Chapter 2 – An Unexpected Introduction
Harry stared absentmindedly into the mug of cold tea he clutched in his hands. It had been warm when Cho had given it to him; some herbal blend her mother had always liked, she had explained. Harry hadn't particularly been listening. He hadn't noticed when Cho had guided him back to the couch to sit either.
Cho was in her bedroom. Not that Harry was particularly aware of her absence. His mind was simply too numb to process anything right now. Sirius was dead. Cho hadn't known how it had happened, merely that the papers had reported it as happening at the Department of Mysteries.
He had failed. Sirius was dead, and he had failed to save him. The one hope he had of eventually having a proper family was gone, and it was his own fault. More than that, he had apparently lost five years of his life.
Harry barely registered the sound of a door creaking open. It wasn't until his field of vision was filled with powder blue that Harry finally looked up, finding Cho standing before him. She was wearing a set of professional robes that reminded him of the ones he'd seen being worn by the healers when he had had gone to visit Mr. Weasley after the snake attack, only those had been a rather unsightly shade of lime green.
"I sent a letter to your friends, Ron and Hermione," Cho began upon seeing him look up, "I told them to meet us at St. Mungo's. You can talk to them there."
Harry frowned. "Why St. Mungo's?" Harry asked.
"Because Harry," she replied, reaching to take the cup from his hands, "Something or someone's been tampering with your memories."
"And they can help me remember." he responded, watching her push aside the stack of magazines on the trunk to make room for the cup. His eyes were once again drawn briefly to the witch on the cover of the topmost issue; the blonde one who looked oddly familiar. She smirked up at him, her blue eyes blazing, as if taunting him.
"I sure hope so," Cho whispered, before turning back to face him. "And then we can maybe figure out just who is responsible."
Harry nodded slowly, an overwhelming sense of apprehension setting in. What would happen if he never did remember? Or worse; what if he did? If Sirius died at the Ministry, had he seen it? Did he want to remember seeing it? Harry honestly couldn't decide. Maybe whoever had done this had actually done him a favour.
Cho smiled weakly, as if sensing his hesitancy.
"Right," She began, patting along the sides of her blue robes, "Wand, ID, a handful of Sickles… That's everything I need. Shall we?"
He watched as she stuffed her fists into her pockets and began fidgeting with their contents. Seeing his gaze, she hastily extracted one of her hands, and held it out for him to take.
Harry sighed. There was no reason to put off the inevitable, he supposed. Reaching out to take her hand, he brought himself into a stand. The room warped around him, and he felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube.
This time, when the sensation was over, Cho was there to help him keep his balance. It was much easier than the last time, but it was still excruciatingly disorienting.
Blinking a few times to allow his eyes time to adjust to the suddenly much brighter environment, Harry squinted at the wizarding hospital's familiar and overcrowded reception area. Short of housing a new batch of patients waiting in the surrounding chairs, it hadn't changed in the slightest since his last and only visit. It even sported the same surly looking witch manning the reception desk.
Included in the surrounding crowd were an elderly witch whose face appeared to be upside-down, a man who was hiccupping rather violently, his hair rapidly between different vibrant shades each time, and a rather surly gentleman who seemed rather miffed at the fact that the top of his head was on fire.
In a nearby chair sat a man whose arm appeared to have been transformed into a rather friendly and excitable alligator. The oddly affixed reptilian seemed determined at that moment to affectionately lick the man's face, despite his tired protests. After finally managing to wrangle the alligator down into his lap with his free arm, the man glanced up at Harry, who had been watching with bewildered fascination as the entire scene played out.
The man's face lit up in instant recognition of the bespectacled wizard, and he opened his mouth to say something. However, at that moment, the alligator broke free and tackled the man, emitting rather unfitting purring sounds as it did so.
With a lurch, Harry found himself being pulled away from the spectacle by Cho, who dragged Harry through the crowd, apologizing gently as she bumped into a few patrons along the way, and up to the front desk.
"You're not on shift today, Trainee Healer Chang," the witch behind the desk drawled, not even looking up from the ratty magazine in her hands that Harry was surprised to note was an old issue of The Quibbler.
"I'm here to see Healer Moolman about a patient," Cho stated calmly, placing the folded up paper he had seen her retrieve from her bedroom earlier in front of the receptionist.
The receptionist didn't even so much as glance at it.
"Level four. You know where his office is," She stated lazily, before diverting all of her attention back to her magazine.
"Helpful as always," Cho muttered under her breath, pulling Harry past the desk to a set of lifts.
Those must be new, Harry decided. He remembered distinctly having to climb a set of stairs to reach the upper floors. Clearly the hospital had seen some sort of renovation.
Harry took the opportunity to take one last glance at the man with an alligator arm, to see him staring back with a dazed expression, the reptile gurgling merrily in his lap.
Boarding one of the lifts and letting the doors close behind them, Cho and Harry found themselves shrouded in heavy silence. Not even the humming of motors that one might expect from a muggle lift was heard, as like with all things in the wizarding world, magic handled the workload.
"Healer Moolman is a brilliant healer," Cho commented, reaching her hand into her pocket to once again twiddle with whatever was inside; a coin, perhaps, if Harry had to take a guess. "He moved here last year from South Africa to take over as head of our new Callus Jameson ward, for patients who've suffered from magical mind alteration."
"Right," Harry acknowledged uncomfortably. He'd never been under anyone's medical care aside from Madam Pomfrey, and wasn't sure what the expected protocol was.
"He's brilliant," Cho repeated, almost as if trying to reassure herself, rather than Harry. "He's just also a little… eccentric. Just, whatever you do, don't mention cats. He… well, just don't mention them, alright?"
"Uh…" Harry began, dubious of what he had gotten himself into.
But before he could say anything more, the lift came to a halt. A clear metallic ding sounded out, though Harry couldn't discern a specific direction it had come from. It was almost as if the very air around them was the source. The doors slid open, and Harry once more found himself being propelled forwards by Cho.
Rather hurriedly, they made their way down a wide hallway lined with portraits of long dead witches and wizards. This part of the hospital, Harry recognized. He nearly tripped when he tried to slow down as they passed the door he knew lead to the ward Neville's parents called home. Cho's firm grip, however, and constant pace pulled him ever onwards.
He was about to ask her what the rush was for, when an aged wizard, who was shuffling towards them down the hall, looked up as they neared. "Oi!" The wizard shouted, lifting a boney finger to point at them, "It's Harry Potter!"
Several doors were flung open at the proclamation, and Harry found himself the subject of countless owlish stares. Almost at once, the gawkers began murmuring amongst themselves. Although, unlike the usual snide whispers and sneers of distain, many of the people they elapsed seemed to hold him with a distinct look of… reverence? It was much the same as when he had first visited the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid, the summer before his first year.
He felt, more than heard Cho beside him let out a groan of displeasure as she began to pick up her pace even further. Harry nearly had to jog in order to keep the arm she gripped intact with the rest of his body, and he found himself at a loss trying to figure out how she managed to maintain such a rapid pace without seemingly breaking a sweat, considering how much shorter her legs were than his.
"Mister Potter!" a voice cried out, drawing Harry's attention towards a portly middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair that appeared to be fading with age. She must have been a patient, as she was garbed in rather casual looking brownish-purple robes, rather than the lime green ones that denoted healers, though Harry couldn't tell at a glance what her affliction could possibly be.
What was truly baffling about her, however, was the fact that she somehow was able to keep astride himself and Cho, despite the fact that Cho had once again sped up, forcing Harry now to truly jog in order to keep up.
"Mister Potter, it is truly an honour to meet you," the middle-aged witch gushed, grabbing his free hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "My son, Ernie, spoke very highly of you. He always spoke about how you helped him and his friends pass their OWLs. I simply can't thank you enough for all that you've done."
An image of Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff flashed through Harry's memory, as he wondered if that was the son she was talking about. He had the same colour of hair as she did, if less grey, and he was part of the DA. He was about to voice this, when Cho cut through.
"I'm sorry everyone, but we have a very important meeting to get to, and we're already running behind schedule," She projected clearly to the occupants of the hallway, not pausing to break stride, "I'm going to have to ask you all to clear a path please!"
There were a few audible grumbles from the crowd, and the woman who must have been Mrs. Macmillan seemed rather put out, but they complied, allowing the former Hogwarts students to pass through the remainder of their journey uninterrupted.
In quick succession, they arrived at a heavy wooden door adorned with an austere bronze plaque that read 'Callus Jameson Ward'. Cho threw the door open, ushered Harry inside, and firmly shut the door behind them.
"Here, take a seat," she commanded gently, ushering him towards a nearby empty bed, one of the many that lined the ward's stone walls.
He did as she commanded, and watched as she took a moment to lean against the nearby stonework to catch her breath. Harry noticed that her cheeks were visibly flushed. Well, at least he could regain some of his pride. The near-running had taken more out of her than he had initially thought. She'd just been good at hiding it.
After a moment, her breathing slowed, and she returned to her usual upright stance.
"Well, that was unpleasant," Cho mumbled, staring down at her feet as she shuffled them awkwardly. Harry wasn't sure if it had been directed towards him or not, but he found he quite agreed regardless.
"It's better than all the whispers behind my back, I guess," Harry replied, offering a weak smile, unsure of whether he should be replying to her murmured statement, or completely ignoring it. "I guess the Daily Prophet's changed its tune about me."
Cho snorted. "You can say that again," She said, peering up at him with a smirk, "I guess slaying a dark lord has its perks."
Harry blinked rapidly.
Seeing his blank look, Cho's face fell.
"Right," she sighed, her posture sagging. "Just another reason we need to get you looked at." She pushed herself gently off of the wall and began to stride purposefully past his bed. "I'll go find Healer Moolman. You can just… wait here."
Hi hand caught her wrist, halting her in her tracks. He hadn't consciously chosen to do so. He'd never been the kind of person to be entirely comfortable with physical contact, even if was in the form of Mrs. Weasley's bone-crushing but undeniably warm hugs. And right now, his feelings on Cho were… well, to call them mixed would be an understatement. He certainly wasn't as close with her as he was with his best friend's mother; the woman he almost considered to be his own.
His had had reached out almost by reflex. He simply couldn't let Cho leave him there alone. Not yet. Not before he was absolutely certain.
The apprentice healer turned, to regard him. His eyes probed hers, hunting frantically for any sign of deception. He was unaware of the desperation that he was palpably exuding, or of the raw emotion that was laid bare on his face. All knew was the question he needed an answer to.
"Is he really gone?" he asked, uncaring of the crack in his voice.
His jaw clenched in anticipation as Cho placed her free hand on his shoulder; a gesture of comfort, that for once, he accepted.
"He's gone" she replied with a firm nod.
Every ounce of tension in his body dissipated and he slumped backwards into the bed, no longer capable of holding himself upright. He closed his eyes, blinking back tears he had never known he was capable of shedding.
It had been an incredibly emotionally taxing day; perhaps the single most stressful day he'd yet experienced in his short, but eventful life. And yet, that one shred of news had made it all worth it. The bastard was dead. The man who had killed his parents, who had torn apart his one chance at growing up in a happy, loving home, who had taken that chance away from countless others; was gone. He was free.
He vaguely listened as Cho's footsteps retreated from his bedside, leaving him alone to his thoughts. As the truth of Voldemort's downfall truly began to sink in, Harry began to consider what his next step was.
Apparently, someone had been tampering with his memories, but that was about to be fixed, if Cho was to be believed. Aside from that, the path before him was wide open. He no longer had the shadow of a crazed dark lord hanging over his head, and he supposedly was out of Hogwarts. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure what he should be doing.
He'd never envisioned a future that didn't involve facing Voldemort or finishing his studies. Aside from the one conversation with McGonagall earlier in the year, he hadn't even considered what career path he wanted to take. He'd mentioned the possibility of becoming an Auror since he had little experience beyond fighting dark wizards, short of perhaps quidditch. According to Cho, an auror is exactly what he had become.
It fit, he supposed. Just because Voldemort was dead, didn't mean there weren't other wizards out there that were willing to hurt others. There may still be former Death Eaters out there operating independently, and they would need to be stopped. Not to mention the fact that Draco Malfoy of all people had been in Grimmauld Place; that was something Harry would need to get to the bottom of.
Later, though. For the time being, he was more than content with basking in the fact that Voldemort was dead. Nothing could erase the mood that the monumentous revelation had given him.
"Oh, well hello there!" trilled an overly enthusiastic and horrifyingly familiar voice, "You must be new here. You look familiar; are you a member of my fan club?"
Harry slowly peeled his eyes open and cringed, rather violently, at the blindingly white smile and flamboyantly coiffed honey blonde hair that greeted him.
"Lockhart?" he groaned. How about that, he inwardly snarked, something could erase his good mood.
"The one and only!" the former defense professor proudly proclaimed, tilting his chin upwards. "Well, that is unless, of course, there are other Lockharts out there. I can't seem to remember if there are. My apologies."
He didn't appear very apologetic, and instead took a seat at the edge of the bed Harry had been laying on, his grin never leaving his face. Harry scrambled to stand, so that he could put some distance between himself and the clearly confused man.
It's like the universe can't let me catch a break, Harry inwardly sighed. He had nearly forgotten about seeing Lockhart with Hermione and Ron when Mr. Weasley had been hospitalized. And he most certainly hadn't considered the possibility that he'd be sharing a room with the man. Though, in hindsight, it made sense. Cho had said that this ward was dedicated to patients who had been victims of mind magic. Literally a mental ward; something the self-obsessed blonde man needed. Though, that thought certainly didn't help Harry's self-esteem all too much.
"Care for a pastry?" the older man asked cheerfully, pulling the dark haired wizard from his musings. Lockhart then pulled a small, crumpled paper bag out of one of his pockets and withdrew a smooshed looking Danish from within.
"Er… no thanks," Harry replied, eying the malformed confectionery with trepidation.
"Oh well," Lockhart merely shrugged, showing no outward signs that he really cared one way or another, "more for me then."
The man daintily began nibbling on the treat, making his delight well known through audio cues. Harry, who watched on, feeling repulsed at the display.
He was saved, however, by the sound of a squeaking door being thrown open. Tearing his eyes from the delicately feasting man before him, Harry spotted another man, wearing the lime green robes he knew denoted the healers of St Mungo's, striding purposefully into the ward trailed cautiously by a nervous looking Cho.
The newcomer was completely bald on the top of his head, and the light being given off by the wall-mounted torches he passed could be seen reflected clearly off of his rather shiny scalp. Despite his baldness, he sported an impressively bushy russet beard, that appeared as if some form of animal had latched itself onto the bottom half of his face. It wasn't particularly well-groomed, and a few braids could be seen poking out this way and that, with no real rhyme or reason.
"Good afternoon Gilderoy!" the man boomed in a rich, deep voice that carried the faintest hints of an accent. "I see you've made a new friend."
"Old friend, actually," Lockhart corrected, jovially gesturing at Harry with his pastry. "This here's Henry Porter! I taught him how to fly a broom, you know!"
"Is that so?" The bearded man asked, placing his hand on the former professor's shoulder as he neared. "Well, that sounds like quite the story. Why don't you tell Trainee Healer Chang here all about it?"
The blonde man happily nodded, turning to face Cho.
"Er, actually, my name is-," Harry began, before being cut off.
"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Potter," the healer stated, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He then gestured Harry over to another bed a few spaces down, leaving Cho and the now happily prattling Lockhart behind. "I also know that Gilderoy still has a long way to go on his journey to recovery. However, the fact that he remembers you, and recalls having taught you, even if the subject is incorrect, is a promising sign."
Harry nodded in understanding, watching said brain addled man gesture wildly with his hands, sprinkling crumbs from his Danish as he did so.
"Saved his life when he was just a child I did. He was in the bookstore, being attacked by an army of pixies, but I knew just how to rescue him," Harry overheard the man declare animatedly to Cho, who appeared to be taking notes on a small notepad.
"Miss Chang is helping me record his progress," The bald man explained, noticing his gaze. "It's very important that we catalogue everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. But, alas, we aren't here to chit-chat about other patients, are we? We're here because Miss Chang believes someone has been tampering with your memories."
"Right," Harry affirmed, clasping his hands together in his lap.
"I am Healer Moolman, in case she didn't mention me," the healer introduced himself, "my friends sometimes call me Jengo. It's not my real name, mind you, that's Abina; Abina Moolman. But you can see why Jengo fits better."
"Um… sure," Harry replied, not seeing at all why that would be the case.
It seemed to make Healer Moolman happy, as he clapped his hands together in delight, before pulling out his wand.
"Excellent!" he cried rather loudly, drawing a concerned glance, Harry noticed, from Cho, before she returned to listening to Lockhart. "I'm sure we'll get along famously!"
Reeling from the loud outburst, Harry contemplated whether or not he was better off with the nutter he had just escaped from than he was with this one. Cho had warned that he was eccentric, Harry supposed.
Harry watched as the healer began to prod his knees with his wand. After a few uncomfortably harsh pokes, Harry yelped, as Healer Moolman unleashed an array of sparks from his wand mid-jab.
"Just testing you reflexes," Moolman stated blithely, cutting Harry off from cursing at him. "Now I'm going to see if I can detect any residual magic around your head. It might give us a lead as to what spell was used on you."
Harry then found the healer's wand tip pressed against his temple. It wasn't as rough or painful as it had been on his knees, but the bespectacled wizard still watched warily out of the corner of his eyes for any signs of unwanted spellcasting.
After a moment, Harry could feel warmth begin to emanate from the wood contacting his skin. Very quickly, the heat intensified. Just as it felt as if his skin might begin to sear, the wand was lifted away, and he let out a sigh of relief.
Held aloft at Healer Moolman's wandpoint, Harry could see a glowing ball of blue that seemed to slowly pulsate. The healer carefully extracted a piece of parchment from somewhere within his robes, and tapped the suspended orb of light against the paper.
"Interesting," Moolman murmured, watching as the orb sank into the page, spreading tendrils of magic that began to coalesce into strange amorphous splotches. Languidly, the splotches began to consolidate into much more defined shapes. In less than a minute, the light had completely faded, and the paper was covered in neat lines of strange runic lettering.
Harry found he couldn't decipher any of it, though the healer seemed to think it meant something. The heavily bearded man hummed pensively as he beheld the cuneiform scrawl.
"What does it say?" Harry asked, drawing the other man's attention.
"This?" Healer Moolman replied, shaking the page, "I haven't the foggiest."
Harry merely stared at the healer in befuddlement.
"I'll have to send it out to get it translated," the healer continued, setting the parchment aside. "I just like looking at the glyphs. Some of them look like little owls, and I find myself quite fond of owls."
Harry found he had no response to the odd man's equally odd declaration, so he chose to remain silent. He'd been in the presence of Luna Lovegood plenty of times over the course of the various DA meetings that had been held, so he was used to odd. That didn't mean he was any better at responding to it.
Thankfully, he needn't have said anything, as at that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Healer Moolman's attention was briefly redirected towards Cho.
"Trainee Healer Chang, would you please be so kind as to answer that?" He called out.
The witch in question simply nodded in response, before quietly saying something to Lockhart, who appeared to be pantomiming what looked like an elaborate dance routine, using pastries as props. The former professor seemed not to take any notice of her departure, and simply continued with his performance.
Harry watched as Cho pulled the door partway open, and gaped in surprise as a black, feathery mass fluttered through and perched primly on her shoulder.
To his left, he heard Healer Moolman begin to mutter disdainfully under his breath. Harry managed to pick out the phrases, "ruddy raven", "definitely not an owl", and "affront to bird-kind", amongst his grumbling.
He didn't pay the healer any mind, however, as focus was still at the door. Due to his angle from the bed, he couldn't quite see what was standing on the other side. He could only faintly pick up hushed whispers with his ears as Cho conversed with whoever was in the hall, interspersed with the occasional "caw!" from the bird on her shoulder, which seemed to be nibbling on a strand of her hair.
"Blasted thing, thinking it should be delivering mail," Healer Moolman griped, as he began waving his wand in front of Harry's face. Harry was briefly dazed by the bright colours it emitted.
"Why shouldn't a raven be allowed to carry mail?" Harry asked, struggling to keep his eyes from crossing.
The healer abruptly stopped with his wand movements before directing a look at Harry that made the dark haired wizard feel as if he had just insulted the healer's ancestors.
"It's not a post owl," Moolman harrumphed, crossing his arms sternly. "Only post owls should carry post."
Harry had opened his mouth to respond, when Cho called out from across the room.
"Healer Moolman," she said, her voice polite and professional. Though, Harry could see her hands occasionally twitch, as if she was forcing them to stay still. "There are visitors at the door, shall I let them in?"
"You've already let the bloody bird in," the healer grumbled under his breath before closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale. Seemingly more collected, he spoke out loud, addressing Cho's question in a much more pleasant manner, "Visiting hours aren't over for a few more hours. As long as they don't interrupt my examination, then I don't see why not."
Cho nodded, allowing the door to swing fully open.
"Ron!" Harry gasped in relief, seeing who was on the other side, "Hermione!"
"Harry!" Hermione shouted happily in return, "Oh, we were so worried when we-,"
"Easy, 'Mione," Ron interrupted, gesturing to her o lower her voice. "There's other people."
"Oh," Hermione murmured, glancing around the ward, as if only just realizing where they were. "Sorry"
Harry cast a glance at Healer Moolman, who seemed completely unconcerned about the presence of the redhead and the bushy-haired witch, and had simply returned to waving his want around Harry's torso.
After a moment's hesitation, Ron placed a hand on Hermione's back and urged her forward. Hastily, they crossed the room to Harry's bedside, where Cho hurriedly conjured a pair of seats for them to sit.
Perching herself on her chair, Hermione immediately latched onto Harry's hand and held it, as if reassuring to herself that he was in fact physically present.
"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, her eyes shining with worry, "when we read Cho's message to come see you at St. Mungo's, we weren't sure what to think. And now she said that you've lost your memories. What happened?"
"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, returning his muggleborn friend's intense gaze. With a start, he realized she was wearing makeup. It was just small amount around the eyes, but it came to a surprise for the green eyed wizard. Hermione had never worn makeup as long as he'd known her, save perhaps for at the Yule Ball in fourth year.
"Well… what happened?" Ron asked. Harry turned to face is best mate, shocked to find a faint trace of stubble lining his jaw.
"We were at the Ministry," Harry began, scrunching up his face, trying to remember the events. "It was us three, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. We were trying to rescue Sirius."
Hermione's hand suddenly stilled in his own. "Harry, that was fifth year," she gasped.
"I know that," Harry frowned. "We were ambushed. There were Death Eaters, and they attacked us. We ran but… I don't know. I must have gotten knocked out, because all of a sudden, I was waking up in Grimmauld Place. Someone else was there. I don't know who, but they left. And then I saw Malfoy there. Draco Malfoy."
Ron and Hermione shared a glance, making Harry frown even further.
"So you don't remember anything after fifth year?" Ron asked.
"Apparently," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.
He supposed he shouldn't be upset with his friends, but the situation was an extremely stressful one. One minute he was fighting for his life and the next minute he was in an incredibly unfamiliar situation, not knowing how he had gotten from point A to point B. Sirius was dead, and for all he knew, so were countless others. He didn't even know if Neville or Luna had made it out safely.
"Wait," Harry realized with a start, sitting bolt upright, "Where are Neville and Luna? Were they hurt? Did they make it out of the Ministry?"
"They're fine," Hermione reassured gently, "Neville's at Hogwarts; he's apprenticing under Professor Sprout. And Luna's somewhere in Norway on a magizoological expedition that Newt Scamander's grandson funded."
Harry wasn't entirely certain who Newt Scamander was supposed to be, but he felt relief at the news nonetheless. With a sigh, he slumped against the wall behind him, narrowly avoiding Moolman's perpetually flourishing wand.
"That's…" He began, unsure of how to word exactly how he felt. "Well, that's good," he finally settled on, certain it was an understatement.
Hermione simply nodded, letting a comfortable silence hang in the air.
"Now all I need to figure out," Harry broke the silence with a scowl, "is why the hell Malfoy was at Sirius' house?"
"Well…" Ron hesitated, "Uh… actually, it's your house."
Right, Harry internally brooded, because Sirius is dead.
Hermione elbowed Ron, who had the decency to look apologetic.
"That still begs the question," Harry pressed on, temporarily pushing down the feeling of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him, "Why was Malfoy in my house?"
"W-well, Harry," Hermione explained, tripping over her words, "You see… the thing is… um. You sort of invited him there."
"Why the bloody hell would I invite Draco bloody Malfoy to my house?!" He roared, throwing his arms in the air, once again barely missing the flailing wand of the bearded healer.
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, looking extremely flustered, when rapid banging at the door cut her off.
Cho, who had been standing at the foot of Harry's bed throughout the conversation with his two friends let out a quiet, "I'll get that."
The impatient knocking, which hadn't subsided, seemed to unsettle the Raven on her shoulder as she neared. It let out an annoyed squawk before taking flight towards the far end of the room, perching on the shoulder of a still dancing Lockhart, who seemed delighted at the bird's company.
The door was pulled open part way, cutting off the hammering sound. A few hushed whispers from Cho made their way to Harry's ears, before being cut out by a very harsh, very sharp bellow of, "Let me in, Chang, or I swear on my magic, I will hex you!"
The door was violently thrown open to reveal regal, but exceedingly annoyed looking blonde witch. Her profoundly blue eyes fell on his own, and her callous expression softened. With a sudden jolt of revelation, Harry recognized her from the cover of the magazine he had seen in Cho's apartment. Her finely tailored dress robes and neatly pulled back ponytail were exactly as he remembered from the image; not a single thread or strand of hair out of place.
A faint smile graced her lips as she stared at Harry, and he stared back. And then it was gone, replaced by the cold glare that had been affixed to her visage when she had first made her presence known. Only, it wasn't directed at him, it was directed to the former Ravenclaw seeker, who stood at her side, nervously wringer her fingers.
"Make no mistake, Chang, we will discuss just why I was not informed of his hospitalization later," She stated evenly, though there was an underlying threat to the statement.
Casting one last glare at the trainee healer, the blonde witch spun on her heels and began traipsing towards Harry.
As she approached, Hermione shot out of her seat, releasing Harry's hand as she did so.
"Granger, Weasley," the witch greeted with a stiff nod, before lowering herself into the chair Hermione had just vacated. With a shock, Harry found her hand reaching for his own.
"I'm certain I told you not to blow yourself up," She stated primly, pulling his hand towards her so that she could inspect his fingers, wiggling each one individually, as if to ensure they were still intact.
"Er," Harry faltered, pulling his hand from her grasp, none too pleased about being touched by someone he didn't know. Especially after the way she had treated Cho. "Who exactly are you?"
The woman in question seemed startled by his action, her hands falling to her lap.
"Harry," Hermione said haltingly, throwing Ron a worried glance, "This is Daphne. Daphne Greengrass. She's your fiancé."
Harry cocked his head to Ron, then to Cho, an uneasy smile tugging the corner of his mouth. She was joking, right? Fiancé? Ron offered an awkward shrug. Cho was staring at the floor, still twiddling her finger. With a sinking feeling of horror, he realized she wasn't joking.
"I'm engaged?!" He shouted indignantly.
-0-0-0-0-
AN:
So, this was actually a tough chapter to start out. I had outlined the story, but in the outline, all I put was "they go to St. Mungo's". I ended up spending a LOT of time figuring out how. My first draft had them starting the chapter at St. Mungo's, but it ended up feeling rushed. Then I tried switching perspectives to Ron and Hermione to smooth out that transition, but I didn't like that. Harry needs to be the perspective character for this fic. He's the one deposited in this new reality, and the whole point is that the audience discover things as he does, so I scrapped that. Then I wrote out basically what there is now, but it seemed too long winded, so I abridged the journey, but again, it felt rushed.
I finally settled on what there is now after some internal debating. Maybe it's more long-winded than it needs to be, and there are elements like the alligator armed guy, which have no bearing on the story, but it's fun IMO, and sort of segues into Harry's shock at his newfound fame after having beaten Voldemort. Long story short, kids, if you choose to do story outlines, be specific with them. It'll help you out later.
Side note, I'd like to thank everyone for the warm reception the previous chapter received. There were a staggering number of follows and favourites in the first 24 hours of its release; more than any other first chapter of any other fic I've written. There've been surprisingly few reviews so far though. That's fine; I don't want to make anyone feel like they have to review if they don't want to. However, if I do end up making any spelling or grammatical mistakes, please feel free to inform me of them in a review. I know how infuriating they can be to see, and want to correct them ASAP.
Also, I've decided to make these post-chapter Author's notes my maniacal angry rantings at the Harry Potter fandom for no other reason than I want an outlet through which to vent. Enjoy.
One thing that's interesting to me within the realm of fan-based works is the spread of original ideas that eventually take root and become commonplace.
For example, within HP, it's very common to see people name Hermione's parents (since their first names were never given in cannon) Dan and Emma. This of course comes from the fact that Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson are the actors that play Harry and Hermione respectively. This started from fics that paired Harry with Hermione as a way to cement the fact that they "belong" together.
However, this naming convention took hold of the fandom at large, and you can find it very frequently in fics that pair Harry with other people instead. Personally, I'm not a fan of the names, especially in non H/Hr fics, but it's still taken hold nonetheless. What was once an admittedly creative and original choice, is now clichéd.
You see the same thing all the time now with Dumbledore being evil and manipulative, with Molly dosing Harry with love potions keyed to Ginny, with Harry finding out he's heir to the house of Slytherin through "Rite of Conquest", etc. Each of these were at one point truly clever concepts, that people less creative and less clever have latched onto and appropriated without truly understanding what made the original concept great.
One such "fanon" concepts that I don't believe was ever creative or clever in the first place, is the notion that Blaise Zabini is a good person, who rejects the notion of blood supremacy, and who opposes the Death Eaters. You often see him as best friends of Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, who both share his opinion.
The reason I hate this is because it flies in the face of already established cannon. Not only that, it flies in the face of cannon, while there's a much better option available.
From cannon sources, we know that Blaise Zabini is arrogant; to the point that Draco seems humble in comparison. We also know that he's a staunch blood-purist. Go back and re-read Half Blood Prince if you don't believe me. In it, he says Ginny is attractive, but he'd never touch her, because she's a blood traitor.
So, if Blaise isn't our best option for a male, light-side sympathizer from Harry's year in Slytherin, who is? Theodore Nott. From cannon sources, Nott is described as being "a solitary boy who has never felt compelled to join 'gangs,' such as the one headed by Draco Malfoy".
His father apparently was a Death Eater, and he supposedly works for Lucius Malfoy in the future (though, that's in The Cursed Child, and really, who cares about The Cursed Child?), but he himself is never described as being a blood purist or a Death Eater.
So, why is he a loner? Maybe he rejects the idea of pure-blood superiority that the rest of his housemates subscribe to. Maybe it's another reason. Maybe he's by far the most evil character in the entire series. I don't know; you decide. He's got a lot of potential is all I'm saying; definitely far more than Zabini, who's pretty much set in stone.