Disclaimer: Nothing related to Harry Potter belongs to me.
A/N: I wrote these first three chapters in one shot but I decided to break them up to make the chunks more manageable. PLEASE read and review! I'm new to fan fiction and am excited to enter this whole new world of reading and writing!
Chapter Two- Resurfacing
"Hermione, my name is Healer Rutherford, Healer Thomas Rutherford. I've been caring for you for nineteen days now," he smiles as his eyes roam my face, searching for an acknowledgment.
"Hello," I squeak, barely audible.
"You had quite the accident, my dear. Yes, you are very lucky to be alive."
"Thank you for taking such good care of me."
He pauses for a moment- mentally searching for the appropriate way to continue.
"You wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for your friends and family," he begins slowly.
"I'm…lucky,"
Healer Rutherford nods in agreement.
"Hermione, I know this will be difficult but I have to ask you these questions. Do you understand?"
This time it was I who nod.
"Think back, can you remember anything before the accident?"
I pause before answering; mentally searching for what the doctor wants to hear. Images sweep before me creating mental movies.
I see myself as a toddler, playing with my parents. I see myself reaching for an owl and untying a letter from its leg, squealing in excitement because I found out I am a witch and there IS such a thing as magic!
"I'm a witch," I mutter, awed.
I see a big castle with talking portraits, roaming ghosts, a pesky poltergeist, and an enchanted sealing. I see a hat sealing my fate to join Gryffindor.
I also see sadness at being mocked for my intelligence.
Images of my two best friends surface.
"Ron…Harry," I mumble.
"Yes, very good. Ron and Harry have been here everyday. They love you very much," The doctor encourages.
I see my parents and leaving them in Australia with modified memories due to the war and my status as a-as a mudblood.
Shit. The war. How could I forget something so traumatic? People I love died that day.
"Fred…Mom…Dad," I whisper.
"Are you remembering the war?" the Healer inquires.
"Yes," I look him squarely in the eyes for the first time and I am surprised by how much compassion radiates out of his pale green eyes.
"What about anything more recent?" he urges.
It comes crushing back to me. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy is my savior- the angel who pulled me from the abyss of the ocean. I remember running into him in Scotland shortly after the war. We began talking and it's been the two of us, together, ever since.
"Draco," I say, "We began dating a little while after the war ended,"
The healer smiles, evidently pleased with the fact that I remember my boyfriend.
"But then who was that man who was next to my bed," I say, almost scared to find out the answer.
The smile disappears from the healers face.
"Hermione," he beings awkwardly, "how old do you think you are?"
"I'm eighteen," I reply hastily- grateful at least that I know this answer.
The healer's brow furrows deeper and he jots something down on his pad.
"What's wrong? I am eighteen aren't I? Well I suppose if September nineteenth has passed then I'm nineteen. I'm sorry I must have lost track of time in here," I hastily say, hoping to correct my mistake.
"That's not why I'm worried Hermione," the healer begins, "I'm afraid you may be suffering from a rare form of amnesia where the patient regresses in time," he stops speaking suddenly.
"I don't understand."
"I better get him back in here."
With that the Healer opens the door and calls the mysterious blonde man back in.
"What's the verdict, Rutherford," the blonde asks.
"She thinks she's still eighteen years old."
"I AM eighteen! Please, get my friends or my boyfriend or my parents and they'll tell you!"
"Sweetheart, calm down. Everything is going to be alright," the blonde hushes me as he rushes to be by my side. He kneels down and takes my hand in his, kissing it. For the first time I notice the ring on my left hand. I gasp, disbelieving that I could have possible missed them before.
"I'm engaged?" I whisper. How could I forget something so important?
The blonde looks at the doctor, horrified. In response the doctor nods and the blonde begins to weep.
"Love, my love, my Hermione. Please come back to me," the blonde is pleading with me.
"Do you recognize him at all Hermione?" The healer nudges me.
"No," I whisper.
"I'm your husband!" The blonde man begins to hyperventilate as he says it.
"No!" I shudder. I can't possibly be married! I'm only eighteen!
"I'm so young! I can't be married! Nevermind the fact that I don't know you!" I shriek.
The Healer hems and haws before beginning to speak.
"There is no easy way to say this. Hermione, today is April 9, 2012. You are thirty-two years old and this man is your husband. You remember him- you mentioned him to me when we were talking,"
The words poured out of him so quickly I almost missed it.