overly emotional partner, who had been weeping over the simple fact that his wife had been in the hospital due to something completely minor. Driving on his way back, he shook his head in astonishment at the whole evening. He needed to have his partner call a shrink; the man had been completely stupid sometimes.
The chief of Police for the town of Forks had pulled into the driveway and noticed Bella's truck. He gave a thankful sigh hoping that everything went alright with their new guest.
With a dreadful sigh due to his very long and not-so-productive day, he drudged up to the door and opened it, keys jingling as he turned the handle and stepped through. He was greeted by warmth and the smell of spaghetti.
He was stunned when he stepped into the kitchen and heard the sound of laughter and conversation. One voice had been male, British, and the other had been Bella's. The sight made him smile when he saw his daughter leaning over a pot and stirring while being scolded by the short raven haired man.
"Oh, bloody hell, you've put far too many peppers in it," but his smile was evidence enough for Charlie to tell that the man was joking. The two of them had been a mess, their shirts strained with sauce and dirty dishes lay around the counters (which had been clean when Charlie left to the station earlier).
"Don't blame that one me, you're the one that told me to cut four," Bella accused, and then giggled when Harry lightly smacked her arm with a wooden spoon, and walked away from her while chuckling.
He stopped though and his eyes widened when he saw the man-in-uniform standing in the arched doorway of the kitchen. The obviousness of who the man had been was enough for Harry to beam and rush over to shake the man's hand, "Mr. Swan, it's a pleasure to meet you. Bella and I decided to make supper tonight,"
Charlie shook Harry's hand in return, "Nice to meet you, and please, call me Charlie."
"Right. I hope you like spaghetti then, Charlie," and with that the British man turned on his heel and began to set the table for the three of them. Charlie sat down, exhausted from his long day of work, Harry continued to smile; "I can't begin to thank you enough for letting me stay here."
"Don't worry about it, any friend of Hermione's is a friend of ours," smiled the older man.
Bella set the steaming pot onto the table and dished a serving onto each plate on the table. She and Harry sat down to join the hardworking father, and they all ate their meal. Charlie had explained the situation about his friend, and Harry listened intently, along with Bella who seemed to be enjoying the spaghetti a bit too much.
Harry concluded that the Swans were nice people, and he couldn't be any luckier to have been able to come and stay with them for a while. Charlie even invited Harry to join them on Sunday for the game—of course Harry explained that he didn't have a clue about sports, but Charlie insisted that he would explain to the young adult how everything worked.
Bella rambled on about her favorite team, and Harry sat and pretended he understood a word she had been saying, when in all reality he didn't have a clue about this sport called… baseball. He couldn't even remember the sport Quidditch when Ron had tried to talk to him about the World Cup.
When they were done eating, Harry claimed that he was going to get some sleep since it had been so late (the spent nearly all night talking about little things). Charlie nodded and suggested that Bella head up to bed too. When Harry entered his room he closed the door behind him and hadn't bothered changing into comfortable clothes as he crawled under the white blankets that Charlie gifted him and he drifted to sleep.
Before he woke up the next morning and image flashed across his mind, the image of a cupboard under stairs. He couldn't explain what it meant, nor could he explain what it had been. He shrugged and drifted back to sleep. As he drifted once more into the darkness that had been sleep, he couldn't help but think that the cupboard had been something important.
Could Harry have remembered the cupboard under the stairs? Could this be a slow start to his memory returning? WILL his memory ever completely return? Stay tuned, and maybe you'll see.
And how will Harry's first meeting with the Cullens go? I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which I wrote to explain how Harry settles in with the Swans. His relationship with them will improve greatly throughout the story, and more is to come in chapter three… much more! x